Wanderer: Prelude

The wind stirred dust on the abandoned street. Nothing moved within the ruined house fronts. The civilians had abandoned this neighborhood during the fighting. Mixed among the rubble were erect and semi-erect homes, some perfectly unscathed. Every few feet there would be a fragment of a former life. A bent spoon. An overturned chair. A doll. War was funny that way. Funny as only wholesale tragedy illustrated on an individual level could be.

This was the last patrol of the day. The squad had broken camp before dawn, and had been moving ever since. No enemy had engaged them all day. Corporal Noah Haynes was tense. He just wanted to finish the day and get his men back to base. Every darkened window and shadowed crevasse held a potential sniper. Every piece of litter on the road was a potential improvised explosive device. Haynes’s world was made of threats and responses. He walked along avenue with his squad like a man who expected the world to come crashing down on him at any moment. His eyes watched every direction. Suddenly a shadow in a far off window shifted. The world erupted into violence. Rifle fire erupted from in front of and behind the squad. A dozen marines dove for whatever cover was available. Hayne hunkered down behind an abandoned car.

They didn’t set up on either side of the street. Thank God for small miracles.

Haynes shouted orders and gestured quickly. Reinforcements were five minutes away. All he had to do was keep his men alive until then.

There are only seven of them. They’re poorly positioned. You have adequate cover. You can do this, Noah.

Then he saw the RPG sticking out of a second story window. The gunner had perfect line of sight to take out half his squad. The orders to hold position and return fire had just become a death sentence. Most of the insurgent’s fire was focused on other positions. Haynes turned to the two marines next to him.

“Cover me,” he ordered.

Before either could respond, he hurled himself around the smashed front end of the car and sprinted towards the window that held death for six of his men. The sporadic patter fire from his squad became a torrent.

Can’t get a clear shot at the gunner. Have to be indirect.

After firing one last burst from his carbine, Haynes drew a grenade and pulled the pin. A shooter who risked perforation let out a long burst. Most of the shots went wild. One didn’t. A bullet tore thru Haynes’s lower leg, nicking the femoral artery. Haynes tumbled forward and slammed into the street on his chest. The fire from the walls slackened as Marine precision defeated preparation and zeal. And the man with the rpg took aim at six men. Six men Noah Haynes called brothers.

Like Hell.

As a dark tunnel formed around his vision and his life’s blood stained the dusty streets, he rolled onto his back and hurled the grenade at the rocket wielding insurgent. As his grip on the world slipped, Haynes saw fire explode from that window.

The world went dark.

Two figures stood over Haynes. One was shrouded in light. The other was cloaked in velvet.

“Is he the one?”

“He certainly has the courage. Time will tell if he has the will.”

Then there was nothing.