Prelude Part Two
The minutes ticked by till they passed the hour mark. Wallace didn’t hear most of the conversation, as the old men, Americans, and the translator bantered about with talk of trees, community needs, and unemployment. It wasn’t until he heard one of the civilians get loud that he realized the talk wasn’t going well.
“Well, keep your goddamn trees, then! Keep selling to terrorists and you’ll never get this god-forsaken shit hole out of the middle-ages!” That caused quite a flurry of chatter between the Afghani translator and the mullah, with the Captain trying to desperately do damage control. It’s not polite to use Allah’s name in such a manner, especially in a mullahs own home. Not polite at all.
They came out of the hut with the officer still trying to tell the translator to tell the mullah what the man had MEANT to say. The translator ignored him. Wallace watched as they came out and counted heads. Eight villagers had gone in, only seven came out. He stole a glance inside. One middle-aged man sat cross-legged on the floor rug with a cell phone in his hand. The man looked up, gave Wallace an innocent look and a nod, as he quickly put the phone under the folds of his robe. Shit. Wallace turned back to his Captain and strode over to lean in close so the officer would pay attention.
“Sir. Man inside just got off his cell phone. I think it’s time to go.” Wallace didn’t wait for a response, and started giving his squad orders to get ready to move.
“And get your Kevlar back on.” He said, as he pulled his K-pot off his hip, where it’d been dangling since the officer had given the “hearts and minds” order. Trying to watch his men, get the Captain moving, and keep his weapon at the ready, he dropped his helmet. As he knelt down to retrieve it, a barrage of fire rang out from above. What seemed like a hammer hit him just under his right ear, and he tumbled over, into the dirt. The Captain grabbed Wallace by his IBA collar and drug him into the hut’s doorway as the squad found cover and returned fire up the hill. The lone gunman had emptied a thirty round clip and had stopped firing about the same time the squad started their suppressing fire downrange. Nobody had a target.
“Cease fire!” the officer yelled when it was apparent they weren’t taking any more rounds.
“Anybody got eyes on a target?” No response.
“Then get doc over here and check out Wallace! He’s bleeding.”The medic pulled out a bandage poured a little water on the wound to wash the blood away so he could see it. There was only an inch or two graze near the bottom of the skull, and where his earlobe had been, just a jagged and bloody pulp. The medic pressed the bandage against the graze and started taping up the ear. Wallace felt like he had a massive headache and his ear throbbed like the devil, but he could still hear, despite the burning sensation as the doc patched him up.
“Hurry up, doc. We need to leave.” The squad was ready. The Captain was shouting orders to a private to follow him inside the hut. They drug out the man Wallace had seen with the cell phone and the officer stood by as the soldier searched him. No phone. He ditched it already. Figures. The elders had scattered with the first round, leaving the man to his fate. They had no need to fear. The soldiers had no evidence to prove the man had called anyone, so he was released. Hearts and minds.
They walked down the trail, past the edge of the village, every man alert and on edge. The contractors were scared shitless, and the Captain was quiet. Everyone expected the worst. Mortars or snipers or something. It didn’t happen. On the way down, they radioed the Geek.
“Warrior Three, this is Two. Received fire, one wia, but mobile. We’re coming your way. Be alert. Two over.” The Captain didn’t waste words.
“Affirmative Two. We heard it. Come home. Three out.” The squad with the vehicles breathed a tad bit easier.
The ride back seemed to take forever, instead of the twenty minutes it actually was. They all assumed an IED or mortar attack would follow them back to the outpost. Nerves were on edge. The small talk was at a minimum. Wallace sat in the lead truck, his Kevlar jammed onto his head, with the bandage bunched up under it. It hurt like hell, but he didn’t care. With every bump on the road, the helmet rattled his head and made his ear sting. Even with the pain, all he could think of on the way back was
‘Fuck their hearts and minds.’
Rolling Stones 