The Pale: Volume One - Jacob Long (10 ebook reader txt) 📗

where Hashem shows off the merchandise to his rich friends, so this is where it’s most crucial to keep a clear head. And remember, we want Hashem alive for interrogation.

“Now, the wall surrounding the compound is nothing special. It’s not even wide enough to allow for Hashem’s guards to patrol them, so taking fire on our approach is unlikely. In the event that Hashem does not surrender himself, we will use Strykers to breach the wall and, using appropriate force, clear each building simultaneously. Your assigned area will be briefed to your leadership and passed on to you. Right now, we have soldiers handing out little range cards in plastic bags. These are an inspectable item . . .”

The captain droned on, and Adam spaced out. The apprehension from earlier in the day dissipated, replaced instead by the day-in, day-out monotony of army procedure. Five-hour convoy . . . net, hop, freq., yada, yada, yada . . .

The congregation was eventually dismissed. Adam was given his folding range card, and he walked back out to his gear amid the flow of bored and tired soldiers. He sat in silence next to his pile of expensive and ever-increasingly sand-coated equipment while the voices of people around him provided a cacophony of background noise. Everyone suddenly fell into formation around him, and then the squad leaders came by and checked to make sure everyone had everything they were supposed to have before the group disbanded again. Adam continued to sit idly, and his mind did the same. With nothing to fill the void, Adam began to hum a tune. He couldn’t place the name of it, but he knew that it was old. The seconds ticked away while Adam tapped his foot in time with the rhythm in his head.

Suddenly, Alvarez plopped down on top of his gear, actually startling Adam a little. It shook him from his senseless brooding.

“You look to be a deep well of thought.”

Adam didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Alvarez asked.

Adam took a deep breath, and then simply sighed. “Nothing, man.”

“Nothing? You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

Alvarez gave him a look. “Don’t worry about it, man. This might be some heavy shit, but we’ll be fine. We always survive, you and I. We’re invincible, angels of death.”

Adam smirked inconspicuously. “Is that why I’m called Azrael?”

Alvarez looked confused. “Who calls you that?”

Suddenly, there was the booming voice of the master sergeant. “All right! Everyone secure your gear! We’re moving out to the trucks!”

Real apprehension swelled in Adam’s chest suddenly, like he was faced with the edge of a cliff and he couldn’t see the bottom. With a great huff of his breath, he hoisted himself to his feet and geared up. The body armor he slid over his head, the pack was slung over his shoulder, and his helmet completed the look. Adam marched to the motor pool among the waves of other soldiers and once again fell into formation.

The motor pool was a field of sand, much like everything else. Only there the sand had been driven over by multi-ton trucks and tracked vehicles thousands of times and ground into fine, light moon dust. Even the slightest wind could displace it, throwing it into the waiting eyes and mouths of hapless troops. Military vehicles of all types stood in long, neat rows among the ripples of sand, Humvees, LMTVs, Strykers. Some of them had box-shaped compartments on the back that hid or protected much more specialized equipment.

“All right!” another soldier shouted. It was a lieutenant with a clipboard. “Before we start staging vehicles for the convoy, you’re going to be assigned to your task force. This will determine how the vehicles are staged, so listen closely! The first group is the mansion breach team. If you’re a part of any of these groups, move to the first line and mount up! Second ranger battalion! First and second platoon, alpha troop, of three-two SBCT! And last: the Strykers! First platoon, delta troop, of three-two SBCT! Mount up! On the double!”

Adam had been playing with the bolt on his rifle. He looked up at the speaker suddenly, and his eyes widened. He had not expected to learn his fate quite so suddenly. First platoon of alpha troop was his and Alvarez’s platoon. They were assigned to pull security around the mansion while the rangers cleared inside and secured the target. Not a bad assignment, actually. It would keep Adam out of the more immediate danger involved in clearing the other buildings. All they had to do was make sure no one snuck up on them, and no one escaped.

More than sixty soldiers fell out of formation and trudged to the line. There, a noncommissioned officer directed them to the trucks they were intended to occupy. Adam clambered into the back of a covered truck and took his seat among a dozen of his fellow soldiers. The truck was soon moved to the staging area. As the sun climbed further into the sky, the inside of the truck heated quickly. Nearly another hour passed while the soldiers waited, making small talk. Finally, the truck lumbered from its resting place, and everyone cheered.

Adam was impressed. It was actually a short turnaround time for moving a battalion’s worth of soldiers. Then his mood darkened quickly as he remembered how long he would be sitting in the back of that damn truck.

The time passed slowly while the heat ate away at Adam’s resolve. Most of the time, only sand could be seen passing by in the gaps between the folds of the tarp. Every once in a while, there would be a flash of a destroyed car, a person or two in their robes, and maybe a camel if he was lucky. The numerous soldiers who were used to chewing or dipping tobacco would periodically spit a large dark glob through gaps in the cover while they chatted about small things, ragged on each other, and cracked jokes. Eventually, Adam tilted his head back against a cross bar and closed his eyes. Sleep would make the trip pass by much faster, and the oppressive heat did wonders to drop him into a deep slumber.

Sleeping on the truck was no simple task. Every once in a while, Adam would be jerked from his rest by an abrupt movement of the truck or an unruly guffaw from one of his battle buddies. The last time this happened was accompanied by a hydraulic hiss and the truck coming to a complete stop.

“A-Rod, we’re there,” Alvarez said.

