The transcript, p.17
The Transcript, page 17
The platoon quickly gathered the remaining dog tags, along with weapons, ammo, food, water; the supplies being dispersed just as quickly amongst them. There was some initial protest about leaving their dead, but ultimately the men understood.
Rayburn squatted down next to Vega. He had pulled out the arrows and at least crossed his arms. He said a silent goodbye before looking down at his friend one last time. He stared at the bodies of Ali and the others savagely killed by the demons. He felt his stomach knot up in anger and sadness. But he swallowed it deep, for now he had to keep the rest of his men alive. Standing up, he rallied the platoon behind him and now they all fell in behind the major, who took the lead with his Russian escorts.
They quick marched. They moved silently and with a quicker determination. The open hills and sparse vegetation of the cliffs gave way to a thick forest of pines. They moved along a meager river with their rifles up; the sun was going down and Rayburn could hear inhuman screams in the distance which gave way to an opera of bellows spread out in the distance, like packs of wolves getting ready for the hunt. It gave the otherwise quiet air, a chilling discomfort.
The group followed the river to a clearing in the trees. There in the middle, on a small hill, were stone walls and an ancient array of battlements. The major slowed his pace and then they all stopped. There was a mote dug around the walls, filled with a dark water that flowed into the river which appeared to pour out of several cuts along the wall. There was a stone bridge that led up a set of large, reinforced wooden doors.
Rayburn could still hear the bellowing in the distance. He signaled his men to cover the rear.
“Eh, Sarbaz,” Major Masterson yelled, “open up! We’ve returned!”
After a moment, the doors creaked open. Several men rushed out wielding what Rayburn recognized as PKM machine guns. He noticed they were also Russians; paratroopers that looked more at home in the 1980s than current times. They ushered the group inside as they covered them, before slowly backpedaling past the doors. The Kapitan and his men then turned to cover the entrance with as the doors creaked shut.
Once done, the Russians dispersed into the courtyard. Only the man with the Dragunov remained behind. He climbed a ladder and took his place in a sniper’s nest; peering out across the mote. The major approached what appeared to be a lone Afghan, who wore an ancient style of robes and leather holsters. This local had a long beard, with golden beads braided in and was a mountain of a man, standing at least half a head over the average soldier. He carried a rifle across his back and a sword on his hip, much like Major Masterson, who he then embraced in a bear hug.
“I am happy to see you alive سور کوټ,” the Afghan said, slapping the Englishman on the back. “I was afraid I was going to have to fish you out of the fountain!”
“Ah, well, Sarbaz, can’t get too lucky, I guess,” the major said cheerfully. He then motioned to Rayburn and his men, “I’ve found the newcomers.”
Sarbaz looked the Americans over, “Such strange new-comers, indeed. I wonder what kings these men belong to. Come, we have much to discuss.”
Sarbaz and the major ushered the Americans to follow. The sky was getting darker and Rayburn watched men begin to man the walls and light torches to fend off the night. As he looked around, he saw Russians who were dressed just like the ones who’d saved him, men who looked similar to Sarbaz, and now a few more British redcoats. But he soon also saw men adorned in strange armor, wielding massive spears and swords. Greeks? And there were lumbering men adorned in gold and fur, walking to and fro, carrying large bows and swords of a different make. Are these guys Mongol warriors? Other warriors manned this fort; warriors whose origin Rayburn could not even guess. Rayburn and his sold-iers then passed a figure hunched over fire, draped in furs. The man lifted his sloping forehead to look them over, hold-ing all the while a heavy stone club.
Rayburn questioned if he had died and entered some fucked up Valhalla—or is this the plot point in one of my dad’s science fiction books I used to read back home?
They soon passed a group of Afghan men who looked all too familiar to Rayburn. Their white Servis Cheetahs shoes and CHICOM chest rigs were a dead giveaway. They eyed the Americans with an uncertain intensity as they sat around a steaming pot of tea.
