Stream of Madness Page 15

  “Braddock! Are you listening?” The Centurion was glowering at Joe’s refusal to answer.

  “Sorry. Got a lot on my mind.”

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Joe adjusted his M4A1 on the ground in front of him, trying to look as unaffected by the dream as possible. “No.”

  Sandor sniffed, “I’ve gotta say, you Peacemaker chumps aren’t what I imagined.”

  Joe shot the man an annoyed glare, “Can’t say you’re much to look at yourself, Centurion.”

  “You think a lot of yourself don’t you, Braddock?” Sandor said, his voice veiled with disgust, “You think because you killed dozens of my comrades, it gives you some sort of right to get my blood up?”

  “Your ‘brothers’ killed my Ranger team in Kazinistan over a year ago. They ambushed us with concussion weapons, wiping us out almost to the man!”

  “We were following orders. That’s what men in war do.” Sandor’s voice was rising in volume.

  “What war? You sold your services to some penny ante dictator and call massacring American soldiers war?”

  “You’ve killed more Centurions than cancer since then. When does it end, Braddock? When does your own private war finally fill that empty hole you call a heart?”

  Joe’s own temper was rising to a boil, “Olympus has taken everything from me! My men, my friends, my br…” he stopped, not wanting to reopen a fresh wound.

  Ayishah intervened, her calm voice trying to halt the escalating argument, “Please, stop fighting you two! You don’t need to make the trip any more difficult than it needs to be.”

  Sandor ignored the woman’s plea, “Despite what I’ve said and what you believe, Joe, Olympus has men serving it that are not the cold killers you think they are. Men, good men and women serve to help their families.”

  “You mean like you did for your family?” Joe asked. He saw Sandor clench the steering wheel of the semi tightly with his gloved hands.

  He’d struck a nerve.

  “If I were you, Braddock, I’d choose my next few words carefully.” Sandor’s voice was calm and dangerous.

  Ayishah, upset at being in the middle of the argument, spoke up, louder this time, “This isn’t solving anything!”

  Joe’s blood cooled. He knew he was upsetting the woman who had been nothing less than helpful over the past day. “Sorry, ma’am. A year fighting against his people brings out a lot of bad blood.”

  Sandor muttered something under his breath and returned his attention to the road ahead. Joe checked the watch the Centurion had given him back in the cave. Nearly two o’clock. It would be seven in the morning back in Washington. He wondered what Jade was doing right then. Would she still be attempting to regain communication with him? Organizing a rescue?

  Doubtful. Stanlin would have cancelled the mission by now. Joe’s guts twisted in worry. He was hedging a lot on finding a radio at this rebel village. If Krieger and Packrat had already left the Middle East, perhaps there was a chance for an extraction from other friendly forces.

  He’d see soon enough.

  District of Bones

  July 17th, 2015

  THE CORPSES rotted in the afternoon sun, pecked at by scavenging vultures. The District of Bones, as it was called, had a new visitor this day. Brutus trudged through the bloated remains of the ISIL militants, his powerful legs making heavy thunk sounds in the dirt. The Heads-up-Display surgically connected to the tracker’s eyes scanned the area for information. His genetically enhanced sense of smell searched for anything that could help him piece together what had happened here.

  The Olympus beast had picked up the tracks of a military grade semi-truck with chemical residue on its tires. The chemical was identical to what had been spread across the Raqqad valley during the prior night’s bombing raid. Brutus had followed the tracks, veering off the dirt road as they led the beast into the place known as the District of Bones. His senses picked up many strange scents; bodies buried throughout the area in shallow graves; the lingering waft of blood recently spilled. It hadn’t taken him long to find the dead ISIL soldiers from there.

  The machine/human made several sniffing noises, searching the air for any usable scent. The exo-suit’s receptors increased his sense of smell forty times greater than a normal man.

