Path of Jen: Bloodborne (28 page)

“
I need gas, food, and guns,”
he
thought.
“Guess I need to go home."
He backed out of the
parking space and sped toward Baghdad International Airport. His
team set up a small camp within what used to be Camp Liberty. It
was supposed to be their fall back place. That’s where they would
have spent their down time after the current mission…if they had
made it back. Deep South thought about Preacher while he drove.
“Damn, brother,”
he thought.
“You shouldn’t have gone out
like that."
He punched the steering wheel.
“Not like
that.”

Deep South pressed the accelerator harder. He
needed to get to the camp and gear up.
“There’s no telling how
long it’s going to take to get Jen to safety. We’ll have to go
underground and stay off the grid. Maybe we can find a way to get a
vaccine made, or find a cure for her without letting the feds get
ahold of her."
He punched the steering wheel again.
“Damn
it! How did I get wrapped up in this!”

At the camp there was a sealed storage
container with supplies, a small armory, tactical gear, and some
goodies that the higher ups didn’t need to know about. One of the
many benefits to being in Special Forces was the autonomy each team
had when it came to what they brought with them. The simple fact
was that most non-SF soldiers assumed the SF guys had special
privileges, so they got away with a lot more than they should have.
Deep South was never one to complain about it. He’d take every
advantage he could get, especially now.

“Get down!,” Lance Corporal Sharp yelled at
Jen.

“I can’t see him!” she shouted. “Where is he?
Where the heck is he shooting from?”

“Grenade!” the Lance Corporal yelled. Jen
screamed and jumped to her feet.

Her character was thrown into the air by the
force of the explosion and she groaned. “Awe man!” she complained.
“Every time! How are you guys so good at this?" The rest of the
tent erupted in laughter.

Lance Corporal Sharp held his hand up for a
high five. “You lasted a whole five minutes this time Killer. Come
on, put it up.”

Jen gave him a high five and sat back down
with a fake frown on her face. She was having a blast, and the
Marines were making her feel at home. It was difficult to let go of
her fears and reservations and open herself up to these gruff men,
but it was worth it. She felt like she had thirteen new big
brothers. They were unbelievably crude at times, but always in a
funny way. Once they found out that she didn’t like that kind of
joking, they policed each other up and cleaned things up around
her. All of them slipped-up now and again, but Jen appreciated the
effort. They grew protective of her, and after three days with
them, Jen was surprised to find that she actually felt safe.

Sergeant Lynch stepped into the tent and hit
the power to the Xbox. The tent fell silent. He looked around, and
his eyes settled on Jen. “Jen, I need you in the other tent right
now." He addressed the rest of them, saying, “Gear up. We have
company." He turned and walked out without another word.

The Marines in the tent spun into action.
They dove for boots, body armor, guns, and ammo. The tent was chaos
as they prepared for whatever was coming. What struck Jen the most
was that these men were not solemn and brooding in the face of
danger. They were pumped. Jen got the feeling that they were
anxious for what was coming, like a junky craving a drug. They
thrived on the adrenaline that came with the fight. But it was more
than that. They were pumped to be going out together. It was a
collective high. They thrived on the camaraderie and brotherhood
that came through facing death together.

Jen hurried out of the squad tent and ducked
into the tent she and the Sergeant occupied. Sergeant Lynch was
waiting there with a pistol drawn. Jen pulled up short and gasped.
She lifted her hands slowly. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Why don’t you tell me, miss..Ahmadi? Jena
Ahmadi? The suicide queen?” he asked her with anger in his eyes.
“You lied to me!"

Jen’s head was spinning. “It’s not what you
think! I’m sorry! I couldn’t say anything! Look, just wait for
Dustin to get back and he’ll explain! I’m not the enemy! Please,”
she begged. Tears were starting to come to her eyes and it made her
furious. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. She respected him
and the other Marines too much to pull the “girl” card and cry. She
forced the emotions back down and looked him in the eyes. “I’m not
lying, Sergeant.” she said. “I was kidnapped two years ago in Iran.
I’ve been drugged, experimented on, beat up, and tricked into doing
and saying terrible things, but I am not evil. I am an American! I
love America! Dustin…Staff Sergeant Parks was helping me so I could
get home. Please, just wait for him.”

