It had been a few weeks since the suicide bomber attack. Without weekends off, ops starting in the middle of the night, and a lot of time spent in boredom interspersed with a few seconds of sheer terror or adrenaline - time was hard to keep track of. Plus, there was really no reason to know. There had been numerous other close calls since the suicide attack. There were rocket attacks almost every day. A sniper took a few shots at them when they drove through the market. They had found and destroyed a few IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices). The highlight though had come on a warm day when their vehicle had gotten stuck in the mud on top of a pit viper’s nest.  It was late, the moon had set an hour ago. The cold night air bit through Kellogg’s many layers of jackets, gloves, and thermals. He lifted his night vision goggles to his eye and scanned his vehicle's assigned sector. The four vehicles were parked in a wagon wheel formation, each vehicle responsible for monitoring a pie slice of the desert. The Marines not on watch slept in the center in hastily dug fighting holes, in case there was a rocket attack while they slept. _So many stars!_ Kellogg had been looking at them every night for months, but it never ceased to amaze him how many he could see. They were on day three of a ten-day interdiction operation. A few hundred meters away was a road the enemy used to transport supplies, fighters, weapons, and drugs. Of course, the locals used it too to transport goods to the markets and visit relatives. Still, they had to stop every vehicle and search them. Some days they would wait all day for one car to drive down the road. On other days, they would get two cars every fifteen minutes all day! So far, they had not gotten anything besides farmers transporting sheep and wheat to the markets. Kellogg looked forward to his fire-watch shifts. For two hours, it was quiet and he could lose himself in his thoughts, thinking about simpler times. Daydreaming helped the time pass and kept his mind off his ever-dwindling sense of hope. When he first arrived in the country, he was certain he would come home. Now, his hope to live through this war and go home to his wife was all but gone. He thought about everything from starting a small business, having a family, mountains he wanted to ski and climb, and he thought about food - it had been months since he had tasted fresh vegetables. Now, all those things felt distant and unattainable because he had given up hope of ever making it home. He had seen too much, and they were still not even halfway through the deployment. He knew the odds were stacked against him. So, he focused on the mission and his Marines. Often, his mind would drift to the memory of his mountain. He remembered how peaceful and tranquil it was up there. _I wonder if I will ever know tranquility again?_ --- Jason Cook had always wanted to be a reporter. Out of college, he landed a gig with the local newspaper from his hometown. It was not very glamorous, but he kept at it eventually working his way to senior correspondent. His lucky break came on a dreary fall afternoon when the town's bank was robbed. The gunmen were apprehended but not before they shot up a police cruiser and killed a security guard. The story garnered national coverage - nothing sells as much advertising space as violence and death. His coverage of the story resulted in an offer from the Associated Press in New York City. He gladly accepted and never looked back. His wife left him shortly thereafter. She was already sick of his 80-hour work weeks, but when she found out he was sleeping with Veronica, the 6 o’clock weather lady, was the final straw. He now lived in a small apartment in a decent neighborhood in Brooklyn. So, when the opportunity to embed with coalition forces in Syria as a combat correspondent arose, he was the first to volunteer. He needed a change in scenery. Some excitement.  Boy was he mistaken! So far it had been pretty dull being embedded with an infantry unit in Syria. He had missed the suicide bombing by only 20 hours. He had taken a few photos of the shredded M-ATV but none of the Marines wanted to talk about it much. They avoided him for the most part, which was fine with him. They were all rednecks, pro-gun, uneducated kids anyways. He had grown accustomed to the pomp and class of New York City, but sometimes suffering was required to progress as a reporter. However, all of his “suffering” was about to pay off. The second break of his career was driving straight for them in the dark night… With no headlights. ![[nightVision-i5.jpg]] --- Kellogg lifted his night vision goggles back to his eye and scanned. Headquarters, aka Black Platoon, was due to arrive soon with fuel, water, chow, and the CO who had some intel to pass on to Kellogg. _What was that?!_ He shifted back to the sand dune. There, a lone civilian truck with its lights off was driving between the dunes. _What are they doing driving around at 0115 with no lights on? Let’s go find out!