Blackwater

Julian Moore

***
The mission was simple. The target: Bakhara Lugome, second in command of the Gods
One Army. About two weeks ago, Intel of Lugome location reached SOCOM, the U.S. Armys
southern command. The order to deploy trickled down to 1st Special Forces Group. And of
course our Battalion Commander stood up in his chair like, Oh me! Pick me!. And so the BC
hand-picked us, a small kill team. He wanted half to be experienced and the others to follow.
That would explain why I was going.
But before the order reached my company, it was just a regular day at work. Which for
me is usually a trip to the gym, a little target practice, and more target practice on Fallout. This
time I didnt even make it to the gym before being called in.
Twenty three hours in a frozen cargo hold later, we jumped into Uganda. At 0100 hours,
we gained decent ground. Everything looked green, dark green or light green. When I turned the
night vision google off, what I saw left me in bemusement. Patches of dry grass and dead trees
littered most of the terrain. Yet healthy verdure lolled in a vignette across the distance. It was like
Mother Nature forgot to clean up after herself. I laugh. On the inside of course.
His safe house lay just on the outskirts of Juba. A small detachment of GOA soldiers have
the area annexed. Like a fat kid outside the candy store, the U.S. cant wait to get hands on
Lugome. Its a publicity thing. Albeit strangely enough, the public probably wont hear about this
for a couple years after the fact. His leadership led to the capturing of children all over Uganda
and now Sudan.
In the end, Rex Savage was who we wanted; the brains of the operation. But even for us,
with advanced drones and unmatched stealth tech, wed have better luck finding Waldo. Lugome
could lead us to Rex. Now, I have no clue what well do when we get Rex. Kill him? As always,
someone else will take charge and do the same shit. But I get paid to shoot, not think; best leave
that up to those lying monkeys with suits.
We approach a thicket of vegetation and mud slows our path, so we find a not-so-obvious
place of concealment to halt. Lieutenant Bell struggles with the BFT. I grin with a palm over my
face; he does this every time.
You gotta load the frequency first. I say pointing to the LOAD button, holding back
teeth. He stares at the green device, his mouth slightly ajar.
The frequency is..

Yeah I know smartass He barks, eyes still glued to the tracker. I can hardly see how to
do it. Fingers fiddling frantically.
The smile breaks through, Just turn your night vision off. He leers at me and reports to
Higher.
Thats why you get paid the big bucks, Hit man. Sergeant Reyes punches my shoulder.
Keepin officers straight, you know how I do. I say as I walk towards our twelve o
clock, setting up the perimeter. The rest of us pull 360 degree security around LT Bell as he
receives further guidance. Sergeant First Class Dunn, or Gator as we call him, kneeled over
Bells shoulder. Gator is short for Navigator; the man just never gets lost. Hed be damned if
he let some hot-shot LT out of West Point lead us into the wrong side of Sudan. Even the best of
the best pick their fights wisely. Were only six men deep, so an assault from the brunt of
insurgents would be no Bueno.
Laying prone in the half-muddy patches of grass, my elbows and knees make impressions
in the ground. I scan in a thirty degree arc. At 0400 hours there was not much to shoot at, albeit
the threat was always there. The guerillas booby trap every known entrance and trail leading to
their compounds. Dont let the fatuity of their leadership fool you. These are no childs-play traps.
These fucks read straight from the Al-Qaida handbook. Take cover in the wrong spot? Youre
either maimed or scarred for life.
Gators footsteps signal our advancement. Rifles scan every direction as we maneuver
over a berm and into an open plain. The dirt trail ahead curves into the compounds entrance. The
other end leads east towards the Red Sea. Its funny because a month or two ago, there was
probably nothing here. Trails like these were man-made by vehicles trucking across the grassy
surface. This meant Lukwiya and his goons had time to capture, pillage and fortify this position.
The Sudan government has lost that much control. Over 20,000 children kidnapped and sold into
slavery. They briefed us on the boy soldiers. Captain Quans words play on repeat,
Im not telling you what to do or what not to do. At the end of the day, do what gets you
home in one piece.
And nearing his sixteenth deployment, Gator knew that more than any of us. Gator was
the aged result of giving a youngster a gun and a uniform. They say, There are old soldiers, and
then there are bold soldiers. But there are no old bold soldiers. Gator proved them wrong. What
was more of an injustice was the extent of his career. With the extent of his skills, the Army kept
him moving. He was hardly ever in the same place as his wife. Gator loved it, but his wife just
couldnt keep up. Now he has a third kid on the way. Yet he doesnt seem quite ready to quit this
lifestyle. Hell, I dont even know if he cares for them anymore. Thats just how addicting this life
can be.
The officer life is hardly different. You just get asked pretty please? when they toss you
out the door. I doubt this has sunk into LT Bell yet; and hes been married a year. Dual military
couple too. Bell made it okay to be experienced and clumsy. He was almost as clumsy as me in
Basic. Last time we mounted up with NVGs, he almost ran into the only tree out there.

