The Lost Journal (A Secret Apocalypse Story) Read online

  We all took cover as bullets smashed into the dirt ground and the mud-brick buildings around us.

  Now it was clear. The penny finally dropped. We had been led into a trap.

  They had done this type of thing before. We had been briefed and warned about this ambush technique when we first arrived here.

  The Taliban and Al Qaeda. They use innocent villagers as bait. They would target towns and areas that were ‘friendly’ towards U.S. forces. They would usually poison the water supply. When a patrol team goes to investigate, they pounce.

  They had set up two machine gun nests; one on each side of the valley, pinning us down. They had the high ground and they had the fire power.

  We were trapped.

  We should’ve been prepared. But the boy was so sick. It was shocking. We had been completely and totally distracted. We had taken the bait.

  Gordon was back on the radio, asking for air support.

  We took up defensive positions around the small village and returned fire. Luckily Drake and I were both packing m249’s, SAW machine guns (Squad Automatic Weapons). It was sheer luck that I decided to take it with me instead of my usual M40 sniper rifle. Having two Squad Automatic Weapons was a great luxury. Probably saved our lives. We were able to return a pretty effective line of suppressive fire.

  At that point we were just hoping they didn’t have any mortar rounds or any grenades. If they did, they would reduce this tiny village to dust in a matter of seconds.

  Luckily they didn’t. They were basically taking pot shots. Shooting and hoping.

  Gordon eventually got through to command. He requested immediate air support and a medivac for the boy.

  We were able to hold them back for another thirty minutes or so before a couple of gunships showed up. Apache helicopters. When we heard their rotor blades echo through the valley we all gave out a cheer.

  They flew in low and fast. Gordon was able to give ground support and advise the pilots, helping them locate their targets.

  The Apaches unleashed a couple of hell fire missiles each and that was the end of the skirmish.

  The choppers were gone as quickly as they had appeared.

  After the brief encounter we were back on our feet. The villagers emerged from their homes.

  The boy’s mother was there, waiting, pleading with her eyes for some good news.

  But there was nothing good to tell her. We had no idea what was wrong with her son. We had no idea what he had been poisoned with.

  I did not want to be the one to tell her that her son was probably dying.

  A few minutes later Command finally confirmed the ETA of medical chopper. Soon after the Apaches had cleared out, the medivac arrived with a full team of doctors and first aid staff. They went back in an examined the boy again.

  We were asked various questions by the doctor in charge.

  How long had he been in there? When did we arrive? Was anyone hurt during the skirmish? Did anyone receive bullet wounds or shrapnel wounds? Or open wounds of any kind?

  Luckily no one had suffered any injuries. And luckily it was just the boy who had been poisoned. Apparently he had been poisoned with a powerful neurotoxin. The toxin was the reason for the violent, sporadic movements and the loss of feeling in his limbs.

  Hopefully, the medical team would be able to pump the boy’s stomach, get him on a drip and flush the neurotoxin out of his body. Not to mention fixing that nasty compound fracture.

  But the village seemed to have gotten off lightly.

  Twenty minutes later, the boy was removed from the hut. He was taken away on a stretcher. His arms and legs were still bound. And he was tied down to the stretcher.

  The chopper flew up and out of the valley. And we were left behind, forced to trek about eight miles to a separate extraction point. The boy’s mother continued to cry, wailing to the point of exhaustion.

  The other villagers carried her off and helped her back to her home.

  As we walked away and began the trek back down the mountain to our base, we could still hear her crying for her son.

  I don’t know why this has had such a huge effect on me. I’ve been in worse situations in my short time here. I’ve confronted my own mortality on multiple occasions. But since that incident I haven’t been able to sleep.

  The psychologist said it was because I saw myself in the boy. I was struggling and fighting. I was raging.

  She said I saw my own mother in the swollen, red eyes of the boy’s mother.

  She said I was angry because I had cut myself off from my parents and because I’d left without saying goodbye to Rebecca, for not telling her how I felt.

  She said I wouldn’t be able to move on until I had sought forgiveness.

  Redemption.

  I needed to be aware of this.

  I hope she is right.

  Jan 12th - Run in with Green Berets.

  Actually I don’t know if they were Green Berets or not. But that’s what they called themselves. Apparently they had been operating in some of the more isolated areas of the Hindu Kush mountain range for over a month. They had been helping the local villagers build better shelters, teaching the men and some of the older boys shooting techniques and basic defensive strategies.

  But there was something about them I didn’t like.

  I don’t know. I didn’t fully trust them. It’s hard to explain. There was something about their body language. And their weak cover story about the men they had locked up in that crappy little mud hut. The men were just lying in there on the dirt floor. No beds, no blankets. The walls and the roof were made of mud and straw. There was no heating. It was the middle of winter for crying out loud. No wonder they were sick. No wonder they weren’t getting any better.

  The Special Forces team claimed their prisoners were connected to the Taliban and Al Qaeda. That was how they justified it.

  I’m not a huge expert on the Geneva Convention or anything but I’m pretty sure those men were being mistreated.

