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Seeking revenge in a dirty war. (more to come later) |
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As he walked, the sun approached the rolling horizon and bathed the drab clouds in a copper red glow. He knew some Arabic poetry and looking at the horizon reminded him of something written by Al-Jawahiri. I see a horizon lit with blood, And many a starless night. A generation comes and another goes And the fire keeps burning. It was just another day in the war. Raftery led the squad up to the crest of the last stony hill and finally saw the village below them. He paused for a second to wipe the sweat from his brow and readjust the worn rucksack on his back as the rest of the squad slowly approached. Single file up the goat path they came, eight tired Kurds spaced ten to fifteen meters apart carrying AK-47s, light machineguns, an RPG rocket launcher, and just enough ammo to be relatively effective in a fight. There were two other men with Raftery who walked parallel to the squad, thirty to forty meters on either flank like silent sheepdogs guiding the flock. None of the three of them were soldiers. At least not technically. They had been soldiers at one point. The two men who walked the flanks were private military contractors whose company had a contract for the CIA in northern Iraq with the Kurds. One of them wasn’t even an American. Edmund was a Canadian who also worked for the company. Both Raftery and Francis were Americans, but Raftery had been living in England for the past fifteen years and had only come back to the states in 1986 after a little run-in with the IRA. He moved back to protect his wife and infant son and managed to get his name changed from Raftree to Raftery. It was surprising how simply changing a few letters in a name and one or two digits in a social security number could offer so much protection. But that was ancient history and felt like a lifetime ago. Now he was in what may one day become Kurdistan, deep in Northern Iraq, imbedded with the Kurdistan Union Party rebels, the PUK. The rebellion against Saddam in the wake of the Gulf War had not gone so well for the Shiites in the south. Saddam had used his Sunni lead army to brutally oppose the Shiite uprising. Now there was only scattered resistance remaining. Saddam was redeploying the bulk of his troops back to the north. Although most of the Kurds had passively supported Iraq during the Iran Iraq War, a significant minority had sided with the Iranians and fought alongside them against the Iraqi Army. Saddam responded with chemical weapons originally intended for use against the Iranians, but now deployed against an ethnic minority within Iraqi borders. Villages and towns full of thousands of Kurds were completely destroyed in hours or minutes. This happened on several occasions. Few lived and those that did had to deal with the consequences of a slow death, sick future generations and the fear of more reprisals. It was not a good time to be Kurdish in Iraq. When America attacked Iraq during the Gulf War, the Kurds thought they might have another chance at freedom and independence. The resistance began anew, but the American Army didn’t topple Saddam and the Iraqi Army began another round of reprisals. Now all that kept them fighting was hope, dignity, and the few professional foreign fighters that were here with them right now. Raftery held up his left hand to halt the squad before they reached him on the crest of the hill. Immediately the signal was passed back and they moved off to the sides of the path and set up a cigar shaped perimeter that granted security in every direction. The two men on the flanks slowly and silently approached Raftery, who was now lying down and looking at the village through a set of binoculars. The two men crawled the last five meters to Raftery and stopped on either side. “What’s wrong?” one of them whispered to Raftery. There was a lengthy silence before he responded, never taking his eyes off the village. “Seems like everyone is at the mosque, but it’s a bit too early for prayers… and I think I hear crying.” No one responded. They never seemed to talk much on missions unless it was absolutely necessary. It required a certain amount of discipline, but they had that, even when the end was in sight. Both of them were already straining their ears. “I hear it, Boss. Sounds like several women.” Raftery handed the binoculars to him. “Look, right there in the village center. Those brown blotches in the middle of the road. Think its blood?” Francis took a long look before answering. “Could very well be. Or it could just be water. You thinking a murder?” “We’ve been gone for five days. We would have gotten word by now if they were in here. But we haven’t got any intel that they have tried to go this far north yet. If something happened it was very recent.” Raftery’s mind was racing. “Pass the word along that there is possible enemy in the area. We may be home soon, but stay alert.” The two men, still on their bellies, silently backed off the crest and then trotted in a low crouch back to the squad to inform the others. Raftery waited a few minutes and then moved the squad down the hill. The closer they got to the village, the more Raftery’s curiosity