Normally we’d load up into transports and burn rubber out of base, speeding toward the location of our targets, but this time we’re on foot. The hillside that flanks the base was considered a major security risk by the higher ups when they were considering where to plant our three-thousand-strong camp, but in the end their concerns were overruled by General Lockwood, who felt the location—close to four hotspots in the near by vicinity, along with the fact that it is only a ninety minute drive to Camp Leatherneck—out weighed the risk that it would be on lower ground and subject to an increased chance of attack.
The knife-edge sharp ridgeline to the west rises up into the night. It’s clear, no cloud cover, and neither the light coming from the base behind us or the fire beyond can dampen the blanket of stars suspended over our heads, shining bright. Cade’s a reasonably tall guy, is only a couple inches shorter than me, and he’s a broad motherfucker, yet as we navigate our way around the back of the ridge, ducked low to the ground, trying to stay out of sight, the guy doesn’t make a goddamn sound. None of my men do. For a brief, twisted moment I’m proud that they’re such well trained killing machines.
The slog up the four hundred meter slope shouldn’t take us as long as it does, but our cover will be blown if we don’t tread carefully at this point. When we come close to topping the hill, I send the newest, youngest recruit, Atherton, up ahead to scope out the situation. The rest of us crouch in the dark, breathing quietly, the warmed metal of our guns pressed against our chests, listening to the sound of our hearts slamming in our chests as we wait for him to return and tell us what he’s seen.
Three minutes pass by. Below us, a loud splintering, cracking sound rips through the night, and a ball of fire boils up toward the sky, casting long shadows behind us as it flares. “The fuck was that?” Cade hisses.
I stare down at the camp, narrowing my eyes, trying to figure that out for myself. The swell of flames from the initial explosion dies back, and it’s clear to see it originated on the other side of the camp’s fencing, where the Afghani women and children were camped out. Not our fuel supplies then. But whoever sparked that thing must have had access to a huge quantity of accelerant. How the fuck did they manage to get that through the checkpoint? And was it meant to blow inside the refugee camp, or inside our camp?
Cade shakes his head, chewing on something between his front teeth. “This is absolute bullshit. Those people came to us for help. They were camped right next to us, for fuck’s sake. How could this happen?”
I keep my mouth shut. I’m about to tell him to do the same but Atherton emerges out of the darkness, face as white as a sheet, and my focus turns to him. “Well? Who’s up there?”
Atherton shakes his head. “No one. Well, four men, but they’re all dead. Their hands…” He shivers. “Their hands have been glued to their rifles. Their eyelids are glued open too. They’ve all been shot in the head. They’re…they’re ours.”
“Ours?” My stomach dips, like I’m on a rollercoaster and I’ve just been rocketed down a steep drop. “US soldiers?”
Atherton nods. He looks like he’s about to pass the fuck out. “I don’t recognize them. I haven’t been here long, though. Could be they’re from our platoon. Could be they’re from another camp.”
“We have to get up there,” Cade snaps. A rumble of agreement goes around the other men.
“We can’t.”
Cade looks horrified. “What do you mean, we can’t? They’re our men. Our brothers. We can’t just leave them there.”
“Why would they leave them up on the ridgeline with their hands glued to their weapons and their eyes glued open, Cade? There’s only one reason: they left them there for us to find. They know we patrol this hillside religiously. Daily. Hourly sometimes. I have no idea why they want us up there at the top of the hill, but they’re trying to draw us there.”
“If it were a trap, why wouldn’t they have killed me when I just went up there to recon the area?” Atherton asks.
Cade answers on my behalf. He looks like he’s seen the truth in my logic now. “Because you’re one guy. If they pick you off, then the rest of us head back down and report what’s happened. If you come back here, tell us what you’ve seen, rile us all up and we go charging up there to get our men, they can pull the trigger and kill twelve of us. They’re playing it smart.”
This reasoning isn’t enough to stop my men from wanting to barrel up there to get our guys back, even though they know it’s the truth. Most of them develop hard, stony-faced expressions as I order them to march back down to camp. Halfway there, I radio back to Richter and tell him what we found. I can hear the rage coloring his voice. He tells me fifty-three of the Afghani women are dead, along with thirteen of the kids. As we approach the camp, we can see their lifeless bodies lined up in rows along the fence line. Worse, we can smell their bodies.
In the morning, the sun, white and cold somehow, peeks over distant mountains much steeper and foreboding than our little hill. A team of marines from Leatherneck report four of their men are missing, and at oh eight hundred hours, an IED blows the top of the ridgeline, creating a crater sixty meters across, sending rocks and boulders raining down on the camp and into the valley.
They obviously grew tired of waiting for us to go up there.
CHAPTER NINE
REBEL