What Lies Within Read Free

you will rise above happiness and unhappiness.”

L EO N IKOLAEVICH T OLSTOY

“Here I sit in sackcloth. I have surrendered, and I sit in the dust.”

J OB 16:15
    D eath was waiting. Staff sergeant Rafael Murphy didn’t have to see Death to know he was there. He could feel him. Feel the icy fingers inching up his spine. The disquiet shivering beneath his Kevlar. The heaviness in his chest, like a claymore aching to go off.
    Back off. You’re not getting my guys …
    He glanced over his shoulder. He could have sworn the DZ was still in sight, but all that met his searching gaze was the fog cloaking them. The Huey had no sooner dropped them than the blasted fog moved in. Like it was waiting for them.
    It took a little longer for the sand to start up.
    When Rafe was a kid, he used to go to the Oregon Dunes with his buddies. When the wind picked up, the tiny grains whipped and stung like needles. So when he heard the stories about Iraq sandstorms, he wasn’t worried. He’d been through sandstorms before.
    Wrong.
    The storms at home could be fierce, but these storms … They were flatevil. Roiling, roaring clouds that rose out of nowhere; monsters that traveled as fast as sixty mph, billowing down on everything in their paths. Like ravenous demons, they engulfed the world, turning the brightest day into hazy black night. As if that weren’t freaky enough, there were times when the storm reached out and snatched the sun’s light, absorbing and diffusing it until everything was tinged orange or red.
    Blood red.
    Iraq sandstorms weren’t just nature flexing its muscles. They were living entities, bent on destruction.
    At least the storm that met them today was a baby. Just enough to blend with the fog and limit their vision. That wasn’t good, but it was better than it could have been. At least he could see a little—thirty meters or so. About a third of a football field away.
    It wasn’t great, but Rafe would take it.
    He turned his eyes to the front, snugging his M4A1 assault rifle just a fraction closer. The Pride’s mission was clear. Secure the area around a small town north of An Nasiriyah. Battalions were already on their way and would be moving on the town at 0 Dark 30.
    It was 1600 hours now, which gave his team about two hours before dark. So far they’d had limited contact. One group of civilians passing by. A large group. Moving en masse.
    That’s when Death first spoke to Rafe. Whispered a low, rattling chuckle in his ear.
    Sure, civilians often left town in twos or threes, but all together? That said one thing: “See ya later. Enjoy the ambush.”
    He and his team eyed the group of men, women, and children as they went by, watching … waiting … but nothing happened. The fleeing civilians made their way past, bowing their covered heads against the increasingly wind-whipped sand.
    That they passed without incident should have eased Rafe’s tension. Instead, it amped it up a notch.
    “So what?”
Death’s mockery was deep and jagged.
“So those civilians weren’t the ambush. Doesn’t mean there isn’t one waiting for you up there, just behind the curtain of fog and sand—”
    “This don’t feel right.”
    The voice in his headset drew Rafe’s attention to the left. So his ATL felt it too. No surprise there. Rashidi’s instincts were as honed as his fighting skills, making him the perfect assistant team leader for the Pride. Rafe opened his mouth to reply, but a low southern drawl beat him to the draw.
    “What is with this sand?”
    “S’matter, Thales? You don’t have sand in Gaw-gia?”
    “Stuff it, Monroe.”
    Rafe’s fingers tightened on his weapon. “Okay, Pride, can the chatter.”
    “C’mon, Asadi. How we supposed to secure the area when we cain’t see spit? I cain’t see a dang thi—”
    “City at twelve o’clock, Asadi.”
    Leave it to Jesse Green to be focused on the task at hand. The guy was as grounded as any Marine Rafe ever met. Sure enough, about fifty