_ “Stand to, Marines. We got one!” Kellogg yelled. _So much for tranquility,_ he thought. Within seconds, Marines came flying out of their hastily dug fighting holes, grabbing weapons, and scurrying towards their vehicles. Kellogg flipped off the radios and thermals to prepare the vehicle to start up (if they left them on, the radios would dump their fills (cryptography), and the thermals would be damaged by the electrical spike). “Fire it up!” Kellogg yelled to his new driver who had been sleeping across the front seats on a stretcher but who was now wide awake. The vehicle started, belching black smoke out into the still night air. Kellogg turned the radios back on and scanned for the truck. It was getting closer. Headed straight for them. “This is Blue 1, we have one truck, 2 clicks out, coming straight for us at my 2 o’clock.” Kellogg called into the radio to alert the other vehicle crews. Everyone was loaded up, gunners swiveled their Mark-19’s and .50 cals towards the incoming vehicle. Kellogg keyed the mic, “Right echelon formation. Blue-3, you go in this time, the rest of us will provide cover.” The vehicles lurched forward, quickly gathering speed. They got in formation, and when the pickup was about 500 meters out, Blue 2 fired a flare towards it. The flare bounced off the truck's windshield in a shower of sparks. The pickup slammed on its brakes, spraying dirt and rocks into a big dust cloud. The Marines stopped off to the side of the pickup, careful to keep a few hundred meters away in case it was a Vehicle-Borne Improvised Explosive Device (VBIED or V-Bid for short). All the crew served weapons were aimed at the truck whose occupants began spilling out, their hands in the air. _They’ve done this before,_ Kellogg mused to himself. Blue 3 began calling the occupants forward one by one, having them lift their clothing to be sure they were not hiding weapons or wearing a suicide vest. Once the three occupants were cleared, the Marines moved them to the other side of their M-ATVs, so the occupants could not see what the Marines were doing. Two Marines approached the vehicle and searched it. Judging by their demeanor, there did not appear to be anything of interest inside. The Marines began walking towards Blue 2 to report - their radios were off, as they did not want an errant radio transmission to accidentally set off any bombs which may be hidden in the vehicle. “Blue 1, this is Blue 4, be advised we have another vehicle approaching. Coming in fast.” The gunner on Kellogg’s vehicle swiveled over and aimed in on the quickly approaching vehicle. Blue 4 fired a flare, which bounced off the ground right in front of the vehicle. Instead of stopping, though, the truck sped up! Blue 1’s gunner attempted to fire another flare, but it was a dud. The vehicle was only about a hundred and fifty meters away from the stopped M-ATVs and closing fast when Blue 4 opened up with their .50 cal. Tracers tore through the cold dark night, and sparks flew from the vehicle. A second later, the other three vehicles opened up too. The pickup swerved hard left and flipped over and over, tumbling across the sand. Blue 4 kept firing, pumping round after round into the lump of metal which only a few moments ago had been a barely functioning pickup truck. The Marines who had been searching the truck hit the deck, and they began firing their personal weapons towards the threat. Two of the scouts from Blue 3 had tackled one of the occupants from the first vehicle they had stopped when he got spooked by the gunfire and tried to run. It was sheer chaos with a lot of radio chatter coming across the net. “Break, break, break… Clear the net.” Kellogg yelled into the mic as he exited his vehicle, ensuring a round was chambered into his M4. “Blue 4, advise status. Over.” “Blue 1, this is Blue 4, we are good. Holy shit that was close!” “Copy Blue 4, Blue 2, Interrogative - what is your status?” “Blue 1, one of the vehicle occupants we searched got spooked and tried to run. My scouts tackled him, we are cuffing all of ’em now. Both of my scouts are ok. Break... One was hit by some shrapnel in the vest. Doc is checking him out now. He should be alright - just got the wind knocked out of him a bit.” “Copy Blue 2, prepare a 9 Line Medevac just in case…” “Blue 3, I need you to provide cover for Blue 4 - I’m going to have them move in and search the van.” “Break… Break, this is Black 1 actual (Kellogg’s Commanding Officer), Blue 1, we just saw tracers coming from your location. Advise status over!” “Black 1, this is Blue 1, be advised we were conducting a routine vehicle stop when another vehicle approached, we fired flares but the vehicle kept coming so we engaged. Break… One Marine has been hit by shrapnel - Doc is checking him out now. He should be fine. Break… Blue 4 is going in to check out the pickup truck we shot up.” “Negative Blue 1, we are 1 mike out. Got you in our thermals now. Hold tight till we get there. How copy, over?” “Solid copy, Black 1,” Kellogg replied. “Hold your position, Blue 4. HQ is 1 mike out with our supplies, and the CO wants to get down here before we clear the pickup truck.” _What is he doing!? Probably just wants to get in on some action since he has been cooped up for the last week pushing out paperwork and reports from the suicide bomber attack._ Kellogg thought to himself. The Headquarters Platoon convoy pulled up shortly and snapped a hasty coil around Blue’s position. The CO’s vehicle drove right up to Kellogg’s. The CO hopped out and met Kellogg. “Let’s go check it out, Lieutenant!” the CO ordered. “Aye Aye, Sir.” Kellogg replied. They slowly approached the vehicle, weapons at the ready - there was not any movement though. They shined their weapon-mounted lights into the vehicle. “Oh god!” exclaimed the CO. In the driver's seat was an elderly man and a woman in the passenger seat both were hanging from their seatbelts. There was a small child lying on the roof of the overturned vehicle. “Corpsman UP!” Kellogg screamed. Seconds later, the corpsman came running up at full speed. Kellogg got on the radio. “Blue 4, bring in the interpreter. We have one alive! Break… Blue 3, spin up a hasty medevac! 1 local national. Gunshot wound to the stomach. 