Black Wolves

He thought about how cold his hands were as they marched through the moon-like scenery of the hillside. It was cold, up eight thousand feet in the Himalaya Mountains. Bright too- too bright. The moon shown over the stone-age, desert landscape like a giant spotlight. Everything, from the occasional tree to the small, mid-evil looking mud structure was silhouetted with a glowing, silver outline. Special operations units are used to working at night, but not on a full moonlit night. Intel had said that a top Taliban commander was bunkered in a cave high up in the mountain and the leaders decided to give it a green light. All of the men had grumbled about being sent out into such a moonlit night, about losing their most important tactical advantage, but in the end, they dawned their equipment and masks and went anyway.
Forty-three of the nation’s best warriors trekked through the bright wilderness. They had been trained to be experts at their craft, the best of the best. It certainly was no easy feat to perform a mission like this, to go after some of the worst of the worst; but this is what they did, and they enjoyed it. Having been through such intense training together, the platoon had forged a bond that was closer than brotherly. They could maneuver and shoot past each other without so much a word; they knew what the other was thinking and intended to do. Brotherly bonds this close are what brought them from greatness to the best.
The climb was arduous- brutal even. Most of it was not too bad- for the past five kilometers since they left the helicopters at the LZ it had been a fairly easy climb- well, as easy as it could be. The crisp, thin air of such a high altitude burned their lungs and starved their tiring legs of precious oxygen. Then, with one more click to go, the climb had become what felt like straight up. Loose rocks were everywhere; the men were clawing their way up trying to keep a sure footing to stay quiet.
Everything was quiet, aside from a few missed steps and loose rocks. The vapors from their breath billowed out of their mouths into the crisp, cold night like smoke from a steam locomotive chugging up a hill. The green glow of their night vision was almost not needed- the bright moon had washed the hillside in light, which uncomfortably silhouetted them. At two hundred meters out, a small lean-to made of an old, ripped up tarp was found in a dry wash. The lead squad moved into position around it, following the quiet hand commands of Sergeant Peterson. The machine gun moved to an over watch position as the rifleman filed aggressively under the tarp. It was empty, besides some pots and knives. It was an obvious kitchen area.
Sergeant Alex led his squad past the lean-to as Sergeant Peterson’s squad searched it for any credible intelligence. No cave was in sight, but they knew they were close. Sergeant Alex held up one finger indicating to the rest of his squad that they were one hundred meters from the alleged cave entrance. Suddenly he threw up his palm and took a knee. A sentry was walking nearby. The man, tall and thin, thick-bearded and wearing a loose tunic and dirty wool coat paced around a small fire. Sergeant Kipler took a single shot with his silenced rifle, killing the man instantly, the bullet splitting his head much like a hammer to a ripe watermelon. The bullet smashed into his forehead travelling faster than the speed of sound, instantly beginning to tumble and splinter. The man’s forehead collapsed from the impact and the fragments began to liquefy his brain tissues. The tumbling bullet burst from the rear of his skull, taking most its rear and brains in an eruption of crimson mush. The man dropped, dead before ever hitting the ground, and tumbled down the hill. Alex looked over to give kipler and nod of approval.
He never heard the shot. By the time the crack echoed from the RPK machine gun, the 7.62 millimeter bullet smacked Alex with a punch just below his throat. The soft lead flattened as it ricocheted off of his collar bone, ripping a gaping hole through his lung on its way out through his back. The register of the gun caught an unconscious Alex as he hit the cold, frozen ground.


The door chimed as Alex walked through with his wife. It was a small, dingy Halloween store on Abercorn Street. A new idea had been proposed by his platoon sergeant as their deployment neared- they were going to wear masks on missions. It wasn’t good enough in his view to be tactically proficient and aggressive. He wanted to scare the shit out of the Afghans as well.