Renegade (2013) (13 page)

“Your mom is pretty smart.”

“I also told her I would understand if she wanted me to stay away from you, but she asked me if I wanted to stay away from you. I told her I didn’t want to be scared like that again.”

“I understand too, kid. It’ll be okay.”

Hector’s eyes were wide with innocence and some anxiety. “She told me to remember how you help me with my bike. How you help me with my homework. And how I shared breakfast with you. She told me to think about you when you’re not lost. She said that’s what she had to do with her father. She said that sometimes he scared her, but he was good to her, and on the bad days she remembered that.”

Pike waited, not knowing what to say.

Reaching into his pocket, Hector pulled out a chain with a small compass no bigger than a fifty-cent piece. “When I first started walking home from school, I was afraid I would get lost. Mom walked me home and showed me where to turn, but she also got me this compass.” He held it up. “You know how to use a compass?”

“Yeah.” Pike’s voice felt tight.

“Good. Mom said you would. She said the Marines would have taught you.” Hector placed the compass in one of Pike’s hands, then curled his fingers tightly over it.

“I can’t take your compass, Hector.”

“I want you to have it. I know how to get home from school.” He looked up at Pike, holding on to Pike’s big fist with his two small hands. “When you go away, I don’t want you to get lost. I want you to come back safely.”

“All right.”

Hector took his hands back and got on his bike. “I’ve got to go to school.”

“I gotta go too.”

Hector started pedaling away, but he turned to look over his shoulder. “Come back, Pike. Do not get lost.”

Gently, Pike shoved the compass into his pants pocket. He watched Hector till he was out of sight, then hailed a passing cab. He shoved the duffel into the trunk and slid into the rear seat. Once the cab was moving, Pike lay back and closed his eyes, psyching himself up, feeling the life he’d had there in the neighborhood fall away from him as he mentally armored up for the waiting war.

BY THE TIME CHARLIE COMPANY
arrived in Kandahar, Pike was eager to get down to business as usual.

He was also relieved to see that his unit’s gunney was familiar to him.

Gunnery Sergeant Francis Towers stood six and a half feet tall and was powerfully built, a man constructed for the Marines and for the battlefield. His skin was coal black and his general attitude could be intimidating for anybody who stood in his way, and since Gunney Towers didn’t dawdle, a lot of people ran the risk of getting in his way.

“Pike, isn’t it?” His voice was a deep bass that could carry over mortar fire on a battlefield or dress down a company of raw recruits. As a seasoned full-time Marine, he’d been cycled into Charlie Company as a liaison for one of the lieutenants.

Pike stood straight for inspection in front of the line of Humvees Charlie Company had been assigned for patrols in the city. They were taking to the streets this morning.

Despite the fact that as a kid Pike had never cared for authority, and he didn’t like a lot of it in the Marines, he liked Gunney Towers’s no-nonsense approach. “Yeah, Gunney.”

Stopping in front of Pike, Towers glared down at Pike’s rank designation. The private’s stripes were Velcroed on, and he’d be pulling those
when he moved out onto the street. “Thought you was a lance corporal after that hitch in Somalia. I remember signing the paperwork.”

“I was.”

“Then why are you wearing private’s stripes again?”

“Because I earned them.”

Towers snorted and shook his head. “Guess the reason for that will be in your field service report.”

“Yes.”

“You do know that the brass expects you to advance in the corps, don’t you, son?”

“I do.”

“An advancing Marine is a battle-ready Marine.”

“Yeah, but sometimes you draw the line, Gunney.”

Towers squinted at Pike. “You got crossways with an officer, didn’t you?”

“Actually, he got crossways with me. He didn’t want to apologize.”

“You’re a hardhead.”

Pike shrugged. “It’s not an endearing trait, Gunney, but it’s kept me alive.”

“Maybe you ain’t no lance corporal, Marine, but you’re an experienced and combat-ready veteran. When you’re out here with me, I expect you to act like one.”

“Roger that.”

“Because we got a bunch of raw guys to whip into shape. I need you to help me keep them alive.”

