Juggernaut

Lucy looked up. She shielded her eyes. The sun was high. Morning haze had burned away. She could feel heat radiating from the sand around her. It would soon be too hot for the choppers to fly. Low air density. They were grounded until noonday oven heat diminished and evening cool gave them sufficient lift to get airborne.

‘Hey. Jabril. Over here.’

She and Jabril climbed a high dune. They stared into the desert.

Lucy took a compass bearing. She pulled a laminate map envelope from a vest pocket.

‘Why did we land so far from the valley?’ asked Jabril.

‘I want to approach on foot. We’ll call in the choppers once the objective site is secure.’

Jabril pointed to a ridge of arid peaks in the far distance.

‘There. That’s where we need to go.’

Lucy checked her map. She surveyed the western horizon through binoculars.

‘Those hills. What are they called?’ she asked.

‘Ancients called them The Mountains of the Dead.’

‘You got to be kidding.’

‘They are well named. Desolate peaks and canyons. No wind, no water. Just merciless heat.’

Lucy returned to the choppers.

She pulled on her prairie coat and turned up the collar. She wrapped a shemagh scarf round her head like a loose hood.

She helped strap Jabril into body armour.

‘There’s no one out here,’ protested Jabril as she tightened clips and Velcro. ‘The guns. The defensive drills. None of it is necessary. This is poisoned land. Taliban and Peshmergas stay away. They know better than to approach this area. We should fly direct to the valley.’

‘I wouldn’t last too long in my line of work if I relied on luck. It’s always the routine jobs that get you killed. Assume heavy opposition every step of the way, and hope to be pleasantly surprised. Sure you don’t want a gun?’

He held up his hook.

‘My skills as a marksman have diminished since I lost my right hand.’

Toon tied a black do-rag round his head and draped a sweat towel round his shoulders to pad the SAW sling. He carried a heavy backpack full of box ammunition on his back.

Huang strapped on a medipac and unfurled a boonie hat.

Amanda shouldered her sniper rifle case and adjusted her straw Stetson. She dipped her fingers in a tub of zinc cream and painted the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones.

Gaunt sat in the shade of the Bad Moon cargo compartment. He watched Lucy put her foot on the door-lip and tie her boot.

‘Assholes. All of them.’

‘What the fuck do you know about soldiering?’ said Lucy. ‘Most of your combat hours were logged on a fucking PlayStation.’

‘Bunch of losers. I asked around. Your girl spent her last tour amped on meth. Lucky to get detox instead of jail time. Voss did a long stretch for assault in Krugersdorp Prison. Another stretch at Zonderwater for robbery. Looks like you found your level.’

‘They’re good people. They just need someone to believe in them.’

‘Toon. Got to be mid-forties. In the regular army he would be flying a desk. He wouldn’t be front line.’

‘Saved my arse more times than I can count. Laugh all you want, but one day soon you’ll be old and begging for a break. Happens to us all.’

Lucy approached Voss.

‘Hey, boss.’

‘Stay here with Gaunt and Raphael, all right?’ said Lucy. ‘Keep a bead on them. I trust these guys about as far as I can spit.’

‘You got it.’

‘Seriously. Keep them alive. We need a ride home. But on a short leash. If they give you any shit, fuck them up.’

‘Be a pleasure.’

Lucy stood with Amanda and surveyed the vista of sand ahead of them, the distant ridgeline rippling in mirage heat.

Lucy buttoned her prairie coat. Amanda adjusted the brim of her Stetson.

‘Like it?’

‘Love it.’

The team set off.

The Gatekeepers

They waded across dunes. They left a winding trail of footprints through the virgin sand. Their boots sunk ankle-deep.

The sun got high. The hills rose out of shimmering thermal distortion.

‘Don’t walk too fast,’ advised Lucy. ‘First rule of desert travel. Conserve sweat, not water. Guard against heat exhaustion.’

Amanda glanced back. The chopper netting merged with the landscape. They were alone in vast nothing.

Lucy strode ahead. She lifted her tinted goggles for a moment to wipe perspiration from her eyes. Blinding sun. Sand reflecting heat and light like a polished mirror. A decade spent in Middle East battlefields had left her skin tanned rich mahogany. She wished she brought moisturiser, then smiled to be worrying about her complexion while traversing one of Earth’s hell zones.

Huang tripped and stumbled. A metal tube. A tank barrel protruding from a dune. They kept walking.

Toon stubbed his toe on a section of armour plate.

Amanda found a length of caterpillar track snaking across the sand like the interlocked vertebrae of an ox that succumbed to drought.

Broken vehicles beneath the dunes. Corroded Soviet hulks. T62 turrets. Artillery pieces. APCs. Jeeps. Trucks. All of them sunk in sand.

A pale scorpion basked on a turret hatch. Lucy stabbed the creature with her bayonet. She watched the impaled creature wriggle and curl.

‘What’s all this junk?’ she asked.