  As Brutus continued to search the air, he found a conflicting scent. The chemical residue from the truck was ammonium nitrate, found in rocket and missile systems the world over. But while that scent drifted towards the north, Brutus could detect a waft of it closer – and fresher too.

  Brutus had to be certain.

  He took off from the scene of death, terrifying the vultures as he raced towards the east. He appeared

  The ammonium scent grew heavier as he ran. After a few minutes, he’d traversed nearly a mile.

  Then, he came to an immediate stop.

  His senses had been correct. Another dirt road, heading towards the south. The nitrate smell was stronger and bore towards the lower half of the plateau. A quick search of the road picked up recent imprints of a semi tire track, exactly the same as the ISIL truck.

  His quarry was headed south, towards the Jordan border.

  Brutus used the comm unit strapped to his right forearm to compile a report that he sent to the data pad held by Saladin. In it, Brutus stated his findings over the past few minutes, as well as a recommendation for the Riders of the Scorpion to head towards the south. Once Brutus had honed in on the precise location of his quarry, he would contact Saladin with exact details.

  Within a few minutes, Saladin replied to the beast’s update. Brutus’s comm unit projected a holographic augmented reality image a foot in front of the tracker, showing Saladin’s visage.

  “Brutus, excellent work.” The Sand Scorpion said, “We are on our way south as we speak. There is only one town on the path you are on – a small hamlet called Dummaya. That must be their destination. Meet us there as soon as possible. Remember, do not engage them until my men and I reach the town. ”

  A sound not unlike a demonic chortle escaped the mask of the Olympus predator. Deactivating the holo projection, Brutus input several commands into his comm unit. It was a twenty minute wait before a high pitched whine resonated from the sky. The Olympus Griffon drone swooped down to the desert sand in front of the tracker. The jet powered drone, which was about the size of a small car, would connect itself to his back and remote pilot him to anywhere he required in Syria – all controlled from the safety of Olympus command in Damascus.

  The beast was impatient. His quarry was moving further away every minute.

  Time was of the essence. If the drone arrived soon, he could meet up with Saladin and finally locate his target.

  Then, the beast could slake his hunger.

  Syrian Desert, Twenty Miles outside of Dummaya

  July 17th, 2015

  THE LATE afternoon sun was beating down hard, cranking the mercury past thirty-five degrees, easily. The heat inside the sweltering semi was doing little for Joe’s complexion. He took a small gulp from his canteen before passing it to Sandor. Joe took a minute to check the cargo hold from the sliding window in the back of the cab. While the tarp sheltered the Shaitat refugees from the blazing Syrian sun, the mercury was nearing thirty-five degrees. Joe saw Jamal, along with the two Hanania brothers, Husam and Aziz, hand out bottles of water to the people.

  “How close are we?” Joe asked.

  “Twenty minutes, maybe a half hour, give or take.” Sandor answered, not taking his eyes from the road.

  Ayishah, who had been a model of self-restraint through the entire trip, had managed to take Joe’s mind off the argument with the Centurion. For the last little while, the soldier and the Muslim nurse had talked casually to keep their minds off the hard times ahead. Joe was surprised at Ayishah’s candor, finding her to be surprisingly headstrong in a country where women were considered second-class citizens.

  “How long have you been in the army, Sergea
nt Braddock?” Ayishah asked, after a long silence.

  “Since I was seventeen, ma’am.”

  “Why? I mean why the Army?”

  Joe shrugged, “Nothing else interested me. It was either be a farmer in Kansas my whole life, or do something for my country.”

  “Why did you come here, to Syria?”

  Joe frowned, “Not sure what you mean, ma’am.”

  “Why did your country send you? Are you an important man in your army?”

  Joe almost laughed. “Not at all.”

  “Then why did they send you?”

  “They didn’t. I volunteered.”

  It was Ayishah’s turn to frown, “Volunteered?”

  “Sandor had information for me and me alone. I had no choice.”