2 KIA Local Nationals.” The Blue 4 scouts came running up with the interpreter while the CO and Kellogg pulled the woman out. The child was dead, and so was the older man. The woman was spitting up blood. The interpreter knelt down beside her, holding her hand. She was talking, but not very coherently with the blood oozing from her mouth and nose. She uttered a few words while the Corpsman was cutting off her burqa. She was young and very beautiful. Maybe 20. She coughed violently, blood splattering onto her face and down her neck. She gasped and then went still, the life seeping out of her eyes. The interpreter turned towards the CO. “She said her son was very sick. They were rushing him to the doctor.” “Damnit!” exclaimed Kellogg. He had not seen anyone die, well besides the suicide bomber, but that didn't really count. One second he was there, and the next he was replaced by a fireball. Watching someone die in such a horrific manner was eerie, and he felt the bile rising in his throat.  _Why didn't they stop!?_ Kellogg said out loud. No one responded though - they were all thinking the same thing. Suddenly there was a flash. “What the fuck was that?” Kellogg exclaimed. “It’s the reporter,” the Corpsman replied as she rolled her eyes. “Oh great! Just what we need.” --- Jason who had been sleeping in the back of the M-ATV when it had lurched into the night to stop the first vehicle. He didn’t even bother to get out of his bag. However, when he heard a shout, followed by swearing, a whole heck of a lot of gunfire, and a lot of radio chatter he could not quite make out -  he perked up and looked out the window. Nothing but stars. The draft blowing in through the open gunner's hatch on top of the vehicle made him shiver, and he tucked his face into his jacket.  _This place is cold! I wonder what Veronica is doing right now?_  Jason called her every chance he could from the company sat phone. His editor never complained about the bill, so he kept calling. Suddenly there was a white light. A parachute flare. Jason could make out 4 M-ATV’s, a civilian van, and a mangled mass of metal which looked like it was once a pickup. Marines were running around. Then the flare went out, and it was black again.  _Better get the camera out. This might be good._ Jason checked his watch; it was 4 pm back at home in New York. Jason tugged on the gunner's cargo pocket, who stuck his head inside. “What’s up, Jason?” “Can I get out?” “Hold on a second, got a hairy situation.” “Ok.” Jason replied as the gunner stood back up. _Fuck that! I'm getting out._ Jason thought to himself as he opened the door and slid out, careful to close the door quietly behind him. He made his way to another vehicle and stood behind the tire. Another flare went up. The scene before him was utter chaos. He started snapping photos. A Marine kicked in the window of the van and reached in, pulling out a person wearing a white burqa. He zoomed in. They removed the burqa.  _She is gorgeous,_ thought Jason. Then she started coughing up blood. Another Marine climbed into the vehicle and pulled out a small boy.  _He cannot be no more than 8_. Jason realized in horror as the boy’s arm fell limp to his side.  _Oh, this is good!_ Jason thought to himself. He could see the headlines now (with his name right below it). Marines Kill Women and Child While On Routine Patrol in Syria. He had always opposed the war, and he knew his anti-war colleagues back home would gobble this up.  _And it is just in time for the 6 o’clock news too!_  Jason snapped a few more photos. In his haste to get a better angle though, he bumped the camera against the side of the M-ATV, which accidentally turned on the flash. When he took another photo, the flash gave away his presence. The Marines gathered around the civilians turned to look at him, and a Marine came running over. “It is not safe, sir. You need to get back in the vehicle. We have not cleared the area yet.” “Is she dead?” Jason asked. “I am not sure. It does not look good, though.” the Marine replied. Jason climbed back in the M-ATV and fired up his laptop. He pulled the SD card out of his camera and plugged it into his computer and checked to make sure his satellite phone had reception, which it did. He scrolled through the photos he had just taken.  _Oh, this one is PERFECT!_  He opened up the photo. There was a Marine’s trousers covered in blood. The mangled pickup in the background, with a Marine pulling the lifeless body of the young boy out. The woman, who was lovely and so young was eerily lit by the parachute flare. In five minutes, he had a quick paragraph written up and uploaded it to the AP server via his sat phone.  _Now I call my editor to make sure he gets it. This could be Pulitzer-worthy!_ --- It was a slow day in New York. The stock market had leveled out; which was no surprise. The President was on vacation - fly fishing in Wyoming. Again not a surprise. Nothing to report except the bridge construction. _You would think in the largest city in North America there would be something “newsworthy.”_ The phone rang; it was a foreign number. Barbara contemplated not picking it up; it was almost five - she could go home soon. On the fifth ring, she changed her mind. “Hello?” “Barbara!?” a voice squawked from the other end. “Yes. Who is this?” she answered, perturbed to have to pick up the phone. “Hey, it's Jason. Listen, I do not have much time, satellite reception is fading fast. Check your email. I got something good for…” Then the line went dead. Barbara turned her computer back on. _Damn it, Jason. This better be good!_ It took a moment for the email to load. She opened his email and gasped. She printed the photo, practically ripping the photo from the printer before sprinting to her boss's corner office. ### Next Chapter: [[6 - Wildfire 🔥]] ### Previous Chapter: [[4 - Chance and Birds 🐦‍⬛]]