grew. But along with his curiosity, he also felt a sense of foreboding that kept him suspiciously alert. His trained eyes accounted for and appraised all around him, dividing everything they consumed into threats and non-threats. The men he led operated out of this village, so the non-threats seemed to be winning out, but there was always the potential for danger. Fortunately for him, Raftery had plenty of experience dealing with threats, potential threats and suspicious activity. Soon enough they were in the village without incident and Rafterty was headed straight for the mosque with a couple of the Kurds, eager to find out what was wrong. They emerged a little over half an hour later and found the others resting or eating in one of the houses on the outskirts of the village that they worked out of. Edmund and Francis got up and Raftery led them outside while the Kurds who had been at the mosque informed the others. “The Iraqis were here this morning. Maybe a platoon’s worth of Republican Guard. Three trucks and a military jeep. They were here for a little over an hour and questioned the village elders about PUK in the area. The soldiers roughed up the village Imam a bit too. The villagers told them they didn’t know anything, but the Iraqis didn’t believe them. They ransacked some of the elder’s houses and the villagers tried to pay them off, but they weren’t satisfied. They executed three men in the village square and took two young women with them, two of the elder’s granddaughters. A sixteen year old and a fifteen year old. They were supposed to be married off in a few months.” “Shit,” was the only response given by one of them. “The men who did this were led by Captain Jalil. Accoring to the villagers, he is a Ba’athist and a greedy fuck.” Damon tried to remember more details from the twenty-some-odd conversations he had just finished with some of the people who were there. “Kind of tall and skinny, uniform doesn’t fit well. He took a few watches, demanded they give him money, broke a bunch of stuff. He’s just another Ba’athist punk. He was the one who executed the three men and ordered his soldiers to take the women. They were preparing the bodies for burial when we went to the mosque. The funeral is tonight and all of us will be there.” The others nodded. It was only right and besides, they had to show solidarity. “I’ll get the Big Boss on the satellite phone and let him know what’s up,” Edmund said. “No,” Raftery responded. “Not yet. It won’t change anything. After the funeral I’m going to take out a few Kurds and track these guys down. If we’re lucky we can find these guys and organize a hit. If we’re really lucky, we may even rescue the women they took.” The others looked uneasy. “Boss,” Francis started, “Don’t take this the wrong way…but don’t you think that sounds a little hasty? Our boys just got off a five day patrol. They are all dog tired and need to shag out. Give them some rest. Let’s head out bright and early tomorrow with everyone, hunt them down and kill the fucks.” “Look,” Raftery started, a bit agitated, “They shot three guys and took two women. They are trying to terrorize these people into submission. If they get away with this, the villagers will think we are useless, or worse…a liability. We need to do something, but we need to track these guys down before we try anything. I know our guys are pretty tired, but we need to go now if were gonna find these fuckers. We’ll be faster and safer if only a few go.” The others still didn’t look convinced. What Raftery was proposing was risky and they knew Big Boss wouldn't approve. They only had about two dozen men, a limited amount of ammo and a handful of RPG rounds. They were supposed to be building combat power. Hitting targets of opportunity, grabbing weapons and ammo, and ambushing small units that wandered too far north was their modus operandi. Going toe to toe with the Republican Guard was a good way to buy a small plot of Kurdish real estate and eat a dirt sandwich. “Listen,” Raftery continued, “We need to get those girls back. The villagers are distraught. The men are enraged, but there is no way they can do anything about this. These people have been emasculated and if nothing is done, they are gonna roll over the next time they show up. If we can pull this off, we’ll get more support than we have ever had since we arrived.” He hesitated a little before he went on. “Besides, I promised them I would do everything I could to find them again. It’s a matter of honor and we can’t fail.” Edmund spoke up. “We’ll, I guess it’s settled then. But do you have any idea how far they have gone?” “They left down the road headed east. The next village is a bit less than eight miles away. I think they will probably try the same stunt over there. If we’re lucky, we’ll find them there in the morning. If we do, you can radio Big Boss and get Mike to chopper everyone to a suitable ambush site.” “If you say so, Boss. We’ll be ready when you need us, but it’s going to take Mike some time to get the chopper ready and over here in time for us to do anything.” “Let me worry about that. We may not get these guys right away, but we WILL get them. We are gonna hunt them down and kill the fuckers. I promise you.” The entire village turned out for the funeral. The