Ash – A Thriller

Al-Qaeda used cells to detonate IEDs. Even though I wouldn’t say I liked its wide-open nature, I figured the house wouldn’t have much going on since they only sent eight of us. They usually dispatched more than that if something big was going down. But still, what the hell was the point? Another day, another example of bureaucratic incompetence. I sent the other fire team back to the base while we bagged and tagged the little bit of contraband we found. It didn’t take eight guys to round up some cash. Money had a way of disappearing as it passed through more hands, too. It would be easier to keep track of it if fewer people were involved. Sergeant Barker kicked a hole in the wall on our way out. He was just a kid, but this was already his third tour in the sandbox. To say that he’d become disillusioned with the whole thing would be a bit of an understatement. Barker was a good soldier, though. He did what I asked of him, always. Even though I was his lieutenant, we’d developed a friendship. He liked football, beer, and hot women, which made us blood brothers.
Along with the rest of America, suitable?
His little boy sent him an email daily, which always perked him up in the mornings as he read it. Though the kid was five years old, Barker had only spent two of those at home. The other three had been here in Hell. That was no way for a family to function. A son should know his father. Watching Barker catch a bullet would always haunt me.
He was stomping through the front door, bitching the entire way when he stumbled. I thought he’d tripped over something at first. The snap of a sniper’s
rifle reached us a split-second later. Barker staggered a half step sideways before collapsing in the dirt.
“Get down!” I lunged for the wall beside the door, barely getting out of the way as a bullet whizzed by. Brady crouched by a window, his mouth twisted in fear. “Is Barker hit?”
“Yeah.” I poked my head around the frame, scanning the opposite side of the street for a microsecond. Wood splintered before my face as I jerked my head back inside. “I can’t spot the fucker.”
I looked back at Private Sandford. “Take Brady’s spot.”
He ran to the window and ducked down. Brady crawled to the corner and stood up as another barrage of rounds peppered the wall by the window.
“What are we going to do?” he asked. I heard the panic in his voice. I couldn’t blame him—I was about to shit myself. “We can’t leave Barker out there. He’s dying, man!”