What was left of an arm, the flesh charred and peeling away from the bones.
Bile rushed into his throat. Safir covered his nose and mouth and continued on, already turning numb inside. He’d lost family and friends to this same kind of weapon. Yes, he’d killed men; shot them or stabbed them. That kind of violence didn’t bother him because those men were traitors.
This was different. Yet again a drone strike had taken innocent lives that the U.S. didn’t give a shit about. He’d seen the carnage on videos online and heard about it from survivors but he’d never seen it up close before.
More body parts littered the ground as they neared the village. The explosion had cleaved away part of the hillside, leveling the mud brick houses that had stood here only an hour before. Blackened corpses lay scattered about the rubble, some poking out between gaps in the scattered rocks and stones. The acrid stench of the smoke combined with the burned flesh made Safir’s stomach roll.
“Here,” Anwar called out from up ahead.
Safir rushed over. In the light of the flames licking at the wreckage he could see pools of black liquid shining. Blood, he realized. One of the pools thinned out into a trail that led away from the rubble of what had been a house.
Heart pounding, Safir rounded the pile of rock and brick to see Qasim and the bodyguard bent over a figure lying on the ground. Without them saying a word he knew it must be Behzad.
Safir ran over and dropped to his knees, bending over the old man who was on his side, crumpled up like a broken doll left forgotten on the ground. In the firelight he could see those dark eyes were still open. A large chunk of rock lay across his lower legs, more black liquid spreading out from beneath him. One gnarled hand lay on his belly, the front of him soaked with blood. It glistened in his beard, trailing out of his mouth. Terrible wheezing sounds were coming from his shattered chest.
“Uncle,” he said urgently, sliding a hand beneath the limp neck.
A gurgling noise came out and those dark eyes rolled toward him, focusing for just an instant.
“I’m here,” Safir told him, not knowing what else to say. Over the smoke he caught the metallic tang of fresh blood. His stomach rolled, a terrible sense of helplessness invading him. Masking his emotions, tamping them down into the deepest, darkest part of him, he maintained his confident bearing. “I’m here.”
Those pain-glazed eyes stared into his for a few seconds, then turned vacant. Behzad’s eyelids drooped slightly. The wheezing slowed, then stopped.
Qasim looked up at him, his features illuminated by the dying fires. “We’ll have a team come in to give them all proper burials,” he said in a low voice.
Safir swallowed and eased his hand from beneath Behzad’s neck. The old man’s head lolled to the side, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ruins of his village. Where his wife, children and grandchildren now lay buried.
He sucked in a breath and pushed to his feet, queasy and shaky. “Let’s go.” There was nothing they could do for anyone here, except see to their burials once they reached a safe house back near Peshawar.
Safir gritted his teeth as a wave of rage blasted through him, so strong it raised the hair on the back of his neck. His skin prickled with it, his breathing growing labored.
He glanced down at Behzad’s body, lying still and broken on the ground. “I will make them pay in kind,” he vowed to his dead friend. “I swear it to you on my life.”
A gust of wind suddenly kicked up, carrying a stream of glowing embers up toward the heavens. Though Safir wasn’t all that religious, he knew Behzad’s spirit had heard him and answered.
****
After the last couple days of nonstop action and the emotional ups and downs he’d been riding since the CSAR op, the last thing Liam felt like doing was being back at the hospital. He couldn’t not come though.
One of his own was in the room at the end of the hall—maybe not fighting for his life at this point, but definitely fighting the battle of his life, and command was transporting him out tonight for further treatment in Kuwait. Liam wasn’t sure what he or Freeman could do for him right now, but they could at least offer their support and show they cared.
Man, he was dreading seeing Blinski like this.
Pausing before the closed door, he shot Freeman a questioning glance. At the man’s silent nod, Liam pushed it open and walked in. Immediately the smell of stale air and antiseptic hit him. His gaze went unerringly to the figure in the solitary bed in the private room.
Blinski was unrecognizable beneath the layers of bandages covering his head, face, arms, and upper body. He lay on his back, the only sounds his shallow breathing and the soft blip of a machine at his bedside.
Jesus Christ. Liam had known it would be bad, but… Shit, he felt so bad for the guy, the thought of the burn damage making him want to crawl out of his own skin in sympathy.
Masking his reaction and ignoring his discomfort, Liam forced himself to approach the bed. The doctors had told them Blinski would tire quickly and might not be all that coherent due to the pain meds he was on. Liam didn’t plan on staying long anyhow. Just long enough to say goodbye and wish him well, offer to help any way he could. It was the least he could do.
At the side of the bed he paused and looked down into his friend’s face. The doctors had amputated Blinski’s right hand and three fingers on his left hand yesterday. Both amputation sites were wrapped with wads of heavy bandages. The only parts of his face visible through the bandages were his right eye and his mouth. The skin around both were red and oozing, his lips blistered. And if they’d been left uncovered because they were considered the least damaged parts of his face…
Imagining what lay beneath the bandages made Liam’s stomach roll.
Taking a deep breath, he gripped the side rail with both hands and focused on Blinski. He had to do whatever he could to help him. “Hey, man.”
Blinski’s one functioning eye opened slowly and focused on him. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice shot. From screaming himself raw the night he’d been wounded. When Liam had asked Cam Munro later, the PJ told him Blinski had screamed until he finally lost his voice a few minutes prior to landing at Bagram.
Liam forced a small smile, banishing that horrific image. “Good to see you’re still with us.”
Blinski didn’t answer, merely shifted his one-eyed gaze to Freeman, who stood awkwardly off to the side.
“Wanted to come see you before they transferred you to Kuwait,” Freeman said, not making any move to come closer.
That light blue eye focused back on Liam. “You heard about…others?” he rasped.
Liam nodded, the reason for the hoarse voice almost as sickening as the injuries themselves. “Yeah, we heard. We were at the ramp ceremony yesterday.” They’d stood at attention, in formation as the two flag-draped coffins had been loaded aboard a C-130 for transport. First to Germany, then back to the States where they’d be buried with full military honors. Seeing strong men he served with breaking down in tears at something like that was always a punch to the gut and the sense of loss had hit him hard.
Blinski’s eye began to tear up and Liam’s stomach muscles grabbed in reaction. The man sucked in a breath, seemed to shift restlessly on the bed, as though he was in agony despite the drugs they were pushing into his IV. Liam could hardly stand it, wished he could do something to ease his suffering. “Shoulda been with them.” The words were a mere whisper from that raw throat, full of guilt.
Liam’s heart sunk. Blinski needed all the inner strength and positive thinking he could muster right now. “No, man. There’s no way you could have been there. We gave them a proper sendoff, so don’t worry.”