“No,” Lieutenant Nasar, Team C leader, insisted.
“Look!” Sharif whispered in anger. “That is the southwest barracks. You’re supposed to be west of there, you dumbass! Up by the tree line, killing any Marines who try to escape. You can’t do that from here!”
“That’s where I was headed,” Nasar defended himself, realizing Sharif was right, but not wanting to admit it. “Until you got in my way!” Nasar stormed off to rally his men and move farther to the west.
Good thing all the Marines are asleep, or we’d be dead by now. Sharif shook his head at Nasar’s incompetency. Sharif keyed his mic. “Commander, Team B is in position. Made contact with Team C. They are still en route.”
Lieutenant Hassan, the leader of Team D, consciously slowed his breathing. He led the right flank of the assault, but he wished he weren’t. Secretly, Hassan was terrified of fighting Marines. He’d asked his friend Captain Osmanović to request him for the mission through base housing. Despite Huso’s promises, Hassan was stuck leading an assault group. Huso claimed to have done him a favor, but Hassan silently cursed Osmanović.
Hassan’s father had fought the Marines years before, in what Americans now referred to as the Islamic Wars, but what his father had called the Great Jihad. In those days, the Americans had every advantage, yet Allah granted their survival. Allah had destroyed the Americans’ will to win. Then he destroyed their will to survive. After years of fighting to destroy America, Hassan’s father was invited into the United States to live and raise a family. The Great Jihad never ended, it only evolved. Now Hassan had all the rights and privileges of an American, but none of the loyalty. Why should he? He wasn’t an American, he was an invader. His father raised him to destroy America, not build it.
Yet Hassan was not his father. He was not as brave. Nor was he as righteous. He knew this for a fact, for his father had told him. His father was angry at Hassan, his mother, his sisters, and the United States of America. As a great warrior for Allah, his father’s words had to have been true. Or so Hassan believed. He’d tried all his life to overcome his father’s anger. He’d been religiously devout. In college he’d joined the American Jihadist Council and then volunteered for the American Jihadist Regiment. Surely those decisions would be blessed by Allah. After all, Allah brought the AJR into the Federal Agency for Public Safety and allowed the Domestic Security Force, where Hassan now served, to exist.
Despite all the evidence of Allah’s supremacy, Hassan still had doubts. Why would Allah not allow his father’s jihad against the infidels to be successful? Why would Allah give wealth, in addition to military success, to the Americans? Whether the Americans fought in Europe, the Middle East, or Asia, they were always successful in killing until Allah made them leave. If Americans were so wrong, how could they be so effective? These questions had plagued Hassan since he was nine years old.
The time had come to move north and establish a line on the Marines’ left. He was breathing fast and heavy. Hassan started to feel light-headed and dizzy.
Relax, Hassan told himself. Allah will cast fear into the hearts of those who disbelieve. He repeated the words Raed had cited before the mission. Yet Hassan felt fear. Was he one of those who disbelieve? An infidel? In his heart, Hassan feared he was. Would Allah damn him? Would Allah damn the whole mission?
He scanned the barracks through his night vision scope as his men moved north. He wanted to assure himself that everything was all right and going according to plan. Instead, he saw what looked like two armed Marines behind some kind of small defensive works, and another Marine walking away from them towards the barracks.
They know we’re here! We’ve been discovered! Hassan’s breathing quickened even more. He didn’t know if he could remain conscious.
“Commander, we’ve been discovered!” Hassan screamed into his radio mike. Believing in the lethality of the United States Marines, Hassan feared it was a matter of seconds before death poured down on them. He quickly raised his rifle and fired. Hassan didn’t take time to aim. He sprayed many bullets on full auto, hoping it would be enough for Allah to kill the Marine before he could warn others in the barracks.
After nearly a decade of combat experience, Staff Sergeant West’s reaction to the sound of bullets thumping into the ground was automatic. He bolted to his right towards Heavy Weapons’ barracks, but then cut to his left, towards Alpha Company’s barracks. It was closer, and he hoped the change of direction would make him harder to hit. He dove behind a stairwell and took cover. His mind registered only that one gunman was firing on full auto, and that bullets were no longer heading his way.
