Reaper

First: But An Arrangement Can Be Made

July 11th 2005

The rustling of sand underfoot that came from the squad as we approached the complex echoed through my mind as we crossed the desert landscape. I could never be sure, with the shifting sands changing the identifying features of the uninhabited parts of the wasteland, but I felt the pang of familiarity. I was pretty sure I almost died here. As if to answer my recalling mind the darkness ebbed at the edges of my vision. It said nothing but I was sure that it remembered it too.

Wandering along the sands you become acquainted with the smell of heat, that night though I couldn't smell it. It was all I could do to hold back vomit as I smelled the stench of blood and burning. Looking at the complex, they had cleaned it up since the conflict, probably to stop it being investigated, but I could still smell the scent of the deaths that had happened here. My friends were dead. And I was about to avenge them.

"Private." Came a whisper to my immediate right, the captain of our squad waved his hand to me beckoning me over.

"Are you going to be okay?" he whispered lower, as far as I could tell it was so as to not worry the other men. As awful as I felt I knew that the plan did not involve me killing anyone. I nodded.

"Great!" he beamed at me, pleased with my stoic resolve I'm sure. "Listen up, Alpha team you're to go round the back of the building wait for the signal and then enter the bunkhouse from the rear. Everyone else, you're with me and the Private." He gestured gingerly to me. I waved. Still not sure why. He seemed to ignore my awkwardness and moved on with explaining the plan.

"The first of my list is here..." The voice came so suddenly that I jumped a little, drawing the attention of some of my colleagues. I shivered in the dark, indicating coldness and then smiled meekly before retreating a few steps.

"What do you mean, the first of your list?" I muttered to the voice,

"You'll know who I mean. Do not forget our deal Hunter." I felt as the voice receded into the back of my mind. I didn't argue, I didn't pout. They were bad guys and it was a deal. My life for whoever was on the list.

I took an audible breath and stepped back toward the captain. The Alpha team had already begun to get into position, I tried to see where they were with that over the dune we were using as cover, but these were experts, frontliners who had done this a hundred times. It was at this time that I became increasingly aware of the patches we wore on our shoulders, mine a simple curved triangle, and found myself the lowest ranked member of this unit. It should have been an honour to stand amongst so many superior officers, especially the specialists, but it made me uneasy. I was surrounded by decorated killers, and soon I would be one of them.

The descent down the sand bank that we had hunkered behind was the longest few moments of my life. The thought that, at any moment, an enemy would spot us and start firing filled me with dread. Looking at the covered faces of my comrades, I was sure I was the only one feeling this way. I took a sharp breath. I held the air in my lungs, not daring to take another breath until it was all over, as if the shallow rasping of the folded cloth at my face would give us away.

The buildings that I had once known well stood as tall blocks of sand coloured stone, blending into the landscape as if they were just a natural formation of the surrounding area. Against the night sky, they stood as a looming presence in the sands, mouth open as I awaited the horror of voices and gunfire to begin. It didn't.

We traipsed through the first building with ease. The men were all sleeping and it seemed the person on guard had fallen asleep at his post, meaning the group could be dispatched with ease and silence. I observed as the experts did their jobs. The blood staining the floor as we left caused our footsteps to ring out with a horrific squelching and I could smell nothing save for the tang of iron. My colleagues seemed more prepared for this than I.

The next building was the one we were to take captive. The building that contained the leader, who may have had information that we could use against the insurgents in the region. The captain looked at me and held up a series of hand signals that I knew meant we were going in on the count of three. I started to count in my head, the numbers a clear fight against my urge to flee and leave the killers to do the killing.

One. I looked around me at the men and women, who all held their rifles at the ready as I felt around for my sidearm. I noticed that I had started to breathe a lot more heavily than was usual for me, unsure as to whether it was just nerves or a complete unwillingness to partake in the violence still escaped me. Two. I wasn't ready for this, I wasn't ready to be a murderer. I wondered how quickly I could dash into the desert. How long it would take for me to find a village or city. How easy it could be to avoid this fate. Three.

The door opened with a slam and a few rounds were fired, this was clearly done to display the fact that the group of men inside were outnumbered and unarmed against a fully armed and ready force. There was a flurry of shouting for a short time and then silence returned. Each of the men in the bunkhouse were on the ground, their hands behind their heads as they were cuffed and processed by some of the other officers.

Soon enough each of the men were standing outside, all in a line so I could do my part and pick out the leader. I hadn't seen the leader in my last encounter, and if I had I hadn't noticed who he was, I had stated this in my report but the captain had held hope I would remember when faced with him. I didn't. I marched up and down the line trying desperately to remember the face of the man who commanded the death of my squad, my friends. I couldn't. I looked at the captain, whose eyes widened as he grinned under his tactical mask, and shook my head. His eyes seemed to slump back to their natural piercing pose as he rubbed them.

"Alright then." The captain began calmly. The next thing I knew he had his gun against the temple of the man on the furthest right of the row of captives. "Who is your leader?" he spoke, again calm. There was the muffle of the local language before the captain spoke again, this time in the local tongue. There was a murmur from the other man, the captain hit him with the butt of his gun in an obvious show of displeasure at the answer he was given.

The mist poured into the room from the back of my mind. The lights from the lamps in the corners of the room flickered. My ears began to ring with laughter as the dark figure I had seen in the desert strode into view from the darkness. It laughed. The sound broke something deep within me and I fell to my knees, everything was a swirling mass of dark and white noise that hurt my ears. I tried to scream but couldn't. I pulled the gun from my side and aimed at the thing, pulling the trigger over and over until the laughter stopped and the darkness faded back into the recesses.

The captain stood staring at me. Everyone was staring at me. The gun still smoked from the end of the barrel as I stood with it extended forward. The barrel pointed at a shadow between two of the prisoners. The echoes of the laughter that emanated from it caused my vision to waver. As the shadow cleared and the cackling faded, I saw the man lying on the floor, blood oozing from the wound between his eyes.