Clandestine-IsaacHooke-FreeFollowup (39 page)
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Authors: Isaac Hooke
Ethan was too stunned, and too battle-weary, to speak. The adrenaline hangover and the throbbing pain in his bicep didn't help matters. Only moments ago he had come to terms with his own death. But he was going to live. He was actually going to live.
"We would have come sooner," William said. "But the damn Kurds made Aaron and I undress when we reached the front lines. They thought we carried suicide bombs, even though Doug told them we were on their side. Aaron couldn't fully undress because of the leg wound, and when the Kurds realized how badly he was injured they finally let us through."
"The bastards can be a little hard-headed at times," Doug admitted, swerving around a blast crater. "But they're fierce fighters."
The pickup jolted savagely over a series of potholes. The Kurd in the truck bed continued to fire the ZU in controlled, likely inaccurate, bursts.
"How's Aaron?" Ethan asked finally.
"Safe," William replied. "He's got a Kurdish surgeon attending him. One of the best, apparently. He's going to be fine. Like you, Ethan." William wrapped a brotherly arm around his neck. "You made it. We all did."
* * *
Doug and William brought Ethan across Kurdish lines, eventually dropping him off at a courtyard set among a ring of mostly intact apartment buildings. The area apparently served as some kind of command and control center.
Ethan sat on a Jersey barrier by a campfire as a Kurdish corpsman cleaned the wounds on his bicep. The corpsman didn't suture either puncture, instead leaving them open to drain—after he was done cleaning, he applied a field dressing and removed the Quick Cuff.
Ethan drank the water the man provided him, and sipped soup from a cup. He rested for a moment, and listened to the distant sounds of battle that periodically disturbed the night. He was feeling better, thanks to the analgesic the corpsman had given him, but also incredibly drowsy. He drank a Red Bull someone offered, and that helped perk him up.
On the Jersey barriers around him sat other Kurdish fighters, their faces subdued. They looked identical, feature-wise, to their Islamic State equivalents, though their skin was slightly more olive than other Arabs, and none of them wore beards. Also, the fervent, knowing look common to the mujahadeen was not present among any of them, though a few possessed haunted expressions. One fighter was a woman.
Some of the men spoke quietly among themselves, obviously about Ethan, judging from their sidelong glances. Unfortunately he didn't understand Kurdish, so he had no idea what they were saying.
One of the Kurds raised his voice, gazing right at Ethan as he spoke.
The corpsman translated in broken English: "He says you look strange for an American."
Ethan studied the Kurd. He was an older man, gaunt and bent. Crow's nests lined his eyes, sharp ridges climbed his forehead. He looked like a street vendor. Probably had been, before the war.
"For missions like this," Ethan said. "They
want
Americans who look strange. That way we fit right in."
The older man spoke again and the corpsman translated. "The battle emir says if he met you in the field, he would mistake you for Islamic State scum and shoot you down."
Ethan bared his teeth in a smile. "Tell your battle emir he could certainly try."
The corpsman translated, and the battle emir erupted in a hearty guffaw.
Ethan was about to stand, as he was eager to check on Aaron, when Doug arrived.
"I have someone here who would like to meet you," Doug said.
The operative stepped aside and Ethan felt his heart quicken.
It was her. He'd recognize those penetrating blue eyes and that breathtaking face anywhere.
Alzena wore a hijab without the veil, but instead of an abaya, she had on desert digital combat fatigues. She also carried an assault rifle slung over one shoulder. An M16A4 in fact.
"You're a soldier now?" Ethan said in disbelief, reverting to Arabic.
She shrugged, taking her place on the Jersey barrier beside him. "You thought I would flee my country without a fight?"
Ethan considered her words, then grinned. "Yeah."
She frowned. "You don't know me."
Ethan became serious, and nodded slowly. "No, I don't."
The other woman at the campfire asked Alzena something in Kurdish; Alzena looked abashed for a moment, then answered in the language. The other woman grinned mischievously.
Ethan felt one of his eyebrows rise in disbelief. "You're Kurdish?"
"Half Kurdish," Alzena corrected him. "On my mother's side."
"Interesting."
"Like I said, you don't know me."
Ethan stared at the campfire.
"So, here we are," he said into the uncomfortable silence that followed.
"Here we are," she agreed.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her raise a hesitant hand, lifting it toward him, but then she pulled it back. She tried again a moment later, this time seeming surer of herself, and rested a palm over his knuckles.
Ethan gazed into the pools of her deep, sapphire eyes; he wasn't entirely sure if the flickers he saw there were reflections from the flames, or her own fiery spirit.
"Fight for us," Alzena said.
Ethan looked away, exhaling deeply. "I already have." He slid his hand out from under hers and wrapped it around the stock of the M24 beside him. The feel of the fiberglass and carbon-fiber reinforced polymer foam comforted him.
"Fight for us," she repeated.
Ethan felt the ground rumble as a stray mortar landed beyond the ring of apartments. "I fight where I'm needed."
"You are needed here," she said firmly.
He pressed his lips together. "Here."
He glanced at the others around the campfire. Kurdish refugees turned soldiers. Muddy faces. Dirty fatigues. Haunted eyes.
They stood against ruthless oppressors who wished to thrust a radical interpretation of a peaceful religion upon them. They needed training. They needed guidance.
They needed hope.
Ethan's fingers involuntarily tightened around Beast, and then he released the weapon entirely.
He met Alzena's gaze.
"I'm only staying for the baklavas," he said.
She grinned. "What about the fatteh?"
"And the fatteh," Ethan agreed. "Can't forget the fatteh."
She launched herself at him. Her hug seemed stronger than any embrace he had ever felt before.
Staring into the flames, Ethan held her with equal fervor. Another shell exploded in the distance.
I am needed here.
This is the end. Thank you for reading!
Since you received this book for free, I'd really appreciate it if you left a review on Amazon via the following link:
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Isaac
You can keep in touch with me or my writing through one—or all—of the following means:
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USA Today
bestselling author Isaac Hooke holds a degree in engineering physics, though his more unusual inventions remain fictive at this time. He is an avid hiker, cyclist, and photographer who resides in Edmonton, Alberta.
His experimental genre-bending action novel
The Forever Gate Compendium
was an Amazon #1 bestseller in both the science fiction and fantasy categories when it was released in May 2013, and was recognized as Indie Book of the Day. His military science fiction novel,
ATLAS
, became a similar bestseller one year later.
ATLAS 2
came out in December, 2014, and
ATLAS 3
in June, 2015.
Clandestine
, his first foray into the thriller genre, was released in April, 2015. The sequel,
A Cold Day In Mosul
, came out in July 2015.
You can follow Isaac on Twitter @IsaacHooke and his website IsaacHooke.com.
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OOKE
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