  Ayishah turned to look at the Centurion. Delacroix did not meet her eyes, instead keeping his own fixed on the road.

  “You won’t hurt Sandor will you? Promise me you will not.”

  “Of course not, ma’am. Not unless he tries to hurt me.”

  Sandor chuckled, “That’d be the day, wouldn’t it Braddock?”

  There was silence for some time. Ayishah changed tactics. The young lady seemed hell-bent on breaking through Joe’s shell. “Your dream, Sergeant, what was it about?”

  Joe exhaled quietly, wondering if he should answer.

  “It’s not important, miss.”

  “It’s important to me. Please.”

  Joe felt self-conscious all of a sudden. He didn’t want to answer, but Ayishah’s eyes seemed to beg him to open up, “I lost someone a while back. Someone important in my life, who gave me…balance.”

  “A friend?”

  “A brother.”

  “What do your dreams tell you about this man?”

  Joe raised an eyebrow, “Don’t take this the wrong way, ma’am but you’re kinda pushy when you get to know you.”

  “Finally someone else noticed.” Sandor guffawed.

  Ayishah blushed and turned to stare at the floor of the cab, “I have insulted you. Please accept my apolog–”

  Joe halted her, “No ma’am, not at all. I’m sorry…I’ve had a goddamn headache for the past week that won’t go away and it’s making me short with people. You helped me out back there and I owe you an answer to your question.” Joe was silent for a moment, thinking how best to respond, “The man – Danny – he was important to me, see? This was his…” Joe removed the whale bone charm from under his shirt to show the young woman.

  Ayishah beamed as she admired the lovingly crafted design of the Inuit charm, “I saw that back at the cave. It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s the only memory of him I have left. As far as the world is concerned, he’s dead.” Out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Sandor stiffen. “But…my dreams tell me he isn’t gone…not yet. He’s out there somewhere. And I’ll find him, even if it means my death.”

  “You feel his presence in the world?” Ayishah asked.

  “I don’t…really know, ma’am. I don’t believe in that sort of thing.”

  Joe could tell his reply troubled the nurse, "Forgive me if I ask, but...you do not believe in God?"

  Joe was silent for a moment, "I guess not."

  "That is…horrible. You…you must believe in something?"

  Joe sighed, "It's not about me not believing, ma'am, it's about there not being anything up there to believe in. So much is lost in this world in the name of religion. There comes a point when you just don't want any part of the whole fucked up thing anymore."

  Ayishah swallowed, aghast at what the soldier was saying to her. Joe’s line of reasoning was not common in this area of the world where irreligion was severely punished. Syria was, until recently, a secular country, but with the rise of ISIS, belief in Allah was now an absolute must.

  "But, God is everywhere, in everyone,” Ayishah said, persisting in her query, “He makes us good and strong. He will bring us through this."

  Joe managed a half-smile. "Well then, you're gonna have to have faith for both of us, ma'am."

  "Maybe one day you might change your mind. God is good, Sergeant Braddock. He loves you, even if you don't love him back."

  Joe did not reply. Ayishah’s heart was in the right place, and she may even be right. But for now, pursuing the debate further would only hurt her feelings. Joe knew enough about women to know when to not argue.

  They rode in silence for a time. Joe could hear the families in the back chatting in Arabic, hopefully about better times. Delacroix was the first to break the quiet of the cab.

  “He didn’t mean anything by all that, Ayishah. Some don’t take to teachings of higher powers as easily as others.”

  “What do you believe in, Sandor?” Ayishah asked, cautiously.

  The Centurion glanced over at Joe, a smile curving across his brutal mouth. He reached down with his right hand and patted the PSG-1 resting against the seat beside him.

  “This baby right here. She listens to my prayers, kills those I want dead and never fouls on me. Couldn’t ask for a higher power than that.”