  Anyway, the reason we had been sent out there was because Command had received another distress call from a village about fifteen miles from where we found the sick boy. They’d tried to radio back and confirm but they had lost contact.

  Apparently there was a Special Forces team – Green Berets, who had been operating in the area. We were to take a chopper ride back up into the mountains, rendezvous with them, check out the situation and report back.

  The Blackhawk chopper dropped us about five miles outside of the village and we made our way slowly towards the camp. As always, the mountainous terrain made it difficult to move. There was a cold wind blowing in from the north.

  All of the surrounding mountains were covered in snow. The jagged peaks, gave the impression of crooked, razor sharp teeth.

  At this point, summer was a distant memory. Hundred degree heat waves were a distant memory. It had been a particularly harsh winter so far. On average the temperature was at freezing or a few degrees below. But in reality it felt a lot colder, especially when you took the wind chill factor into consideration.

  We pulled up about a half mile out from the village. I picked out a point a cover and tried to get a look at our rendezvous point. Today I had my M40 sniper rifle with me.

  I looked through the scope.

  The village appeared to be quiet. There was no sign of activity or enemy contact.

  Gordon crouched down next to me. "What can you see?"

  "Not much. Looks pretty quiet. No signs of artillery fire or anything."

  "All right," Gordon said. "Let’s get down there. Everyone stay frosty."

  It was a completely different atmosphere to the other village. No one came running up to us. No one was yelling. It was eerily quiet. The only noise was the ice cold wind blowing down from the snow capped mountain peaks.

  We walked by a few houses. We could tell there were people inside. They were sneaking a look at us as we walked passed. But as soon as we got too close, they would close their doors or win
dows.

  We eventually met up with the Special Forces team. They were situated outside one of the larger huts near the middle of the village. They were having a briefing session when we arrived. They looked completely surprised to see us.

  "Didn’t anyone tell you we were coming?" Gordon asked them.

  Their team leader gave a few quick orders to his men and they packed up the maps they were studying. They all stood up, blocking the entrance to the hut. It was like they were guarding it, protecting whatever or whoever was inside.

  I thought I heard one of them flick their safety off.

  I looked over at Drake and Franco. They both tensed up.

  "What’s inside?" Gordon asked.

  "Nothing that concerns you, Corporal."

  Gordon held his hands up in an attempt to keep everyone relaxed. "Look, Command sent us in here because they received a distress call. Our orders were to meet up with you guys and make sure everything’s all right. We’re not here, to screw around with your operations or anything."

  "Distress call?"

  "Yeah. There was an incident at one of the villages about fifteen miles east of here. A boy had been poisoned. They wanted to make sure this wasn’t related."

  "We haven’t heard anything from Command in a couple of weeks."

  I was starting to feel uneasy. It was a weird situation. We were basically having a stand-off with these guys. And for what? They didn’t even know about the distress call.

  Gordon motioned with his head at the hut the Green Berets seemed to be guarding. "Who you got inside."

  "You know what our objective is. We’re here to work with these people."

  "That’s not what I asked," Gordon said calmly. "Who’s inside?"

  The team leader paused, like he was weighing up his options. He then told one of his men to open the door. The man seemed to hesitate for a second before opening it. As he did, two other guys stood behind him, weapons at the ready.

  "We’re not entirely sure who they are," the team leader answered. "But if I had to take a guess I’d say they were Al Qaeda. They came in yesterday, guns blazing."

  We had a look inside the mud hut. I counted ten men. They were lying on their backs. Their arms were tied down by their side and their legs were tied together.

  "Look, we’ve been delivering intel to Command for months now," the team leader said. "We’ve been all over this area raiding hide outs and supply routes. Trust us, these guys in there. They’re bad news."

  I snuck another look passed the Special Forces soldiers. The prisoners were lying down, eyes closed. One of them seemed to be moaning in pain. They looked ill. They did not look like hardened guerrillas.

  "Why do they look so sick?" Franco asked. "Have you been mistreating them?"

  "Hell no. They came here on a suicide mission. They had planted IED’s around the outskirts of the village. Probably a couple of nights ago."

  "IED’s?" Drake said, surprised.

  "Improvised Explosive Devices."

  "We know what they are," Gordon replied. "But why here? All they way up in the mountains. Doesn’t make sense."

  "As far as we can tell, their plan was to come in here and cause as much damage as possible," he said as he pointed at the men in the hut. "I mean, look at them. They’re sick. They’ve probably got pneumonia. It’s been a hard winter. These guys are malnourished. They’re dying. They wanted to go out as martyrs. Tomorrow we’re gonna set out with one of the local guides. I’m guessing we’ll find their hideout. We were lucky to nip this in the bud."

  What he said made sense. But I still felt uneasy. The Green Berets were famous for supplying misinformation.

  Eventually we all calmed down. About twenty minutes later some reinforcements moved in on the village to make sure it was truly secure. Well maybe they weren’t reinforcements. They looked more like a forensic investigation unit or something.

  We decided it wasn't worth the time and energy to hang around. Besides the Special Forces team had seniority and they were here in this area for the long haul. No point in arguing. Command had obviously screwed up with the lines of communication.