Pike nodded, feeling some of that pride of being part of Charlie Company begin to fill him. That was one of the benefits of being a Marine that he hadn’t expected when Mulvaney talked him into signing up. Pike hadn’t been interested in joining the Marines till the marshals started having a cow over it; then being able to join became a deal breaker.

He kept his pride carefully measured, though. It wasn’t something he told many people about. He knew he could walk away from it if he needed to, but he enjoyed the thrill of being there. It was almost like the feeling he had when he was working at the garage and watched someone drive off in a vehicle he’d repaired. Something was fixed when he finished up.

Gunney Towers kept moving down the line, inspecting the troops. His voice boomed out, and men and women in the unit came to attention. The newbies shivered in their combat boots.

“Pike.”

Turning toward the voice, Pike recognized Corporal Bekah Shaw. Her battle-dress uniform consisted of Kevlar with reinforced bulletproof plates that felt like lead. A combat harness with an ammo rack, grenades, and webbing containing other equipment covered that. Her load-bearing equipment also carried a water bladder for personal hydration. Large goggles fit across her helmet, not pulled over her face yet. Her MBITR inter-/intra-team radio hung at her shoulder. She shouldered an M4A1 assault rifle like the one Pike carried.

“Shaw. I never saw you to congratulate you on the promotion, so congrats.” She was one of the few Pike acknowledged on a personal level. The rest of the time he was all business.

Bekah smiled. “Thanks. Gunney put you with me. We’re supposed to train the two people in our group.” She eyed two Marines standing only a short distance away. “Private Ezekiel Weathers.”

The tall blond-haired kid looked like he was all of eighteen years old, straight off the baseball field from whatever podunk high school he’d attended. His cheeks were tanned but too smooth to have much beard growth. Nervous tension tightened his jaw, and edgy alertness quivered in his blue eyes. He stepped forward and snapped into parade rest.

“It’s just Zeke, ma’am. Only my momma calls me Ezekiel.”

“Don’t
ma’am
me, Zeke. I’m a Marine, same as you.”

Zeke dipped his head. “Sure. Sorry.”

“Where are you from, Zeke?”

“I was born in Randall, Minnesota, but I moved around a lot. Finished up high school and wanted to go on into college. Signed with the Reserve to help pay my tuition.” Zeke grinned good-naturedly. “Didn’t count on getting called up so soon.”

“We live in fast times. Try to stay up.”

“I will.”

Bekah glanced at the other Marine standing there. His round face and thick shock of black hair marked him as Asian as much as his butternut complexion, and he had a deliberate hard-guy expression that he was working on. Wraparound sunglasses hid his eyes, and a toothpick stuck out between his lips.

“Private Johnny Cho. From Los Angeles.”

“Everybody just calls me Cho.” He smiled a little but worked on looking cool. The toothpick slid from one side of his mouth to the other.

Pike ignored the man’s attitude. Acting cool went away in a hurry during battle. How a guy—even a Marine—behaved under fire wasn’t determined until the rubber met the road.

Bekah glanced at Pike. She had her hair pulled back and looked good. She wore wraparound sunglasses and had a little tan, but it was from being outside, not fake-baking. Pike didn’t know much about her other than she was from Oklahoma and had a kid. That reminded him of Hector and the compass in his BDUs.

Something about her was different this time out, though Pike couldn’t put his finger on it. She acted more confident, more together, and he didn’t think it was a boost in rank that caused it.

“We’ve been assigned to two-man teams. We’re supposed to sweep the city, look for tangos, and otherwise present a presence to shore up the local Afghan National Police.”

Pike didn’t say anything. The assignment was what he expected. He wasn’t a big fan of the ANP. Most of the local militia guys still weren’t trained well enough to keep themselves alive against everything the Taliban and al Qaeda threw at them.

Bekah continued. “Since you and I have combat experience, I’m going to split us up with the new people.”

“Sure.”

“Pick whoever you want.”

Without hesitation, Pike nodded toward Cho. “New guy number two.”

Cho frowned at that. “The name’s Cho.”

