Mama

“Mama.” His voice cracked as he bellowed out the lyrics.

We hadn’t had many chances to relax inside the wire. The Brits showed up to our side of the camp with beer and karaoke. Command usually limited us to a couple each, but tonight was different. These Englishmen knew how to reset.

Camp Nathan Smith had been a hub of activity since the war on terror started. Troops in contact, camp attacks, mortars.

Combat.

I’d served for years but this was my first tour. Special Operations meant I stood shoulder to shoulder with the best. Watching Riggs butcher Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody let me forget it all. For now, at least.

————————————————————————————

Banging on our door shot me up from a drunken sleep.

“Briefing. Twenty minutes, boys.”

Aches, pains, and a pounding headache tore through me. Something about being hungover in this hell made it hurt that much more.

Riggs groaned.

“You okay, Freddie?” someone called out.

He tried to rebut, but his voice came out as a rasp.

The showers were already running, spitting out cold water. It stung, but was refreshing.

Troops began filtering into the briefing room, some moving slower than others.

“You boys got your giggles out last night. Tighten up!” the Sergeant Major barked.

Most of us straightened.

“Mike Company will roll in and secure the village from the exterior. Hit them hard and fast no time for slouching.”

Pens scribbled in field notebooks. Men nodded all around.

“Charles Company will be entry teams one and two.”

More nods.

“It’s a high-value target, a snatch and grab. I want to see swift violence through those huts. He’s a bomb maker, responsible for hundreds of Allied deaths. We need him captured.”

The target’s face flashed on the wall.

Long black hair. A scraggly beard and mustache. Thick eyebrows. Ice-blue eyes, that was the remarkable feature.

“Get a good look at this guy, it’s a face only a mother could love.”

We laughed.

“I’ll say again. Fast and precise. In and out.” He said.

That face burned into our memories.

“Your team leaders will assign positions. Make it back safe. Be smart.”

Riggs looked over at me with a grin, squeezing his trigger finger in the air.

The ride out was quiet. Everyone making their peace in their own way. Riggs was trying not to puke.

Entry Team One was Riggs, Smitty, Bradley, Evans, and me.

This wasn’t our first dance we were hardened, smart, and fast.

The bet was made before we loaded up: whichever team got the target skipped latrine duty for two weeks.

We were confident.

The blast rocked the side of our vehicle. The radio crackled.

“Troops in contact! Thirty to forty fighting-aged males hitting our convoy. Mike Eleven Bravo immobilized. Unknown casualties. Requesting air support.”

“Goddamn ambush!” our driver shouted.

The radio squelched.

“All strike teams, keep moving on the target. Quick Reaction Force is en route. Air support is three minutes out.”

Our driver bounced us over a culvert and pushed toward the compound.

“Movement to our front. Boys! Get ready to bail out.”

The 25mm cannon thumped out rounds, I couldn’t count how many.

The vehicle halted hard in the sand, and the rear door slammed down, kicking up dust.

“Go! Go! Go!” Evans shouted.

Rounds snapped and screamed overhead.

I fired as I moved toward cover.

Riggs tucked in against the wall, reloading, breathing hard.

The sound blended together, making it impossible to think or breathe.

I slammed a fresh mag into my rifle and leaned out.

One down. Two down.

More replaced them almost instantly.

I ducked back behind cover.

Riggs clenched his teeth as he fired.

Evans came through my earpiece, I couldn’t see him, but he wasn’t far.

“Entry Team One, stack up on the west wall.”

I leaned out and saw smoke drifting between us and Evans. Him, Smitty and Bradley were twenty feet to our left, stacking on the compound entrance.

I tapped Riggs as he rolled back in. I swiped my palm over my helmet and pointed, I would cover him as he moved.

He nodded, grinning.

Riggs never showed fear. Or maybe he was just crazy.

He slammed in a new mag and sprinted.

I rolled out behind him, laying down covering fire.

Rounds kicked up dust at his heels.

Riggs went down five feet from the wall.

I dropped back into cover.

He didn’t move.

Evans dragged him behind the wall.

Smitty’s voice crackled in my earpiece.

“Hicks! Get ready to move. I’ll cover you.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me.

Fresh mag in.

Smitty and Bradley unleashed a wall of fire, and I broke into a sprint.

Riggs lay on his back. Evans hovered over him.

I slid into position on the stack.

Riggs got to his feet, grinning again.

“You see that? Those dip shits almost shot my ass off.”

“Jesus, Riggs you scared the hell out of me.”

Evans’ voice cut in.

“Entry Team One stacked. Moving.”

He turned, circling his finger with a move out signal. Then tapped his head.

“On me.”

We moved out fast and precise, just like we trained.

Shots cracked from our rifles. Targets dropped.

We pushed down the compound street in a staggered formation toward the first building.

They fell back.

We came to a door that was thick wood, painted red.

We stacked.

An explosion shook the ground outside the compound walls, freezing us in place.

“ASIC confirms drone strike on enemy personnel. Awaiting ground confirmation.”

“Copy ASIC, it’s a good strike,” someone from Mike Company responded.

“Entry Team One ready,” Evans said.

Bradley stepped forward and slapped C4 onto the door.

“Charge set.”

“Stand clear,” Evans called.

We turned away.

The blast shredded the door.

“Move! Move! Move!”

Riggs pushed through first, muzzle flashes lighting the dark.

I followed, moving right, firing three rounds into the nearest target.

We cleared room to room, fast and controlled, then stacked at the base of the stairs.

Choreographed like a machine; step, scan, cover.

Riggs took point up the stairs, sweeping upward.

The shot hit his neck.

It tore through him. Sprayed me with blood.

He dropped, tumbling back down the stairs at my feet.

I stepped over him, clearing the landing. Six rounds into the shooter at the top.

“Entry Team One member down!” Evans shouted.

“We need a medevac now!”

Smitty, Bradley, and I cleared the upper rooms, fast, automatic, numb.

“Get down here!” Evans yelled.

I ran down and dropped beside him. He was pressing hard against Riggs’ neck.

Blood spread across the floor.

Bandages, gauze and wrappers everywhere.

Riggs stared at the ceiling.

His lips parted.

His eyes dulled.

He spoke.

“Mama.”