Sergeant Lynch lowered the pistol and sat on
his bunk. He pointed his pistol at her cot and nodded. Jen sat down
and looked at him nervously. He ran his other hand through his
close cropped hair. “I just don’t know. I mean, you got me in a
tight spot here,” he said. “First off, I don’t think Parks is
coming back.”

Jen felt a lump rising in her throat.

“The guys that are coming were using his
phone to find you. They called me on it and I picked up, thinking
it was him. The guy said Parks was picked up two days ago near
Baghdad International Airport and placed into custody. The guy said
he was helping a known fugitive…you. They say you’re a terrorist,
Jen." He shook his head. “I don’t know."

Sergeant Lynch’s team leaders, two Corporals,
ducked their heads into the tent. They were in full combat gear,
including ghost face masks, body armor, and rifles. Sergeant Lynch
delayed making a call while he considered the options. He looked
sideways at Jen with a pained expression and chewed his lip. He
appeared seriously conflicted.

“You say your from Texas?” he asked.

Jen nodded and said, “Dallas, born and
raised."

“Well, there it is I guess,” Sergeant Lynch
said with absolution. “There’s no damn way I’m letting some no name
spooks take a fellow Texan while I have something to say about it."
He looked at the Corporals standing in the doorway and said, “Give
me a 360 degree perimeter. Put the 240’s on the road, and the M2 on
the hill. We need a tight net with big teeth, got it? Nothing and
nobody comes in." He stood up and pointed at Jen. “Somebody’s
coming to take little sister. Are we going to let that happen?”

“Hell no!” the Corporal’s shouted in
unison.

“Damn straight. Now get your brothers and get
ready,” he said with power in his voice.

Jen felt chills. She looked at Sergeant Lynch
and simply said, “Thank you.”

“Just put on the vest and head gear I gave
you and keep your butt inside. I don’t want any of my boys getting
distracted by seeing you out there. Can I trust you to stay in
here? Even if things get noisy?"

Jen nodded and immediately started getting
into the combat gear the Sergeant issued her the first night in
camp. “Will you let me help if you need me?” she asked. “I know how
to use rifle.”

“Not a freaking chance,” he said with
finality. He shrugged into his vest and set his helmet on his head.
He picked up his rifle and said, “Stay inside. I mean it,” and then
he walked outside.

Thirty-seven minutes later, the first shots
were fired. Jen heard a distant and rapid, “Pop-Pop." There was a
three second pause, and then she heard three or four more,
“Pop-Pop,” bursts. They were mostly coming from the direction of
the approach road, and were suddenly drowned out by a chainsaw
ripping burst of automatic gunfire. The machine guns fired in short
overlapping bursts, or so Jen imagined. From the camp it was hard
to discern how many guns were firing, and how far apart they were.
She remembered Sergeant Lynch ordering the 240’s to face down the
road, so she imagined them on either side, firing at an approaching
enemy. A distinctly different weapon began firing, and Jen compared
it to the difference between a Harley Davidson and Kawasaki
motorcycle engine. The new gun was firing at a slower cadence, but
it sounded much deeper and more powerful. It came from the hillside
south of the camp.

Jen had no idea she would feel so frightened
for the Marines out there fighting to protect her. The gunfire was
sporadic, and with every short burst or single shot, she wondered
if they were dying. She closed her eyes and prayed hard. “Dear
Lord, please listen to me now and help these Marines. Father, they
are out there fighting for me, when they don’t even know me. Please
help them Lord. Keep them safe…please,” she asked out loud. Her
thoughts shifted to Dustin and her heart sunk. “Heavenly father?
One more thing…please keep Staff Sergeant Parks safe. I feel like
you brought him into my life for a reason. Please, don’t take him
away. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

The firing continued and Jen noticed a shift
toward the east. Sitting on her cot she was facing northeast. The
gunfire started in the northwest and was now ahead of her. “Are
they pushing the Marines, or is it the other way around?" Waiting
and wondering was becoming unbearable. “Sorry Sergeant Lynch,” she
said to the empty tent. “I can’t just sit around while you all
bleed for me. There has to be something I can do.”