Either this guy is a bad shot, or I ain’t the target, West deduced. Soon the firing stopped. Stupid-ass FedAPS boot! With minimal exposure, West leaned out and cupped his hands to shout.
“Cease fire! Cease fire! Cease fire!” West shouted. “You have opened fire on US Marines! This is Staff Sergeant West, Weapons Company, 1/1! You have opened fire on our barracks. You stupid motherfucker!” West kept enough composure to say the last part quietly.
“Commander, this is Team A Leader. Team D has opened fire. We have lost the element of surprise. What are your orders? Over.” Only now did it strike Rahman as odd that this contingency had not been planned for, or at least discussed, ahead of time.
“All team leaders, this is Commander. Continue as planned. Engage and kill the enemy. Kill them all. Again: Kill them all. Allow no survivors!”
“Commander, this is Team B Leader. Acknowledged. Over.” Sharif addressed his team, “We will step off on my command and attack the southwest barracks. Do not open fire unless fired upon. We want to take the barracks by surprise if possible. Even if they see us coming, they will not suspect FedAPS officers. By the time they figure it out, it will be too late. Take no prisoners. We kill them all.”
Fuck! Nasar silently cursed. We’re not in position. He thought of asking Raed for further instructions, but he didn’t want to look like he did not know what he was doing. He frantically searched the west side of the barracks buildings through his night-vision goggles, hoping to find the spot where he was supposed to position his team.
“Screw it!” Nasar yelled in frustration. “Team D, double time!” Nasar ordered at the top of his lungs. “Follow me!”
“Here comes the crack outfit now,” Morgan informed Rodriquez while keeping the crosshairs of his night scope on who he thought looked like the leader. “They are moving north towards our position. Check these fuckers out, Rod, they’re moving in here all tactical like.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got nothing else to do now,” Rodriguez sarcastically answered. He was keeping a visual on the agents to the east of their position. “My guys are sitting still.”
“Hopefully beating the shit out of that dumbass who let off all those rounds,” Morgan mumbled.
“Yeah.” Rodriguez chuckled. “Wouldn’t mind doing that myself.”
Hassan began to question whether he’d heard Raed properly over the radio.
Why is no one shooting? Frantically, he felt around in the grass for the magazine he’d dropped while trying to reload.
“Fire, men, fire! Attack the barracks!” Hassan ordered as he pulled another magazine from his tactical vest.
“What the fuck they doing, Lopez? Training for a goddamn bayonet charge?” Russo laughed at the amateurish execution of the FedAPS agents.
“I don’t think they even see us.” Lopez stood up. “They’re going to run right into our foxhole.” Lopez waved his arms and shouted, “Hey! Look out. We’re dug in over here!”
“Get the fuck down!” Russo commanded, concerned another FedAPS agent would let loose some more rounds.
Just then they both heard multiple shots come from the east again. Lopez dropped so fast, Russo thought he might have been hit.
“They ain’t going to stop,” Russo coldly grunted, his brain now connecting a whole different set of dots. From a prone position, he sighted the glowing face of a DSF agent through his r
ifle’s thermal night scope and flipped the selector switch to fire. He couldn’t see, but rather felt the impact of rounds into the earth. It was more than he needed at that point. Russo pulled the trigger.
Nasar saw flashes of rifle fire. Instinctively, he dropped to the ground.
I can’t be shot now! How will my men reach our objective? Nasar could see other bodies lying around him as the rest of Team C charged ahead. There was so much gunfire. Nasar worried that they had encountered a significant force.
How? This was supposed to be a surprise assault. Was Colonel Raed lied to? Is this an American trap to destroy the AJR? Nasar’s mind raced to explain what was happening.
The shooting began to subside, and Nasar stood up to take charge of the situation. His men were cloistered around a fighting hole with two dead Marines.
“Where are the others?” Nasar demanded.
“This is all we found, sir.” Nasar couldn’t tell who responded in the dark.
“Sergeant Akmal?” Nasar called out, but there was no response other than moans from wounded DSF agents. It occurred to him that Sergeant Akmal could be dead. The sudden eruption of gunfire from the southwest barracks caught everyone’s attention.
