Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Everybody Knows

"I know you."

I froze, the water bottle Daryl handed me halfway to my lips. The Dixon brother's turned in unison, their wide bodies and massive shoulders creating a human shield from the inquisitive eyes staring straight at me. Ignoring all three of them I turned my attention back to the water bottle.

"I don't think so," I dismissed, taking a sip.

The water was practically boiling in the hot temperatures, but it coated my parched throat and cracked lips blissfully. I wanted to keep drinking, to gulp down the entire bottle, maybe even splash some on my face, but couldn't. We were dangerously low on water, and without knowing how long until we found another place to fill up we needed to play it safe.

"Yeah, I do."

My eyes flicked to Ariel and I frowned. I didn't know him. I never forgot a face, never, and his wasn't ringing any bells so he had me confused with another ninja-like redhead. Even if I didn't have a memory like a steel trap a 6'2", 200 pound man with red hair and an out-of-control goatee would jog anyone's memory. I shrugged at him, turning away, intending to spend the brief break from walking in solitude.

"June 30, 2007." Ariel's deep, baritone voice stopped me dead in my tracks. "The Battle of Donkey Island." When I remained immobile and silent he added, "It was you."

Turning around to face him I saw Daryl giving me a questioning glance, but I shook off his concern, ignoring Merle's agitation as well. Their worry was unwarranted. Ariel wasn't a threat and he was right, I did know him, in a manner of speaking.

The Battle of Donkey Island was a brief, but vicious fight between the U.S. military and insurgent forces on the outskirts of Ramadi, a central city in Iraq. I'd flown into the war torn country the previous night on orders to deliver bags full of money to various warlords in exchange for their bullshit promise to fight with us instead of against us.

Cultivating relationships in the country was a delicate and dangerous balancing act. Every region was controlled by a different warlord who had opposing views than the one on his left and right. The one and only thing they all had in common was hatred, for each other, kept alive by deeply rooted blood-feuds dating back generations. Their despise for each other was so legendary in the event two factions met on the battlefield they were likely to stop fighting the insurgents and start fighting each other. Hence the bags full of money. Hopefully it would provide enough motivation to keep their attention on killing our mutual enemy.

I wasn't meant to stay in Ramadi longer than a few hours, only long enough to get an intelligence report and jump on a different helicopter, but all that changed with one distress call. I was walking by a command TOC when I overhead the radio communication about a routine patrol under heavy fire on the outskirts of the city. The convoy was pinned down, trapped in a well-orchestrated ambush, and unable to move because, and I wasn't making this shit up, a camel swallowed their keys.

It wasn't my job or my problem, but when I heard the voices of the Army soldiers screaming over the radio, begging for help, I knew I couldn't listen to them die. So I borrowed (stole) a radio, put a gun to the back of a chopper pilots head, and politely asked (forced) him to fly me to the edge of Ramadi. The insurgents were so hyped up on the possibility of killing American Soldiers and posting the video on YouTube they never saw me coming. Once I had a visual on the enemy the rest was relatively easy. I called in a battery of air strikes, some dropping so close to our guys the camel probably shit out their keys in fright, but it got the job done. The rescue team had just enough time to pull them out of there.

The insurgents who weren't already dancing with 72 virgins were reluctant to admit defeat, instead calling in reinforcements that would drag the fighting into the early morning hours. I disobeyed a direct order to disengage, choosing instead to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with U.S. forces, and finish the battle. Al-Qaeda fighters had us in terms of numbers, but our training and coordination was unmatched. The blistering desert sun was just cresting the horizon when I rolled back onto the base. I wasted no time hightailing it to my waiting helicopter. I was already late to deliver my bribe money, and I wasn't waiting around for official charges to be filed.