Pike ignored him. A Marine learned how to work within a group without the need for individuality during working times, or that Marine ended up dead. It had been the same way in the group home. Somebody went along to get along. That was just how things worked. Downtime was different.

Bekah called the new guys in for a radio check, which Cho again resented.

“Hey, we got this, Shaw. This isn’t the first time we’ve been on maneuvers.”

Bekah faced the man directly. “It’s your first time in the sandbox, and it’s your first time working under my lead. So it is your
first
time. Got that? Otherwise I’ll check to see if they need another Marine on mess detail. That can be your first day here if I say so.”

Nostrils pinching, Cho dipped his chin. “First time. Got it.”

“Good.” Bekah nodded toward Pike. “You move when he says move. You do that, you may end up intact at the end of the day.”

Cho nodded, but he wouldn’t look at Bekah.

“Okay, Marines, let’s saddle up.”

Pike turned and headed toward one of the Humvees. Cho moved
more quickly and headed for the driver’s seat. Pike growled. “Don’t even think about it.”

Cursing beneath his breath, Cho altered course.

Pike slid into the driver’s seat and adjusted it for legroom.

Cho took his helmet off and started to place it on the floorboard.

Pike slid the checklist from between the seats, looked over the radio freqs they’d be using, and glanced at the streets they’d been assigned. He’d already studied the maps earlier that day over breakfast in the mess hall. “Pick up the helmet and get it on.”

“It’s hot.”

“It’s gonna get hotter.”

Cho grabbed the helmet and put it on, leaving the chin strap undone.

“Secure the helmet.”

Cho didn’t move.

Pike lifted his eyes to the other man. “I tell you again, I’m gonna haul you out of this Humvee and work you over.”

“Touch me and they’ll put you in the brig.”

“I like the brig. I don’t have to put up with annoying wannabe Marines too stupid to live. There’s a reason I’ve got as much time in this uniform as I do and I’m still wearing these private’s stripes. The corps likes the job that I do well enough that they put up with me. You don’t have that luxury, and I guarantee you’ll spend longer on med leave than I do in the brig.”

Cho fastened the helmet strap.

After folding the street map and putting it away, Pike hit the starter and listened to the engine rumble to life. He’d already checked the two that were assigned to his squad. Both of the vehicles needed some tinkering, but they appeared to be in good shape. Later he’d find out if the assigned vehicles would be theirs for the duration or go into rotation. If his squad was keeping them, he was going to poke
around some more and take a better look at what kind of shape they were in.

Stiff and rebellious, and thankfully quiet about it, Cho deliberately focused on the line of vehicles threading out of the motor pool. Pike shoved the transmission into gear and let out the clutch, pulling in after Bekah.

Zeke waved at them like he was a kid going on a trip.

“Dumb cracker.”

Pike drove with one hand, not liking the looseness he felt in the steering. That would definitely have to be fixed. “He’s young, naive; you’re stupid because you think you know it all.”

Cho bristled, his shoulders straightening like he was going to say something. But he didn’t.

Pike wasn’t entirely happy about his teammate’s reticence. The flight over and the training hadn’t had enough physical aspects to get Pike relaxed. He kept driving, though, knowing from the uptick in violence against NATO military personnel that it wouldn’t be long before he was in the thick of a fight.

DESPITE THE CONSTANT THREAT
of attack by the Taliban or al Qaeda, Kandahar’s citizenry struggled through their daily lives. Jobs still had to be done; children had to be fed. Despite the fear that hung over the city, people kept moving.

Behind the Humvee’s steering wheel, only a few feet from the bumper of Bekah’s vehicle, Pike looked out at the neighborhood and respected the courage it took for those people to get up every morning. Several of the buildings showed scars—recent damage as well as old. A few of them had burned-out rooms where soot tattooed the sides of the building above the windows in twisting paths of destruction. Other structures were in the process of being rebuilt.

