The Genesis Plague

57

Jason and Meat climbed the embankment and low-crawled into a dense barley field that bordered the canal. Fifteen seconds later a lone pickup truck made a slow approach through the canal, heading straight for the bright flames shooting up from the fallen Blackhawk.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ Meat whispered, craning his head up and peeking out through the wispy stalks. ‘These guys look like kids.’

Scanning the enemy, Jason counted five men — the driver, a passenger, three men with machine guns in the cargo bed. Meat was right: even with scruffy beards, none of these guys looked older than twenty. Certainly not Kurds, thought Jason. He couldn’t help but wonder why an Iraqi Security Force patrol had yet to respond. Complete autonomy in Kurdistan would be slow coming if this was any indication of a US handover.

Jason felt sick to think that there hadn’t been time to pull Camel and Jam from the wreck, because the chopper’s engines were now fully ablaze. It wouldn’t take long for the bodies to be roasted. However, with the entire fuselage roiling in smoke, it was impossible for the Arabs to notice that the cockpit was empty. This gave them a false sense of security, because when the truck came to a stop, all five men let their guard down, certain of victory. They jumped out from the truck, shouldered their weapons and gathered close to the crash site. They raised their hands to the sky and began ululating and chanting ‘Allahu Akbar!’

When they started posing for pictures, however, something inside Jason snapped. This disrespect for human life was the very cancer that was eating away at the Middle East. Without thinking, he rose up and clasped his M-16. Caught up in their jubilation, the Arabs didn’t notice him trawling the top of the embankment.

Jason’s impulsive move surprised Meat. Left to devise his own tactical response, he opted to sneak behind the chopper to the opposite embankment in hopes of catching the Arabs unawares, should they spot Jason.

The posse formed a tight circle around the cameraman to view the digital shot he’d taken.

Positioned directly above them, Jason’s presence went undetected. He shook his head in disbelief and lowered the M-16. There’d be no satisfaction unless he could see terror in their eyes, so he whistled to get their attention. That did the trick. They turned in unison and a long moment of pure confusion paralysed the posse as they assessed his tatty Arab attire. Jason could tell that they suspected him to be one of their own.

On the opposite embankment, Meat emerged from behind the chopper’s severed, flaming tail. The Arabs had their backs to him, so he readied his weapon and waited for a cue from Jason.

With dramatic fervour, Jason jabbed his fist skyward and yelled, ‘Allahu Akbar!’

Only one Arab echoed his cry, but the man’s gullibility elicited only rebuking stares from the others. Trepidation had taken its hold. Two of the men exchanged calculative glances and prepared to make a play for their shouldered weapons.

‘You want a picture? I’ll give you a picture you won’t forget.’ Jason’s expression turned dark. ‘Everyone smile.’ Finally, he witnessed the terror he’d been waiting for.

Panic seized the Arabs. Before they could scatter or take up their weapons, Jason raised his M-16 with lightning speed and opened fire in smooth sweeps.

Meat followed Jason’s lead, strafing the Arabs from behind with no mercy.

Within five seconds the posse had fallen, riddled beyond recognition.

Neither Jason nor Meat stopped firing until their ammo clips had emptied.

When it was finished, the river ran red.

With no words spoken between them, Jason and Meat collected the weapons from the dead Arabs and loaded them into truck.

Jason snatched the camera from the ringleader’s dead grip. He took a few steps back, snapped some pictures of his own and slipped the camera into his pocket. Then he walked over to the truck and dipped into the driver’s seat. He grimaced when he saw paperwork on the dashboard that bore a familiar Arabic insignia.

Meat climbed into the seat beside him and saw it too. ‘Fucking Al-Qaeda. They’re like cockroaches.’

A disturbing realization settled over Jason: this ambush was no coincidence. These men who’d been lying in wait were no mere splinter group. ‘These guys had been tipped off that Al-Zahrani was driven out from the camp,’ he said. Contrary to his original appraisal, the enemy had cast its net wide.

‘They aren’t so stupid after all,’ Meat said in self-recrimination.

For a few seconds, Jason mourned the engulfed chopper, burned the image into his mind and soul. This would be the last time he’d underestimate the enemy. Then he put the truck in reverse and rode up on to the embankment to execute a K-turn.

Keeping the lights turned off, he backtracked through the canal towards the roadway.

Within two minutes, the dark silhouette of the bridge came into view. As he moved in cautiously, he spotted a dark form tangled on the rocks underneath the span.

‘What is that?’ Meat said. ‘Is that—?’

Seeing nothing moving, Jason flipped on the headlights. Now the form was easy to identify. ‘Yeah. It’s a body.’

Making a slow approach, Jason scanned the immediate area. No vehicles. No men.

‘All clear,’ Meat confirmed with a second set of eyes.

Jason parked the truck close to the bridge. He and Meat got out and slogged over to the dead man.

‘Is it one of them?’ Meat asked, focused on the headwrap and tunic.

‘No,’ Jason said. He pointed to the feet. ‘He’s wearing marine-issue combat boots. And that’s the same turban Al-Zahrani’s driver was wearing.’ He crouched next to the body, clasped the shoulder, and turned it over.

The head slumped back and the throat yawned open like a grisly smile where it had been deeply sliced from ear to ear.

‘Awh, Christ,’ Meat said, putting his hand to his mouth. ‘That’s foul.’

Immediately, they both recognized the face … and it was no Arab.

‘Staff Sergeant Richards,’ Jason said, shaking his head. ‘Figures.’

‘I never liked that guy,’ Meat said. ‘What a prick.’

Jason kicked the body into the water. ‘Damn, Crawford. What were you thinking?’ he seethed.

‘Hate to state the obvious, Google. But there must’ve been more of those guys under this bridge. ‘Cause they killed this fuck,’ he pointed at the dead staff sergeant, ‘and the truck he was driving isn’t here any more. I think that means Al-Zahrani is gone.’

‘Not exactly,’ Jason replied confidently.