“Team B is attacking!” someone anxiously shouted.
With their plan in shambles, and no contingency, Nasar struggled not to panic. He had no idea how many of his men were dead or wounded.
Only found two dead Marines, Nasar thought. With all these bodies on the ground, there has to be more than two Marines. If this is a trap, they could be anywhere, preparing to strike again. Nasar decided it was unwise to wander through the dark to establish a line to the north.
“Men,” Nasar said, “these Marines were waiting for us to attack. Obviously, they knew we were coming. We’ve been double-crossed by FedAPS. Collect the wounded, those who can walk, anyway. We will fall back to the commander’s headquarters. I will inform him of this turn of events.”
“Sir, aren’t we supposed to support Team B? Can you not inform headquarters over the radio?” a voice shot out from the dark.
“Who said that?” Nasar demanded.
“Sergeant Younis, sir.”
“Sergeant Younis.” Nasar’s mind raced to figure out the best way to look good under the circumstances. “Your squad will form a rear guard. Cover us as we get the wounded to safety, and inform Colonel Raed that we have been double-crossed by FedAPS. We will not fall into this trap!” Nasar elevated his voice to ensure he was heard by most of the men.
West scrambled into the Alpha Company barracks. Without wasting time on how or why this was happening, West focused on what to do about it. He ran down the stairwell and unlocked the door to the company’s armory, then went in to arm himself. Within seconds more Marines followed him.
“What the hell’s going on out there?” an angry Marine yelled.
“It’s a goddamn attack. Not a drill! It’s a real attack!” West shouted as he looked for ammunition.
“Over here!” the other Marine shouted. Having guessed what West was looking for, he tossed him one, then another loaded magazine. West slapped one into an M5 and one into his cargo pocket. More Marines clustered around the armory door for an opportunity to arm themselves.
“Start handing out weapons and ammo,” West ordered, then turned his attention to the Marines outside the armory door. “Listen up, Marines! We’re being attacked from the east and south. Don’t know who; they look like FedAPS. Any doubts, shoot the motherfucker! Now, make a hole!” West ordered and headed back out of the barracks. Gunfire echoed throughout the barracks compound. He looked in the direction of the battalion duty hut in Heavy Weapons’ barracks and then towards Charlie Company’s barracks.
“You want to live forever?” West uttered and nervously laughed to no one but himself. He then ran into the darkness as fast as he could.
Lieutenant Sharif stared at the wounded man. Somehow, a Marine had embedded an e-tool into the DSF agent’s cheekbone. The man appeared to be in a great deal of pain.
How can he still be alive? Sharif marveled. That was more than could be said for the Marine. Sharif was pleased with his team’s efficiency. They had cleared the lower level of the barracks with minimal losses. Sharif was encouraged by their success.
If sweeping a Marine barracks is this easy, how much harder can the citizens be? The possibilities made him smile. The moans of the wounded agent brought him back to the mission at hand.
“Be brave, Arman,” Sharif read the agent’s name off his uniform, thinking this would inspire the wounded agent.
Although the Marines were starting to fight back, he didn’t see what they could do other than fight back with their small shovels. They were trapped in the upper levels. At the most, they could delay their own slaughter.
Hassan is such a spaz. He probably just panicked at the first sight of a Marine. He could have blown the whole operation. Why, why did Raed put him in command of a team? Sharif shook his head and exhaled in frustration. He’s Osmanović’s buddy, and, for whatever reason, Raed’s hot for Osmanović. That’ll change. While they’re the ones freaking out, I’ll be the one getting the job done!
“Lieutenant Sharif.” Sergeant Khalil’s urgent tone pulled the lieutenant from his thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Sir, we’re under attack.”
“So kill them!” Sharif was incredulous. “How much of a threat can unarmed men be?”
“No, sir, it’s the Marines from the northwest barracks. They have rifles and are infiltrating the north end of the building. The men are having to fight them off instead of breaching rooms.”
“What?” Sharif shouted in anger.
“Sir, even the Marines from the upper levels are organizing a greater resistance. Shadid reports that Marines are using weapons from our dead and wounded. He’s not able to continue the sweep.