The major turned to Rayburn, shaking his head. “New-comers just like yourself. Arrived a few months ago. Found them near the caves north of here, crazy bastards. Came in with a group of fifty or so, only ten survived. That group you found was unlucky enough to come looking for them.”
Rayburn stopped and stared at the eldest of that group, a man whose dark eyes now bore holes into his own. The Taliban fighter sprang up, as did all the rest; all holding their AKs. Rayburn readied his rifle as the rest of the platoon followed suit. He gripped his weapon tight as he felt himself break out in a cold sweat as his heart began to pound. The Taliban stepped closer. A standoff between the two groups quietly burned in intense silence.
Sarbaz suddenly stepped between the groups with his hands up, as if to part them. “No fighting,” he said softly, but with authority, and in both English and Pashtun. “What-ever you were before, we are all corpses in the same grave now.”
“Indeed,” The major chimed in, stepping between the groups, talking in both Pashtun and English as well. “Sarbaz and I were once enemies.” He motioned to Sarbaz, and then he chuckled. “In fact, if it wasn't for chasing this bastard, I wouldn’t have ended up here.”
“You could have let me escape my old foe,” Sarbaz shrugged, laughing. “You chased me into this damned vall-ey. This is your fault, not mine.”
“Ha! Cheeky bastard. Being trapped in hell for over one hundred years will soften any hatred.” The Major laughed, “If you want to survive, Lieutenant, you’ll learn we’re all a part of the legion of the dammed now!”
Sarbaz translated the major’s words to the Taliban, emphasizing, “Because if there are any problems, you can wallow in them on your own outside these walls,” adding, “before we were trapped in this hell, I was sworn to kill the major here. In fact,” he laughed, “I almost succeeded!”
Major Masterson slapped his shoulder. “Well, luckily for both of us, you prove to be better with a sword than a rifle.”
The Taliban and Americans both began to lower their weapons. The elder eyed Sarbaz, then Rayburn.
Slowly, the Taliban leader raised his hand: an outstr- etched parley. In a heavily accented voice, he said one word: “Peace.”
Rayburn looked at his outstretched hand and then into the man’s eyes. The eyes of his once enemy. The eyes of a man who looked like all the others that had tried to kill Rayburn and his soldiers. And had succeeded, as he pain-fully remembered. There was a hate that boiled in Rayburn’s stomach, the same hate he was sure that still boiled some-where in the Taliban’s. But after what had transpired today, the major had a point. He preferred to live through this and not take his chances outside the walls of the fort.
He held out his hand, shaking the Taliban’s. “Peace,” he said plainly. “I am Rayburn.”
“Peace,” the Taliban leader said. “Mustafa.”
“Well then,” Major Masterson piped, “now that we are all tickled and made up, follow us.” The major stepped off with Sarbaz.
They led the Americans deeper into the fort, to a large hut along a wall. “You gentlemen will sleep here tonight.” He motioned for Rayburn and his men to enter.
Rayburn started to protest, “We’re not doing a goddamn thing until you explain to us what the fuck is actually happ-ening here.”
The major cut him off. “Don't argue, Lieutenant. Your men need their rest. And you need not worry about our de-monic foe on the outside, they avoid this place…
“I’m getting tired of this fucking shit.” Rayburn inter-rupted.
The major’s eyes hardened and Rayburn felt himself recoil slightly. The major started to say something, but he stopped himself, looking at Sarbaz and back at the Ameri-cans. “Things will get easier in the morning. Trust me. You don't rally have a choice not to”
Rayburn and his platoon reluctantly entered the hut. Still unsure of the easy peace made between them and the Taliban, he organized a watch rotation. Four men would be up at all times through the night. Better safe than sorry.
And he didn't shut his eyes much, nor did his platoon. The insanity of what had occurred threatened to tear them apart. The howling in the distance reminded him that the situation was very much real. Rayburn eventually drifted off into some semblance of sleep; the leering face of a demon haunting his dreams.
Part III
Rayburn awoke the next morning with a start. His night was without peace, haunted by horrors both man and not. The sun was rising over the mountain peaks. A bird tweeted outside the tent, oblivious to the hell that it was trapped in. Someone stirred him with a nudge of a boot.
