Strapped across his chest were rows of magazines for his M4. It shot a 5.46 millimeter round, and he carried thirty extra mags. It was heavy, but the nine-hundred and thirty rounds made him feel better about being alone out here.
Dale also carried an M4, a .45 caliber pistol on his right thigh, no secondary rifle. He had a half dozen magazines for his pistol, and dozens of magazines for his M4 as well.
Comstock carried seventy pounds of gear with relative ease. Adrenaline and the thrill of the hunt caused him to hardly notice the weight. Dale was a big man, worked hard to remain in top shape, and bore the burden with ease.
As did his partner — Sergeant Jefferson.
The man was bigger than Comstock, muscles rippling under his shirt. He was tall, wide, his face mean and chiseled. He had fought alongside Comstock for many years, the two quite close. They trusted one another, they respected one another, and if it meant dying for one another, so be it.
York was the outsider. He kept pace, though, keeping a sharp eye, knowing that Comstock was watching him. He, too, carried an M4 select fire. He carried a .45 like the others, and an MP-5 machine gun across his back. The rifle was light, small and compact. It shot a.9 mm round, could empty a thirty round magazine in seconds. The rounds were hollow point, maximum grain for maximum effect. Though the bullet size was small, the German rifle had long since proven its worth in close quarters combat.
Fifty minutes later and Comstock, Jefferson and York felt the ground beneath them level out. They were on the canyon floor, each tucking away behind boulders, finding cover and scanning the surroundings.
Comstock looked to his right, seeing the silhouettes of the four also taking cover. He looked left, saw Hernandez and Marcus doing the same.
“All right, eyes on,” Comstock said into his mic. “We’ve got four hundred meters to the village and no cover until then. Let’s take a few minutes and keep eyes on. Sun will be down soon. The darkness should conceal us,” Comstock said.
And they waited.
95
“Fucked up they left ’em,” Jefferson whispered to York, leaning in close, shaking his head. “Nobody gets left behind. Nobody!” Jefferson was a man of honor, of integrity, and he could never excuse such actions, no matter the reason. Perhaps he was short sighted, perhaps naïve, but that didn’t matter to him. Jefferson believed in the motto, he believed in the brotherhood of 1st SFOD-D.
“Yeah, man, tell me about it,” York replied. “Don’t think for a second I didn’t try, bud. I fucking fought a dozen Marines over the matter, though I guess it wasn’t their fault.”
“I’d do the same, brother.”
“Then some men came — private contractors. They fucking black-bagged me, stuck me in a room. Strapped me to a bed, man! Fucked me up real good. But still, I fought. I just needed to reload. Shit, I was planning on walking back but they wouldn’t let me out,” York explained.
“It ain’t right,” Jefferson said. “You get some shots in, eh?”
“Fucked ’em up pretty good,” York said, a glimmer in his eye, grin on his face. “Still… shouldn’t have gone down like that. We should have gone back in.”
“Yeah, brother,” Jefferson acknowledged, nodding his head. He felt sympathy for York, an overwhelming urge to help the man, feeling his sorrow as if it were his own. “Damn them for not going to get your team,” he stated.
“They wouldn’t do it, bud. And McClain and the rest of the boys were ready. Amped up for a fight, ya know? Kline took over, called the shots. McClain argued and the next day he and his boys got sent bye-bye. For the next few weeks, I was the only Delta on base. Until you boys came, that is. I didn’t even know ya were here until that Elizabeth gal talked to me.”
Jefferson paused, staring at the landscape, the sun still high in the sky. He looked back to York, saying, “Tell ya what, brother… we’re gonna find your men. Maybe alive, ya never know,” he offered.
“I appreciate it,” York began, “but I know they’re dead. I accepted that already.”
Jefferson eyed him, asking, “How do you know, man?”
“Once you see them… these things, you’ll know too.”
“Can we… can we kill ’em?” Jefferson asked softly.
“Yeah, bud, we sure as fuck can.”
“Then how do you know your team is dead?” Jefferson asked.
York turned, staring at Jefferson, his eyes wavering on the brink of tears. “I saw it all. I saw what they’re capable of. I saw what they did…”
Jefferson nodded, his face grim. “That’s fucked up,” he muttered.
“… you don’t know horror ’til you’ve seen ’em.”
A paused ensued, a moment of silence.
“What’re ya here for?” Jefferson asked.
“Payback,” York replied.
“Hooah!” Jefferson replied, his mouth wide, grinning. “I’ll help ya, brother. I’ll help ya get some.”
York nodded, again fighting back the tears.
“What are they like?” Jefferson then asked. “What are we really up against?”
Even Comstock turned at Jefferson’s words, looking back to York as the man replied.
“I have nothing to hide. No secrets to hold from you. I’d suggest taking your team back, pulling out. Let me go in, alone.”
“Not gonna happen, brother,” Jefferson said.
York nodded, saying, “We’re up against the very demons of hell. ’Cause that’s what they are, ya know? They’re demons.”
“Fucking demons,” Dale said, slowly shaking his head in denial.
“Demons,” York repeated. “They’re big, bigger than Clements even. They’re strong, move fast. They don’t care to shoot, either. It’s not that they can’t, they simply choose not to. You’d think that’s a good thing, but it’s not. What they like to do is rip you open, start eating while you’re still alive…” York trailed off.
Eyes wide, Jefferson asked, “Say that again?”
“They’re like animals, but smart. Different. I know this: whatever was human in them is gone now. Long gone. Don’t think for a moment they’re anything but demons. You can’t hesitate, not even a second.”
“You said they can be killed,” Jefferson said.
“They can. A few rounds in the chest will do the trick. We’re going to run out of ammo, so I’d suggest being conservative. Head shots are better.”
“Head shots? You telling me we up against zombies or something? That’s insane, man,” Jefferson said, bewildered.
“It is. But they’re worse than zombies. Don’t think about the movies, bud, just smoke ’em. There will be hundreds, maybe thousands,” York replied.
“That Russian gal said…”
“Don’t care what someone says, I was there. Saw ’em, and trust me when I say, we’ll run out of ammo,” York replied. “Remember to save one for yourself,” he added.
“Fuck man, whatever,” Jefferson muttered. Like Dale, he could hardly believe his ears.
“Don’t ignore it. Darkness resides in the heart of Khost. They move quick, real quick. They blend in like chameleons. One moment there’s nothing, the next they’re standing in front of you.”
“How do we win this?” Jefferson asked.
“That’s the million dollar question now, isn’t it?” York replied, madness in his eyes. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch ’em in the open, though I doubt it. They’ll be in the cave. That fucking cave! It’s their home, their lair, and it’ll be their advantage. They can blend into the walls, they’ll come from the ceilings, from around corners.”