Z Day -1,825

  JAMES

  “Hey, Juarez!”

  “What’s up, Sable?” The gunner glanced down from his turret to look at me in the backseat of the HMMWV, then put his eyes back on our surroundings.

  “Can I use your X-Box when we get back?” I yelled into my headset’s microphone. Even with the squad radio in my ear, the hummer was so loud we had to shout to be heard. It didn’t help that we were cruising down a desert highway at a decent clip, either.

  “Man, that’s what I bought it for. You don’t have to keep asking me; just use it.”

  “K, thanks!” I said.

  “What are you gonna play?” he asked.

  “I just got the remastered Horrid Space in,” I said.

  “I heard that’s scary as shit,” Juarez, the biggest and baddest guy in our convey, said.

  “Yeah, me too. Supposedly, you can use telekinesis to rip the arm off the monster and beat them with it,” I laughed.

  “Cool.” Juarez swiveled the turret again, scanning his sector.

  We were an hour into the convoy, and things were just as dull as always. MSR 14 was a hot zone, but our weekly water convoys had yet to be hit.

  The insurgents seemed determined to take out the Army convoys, not the Air Force ones. I wondered what that was all about. I’d had buddies at a base where the AF patrolled outside the wire, and they were never touched. But as soon as the AF rotated out and the Army moved in, their patrols were hit three times in the first week alone.

  I was hitching a ride with this convoy to return to my forward operating base (FOB). My last assignment had been a personal security detail escorting some retired General advisor around the region. It had been a huge yawing experience. But at least I’d been able to ride in an up-armored suburban.

  These up-armored hummers sucked when it came to air conditioning. I laughed to myself. Not only was that the most Air Force thing to say, but with all the activity in the region, if bitching about the A/C was the only complaint I had, it was a good day. I figured with this next op, things were going to change.

  Supposedly, I was being attached to key leader engagements to identify and bag anyone needed. Experience told me that no matter what I’d been briefed on, the mission always changed by the time you reached your target.

  I was about to ask Juarez another question about his X-Box when the lead vehicle disappeared in a cloud of dust. The ground beneath it seemed to bellow up like a volcano.

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  “IED IE…”

  The second explosion tossed our hummer like a rag doll.

  We had practiced roll-overs in full-sized simulators. We’d done it again and again until it was second nature. I was slammed sideways so hard when the hummer flipped, I didn’t have a chance to grab Juarez and drag him down from the turret.

  When the vehicle finally came to rest, it was on its side, and I couldn’t move. My head swam, and my ears were ringing. All I could do was lie there, trying to figure out where I was and what was going on for what seemed like an eternity.

  Someone banged on the side of the vehicle, jerking me back to consciousness. I hadn’t even realized I was starting to black out.

  I looked down to see that a piece of the door frame had torn loose and embedded itself in my leg. My hands were covered in blood, but I couldn’t figure out where it had come from. I managed to brace myself and release the seatbelt, collapsing against the ammo cans strapped down beside me. I was sluggish and having a hard time breathing. My training took over, and I reached into my pocket and took out the container.

  All the guys who’d seen it thought I was a big cigar fan. They didn’t know what was really inside the container, and I never told them. I uncapped the vial and held it to my thigh as the auto-injector pumped me full of chems. The thumping on the vehicle was getting louder as I waited for the drug to do its job. I could make out someone trying to climb the hummer.

  Thumbing another vial open, I injected a second dose into my other leg. I shouldn’t do it again so soon, but I knew if I didn’t move, our ambushers might be coming to finish what they’d started.

  Strength surged into my limbs from the second injection, dulling the pain and bringing my surroundings into focus. I looked around the cab and found the source of the blood: Juarez. Part of him was still in the turret, but thankfully, I couldn’t see where the rest of him was. Shrapnel had taken out the driver and passenger from what I could see. I reached around the ammo cans and found a pulse on the rear passenger.

  When I couldn’t rouse him, I braced myself and released their seatbelt. I held the man by the drag handle on his vest and gently lowered him to a stable position. Someone appeared from the front of the vehicle where the windshield had shattered and was bashing it in.

  “Here,” I managed, my throat scratchy. “I’ve got two…three KIA, two wounded. Give me a hand,” I pulled the unconscious passenger up and passed him forward as arms reached through the window and took over. I followed, careful not to dislodge the metal from my leg.

  “You’re wounded, Sergeant,” one of my rescuers said.

  “Later,” I said as I scanned the scene. Our twelve-vehicle convoy was a smoking mess. The lead and trail vehicles had responded to the explosions and were going vehicle to vehicle, looking for survivors. “What happened?”

  “Daisy chain, Sergeant, left side of the road. Best guess, a whole mess of 155s,” the soldier said.

  It was a massive ambush. Daisy chaining IEDs was a common tactic, but it was usually done in tandem with a dummy to cause the convoy to stop in the kill zone. This one skipped the dummy and blew them all as we drove by. Anyone on the road was in the kill zone.

  I hobbled to one of the other vehicles, where people were still trying to get damaged doors open to free their trapped occupants. Fire was bellowing up from inside the hummer, and screams were coming from within.

  I pulled and pulled on the heavy armored door, but it wouldn’t open.

  “Unlock the safety locks!” I yelled at the panic-stricken airman inside. It was standard operating procedure to ride with the heavy door locks secured to keep someone from opening the door from the outside. Now, these same locks were trapping people inside the burning hummer.

  “UNLOCK THE DOOR!” I yelled over the sound of the roaring fire.

  “Help me!” The airman pounded and yanked on the door latch, ignoring the door lock in his panic.

  I went to the passenger door, where its occupant was already slumped, but it was also locked. The screams continued from the first airman, and I used every bit of my strength to try and pry the door open, but it wasn’t happening.

  The airman screamed as the fire reached him.

  I went to try and break the windshield like how I’d been rescued. But before I could react, something inside the vehicle exploded, sending me flying into darkness.