“Hey, sir,” a soldier on watch said. “That British guy is headed this way.”
Rayburn got up, wiping the exhaustion from his face. He put his plate carrier on and fetched his rifle before walking outside the hut as Major Masterson approached. He stood at the doorway as the cheeky Brit cheerfully shouted, “Good morning!”
Rayburn walked out to him and replied, “Good morn-ing. I think it's time we talked.”
The major nodded, “Agreed, Lieutenant. In the mean-time, your men can head to the canteen.”
Rayburn shook his head, “No, we’re gonna stay here. At least until you answer my questions.”
“Very well then, whenever you’re ready to follow.”
Rayburn turned to Staff Sergeant Mathes, the highest-ranking surviving NCO and his defacto platoon sergeant now. “Mathes, tell the guys to eat an MRE. One-to-one secur-ity until I get back.”
The staff sergeant nodded in acknowledgement. “Roger that, sir.”
Rayburn turned to the major who replied, “Cherie-o then, follow me.”
The major led Rayburn through the fort again, and again through its menagerie of defenders. Rayburn saw the Tali-ban leader, who acknowledged him with a nod. Rayburn nodded in return and as the major led him they passed a partition that opened into a large space. All around was greenery and plants, a veritable garden space. The sky was open and bright. There was a large and vibrant tree in the center, one that resembled both an oak and a mangrove. Alien and beautiful. Rayburn looked around, in the middle was a large pool. It was the size of a small swimming pool, with its water bubbling up from a deep well in the middle. A spring of some sort. Rayburn saw aqueducts that led away, channeling water outside in small trenches to the walls; the source of the water that surrounded the fort.
The major motioned to a meager wooden table and a set of two chairs. Rayburn laid his rifle across the table and sat down. It was quiet and peaceful here. He found himself closing his eyes. He felt calmed and relaxed, like he could slip away into a deep sleep. He felt like there was some force here, comforting him. Making him feel safe in a sea of evil.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? The garden,” Major Masterson said, ripping Rayburn from his daydream. “This place, it feels magical, doesn’t it?”
Rayburn nodded. “It does.”
“You may have wondered why our foe hasn’t tried to storm this place. It's the water.” The Major motioned. “Some-thing about it, it's magical…biblical. I don't know how to describe it, but our foe gives these waters a wide berth.”
The major looked deep in thought as he stared into the deep blue that flowed forth from the spring. “You know you are immortal now?”
Rayburn looked at the major. “What are you talking about?”
“You have survived the night. That means you and your men have joined us.”
“What are you talking about?” Rayburn said again, not hiding the shock on his face.
“This place, this land. Its chosen you.” The major said, chuckling like this revelation was common knowledge. He sighed as he rose out of his chair and walked towards the spring. He squatted down, stretching a hand out into the water. He turned back towards Rayburn, “This valley is a blight on Earth. The land or God or whatever has invoked a response to this hell. It is contained here, so long as we defend the valley.”
“I don't understand,” Rayburn said flatly.
The major stared into the pool, “We’ve been chosen, mate. Chosen by this land or by God or by gods. Something twisted, evil, has made a nest in this place, but the powers that be have contained it here.”
“So we’re trapped.”
“No, mate, you got it wrong. We are the defense. We’ve been called here, all of us. From the warriors of Alexander the Great, the hordes of Genghis Khan, to our doomed fuck-ing selves. It’s our destiny. We’re here because we have fought these demons and lived to tell.” He stood up, kicking the water. “We few unlucky brothers indeed.”
He paused, deep in thought.
Rayburn broke the silence, “So what did you mean by it gets easier in the morning?”
The major turned and smiled. “You see, Lieutenant, you and your men are immortal now, just as you are now trap-ped in this place. You cannot stay dead. After you survive one night here, you will not pass on, no matter how horribly you may die.” He stopped to stare at his own hand before motioning towards the water. “You see, from now on when you die. You will feel it. You will go dark and move towards the other side, towards only where the dead reside. But just before you pass those gates, you will be yanked back. Back to this place. These waters will spew your living body onto this earth…to fight again.”
