Episode 97
(Yemen, April 19, 2009)
Once they reached the building, Matt stationed Wen on the roof and ordered him to kill anyone who emerged. Armaments were heavy and difficult to smuggle, so the trio didn’t carry much in the way of firepower. Each of them had only a side-arm and a single breaching charge. They’d have to co-opt enemy weapons and supplies as needed. Matt requisitioned Wen’s charge and blew the front door.
Confined spaces such as bunkers were particularly dangerous for Matt, one of the many downsides to not being protected from “want”. There were myriad ways he could be asphyxiated, and no shortage of these arose in combat. Smoke and carbon monoxide were covered by his protection from “poison”, though he was unsure why they qualified. Though not themselves a threat to him, they often coincided with the displacement of oxygen. Explosions were notoriously bad for this, consuming or displacing all the oxygen in an area. In an enclosed space, he could easily die before the natural airflow replenished it.
Generators were almost as bad. He had come across more than one bunker filled with corpses because some idiot thought a portable generator would make life a bit more bearable. It did, in a sense. Death was, after all, the only way life could ever be bearable.
This was the true reason he had opted for protection against pain rather than “want”. It left that door ajar. This wasn’t something he told others, of course. He was perfectly happy to be thought a wimp or a coward. He was one and was happy to be.
A man of courage and grit wouldn’t worry about pain or eternity. How long would it be before that man was reduced to a whimpering shell, courage and grit long gone, begging without hope for reprieve? Matt didn’t plan to stick around long enough to find out.
He wasn’t cruel enough to wish such a fate on others or advertise it to them, but he inwardly smiled when others criticized his choice. His choice may have been a fatal mistake, but there’s was an eternal one. Time would tell who was right.
Maybe Fours like Victor ultimately would find a way out, but the Eights probably wouldn’t. He wondered what it was like to be an Eight. They had no such escape, and they knew it. All he had to do was leave the engine running. Or not pay attention on a mission.
A couple of gunshots disrupted Matt’s thoughts, and Victor waved him over.
“There’s air?” Matt asked.
With a look of annoyance, Victor nodded. “Now who’s the coward?”
“I thought we were shelving that,” Matt replied while crouching through the hole in the door.
“Fine.” Victor lit a flare.
“You shithead. Use a flashlight,” Matt snapped. Had Victor done that on purpose? A flare wouldn’t consume enough oxygen to pose a threat, but in a small enough space these things could add up.
“Oh, right.” Victor poked his head through the door and tossed the flare outside. Wen gave him a puzzled look.
“Well, put it out, asshole, before half the country sees it,” Matt shouted to Wen from within. Then he cursed. In front of them was another door. A second door meant a second breaching round, which would leave them with just one.
Inside, a ladder led down to a large room. Matt expected some gunfire, but quickly saw why there wasn’t any. Victor already had killed the only two armed men.
That was it? They had slogged through heavy fire for that? He had expected at least half a dozen kidnappers. All that remained was a group of fifteen civilians, huddled and scared. Matt wondered where the mortar was, then noticed it in a corner. What good would it do there?
“Anyone out there?” he called to Wen. A faint “no” floated back.
“Does anyone speak English?” Victor asked in his usual stentorian voice.
A chaos of affirmative replies followed. “We’re all American,” one of the men explained.
“And you are?” Matt demanded.
“Dr. Frank Metlin.”
Matt shook his hand amiably. “Well, we’re here to rescue you.”
“From who?”
“From whom,” Victor corrected without turning. “I’ll leave it to you,” he said to Matt.
“Why me?”
“You’re the boss,” Victor replied with a wink before disappearing up the stairs. Matt watched him from below. Asshole.
He hadn’t expected this. Three or four would have been manageable, but fifteen? How the heck would they evacuate them all? It had been hard enough getting a single low-altitude helicopter in unnoticed.