Adam quickly blinked the sleep from his eyes, and his body went on alert. They had reached the terrorist compound, and he had no idea what was waiting for him outside of the bedcover. Adam heard the passenger door open and shut. Footsteps sounded alongside the truck, and then the locks on the tailgate clicked open one after the other.

The tailgate dropped to reveal the sergeant who had ridden in the front. “All right. Everybody out! Get three-sixty security around the trucks.”

Soldiers folded up the rear tarpaulin, and the early noon sunlight flooded into the dank bed of the truck. Adam flinched from the sudden change in illumination and quickly fumbled for his shaded safety glasses. By twos, the soldiers hopped out of the truck bed, dashing to evenly spaced positions around the truck. There, they dropped to one knee and kept vigilant watch. Dozens of other vehicles parked in the same patch of sand. They unloaded more soldiers and added to the security of the staging area. Soon the area was alive with activity and the sound of idling engines.

Adam took up post away from the mountains and the compound, leaving him staring out into a vast, quiet expanse of sand. The heat was interrupted only by a weak, stray breeze that graced Adam’s exposed cheeks. The rest of his body was left to sweat under the multiple layers of clothing and equipment. Over his shoulder, he could see little of the compound. El-Hashem’s beautiful mansion-sized house towered over the cruddy mud wall. The contrast was typical of the region, to be honest. Everyone would be living in poor hovels, driving twenty-year-old—or older—beater cars, and then that one rich motherfucker would blow down the highway in a brand-new Lamborghini. A person could look over the wall out of any of the second-floor windows on the mansion. El-Hashem had to know they were there. It was foolish from a strategic point of view. Then again, Adam supposed the point was to show El-Hashem what he had coming, like sticking a big gun in his face.

Adam shook his head and went back to his field of fire just as the distant sound of helicopter blades whispered in his ear. They approached from the east, along the mountain range. The rapid beating of their spinning blades grew in volume and intensity until it finally reached deafening levels as the four Apache Longbows passed directly over Adam’s head. Adam looked up to get a glimpse, but only saw their dark silhouettes as they passed under the noon sun. The glare caused him to flinch and look away.

The choppers moved to hover directly over the compound. Beneath them, workers and guards armed with AK-47s ran for cover like roaches when the lights come on. The guards were quick to herd the people into the nearest buildings.

The board was set. El-Hashem’s compound had been surrounded by the United States Army on every side. Warbirds and drones watched from the sky. Captain Donowitz stood next to his command truck with a CB microphone in hand. The twisting cord was connected to the bullhorns installed onto the top of the Humvee.

The captain lifted the microphone to his mouth and pressed the key. Feedback echoed from the speakers, and then a tense quiet fell over the desert while he continued formulating his message in his head. The soldiers around him stood in a stalwart silence with stone-faced expressions, the anxiety in their hearts not showing at all.

“Harun El-Hashem,” Captain Donowitz started. “This is the United States Army. We have you surrounded. We order you and your men to lay down your arms and for you to surrender yourself into our custody. If you do not comply, we will enter your compound and detain you by force! You have ten minutes to comply!”

The captain handed the microphone to the soldier nearest him, and the troop repeated the message in Arabic.

The radios in the command truck on the clear other side of the compound crackled to life with the news. “Bayonet 3 just issued the warning. Ten-minute time limit. Stand by for further instruction. Breach only on my mark.”

Alvarez hustled up next to Adam and took a knee. “Hey, buddy. Doing checks. How are you on water?”

“Good,” Adam replied. Of course, Alvarez smacked the two canteens anyway.

“All right, good, and you’ve been drinking out of them. How are you doing otherwise? Shit might pop off in another few minutes, your head in the game?”

“I have a song stuck in my head,” Adam said dryly.

Alvarez snorted. “All right. Well, I have to go get the rest of these reports. See ya.”

Adam offered a short nod just before Alvarez bounded off to the next soldier. Ten more minutes. With a timer on it, Adam’s anxiety quickly wrapped a hand around his heart that tingled as if charged with electricity.

The compound had completely emptied. Not a worker or guard walked the paths between the buildings while the attack choppers hovered overhead. No move was made to surrender. When this report was given to Captain Donowitz, he shook his head.

“Dammit. We thought Hashem might try this. He’s not surrendering. His men are hiding in the buildings and will probably use the workers as hostages. Tell the soldiers gas masks and CS gas when breaching the buildings, and tell them the breach will commence on my order.”

The word was passed on and then down to every soldier. Adam cursed when he heard the news, tearing his mask pouch open and knocking the helmet from his head.

The mask made Adam’s face sweat even worse than it had been. Every breath became laborious as he marched closer to the wall, surrounded by Humvees and Strykers on every side. The procession ground to a halt several dozen yards away, and the Strykers pulled to the front, awaiting the order to breach.

It seemed like no time had passed at all when the order was sounded. There were too many vehicles around for Adam to hear the radio, but the commander of the formation wasted no time in relaying the order to the three Strykers in the front. Their mighty diesel engines roared to a fever pitch, and then they rocketed forward with an agility not expected of such large armors. As they barreled for the meager partitions, the Humvees and soldiers on foot followed behind at jogging speed.

The three Strykers crashed through the wall so easily, it may as well have been made of saltine crackers. Neat Stryker-sized holes were made in the facade, and large chunks of sod were launched haplessly through the air. The