Jen looked for a weapon, but there wasn’t
anything just laying round. “Come on Jen! Think of something!” she
muttered as she quickly looked through the tent and then outside.
Under the camouflage netting, but near the entrance to the camp,
Jen saw a tan colored four-wheeler with cargo racks, front and
rear, and a rifle case jutting up at a 45 degree angle over the
rear fender. She raced over to the off-road vehicle and unlatched
the cover to the rifle case. “Oh heck yeah!” Jen thought. She was
looking at a black, pump style shotgun, with a pistol grip and
hooded sights. It looked like something out of a science fiction
movie.

Jen pulled the Remington 870 shotgun out of
the case and turned it over. She tried pulling the action back, and
it slammed open with a satisfying “Rack!” sound. She saw a red
shotgun shell pop out of the magazine tube and onto a lifting
lever, ready to go into the chamber. Jen turned the shotgun back
over and pulled it tightly into her shoulder while placing her
trigger finger up along the metal side of the receiver. She grinned
with anticipation and pushed hard on the action, shoving it away
from her with her support hand. As expected, it slammed forward and
the action closed with another satisfying “Rack!” sound.

She took the rifle out of her shoulder and
rotated it to look at the safety. It was a button near the trigger
that, was pressed flush to the trigger guard. She pressed it from
the other side and saw that doing so exposed a red band.
“Okay,
that’s not on safe."
She pressed it the other way and the red
band disappeared.
“And that is on safe,”
she thought.
“Okay, then,”
she thought, slinging the rifle over her
shoulder.
“Which way do I go?”

Jen spun in a slow circle, listening for
gunshots. It was quiet.
“Is it over?”
she wondered. “When
did it stop?” she said out loud. She stood still and waited. She
waited for a full minute and there was still no sound.

Jen looked at the four-wheeler again. There
was a key in it.
“Driving one of these can’t be that hard,
right?”
she reasoned.
“I’ll just go see if they’re okay.
That should be alright."
She swung a leg over the saddle-like
seat, and almost knocked the shotgun off of her shoulder. She
ducked her head through the sling to wear it cross-body behind her,
and turned the four-wheeler ignition to run.
“Okay, let’s
see…”
she thought.
“I see FWD, N, and REV."
She moved
the lever to N, and pressed the green start button on the
handlebar. The machine rumbled to life.
“So far, so good,”
she thought excitedly. She squeezed the brake on the handlebar and
pressed the brake near her foot. She moved the lever to FWD and
slowly let go of the brake lever. She slowly lifted her foot off
the lower brake. Nothing happened. Jen pressed the thumb paddle
lever on the handlebar and heard the engine rev faster. The
four-wheeler lurched forward and Jen immediately let off the lever.
It stopped. “Okay…” she said and pressed the paddle lever again.
The four-wheeler began rolling forward and Jen steered it out of
the camp. She pressed the lever harder and raced down the road.

About a hundred yards ahead the road turned
to the north. As she rounded the corner, Jen saw a black SUV with
its doors open and windows shot out. There were two men laying on
the ground next to it, and a Marine laying beside the road face
down. Jen slammed on the brakes and pushed the lever to N. She
jumped off the four-wheeler and unslung the shotgun as she ran to
the Marine. She dropped to her knees and lay the shotgun down. She
rolled the Marine over and pulled up his mask.

Jen gasped.

“No!” she shouted. It was Lance Corporal
Sharp. His eyes were lifeless and fixed open. Jen cradled his head
in her lap and cried. She gently closed his eyes and lay him back
on the ground, then pulled the mask over his face and picked up her
shotgun.

She walked cautiously toward the SUV and saw
that something was moving in the back seat. Jen gritted her teeth
and used her trigger finger to push the safety off. She side
stepped to see into the open rear door and raised the shotgun. “Who
are you?” she angrily asked the man who was struggling to sit up.
He was wearing body armor and tactical gear over a white Tyvek
jumpsuit and rubber gloves. He wore a clear plastic face shield
that was fogged up from his own breath. He held one hand pressed
tightly to his throat, and blood was pulsing out between his
fingers.