Matt looked at the people. They had a confused, expectant look on their faces. Some seemed hopeful, and a couple were chatting furtively in a corner. Maybe a softer touch would help. They were hostages and must have been through a lot. He had read somewhere that it was important not to make the victim feel like it was their fault.
His thoughts were interrupted by a clattering from above. Something hard hit Matt in the head. It was one of the soldiers’ submachine guns. Victor descended with another in hand. He looked over the people and handed Matt an extra magazine.
“Well, let’s get started.”
By the time Matt realized what was happening, Victor already had dispatched six of the civilians. Matt grabbed the barrel of Victor’s gun, earning a nasty look.
“What the hell are you doing?” Matt demanded.
Victor stared at him as if he were an idiot. “I’m finishing the mission.”
“The mission is to rescue the civilians.”
“No it isn’t.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Victor pointed at the screaming civilians. “We’re trying to have a conversation. Shut up. Now.” After an ominous wave of his gun, the din died down.
“What did you say?” he asked. “These idiots were being too loud.”
Matt looked at him in disbelief. “What are you talking about? The mission is to save, not kill.”
“You can’t save people,” Victor admonished. “It’s a waste of time to try.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Matt screamed in exasperation.
“The mission is what it’s always been: to clean up a mess before it becomes public. The minute one of these bozos talks to a reporter the mess will be beyond cleaning. What did you imagine we were going to do with a room full of civvies? Did you happen to bring a school bus?”
Matt stared at the ground. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”
Victor sighed and turned to one of the men who seemed slightly less petrified than the rest.
“You there. You weren’t kidnapped were you?”
“What do you mean?” the man asked, clearly terrified that whatever answer he gave would be the wrong one.
“Those men …” Victor pointed upstairs. “Were they holding you hostage?”
The man shook his head. “They were here to protect us.”
“From who?” Matt asked.
A woman ventured the name of a local warlord.
“See?” Victor explained, “The situation is exactly as we were told.”
“I wasn’t told this,” Matt replied, still stunned.
“Sure you were. These people were the problem. Their little NGO was about to become a major nuisance, and they’re American. How else would we deal with this?”
Matt kicked himself. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? They wouldn’t need to worry about appearances when rescuing American hostages in a place like Yemen. This should have been a white operation, so why make a point of sending in their so-called super-soldiers? Was that why the Colonel had given him that whole spiel about the types of operations?
“You’re lying,” he shouted. “We’re supposed to save them, and you just fucked it up. I’m going to report this.”
Victor laughed. “And you’re going to leave” — he counted — “nine witnesses? I’ll bet your boss will looooove that.” He smiled. “Maybe I’ll be the one he assigns to dispatch you. Better than a medal.”
Matt locked his eyes. “I’m your fucking commanding officer, and I order you to…”
“To what? Disobey the people who hold my leash?” He leaned into Matt’s face. “No.”
Victor snatched his gun from Matt’s grip, but met with no resistance.
“Here,” he offered. “I’ll make it easy.” He pointed the gun at Matt’s head and pulled the trigger.
“You shit-tard. Are you …”
Victor laughed. “Now they know your secret. Still no?” He looked at the crowd and pointed at Matt. “Hey, I’ll tell you something useful. You can kill superman here with a plastic bag over the head. Like…” He gestured at something on a woman’s lap. “… like that one there.”
Matt gave him a venomous look. “You fucking son of a bitch…”
“Relax,” Victor replied, reloading his submachine gun. “I told you: we’re just following orders.”
Matt glared at Victor. “You knew this was our mission and didn’t tell me? Your commanding officer?”
“Knew it? Of course I knew it. We both knew it. I actually listen when I’m given orders.”
“He never said anything about killing civilians.” Matt’s protests had become weaker, and the survivors were growing palpably agitated.
“Why would he? As I said, I listened. You just heard.”
“We both heard the same damned words. How would you know what he really meant?”
Victor shrugged. “That’s the difference between a general and a grunt.” Then he started firing.