The major walked toward Rayburn until he stood an arm’s length away. “But you won’t believe me unless you see it for yourself.”
Rayburn looked at him and opened his mouth in question. But he didn't see the pistol the major pulled from his holster with lighting speed.
A blast. The world was suddenly bright.
I am dead, Rayburn thought. Or am I?
His existence was now darkness. But he was aware of this dark; it wasn't quite oblivion like he imagined. It was like being trapped in a space of pitch darkness. He felt him-self move and stumble in this dark, like he was back in a cave he remembered visiting as a child, the one when the tour guides had shut off the lights and he experienced true ad utter darkness. Then a light sparked in the distance, and he felt compelled to journey toward it. As he stepped tow-ards the light, Rayburn felt the sensation of running water around his ankles, a water that was rising higher each second. Like a strong tide, there was a pull that then flowed away. He struggled against this tide, but it was rising and getting stronger. Soon he was lifted off his fleet and swept away from the light, floundering and flailing in the cold. Suddenly, caught as if in an undertow, he was pulled under the strange waters and shot to its surface.
He breathed violently as he suddenly awoke under that familiar tree, water clogging his lungs as he choked for air. He was back in the pool, struggling to breathe, flailing in the cool water. He felt his feet touch the ground and he struggled into the shallows. On all fours, he crawled and paddled onto the banks of the pool. Flopping onto his back he gasped for air one more time as Major Masterson peered down at him.
“I’m sorry, friend,” the Major whispered, “but it was the quickest way to show you the truth.”
Rayburn shook in fear, recalling his death in every detail.
“Lieutenant Rayburn, I have died more times than one can remember. You will always survive…no matter how hard you try otherwise.” The old Brit, long past his span, suddenly sounded so far away, his eyes glassy and after a time he breathed. “I have been here for over three hundred years.”
Rayburn rolled over onto all fours. He stared at his reflection in the water.
“It’s true, Sarbaz was once my enemy. My battalion chased him into this valley and we followed into the spiders den. Much like your story. Sarbaz and his men were lucky to find the fort before the demons overwhelmed him. My battalion was not so lucky, and I was the only one to survive. All of us share the same story.”
Rayburn looked at the table: where he’d been shot in the face. Somehow this was all making sense, like a voice whispering reassurances.
“When you die here,” the major affirmed, “you resur-rect. Your former body burns like tinder in a fire. I can't explain it, except that we have been made into phoenixes.”
“Why us!?” Rayburn yelled, pulling his pistol from its holster, beginning to whimper.
Major Masterson placed a hand on the barrel of Rayburn’s M9 and slowly pushed it down. “In the countless years I have spent here, I could never come up with an answer…other than Hell has broken free and this land has called us to send it back.”
Rayburn looked at his pistol.
The major continued, “The valley is building an army. An army that can cleanse the blight from this land.” his voice then brightened, “And maybe seal whatever hole it crawled out of.”
“But,” Rayburn said, rising to his feet, “now that my platoon is missing, more will come looking for us. More will get trapped here. I have to find a way to warn the others.”
“There’s no way you can. More will become trapped, it is true. Which is all the more reason why we have to find a way to send those bloody fuckers back to Hell. With your men, now we may actually have enough.” The major smiled at Rayburn, placing both hands on his shoulders, shaking him. “I dare say, a part of me wants more of your men to arrive here—but—with whom you’ve already supplied, fin-ally here, I think we can do it!”
“You do?”
Slapping Rayburn gleefully on the shoulder, he said, “Follow me.”
Rayburn followed, past the hut where his men waited. He saw their looks of alarm when he walked by still dripping wet. Ssgt Mathes yelled, “Sir, are you okay? We heard a gunshot!” But Rayburn held up a hand, silently mouthing “trust me.”
The major led him to a staircase at the base of a tower. Shuffling down into the dark, they entered a large hall lit with torches. The major stopped and waved his arms in excitement, “Welcome to the armory!”