A few minutes later, the two Humvees rolled by the squat, gray two-story stone building that housed the Kandahar prison. Only a few years ago, the prison had been attacked by the Taliban. A suicide bomber had blasted the wall open, and other tangos had unloaded a unified rocket-launcher attack on the guards that had left several dead. As many as a thousand prisoners, many of them Taliban, had escaped. On the other side of the road, farther back, pomegranate orchards stood tall. The trees had provided cover for the insurgents, and the escapees had fled into them, quickly disappearing.

Now the prison stood again. Razor wire ran along the top of the
stone walls and guards walked their posts. White police vans with red stripes and light bars mounted on top were parked outside on the street. The uniformed ANP watched the Marine convoy go by but didn’t acknowledge them. The men stood hard-faced and unreadable.

Traffic forced Pike to stay on his toes, constantly tapping the brake, shifting the transmission up and down as the uneven pace continued. Yellow cabs zipped daringly among the other vehicles, but they gave a wide berth to the Marine Humvees. Pike knew that wasn’t out of respect. It was because the drivers saw the Humvees as potential targets and didn’t want to be caught in the blast radius of a rocket attack.

Wagons, some pulled by people on bicycles or on foot and some by small donkeys, trundled along the street and created hazards. Several of the wagons were loaded with goods, including poultry and other livestock. More people rode refurbished bicycles or scooters.

Several minutes later, the Marines reached the market area and Pike’s senses went on full alert. In a crowded street, the Marine vehicles were most vulnerable to attack.

Vendors had set up alongside the street under canvas tarps they’d hung from the bombed-out buildings behind them. Sticks held the tarps at an angle and provided some shade from the hot morning sun. Despite the heat, men wore traditional clothing that covered their bodies, and many of the women wore burqas. Women remained a target for the Taliban.

Shoppers pored over fruits and vegetables, chickens and goats, and racks of clothing. Merchants talked to the people or sat on folding chairs in a good position to watch over their goods.

The desperation that radiated off the street reminded Pike of the Tulsa neighborhood where he lived. He’d never noticed the resemblance before, but that small patch of Tulsa wasn’t far removed from Kandahar when it came to hard living and distressed people. Maybe
it was like that everywhere. The Tulsa neighborhood just didn’t have the same kind of in-your-face physical threat level.

“Man, how can they live like that?” Cho peered out the window with a look of disdain. “Raggedy clothes, dirty, buying stuff out of carts instead of stores, taking home live chickens.” Cho shook his head again. “That’s a harsh way to live.”

“Where’d you grow up in Los Angeles?”

“Wilshire.”

“Next door to Koreatown.” Petey had wanted to see California. He and Pike had done business there for a time, till things got crazy with the Mongols.

“Yeah, but I never went to Koreatown except to sightsee.” Cho shook his head. “Old people with old ways live there. My grandparents lived there for a while; then they got out and bought a laundry. My old man went to college and became a stock trader. He stayed around Wilshire because my grandparents live there, but we have a nice house. Swimming pool. Guest house.”

We
have a nice house. Pike smiled at that. Cho wasn’t even out of his parents’ house yet. “These people don’t live in nice houses because they can’t afford to and because nice houses tend to be a tango target. Probably a lot of those people you see out there are squatting somewhere—an alley, a condemned building—getting by day to day and hoping they don’t get caught in a cross fire between Taliban, al Qaeda, the ANP, or us. Or get slammed by a bomb blast that was aimed at someone or something else.”

A man and his wife, each carrying a child, hurried across the street when traffic came to a standstill. Ahead, Bekah braked for them, allowing the couple time to cross with their kids.

“If I had to live like this, I’d move.”

“And go where?” Pike shifted as they got under way again. He tried to swallow the instant anger he felt at the younger man, reminding
himself that Cho hadn’t seen much of the world. Cho looked out the window and shrugged. “I don’t know. Someplace other than here.”

“Anywhere else isn’t home. And a lot of the country is worse than here.” In some ways, moving in Afghanistan was a lot like moving from foster home to foster home. No matter where a displaced kid in the system went, it would never be home.

“Then move to a different country. They gotta think of their kids.”

“Ain’t that easy. How do you suppose they’d get their papers?”

“I just got here. I don’t have any answers.”