  Chapter 14

  Onslaught

  Outskirts of Dummaya

  July 17th, 2015

  BRADDOCK STRAIGHTENED up in his seat as the small hamlet of Dummaya finally came into sight. On the Syrian plateau, it was possible to see for miles in the distance, but the area had grown hillier as they’d moved south. For what he could tell, they were still a good two miles from the town proper. Ayishah had explained that the hamlet was built around a popular water reservoir from ages past and served as a stop for those headed from the south of the country into the desert beyond.

  Sandor brought the semi to a stop and he and Joe stepped out. They quickly set about removing the ISIL symbols on the vehicle. Jamal exited the cargo area and gave them a hand. The young man told Ayishah to sit in the back of the semi, as he would need to be in the front to deal with the rebels. His wife had not objected. When everything was ready, they mounted up and continued on to Dummaya.

  Joe would have been lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. The Syrian rebels that made up the bulk of the opposition to Bashar al-Assad, and more recently to the Islamic State, consisted of various factions and dissonant groups. Throughout the early days of the Syrian Civil War, many of the factions had found little common ground with one another and were beaten time and again by Assad’s powerful military. The Islamic State was a separate demon altogether, providing the rebels with another, far crueler enemy. The United States had supported the rebels for the past two years with supplies and money, but had only recently begun to train rebels in Jordan and Turkey to fight against the ISIL scourge.

  Joe had no idea what kind of response he would get from the rebels. Ostensibly, America was an ally to the rebels, but he was not here in any official sense. Things could go south very quick for him if the rebels took offense at his presence.

  Sandor reached into the folds of his cloak and withdrew a small pair of binoculars, which he handed to Joe. The Peacemaker scanned the area, adjusting the magnification. The town was built near a tall hill protruding up from the steppe. Joe could immediately tell it was an extremely poor community. The buildings were traditional Syrian structures, mostly made from mud in the shape of beehives. Here and there were ramshackle metal structures, probably sheds and the like. Beyond the city, Joe could see a small stream of water running adjacent to the town.

  Oddly, compared to just about every other Syrian village in the country, this one was mostly intact, untouched from bombing.

  There was, however, something very odd about the whole thing.

  “I can’t see anyone.” Joe said, lowering the glasses for a moment.

  Sandor frowned, “What?”

  “The town…it looks empty.”

  Jamal sat forward, his face alert, “That cannot be. There should always be guards set around the perimeter. They protect the town using old army howitzers they stole from Assad’s supply depots.” Joe passed the binoculars to the y
oung Arab. Jamal peered through them, searching the town desperately. “I don’t understand. There should be some activity.”

  “Could the town have been attacked in the past few days?” Joe asked.

  Jamal shook his head, “If it had fallen to ISIL, there would be some sort of sign. The village looks untouched. This makes no sense!”

  Joe saw the man was upset. He said, “Just keep it calm, Jamal. We need to take a closer look. There’s no going back.”

  They continued on until they had reached the edge of the town. Sandor slowed the semi to a crawl. Braddock rolled his window down and peered out. The entire place was silent as a cemetery. Sandor maneuvered the truck towards the first building and parked it just off the street.

  “What do you figure?” Sandor asked.

  Joe didn’t answer. He picked up his M4, his sixth sense sounding loudly. Even with the pain in his head and the ever present haze in his mind, he could tell something was very wrong.

  “How many people live here?” Joe asked Jamal.

  “Around thirty families and over fifty rebel guards.”

  Joe slid back the window into the semi’s cargo area. He beckoned for Ayishah to translate for him, “We’re here folks. Something’s a bit strange, so we’re going to check the place out real quick. Everything’s okay, just hang tight.”

  Ayishah did her best in translating Joe’s very American vernacular. He gave his M4 a quick once over. “I’m going to take a look. Bring the truck behind me. If anything happens, gun the engine and get the hell out. I’ll grab on if I can.”

  Sandor nodded, “Watch yourself, Braddock. You’re my only ticket out of this burg.”