  I had one last look at their prisoners before we left. They were older men. Sick and desperate. They were helpless.

  Again, I couldn’t help but think about how they looked nothing like battle-hardened warriors.

  Jan 15th – PAYBACK

  Command called us in the next day. I assumed it was for another debrief.

  I was wrong.

  They were organizing a bombing mission and they wanted eyes on the ground for a battle damage assessment.

  It was probably at the request of the Green Berets. I’m guessing they had searched the surrounding area with one of the local guides, like they said they would.

  I’m guessing they had found something.

  Gordon volunteered to lead the mission as usual. But Command said they only wanted a two man team. Basically, all they needed was a sniper and a scout.

  Franco and I were chosen.

  I had only been in the team for a short time but I had proven myself as the best marksmen. I was honored to be singled out for a mission like this.

  Apparently, the Green Berets had discovered a hideout of insurgents. And according to their intelligence, this particular hideout was used by the Al Qaeda leadership. The plan was to fly two F16 jets into the valley and destroy it.

  All we had to do was observe and report.

  We took a chopper ride up into the mountains and dropped in just on the other side of the valley. We were pretty close to the target area but the mountainous terrain provided us with plenty of cover.

  The chopper moved out and away from us. It then descended down into the valley that led back towards the base. The noise of the rotor blades, echoed off the valley walls, giving the impression there was more than one helicopter.

  Franco and I waited for the chopper to clear out before we made our move. To get eyes on the target we needed to climb up and over the ridge above us. We would then need to climb down and get underneath the cloud cover.

  The cloud cover was good for concealing us and keeping us hidden. But we needed to get below the haze and the mist of the clouds so we could see the target.

  I checked my watch. We had about ten minutes until the F16’s would be here.

  We climbed down to a vantage point. We could see a few buildings in the valley below. Like most of the buildings up in these mountains, they were little more than mud huts. But according to the intelligence of the Green Berets, these buildings were used for Al Qaeda leadership.

  We decided to get a little closer. We continued to climb down. We came across a switch-back road cut into the side of the valley. Well actually it was more like a muddy goat track. I guess it wasn’t all that unusual, but the thing that freaked me out was that it wasn’t on any of the maps we’d studied.

  It was enough to make me even more nervous than I already was. But ultimately there was nothing we could do about it.

  We found a section of the goat track where a few low lying scrubs grew out between some huge boulders and took cover. Even though we were a fair distance away from the target we still took the time to make sure we were completely hidden from view. I did not want to take any chances.

  We settled in. I positioned my sniper rifle and looked through the scope. Franco was acting as my spotter. The mud huts were pretty dilapidated. It wouldn’t take much for the F16’s to reduce these structures to complete nothingness.

  I checked my watch again. Five minutes until the jets would be here. The excitement and anticipation was growing.

  I was about to say something to Franco. I think I was going to ask him if he had ever done anything like this before, when we heard a noise coming from back down the muddy track. It sounded like a cowbell. Franco pointed to his eyes and then pointed back down the road, indicating that he had seen some possible enemies.

  We hunkered down behind the scrub and the rock boulders.

  Coming towards u
s was a malnourished looking donkey. It was pulling a rickety old cart. An elderly looking man was driving the cart, urging the donkey forward.

  The donkey slowly but surely made his way down the track towards us.

  On the back of the cart were two younger men. They were armed with AK-47’s. Lying down next to the men in the back of the cart was an RPG - rocket propelled grenade launcher. And several body bags.

  My heart began to beat faster. I held my breath and prayed that our choice of cover was enough to keep us hidden.

  I rested my hand on my sidearm and thumbed the safety off as quietly as humanly possible. I glanced across at Franco; he had his M4 rifle aimed at the men.

  His face was a picture of complete serenity.

  Franco out ranked me, so he had the say on whether or not we engaged. Basically, if he fired his weapon, I would fire mine.

  The cart moved slowly, passing us by only a few feet. Just when I thought they were going to move on they stopped.

  One of the men jumped off the back of the cart and looked around. He took a drag on a cigarette he was smoking and then threw it in the mud. After that he coughed up a bit of phlegm and spat on the ground.

  My heart was beating so hard at this point; I was convinced they could hear it.

  The man then had a real good look around. He couldn’t see us though. We were completely concealed. But if he came any closer we would have no choice but to open fire and get the hell out of this area.

  Fortunately, he got back on the cart and they continued on their way.

  The donkey climbed down the switch back road and they made their way into the valley. They moved slowly passed the mud huts and then disappeared on the opposite side of the valley.

  They must’ve entered a cave, I thought. But we couldn’t see from where we were.

  The whole incident seemed to last an eternity. But in reality it was only a couple of minutes.

  I flicked the safety back on my sidearm and repositioned my rifle. I checked my watch. The F16’s would be here any second now.

  I looked towards the east, the direction where the jets would come from. But there was no sign of them yet.

  About a minute later or so the donkey cart remerged from the cave down in the valley. And weirdly, it was stacked full with bodies. There must’ve been a dozen or so.