“They’ve been here all their lives. They don’t have any answers either. Until they get them, they still have families to feed. Don’t you look down on them just because they’re struggling. You don’t have that right.”

Stung, Cho looked back out the window.

Pike turned right at the corner, following Bekah. Looking at Cho’s profile, Pike felt a little sympathy for the younger man, but mostly he knew that Cho needed instruction. It was kind of like helping Hector with his math homework, only Cho didn’t want the education. “So instead of blaming these people, shut up and pay attention. Staying alive may depend a lot on what you learn and how fast you learn it.”

Cho didn’t say anything, but he gave a slight nod.

Movement on the left side of the street caught Pike’s attention. Adrenaline surged through his body and his senses went on high alert when he saw a man dressed in a turban and wearing a dirt-stained
shalwar kameez
lift a long tube from a cart pulled by a donkey. Small chicken coops filled the cart, stacked as tall as the man who pulled the rocket launcher to his shoulder.

Pike hit his radio. “Bekah! Rocket-armed tango at nine o’clock!” Then he reached for the M4A1 as Cho came alive beside him.

Cho started to get out of the Humvee.

Leaning through the window, Pike leveled the assault rifle. “Stay in the vehicle, kid.”

Ahead, Bekah’s Humvee was mired in traffic, pinned by the press of human bodies and other vehicles.

Bekah’s voice remained surprisingly calm. “I don’t see him, Pike.”

“Get out of there.” With the iron sights resting on the man with the launcher, Pike started to pull the trigger, then had to hold up as a young Afghan male stepped into his line of fire and the tango moved behind a row of chicken coops. Pike cursed but held his target, tracking through the poultry and the pens. “I don’t have a confirmed shot.”

Bekah cut her wheels hard to the right and barreled into an old sedan, shouldering the smaller vehicle to the side. Metal screamed as the vehicles traded paint, but the Humvee slid through.

The rocket leaped from the launcher, spitting out a black contrail as it spun toward the Humvee. Instead of hitting the Marine vehicle, though, the warhead slammed into one of the bright-yellow cabs that chose that moment to dodge out around stalled oncoming traffic. The cab caught the rocket in the right wheel. The RPG operator obviously wasn’t greatly skilled with his weapon of choice.

The resulting explosion shredded the cab’s wheel assembly and overturned the vehicle into Bekah’s Humvee. Trapped between the lines of buildings on both sides of the street, the sound of the explosion rolled over the immediate vicinity with thunderous force. Some people ran, but others threw themselves onto the ground.

With the tango in full view now, Pike held the rifle steady and put two quick rounds into the man.

Scanning the neighborhood, Pike switched over to the base freq. “Indigo Dispatch, this is Indigo Nine. Request backup. We’ve been hit by a tango attack.”

“Roger that, Indigo Nine. Are you operational?”

“Affirmative.”

“How many tangos?”

“Can’t confirm that.”

A man pushed himself up off the ground thirty feet from Pike’s Humvee. The guy was young, only the beginning of a beard on his face, probably just into his teens. He stared hard at Pike and lifted a pistol. The young man’s voice was hoarse, filled with hate and fear.
“Allahu Akbar!”

Pike reached for Cho, wrapping a hand behind the other Marine’s head and shoving him down as he ducked as well. A short, rapid torrent of bullets slammed into the Humvee, but thankfully none of them came through.

Once the bullets stopped, Pike rose and shoved his M4A1’s barrel through the open passenger window, lining up his shot. The young man tossed his weapon aside and took a small detonator from his clothing. He screamed louder as he ran toward the Humvee.

“Allahu Akbar!”

Pike fired immediately, pumping four shots into the terrorist’s center mass. Brass spun from the M4A1 and bounced inside the Humvee.

Stumbling, the tango went down to one knee and pressed his free hand to his chest. He looked surprised at the blood that covered his palm and fingers.

Cho stared at the dying young man. “You shot a kid! That was just a kid!”

Knowing the man was still a threat with the detonator, Pike fired again, wishing he had a heavier caliber with knockdown power. The final bullet caught the tango in the face, but not before he pressed the detonator.