“Sir, Team C has fallen back. Some of their rear guard has fallen in with us. They claim all this is a trap. That we’re being set up by FedAPS.” Sergeant Khalil swallowed hard. Sharif had a reputation for being fanatical, and he feared how the lieutenant would take the news.
“We fight, Sergeant. We don’t retreat,” Sharif ordered.
“Last magazine!” Morgan shouted as he reloaded. “They’re falling back, Rod.” He immediately began firing again. “Bastards are falling back!”
Rodriguez also sensed it. Minutes before, under fire and flanked, he thought they were as good as dead. Now that moment seemed like another lifetime. Marines, armed and aggressive, emerged from the barracks, dispensing an ever-increasing rate of fire into their attackers. The flanking force to the east had disappeared, and the advancing force from the south now fell back in retreat.
“I’m out,” Rodriguez shouted after firing his last round, “and not too soon.” He continued to watch, through his rifle’s thermal scope, bright blobs of men withdrawing into the darkness. A flash in the corner of his eye caused Rodriquez to spin over, rifle butt first.
“Watch out Marine!” To Rodriquez’s relief, it was another Marine, dressed in nothing but his skivvies and a tactical vest. He fired into the retreating force. Rodriquez looked behind their position. Marines from the Heavy Weapons’ barracks were forming a defensive perimeter to their east.
Not too fucking soon at all. Rodriguez hunkered down in relief.
Staff Sergeant West watched with satisfaction as those who didn’t die withdrew into the shuttered admin buildings. The advancing force was no longer returning fire.
“Cease fire, cease fire,” he ordered. The Marine fire from Alpha’s barracks diminished. What shots he could hear were coming from Bravo’s barracks to the west. “Stay sharp, Marines. Shoot anyone coming out of the admin buildings!” West headed to the west side of the building.
After West had unlocked the armory, he’d beelined to Heavy Weapons’ barracks to do the same. By the time he got to Charlie’s, he found Lieutenant Carver had not only beaten him to it, but was organizing a counterattack to rel
ieve Bravo’s barracks. Carver had ordered West back to Alpha’s barracks to organize its defense.
There were a few scattered shots from Marines killing anybody who exited south of the Bravo barracks. Two more bodies ran out, only to be gunned down within a few steps. Then all gunfire stopped. For a few seconds it was dead quiet.
“We did it. Goddamned if we didn’t do it.” Staff Sergeant West spoke aloud.
“Just what’d we do, Staff Sergeant?” a lance corporal asked. Seeing the look of lingering ferocity on West’s face, he tried to clarify his question. “I mean, what the hell is going on here?”
“We’re staying alive, Marine, and that’s enough for now. We’ll figure the rest of this shit out later,” West answered, although he wondered the same thing.
“Sir, there’s an officer over here,” Lance Corporal Bannock called out to Lieutenant Carver.
“Sharif.” Carver tore the name tape off its Velcro strip after he read it. “Lieutenant Sharif, FedAPS.”
“Sir, they’re all DSF. Everyone I’ve seen has got a patch on his shoulder,” Bannock added.
“American Jihadist Council, Regiment, or whatever,” Carver mumbled.
“Sir?”
“They’ve all got Arabic surnames, or names one might usually associate with Islam. When I was in college, the American Jihadist Council, AJC, was one of those radical counterculture groups. They were always preaching the destruction of Western culture, the United States, etc. They even had a militant branch: the American Jihadist Regiment.
“In an attempt to be inclusive, FedAPS recruited heavily out of these groups. I’ve heard many of them make up the Domestic Security Force stationed here at Pendleton. My point is, I think these bastards have gone rogue on us.”
Bannock respectfully listened to the lieutenant as he stated what the lance corporal thought was obvious. He was fully aware of the AJC and what they stood for.
“Bannock.”
“Sir?”
“Find Sergeant Peterson. If he’s still alive, tell him to secure the barracks, get a list of casualties, and wait for further orders. I’m going to the battalion office. I’ve got to get word to FedAPS command ASAP.”
The Last Marine : Book Two (A Dystopian War Novel) Page 28