procession went through the village and ended in the cemetery that the villagers had used for generations. All the women were crying in that high pitched wail that was typical of Arab grieving. The men were more somber. No defiant shouts, no “death to Saddam” chants. The coffin bearers carried their burdens, covered in the few flowers that still remained during these last few weeks of summer. The bereaved led the way, walking numbly, lost in their grief and wondering why this happened. Allah alim. God’s knows best. Faith in Allah was their only comfort. The village Imam, who now had a black eye and split lip, led everyone in prayers and some verses from the Koran. Then the body was lowered in and several men immediately began burying the coffin. After some more prayer and reflection, the villagers slowly began to disperse and wander in small groups back to their homes. The families of the three men murdered stayed at the graves, trying to comfort each other. The families of the two abducted girls stayed longer as well, obviously wondering if they would be the next to bury kin. Everyone was lost in their grief. No one knew what they had done to deserve this. Yes, they were Kurdish and the Kurds were rebelling against Saddam, but these people had nothing to do with that. Sure, there were others involved. Many of the village’s men fought against Saddam, but clearly not these people. But they knew it was a collective punishment for simply being what they were born. If Saddam’s men could not kill the Kurdish fighters, they would go after their friends and families. Salam. May they find peace. Raftery watched this long after the rest of his fighters had left. The sun had already set and the air was getting cooler. The only ones that remained with him were the two he had chosen to go with him on his tracking mission. Finally he turned to them. “Let’s go.” Saier and Fadhil were two of his best Kurdish fighters. Tracking a vehicle on a dirt road isn’t that difficult, but night never made tracking easy. It was almost eight miles to the next village. They could be walking well into the early morning if they didn’t find them camped somewhere along the road. One of the main reasons that Raftery had picked Saier and Fadhil to accompany him was because they both were friends with several people in the neighboring village. It was a distinct possibility that they would have to go there to find their prey. The full moon was both a plus and a minus for Raftery. It allowed him a little more light to see tire tracks, but it also illuminated him more so than he would have liked. Right now, he wasn’t too worried about tracking the vehicle. This was the only road in the area, he already knew what general direction they we’re heading, and what there probable destination was. There weren’t too many places along the way where they could have bivouacked and been discreet about it, given the difficulty vehicles would have going off road in this region. No, even in the dark, Raftery wasn’t overly concerned about trying to find these guys. But he had to be very careful about what happened once he did find them. They started off, paralleling the road from the top of the rocky ridge that lay beside it. They approached the road to look for signs of movement every two to three hundred meters, just to make sure the Iraqis hadn’t tried anything tricky. The terrain was sparsely vegetated but very rugged, which made movement slow. It would have been even slower if they had tried this with a larger element. They had been following the twists and turns of the rocky dirt road for three miles now, and into the midnight hours, doing the same routine and waiting to find the enemy. The world was grey. This bleak region could get cold at night and even now Raftery could see his condensed breath in front of his face. The three of them were at the top of the ridge, looking down at the road. It twisted around a corner and out of sight behind the rocky hill just a bit further up ahead. In the moonlight, it was nothing but grey shadows against the darker grey of the ridge. He froze. There was something coming around the corner. He couldn’t tell what it was in the dark. A slight wind came wailing across the ridge and stirred up some dust in the road. To Raftery it sounded like someone crying miles away. The figure, if that was what was coming around the corner was obscured. Wait. Was it two? Yes, two grey shadows in a cloud of grey dust. Or was it? The moonlight was playing tricks with the dust. Was there anything there at all? The changing light made it hard to tell if they were moving or not. If there was something there and if it was moving, it seemed to be moving in the opposite direction, back towards the village they had come from. The moonlight began to change as invisible clouds in the charcoal sky filtered the fading light yet again. And then whatever it was on that road coming around the corner was gone with the dust as it melted away on the breeze. What was that? Was it anything at all? Raftery couldn’t be sure if he had actually seen what he thought he had seen. He turned around and looked at the two Kurds. Saier just shrugged. Neither of them had seen anything. What was it? They had no idea. They were all exhausted. Out again on another patrol with next