The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Day One: Monday



"I hope Hajji comes out to play. I've got the cure to what ails 'im!"

"You think Haj is going to give us trouble, sarge?"

Sgt Hall grunts at the two young Privates and shrugs; no small feat under the weight of his Interceptor Body Armor.

"Man," Jonsey speaks wistfully "I hope he shows his face. I fucking hope so." The week before, Jones' best friend McManus had been hit by a VBIED. All the medics found was the parts covered by the body armor.



The Humvees roll through the gate, and Sgt Hall speaks. "Game faces."

The troops start scanning the roads, looking for debris that's out of place. A needle in a trash pile of a country. It goes well for an hour. Quiet. Calm. Then Allah reaches down and punches them in the skulls.



One second, the steady thrum of the engine is vibrating their bones. In the next, an explosion tears their world apart. The Humvee rolls to a stop. Sgt Hall finds himself looking at the floorboards and seeing blood. It takes a moment before he realizes where it's coming from; his own nose. Not bad, could be worse. He gives the command. "Out!"



Two doors open, he fumbles for the latch of his own. He's dizzy, confused. In front of him, the driver pulls himself out of the ruined door, but his hand stays gripped to the wheel. Sgt Hall reaches forward and prys the severed appendage off. His gunner still hasn't moved.



"Clarke, out! Now!" He realizes that not all the blood he'd seen was his own. In fact, the front of Clarkes armor is drenched in it. His face, what's left of it, is a mixture of blood and dirt. A small flap of his ruined upper lip shakes as he tries to draw breath into his lungs, then it's still.



"Sarge!" He snaps back into the moment.

"Pull security! Get that second truck up here, we need to evac! Thompson, stop moving!" The soldiers set up waiting for an ambush that wouldn't come. Sgt Hall slips a tourniquete over Thompsons bicep and twists until the bright blood stopps. When the rear Humvee pulls up, they carefully load Thompson and Clarke into it, climb in next to them, and roll out. Their mission is over.



Day Two: Tuesday

"Easy mission boys. Yasim al-Asiri is an AQI facilitator. He's been importing IED materials to his honey shop, and passing them out like candy. We need to take him in, or take him down. We'll come into the town from the west, leave the humvees and a security detail on the outer edge, and make our way on foot to Yasim's house. All goes well, he'll never see it coming. Any questions?"



Chowske raises his hand. "Yeah, sir, I have one. Have you ever seen Black Hawk Down?"



The major points at his right shoulder. "Tenth Mountain, son. I was there for Black Hawk Down. Anything else?" There is nothing, so the briefing is dismissed. Mission time in one hour. Enough time to eat, but everyone knows better. Sgt Hall calls home. His girlfriend is happy to hear from him. She's busy getting ready for work, but drops that to talk. He doesn't tell her about the mission, or the mission the day before. Instead they talk about a trip to Hawaii. They talk about his brother. They talk about love. Then he leaves.



The house is small. One story. Stone. Large windows. Trash litters the yard. The five soldiers creep around the side to the front door. They stack behind Sgt Hall. Jones steps ahead, followed by Conroy. The door is kicked down, and Sgt Hall rushes in. Somewhere inside, a woman screams. Razmussen says something in Arabic. They sweep through the rooms. Just as Sgt Hall is about to kick down a door, it opens. His rifle aims at a young boy, probably nine years old. The boy screams. Sgt Hall grabs him and pulls him to the floor before looking into the room. Something hits him in the chest, knocking him to the floor. His rifle slides away. It feels like he's been kicked by a horse. He can't breathe. Someone is on top of him, and he scrambles to pull his knife. It's Yasim. Sgt Hall pulls the knife, and Yasim is suddenly yanked away. Two soldiers hold him down, binding his hands. Sgt Hall checks his vest. The round from the pistol probably cracked his ceramic plate, but that plate saved his life. Another day, another dollar.



Day Three: Wednesday

No mission today. Sgt Hall sits in the trailer at his computer looking through emails. Another two hours and he can get some lunch. A window opens on his screen.



{Pin-cshn} hey, smoke break?



He thinks about it for a moment. It's hot outside, there's no beating that. But a smoke break is a smoke break. He sends a message back.



{CSG-Vudu} yeah, give me five. Got ports?

{Pin-cshn} nope, marlboros. see you there.



He finishes writing an email and heads out. They stand next to one of the generators and Pinson hands him a Marlboro.



"You know, you should really pick a better brand. These are terrible."



She laughs at him. "I can take it back if you don't want it."



"No no, it's fine." They have to nearly yell to be heard over the generator, and should an officer come out they would surely catch shit for smoking there, but it's fairly secluded which is a slice of fried gold there. Talk soon turns to home, and plans. Sgt Hall doesn't know if college is going to work for him, he doesn't think he has it in him. She tries to convince him otherwise.



"Come on now, you can handle that. Hell, if you can handle this you can handle anything. I can see you, five or six years from now, getting yo---"



Whatever she sees is cut short. Behind her, sand kicks up into the air, and a defening roar fills his ears with tiny bells. He sits up, having not even realized he was on his back, and touches his face. It's still there. Then he sees his dear friend, and the cigarette filter drops from his fingers. She lays in the sand, coughing. Blood bubbles up past her lips, and sprays from her neck into the sand. He scrambles to her, and claps his hand down over the neck wound.



"Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit. Hang on Amanda. Hand on! Medic!" She looks up at him, eyes wide. Her mouth is moving, but she can't make words come out.



"Relax, relax. You're going to be fine." Each beat of her heart presses against his palm. Her eyes go blank, and those beats stop. Two medics arrive and pull him away. He looks at his hand and tries to understand why he is wearing a red glove. Tries to understand why the sand turned to red mud. Tries to understand why the medics are looking him over, rinsing his hands and checking his pupils and ears. Tries to understand that he's not going to see his friend again.



Day Six: Saturday

They are on their way back to the base. Another ten minutes and they will be there. Sgt Hall stands in the turret, watching the buildings go past. They turn a corner and he starts thinking about his girlfriend again. He doesn't mean to, he knows he has to keep his mind on the task at hand, but he just can't help it. He doesn't know how much time passes, but something breaks into his head. A voice. A woman's voice, cold and seductive. Get down! He shakes his head, wondering what that was.



Then the driver swerves to the left. Someone grabs his calf. He lets his legs give out, dropping all his weight. Not a moment too soon. His right hand, still above the opening to the turret, is suddenly alive with pain. He yells out, pulling his hand to his chest. slivers of metal protrude from it.



"Let me see it!" The humvee bounces over the uneven road as the driver tears ass away. The bomb was a near miss. "Let me see the hand sergeant!"



He shows his hand to the soldier in the passenger seat, Davis. "You're going to be fine, no problems. Still got all your fingers man. Lucky fucker." Sgt Hall let him bandage the hand, but kept his mind on the voice, trying to figure it out.