HUMAN BOMB
THERE’S NOTHING LEFT of me but flesh now, and failing flesh at that. I run, stagger-step, stumble and weave down the street through a gaggle of pissed-off, screaming Marines. I pass Smokes and Kraft, then Major Todd Desgrossielles, our battalion executive officer. He’s shouting and trying to get us organized.
A couple of times I almost fall. I wobble like a drunk on jelly legs until I get to the wall in front of the house. The Humvee is still parked in the gate, the SAW gunner now going cyclic with his rate of fire. Across the street, Gardiola’s support-by-fire position is a mass of muzzle flashes.
I round the corner through the gate and onto the front lawn just as a burst of fire knocks chunks of masonry out of the second floor of the house. Halfway across the lawn, I slip and fall flat on my back. I land in the grass, a soft landing. This stuff would have been great for Friday night football. I turn my head to check the upstairs windows and make sure nobody’s shooting at me. When I do, my nose makes contact with the turf, and I breathe in the sweet smell of fresh-cut grass, evoking memories of lazy summers, softball, backyard barbeques, and fourth downs with the game on the line.
I roll onto my stomach and push up onto my feet. The other Marines with me go through the gate; Kraft, Snell, and Major D. in the lead. I’m carried away by their tide, and before I can even breathe again, we’re inside the hallway making another charge for the stairwell. This time, I don’t bother to check the downstairs.
I sense Snell right beside me, Kraft hard on his heels. Everyone’s shouting. Machine guns chatter. All I can think of is revenge.
Three great strides and I hit the landing, taking fire the entire way. An unsteady pivot on my left boot and I’m climbing the second flight of stairs.
“Allah Akbar!”
The voice sends a bolt of pure hate through me.
“Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar!” More voices join into the chant. Before I reach the last two steps to my corner, I can hear more of them shouting from the upstairs rooms.
Kill them. All of them. That is all you have left.
Dense smoke fills the foyer. I can’t even see the desk. The door to the balcony has either been closed, or the smoke is so thick it blots out the afternoon sun.
A wave of automatic weapons fire slams into us. Snell, Kraft, and I are in the lead again, and we flatten ourselves on the steps. The bullets come from the far side of foyer and rip into the wall at the back of the landing. This is new. Every other time, they’ve come from that oddball angle out of the second room.
I flip on my SureFire light that’s attached to my M16, hoping it will help me see the enemy. As soon as I do, the fusillade stops. Snell and I share a glance, and it dawns on both of us that Gardiola’s Marines in the support-by-fire position across the street must have been hammering away at us by accident.
“Allah Akbar!”
I pop up on one knee and start shooting. I can’t see anything or anyone, but I pepper the smoke with my M16. Snell starts shooting as well. Kraft and the others behind us lay down suppressing fire.
Muzzle flashes, like fireflies on an Ohio summer’s night, dance in the smoke. I see at least six or seven at once.
“How many motherfuckers are up here?” Snell screams.
“Shitloads! Pour it on them!” Kraft yells back.
Behind me, I can hear Major D. shouting orders. The fact that a field-grade officer is right here in the thick of the fight is a shock. But that’s Major D. About two weeks ago, he threw himself between an enemy grenade and two of our men. That’s the kind of man I’ll follow anywhere.
We exchange small arms fire with our enemy for another interminable minute. The noise, the smoke, the crazy flashes and colors play around me. I fire and reload like an automaton, but again we don’t seem to be doing any damage.
Kraft grabs my shoulder. I turn and see he’s offered me a frag grenade. I pluck it from his hand.
Do it.
I don’t want to live with this pain. My brothers need something to get us upstairs. We need to make sure there are no other Marines up there. We need to win this fight and end it on our terms.
The grenade is prepped. I drop my rifle to my side and pull the pin out. The grenade’s live, and I clutch it to my chest, hands firm on the spoon.
I’m naked now without a weapon at the ready. Should we be counterattacked, I’ll have no defense. This time, I don’t fear it. All I feel is rage and bitter hate.
Die fighting. There is honor in that.
End the pain. I’ll carry the grenade and charge into the far room. I’ll hold it out and die with the enemy I’ll have surprised.
One … two … three …
I step around the corner and charge into the foyer.
There’s a room ninety degrees to the right of the corner I’ve used as cover all through this fight. The entire time, I’ve never been able to get eyes on it. Now I see shapes moving in the smoke through that door.
And they see me. Christmas lights wink, bullets crack and whine. I’m standing exposed in a tornado of fire. Suddenly, my progress is stopped cold and I’m savagely yanked off my feet.
“Workman! What the fuck you doin’?” Kraft screams as he tugs me out of the line of fire and back to the cover of the wall.
Kraft just saved your life.
I don’t want it anymore.
I hurl the grenade. Three seconds later, it explodes with a muffled phoomph!
Snell’s eyes suddenly bulge and dilate with terror. His finger spasms on his AK’s trigger.
“Allah Akbar!” Jesus Christ, that came from the foyer! I peer around the corner of the wall and see shadows drifting through the smoke.
Counterattack. Holy shit they’re charging us.
Two figures, then a third appear. Snell’s bullets smack home, but they do not stop. As they move, the smoke around them curls and spins, concealing, then revealing them.
Snell snaps off five more shots. The insurgents don’t even look fazed. A bearded one reaches the center of the foyer. I see his outline in the smoke. He moves in slow motion, AK in his hands. I bring my rifle up, not bothering with my sights. Snell and I pump bullets into him, but he doesn’t go down. Instead, he moves toward us, screaming in Arabic as we tear chunks from his body.
Five feet away now. His two comrades lurk in the murky darkness behind him. I pin my SureFire on him and we unleash hell.
He drifts to a stop, body jerking as bullets hit home. The smoke trailing in his wake suddenly streams around his body. Tendrils waft across his face, masking his features even as he screams on.
Snell takes careful aim and hits him center mass.
Go down! Go down!
No man can take this punishment.
Yet this one does. With preternatural calm, he turns around and walks back into the smoke. A second later, all I can see is his dim outline. His two comrades fade back with him, walking like they’re in no more danger than if they were strolling at noon in Central Park.
They didn’t fucking die. How is that possible?
Snell and I have no more targets now. Both of us shake uncontrollably. I can hardly keep my rifle raised. That was the spookiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Allah Akbar!”
“They’re coming again!” I shout, my voice drained of hate and revenge and filled now with only stark terror.