to no rest. It wasn’t good for the mind. The more tired you were, the more likely you were to make mistakes. Things could get dangerous if you weren’t entirely focused on what you were doing. So what was he to make of what he had just seen? Had he imagined it? Saier and Fadhil didn’t seem to have seen anything. Was his mind playing tricks on him, making him see things that weren’t there? It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened to tired soldiers. When he was a young kid at Ranger school, he had once fallen asleep on security during a two week field exercise. He had a dream that he was eating one of the shortbread cookies that come in their rations. His battle-buddy hit him in the head and he woke up chomping on the feed tray of his M-60. Doing stupid shit like that could kill you, but man; that was a great dream. Focus. He had to stay hyper alert. Danger could be anywhere and he would need to be able to react to it without a moment’s hesitation if he wanted to get through this alright. Maybe Francis was right. Maybe he should have waited out the night in the village with the others and given himself some time to rest. Maybe they would have been more secure with more people and more rest. Maybe he hadn’t seen anything at all. Maybe it was the ghosts of the two young girls trying to find their way home. Enough! He had to stop second guessing himself. It wasn’t going to do him any good. His mind was wandering. He had to focus or he would get himself in trouble. Stay alert, stay alive, Raftery told himself. He could get through this. He got back out of his crouch and they again moved out, silently and slowly approaching the turn in the road from the safety of the higher ground of the ridge. When they got there, they could again see a bit further down the road in both directions until it disappeared into the blackness of night. It was time to go down and take another look. Saier and Fadhil waited on the higher ground, giving Raftery over watch as he approached the road again. He slowly approached and stopped by the side of the road, squatting down to take a better look. This time, as Raftery’s keen eyes surveyed the road in the dark grey moonlight he noticed a footprint. Then as he continued scanning, he noticed another. Maybe he didn’t imagine what he thought he saw earlier. Then there were a dozen, and several more in a group just a few meters away. The footprints weren’t very fresh. They were already blending into the dust stirred up on the road. In a few more hours he may not have noticed them at all. The tire tracks continued down the road, but obviously they had stopped here at some point. Did they drop of a listening post? All the tracks led in the same direction but there seemed to be too many to just be a listening post. Raftery turned and followed the footprints back off the road. They led towards a small rock strewn gully not far away. Then he froze as he saw something. It was a person lying down in the rocks. After a short pause, he cautiously took another step and saw the second figure lying beside it. He took another step forward with weapon ready, but neither moved. Raftery never really expected them to. He already knew what it was. He knelt down next to the two prone figures and confirmed it. It was the girls. He was too late. He stood, turned towards the two Kurds, and beckoned them to come to him. He then turned back towards the two girls and examined them more closely. Their faces were beaten badly and swollen. The blood from numerous cuts had congealed and turned into a sticky black. The hands were tied behind their backs and their clothes were ripped and torn. Evidence of rape. And strangulation, Raftery realized as he looked closer at the dark markings on one of their necks. By now Saier and Fadhil had come upon the scene. Neither of them said a word, but Raftery knew they were both fighting fiercely to contain their emotions. As for himself, he didn’t feel anything but tired. He was emotionally drained. He took off his old dirty rucksack and reached inside. He had prepared himself for this, even thought he wanted to believe he could have stopped it from happening. He unfolded two olive drab tarps and gave one to Fadhil. They would bring the two of them back and give them a proper Islamic burial. It was several hours past dawn, when they finally reached the village. Edmund had been watching the road with three other Kurds when they spotted the three of them with their heavy burdens. They came down and helped carry them into the village. In one look Edmund knew that it had been a hard night for all of them. They were exhausted. They had taken turns carrying the bodies over the rocky hills. It was too dangerous to try bringing them back on the road. They would have been sitting ducks if anyone happened to drive up on them. So instead, they carried the two bodies on the ridge, forced to slow their pace tremendously and tire themselves out a lot faster than Raftery had anticipated. When they entered the village, Raftery let the others turn the bodies over to the families. Without saying a word to anyone, the three of them went straight into the small mud-hut that they worked out of, drank some water, and fell into a deep sleep. |
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