The year is 2016. Joseph, a survivor of 9/11 follows his father's footsteps and enlisted in the military. Not long after, he along with two of his friends were deployed to Iraq among the ranks of some of the best American fighting men: the US Army...
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18.34
November 10th, 2017
Iraq
Sgt. Joseph Mueller – US Army Rangers
My squad and I, as well Charlie squad who we brought along on the other Blackhawk, were not only there for Al-Kuwbra. We had another directive, which is to demolish the weapons and ammo stash that the terrorists got in this hideout to prevent their use in the future by any more hostile forces. Moments after we parted with Nat and her team, we traced back our way out and encountered one such ammo stash.
While Davis and the rest of the squad guarded the perimeter in case of stragglers, CT and I went inside the ammo dump. Aside from one dead guy, there were boxes of anti-personnel grenades and RPG-7 rockets, as well as those of dynamites and landmines mostly for making IED's. Some of them were pretty old and can be traced back to the Soviet-Afghan war. But the rest looked quite new. And even more crates of ammunition, mostly 7.62's for their Kalashnikovs but no less of 5.56's were found. NATO rounds? Now that's curious.
Two C4's would do the trick. I called CT over as I gestured towards the boxes of explosives.
"Put a charge over there, C."
"Roger," she replied.
She went over, took a C4 charge from her backpack, and planted it on the side of a box of dynamite.
"Timer?" she asked.
"Remote detonation."
"Okay... bomb has been planted."
"Heheheh... guess it's been a long time since we played that..." I blurted out, referring to the obvious video game reference.
"Ditto" CT continued, "Think we could go for a few rounds when we get back."
"Fuckin A."
I approached the crates of ammo and placed a C4 charge on a crate of 5.56 mm rounds. I thought, this will put them out of their misery first. They don't belong here, in the hands of the bad guys. These rounds of ammunition made in the USA by American hands in American factories should be sitting in the magazines of our rifles until it's their turn to fly out of the end of the barrel as we spread freedom and democracy for the peoples living under terrorists and rogue regimes. Not the other way around, for fuck's sake.
"Charges set. Let's go," I said, and took out my radio as a transmission came in.
"Charlie to Alpha, we've got the weapons stash. Charges are good to go, over."
"Copy that, Charlie. Any WMD's, over?"
"There's a handful of chemical warheads, and some paperwork saying they're bound for their friends in Syria. Over."
"Alright. Grab the paperwork and exfiltrate. RV at the chopper, over and out."
My squad and I exited the ammo stash and proceeded backtracking our way out. Soon enough we reached our pair of Blackhawks, parked on top of a plateau while guarded by some of our guys. We mounted up, and seconds later it took off, just as Charlie's did.
"Waiting on you, Alpha. Over."
Moments later, hovering in the air about 200 meters away from the hideout, I gazed at the hideout and took out my phone. I went over to my call log, and selected the number that reached me the other night. That one night when I took out Alqam, Al-Kuwbra's right-hand man, just before Bronstein – if that's even his real name – double-crossed me and my guys for whatever funny business that shady bunch called The Unnamed are up to. Remembering the one moment I got from my unlikely-ally-turned-friend the tip-off that saved my very life, I pressed the call button.
Fortunately, she picked it up.
"Privyet."
"Nat, you guys are out yet?" I prompted.
"Around two kilometers away from there now. So unless that svoloch Al-Kuwbra stashed a nuclear weapon inside, let's hear that blowout, Miller!" she replied, with a cheery tone.
"You got it. Stand by for some good ole' freedom and democracy!"
"Khorosho!"
She hung up. I put back the phone in my pocket and grabbed the remote detonator. For a moment I gazed at it, then I stole a look at the hideout which will soon be history.
"Charlie, you clear, over?"
"We're in the air and in a safe distance. On you, over."
Whatever was in there, from now the bad guys won't be able to use them on anyone no more. I pulled the clacker. Here goes nothing.
*click*
. . .
The resulting explosion was louder than it looked. Fire, smoke and debris were blown out of the cave entrance and other openings around it. And before long the hill itself slowly collapsed under its own weight. The warlord Al-Kuwbra, his dead killed by either us or the Russians, and all the stockpiled ordnance were buried deep underground, beneath the immense mass of rock and sand.
A glorious and fitting end for the day... and the beginning of the end of my first tour of duty, I thought as our Blackhawk continued to fly into the evening sky.
