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It was a scene he’d never forget.
He ran a shaky hand along his face before continuing.
“We were acting as an escort. We’d done this drill a hundred times before, only this time we were entering a zone that was hot.”
It was to have been a simple task.
Drive the food in and take it to the main shelter where the locals would divide it up amongst those who were residing in the makeshift town.
“Something went wrong.” Candi’s voice broke through the silence.
Dallas nodded. “Very wrong. We made it to the shelter, and that’s when all hell broke loose. The Taliban had intercepted our orders and were there hiding. It had been a trap.”
The room was silent as the memories rushed back to him.
“Idon’t like the looks of this,” Lieutenant Sam Hudak murmured. He pulled his weapon up and looked out the Humvee’s window.
“None of it is screaming ‘welcome’,” Dallas snapped. The hot desert air was not the same as back home. The dark sky did nothing but make him miss being back on the good ol’ US of A soil.
What Dallas wouldn’t do to be able to sit on his porch with a cold beer and just watch the neighborhood.
There wouldn’t be any of that now.
He was in the middle of the wretched desert.
He and his squadron had their orders.
Escort the supplies to the small town of Zahra.
They were entering a dangerous zone. This small, newly developed town was the direct result of the Taliban destroying towns and cities.
These people were survivors but wouldn’t be for long if they didn’t help get food and supplies to them.
They were a few days away from starving.
“We’re here,” David announced from the driver’s seat. He drove the vehicle up to a crudely constructed building. The little caravan behind them stopped.
“Eyes open, stay sharp,” Dallas announced.
Confirmations that his orders were received echoed in his ear through the tiny communicator placed there. His team was spread out in the supplies truck, and twin Humvees were behind.
Dallas flipped his safety off his semiautomatic weapon and pushed open his door.
Sam, his longtime friend, had served with Dallas for as long as he had been in the Marines. They had grown close over the years. Together they led their team. Dallas had received orders from his commander.
The Taliban were set on genocide, and the US was stepping in.
Hence, their mission.
Stepping out of the truck, Dallas swept his gaze over the area. A few of the locals lingered. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Dallas turned, holding his weapon comfortable in his hands. A few more people stood near the building across the street.
“Let’s make this quick, boys,” Dallas said.
“Getting a creepy feeling,” Ross Alder, one of Dallas’s team members, announced through the communicators. He had ridden with the truck that had the clean water and other supplies the locals needed.
“We have orders. Deliver supplies and get out,” Dallas reminded them. The sounds of doors slamming filled the air. “Can’t get no easier than that.”
This type of job was a cakewalk for him and his crew. They were skilled Marines who were used to infiltrating hot zones and fighting their way in and out of situations. These were the best men Dallas could have asked for.