The bomb erupted in a wave of concussive force and shrapnel.

“I’m hit!
I’m hit
!
” Cho clapped a hand to his face and pulled it down to look at the blood now on his hand.

Roughly, Pike grabbed the man’s chin and swung his head around
to survey the damage. A piece of shrapnel about the size of a thumbnail jutted from Cho’s face. When Pike touched the metal to see how deeply it had gone, it fell away, leaving a puckered area that was already starting to swell and blister from the heat. Blood spatter was smeared across the side of the Marine’s face.

Turning his attention back to the street, Pike picked up his rifle again. “It’s not your blood. You’re fine.”

Tentatively, Cho worked his jaw as if trying to convince himself he was all right.

“Bekah.” Pike raked the street and immediately picked up more activity. Three windows on the opposite side of the street suddenly sprouted rifle barrels. Gut clenching, realizing how vulnerable they were on the street, Pike lined up on one of the shooters as the man opened fire indiscriminately on the market. Squeezing the trigger, Pike bracketed the rifleman and put a trio of bullets into the man’s chest before he fell back inside.

Ahead, Bekah’s Humvee struggled to move forward, but the blast and the cab had knocked it up on two wheels. The tires on the right side screamed, and rubber burned, giving off thick, black smoke. The vehicle wasn’t moving.

A note of panic edged Bekah’s response. “We’re pinned. We can’t move.”

“Then hang on. I’m gonna move you.” Pike dropped his weapon between the seats, grabbed the steering wheel in both hands, and let out the clutch. He covered the distance between the two vehicles, leaning on the horn to get people moving out of the way. He lined up behind Bekah’s Humvee as bullets ricocheted from the buildings and the vehicles. Rounds tore through the Humvee’s roof. At least one of the bullets caromed off Pike’s helmet, smacking him hard enough to dip his head.

Lining up behind the other Humvee, he stomped the accelerator.
The bumpers met with a muffled clang, then continued to grind as Pike powered forward. Grudgingly, the trapped Humvee rolled. Metal screamed as the Marine vehicle grated against the stone building.

The stricken cab bumped and jostled and shifted as Pike kept the accelerator down. As the vehicle banged against Pike’s Humvee, he spotted the dead men inside the cab. Evidently shrapnel had torn through the front of the vehicle and shredded the driver and his passenger.

Two more explosions rocked the street. Glancing in his rearview and side mirrors, Pike spotted two blast zones that had knocked people flat in a circular radius around the detonations. The bombs killed indiscriminately, leaving men, women, and children scattered in their wake.

Cho cursed, equal parts anger and fear.

Pike kept his voice level as he continued shoving the other Humvee forward. “Keep watch, Cho. Don’t hesitate to shoot.”

Looking pale, his toothpick no longer in sight, Cho nodded. “Okay.”

A moment later, Bekah’s Humvee dropped onto all four wheels and the tires gripped the street. Pike followed her back into the traffic and roared through the maze of stalled and confused cars. He clipped several of the vehicles as he passed, but most of them had been abandoned.

“Here!” Bekah pulled her vehicle to a halt at the mouth of an alley that was barely wide enough to admit the Humvee.

Pike swung in at a right angle behind her, creating a temporary bulwark against any enemies who might pursue them.

Bekah got out of the Humvee with her rifle at the ready. She scanned the surroundings, talking rapidly. “Indigo Dispatch, this is Indigo Nine Leader. We’re going to form a line here, see what we can do to help contain this situation. We’re not the only target. The
tangos are firing on the civilians.” She looked over her shoulder at Pike and pointed at the fire escape snaking up the side of the nearby buildings. “Take Cho. Grab the high ground.”

Pike nodded and moved at once, but he didn’t like leaving Bekah behind with a green Marine. However, having a sniper spot would go a long way toward helping. He ran up the iron steps, his boots ringing rapidly. Cho’s weight slammed down on the stairs right behind Pike, and Pike hoped the fire escape would hold as it shifted and swayed beneath them.