UhhI had the dash light turned on too, thats why. He mumbled, defeated.
When you grow up next to these people, you gain a special appreciation for their
struggles. Together we laugh, cry, get mad at each other for a day then get back after it and shoot
people for reasons above our heads. Were a family of warriors.
Moving in a staggered linear formation, we near the dirt road. High beams rove across
the path and slow by our position. Armed GOA soldiers scan our perimeter from the armored
vehicle. At a couple glances, our multi-cam uniforms make us look like more sporadic shrubbery
as we lay prone, undetected. If they bring the spot light on us, were done.
One of the older soldiers (possibly the leader?) yells something in Arabic and three of
them hop out to investigate. Just as the men turn on the spotlight, shots zip through the air. The
first few bursts rattle the vehicle. The soldiers train their weapons on a fast-approaching vehicle.
Both Gator and Sergeant Adams let rounds go, neutralizing the distracted trio. A thick cloud of
smoke and dirt kicks up as their vehicle starts down the road. The other vehicle trails right
behind, sending rounds into its tailgate.
Astonished and alerted, Gator bolts forward, Move!
Re grouping, we dash across the road, still retaining excellent form. As we cross, I steal a
glimpse at the fighting down the road. Whoever the hell that was blew our cover. Even with their
closing in on us, we had sights on them before they hopped out the vehicle. We had to ignore the
fighting. Whatever fortifications were ahead, they were likely sending reinforcements. We
needed to hit our target. There was likely much more where that came from. Concealed mostly
by night, we moved with the speed of wind but the tact of a tiger.
Might have a welcome party at the gate Reyes quietly shouts, his face focused ahead.
Entertained, Sergeant Ujoh scoffs, Then they wait for death. He spouts in his thick
Kenyan accident. If there were any modern honorable warriors who amounted to the warriors of
the old, it was SGT Ujoh. It made him somewhat of a stickler to be around at times, but hes the
first one you want guarding your back in a firefight. A migrant from Kenya earning his
citizenship through the military, we couldnt do this mission without him. If need be, he could
speak to the villagers; especially the ones ready to turn rebel. Teach them a better way.
With all the unrest here I doubt there is a better way. Those pigs in the big cities here
exploit those born into poverty. They work to hardly put food in their mouths. The food supplies
dwindles as their family grows. When they find out whose boot their under, or simply in fear of
starvation, they rebel; joining terror groups who offer more hope. I really hope what we do here
does liberate these peoples. It shouldnt be such a stark choice: make an honest living and watch
your family slowly starve, or contribute to the slave trade and receive a cut of the profits.
We slow, approaching a barricade. The settlement was tiny, like one of those old western
towns; incapable of fitting two egotistical cowboys. The door of the weak building sat hinged,
yet lopsided. The makeshift barricades reeked of rust andis that blood? I ready my carbine.
Anxious to lay waste to these nut heads. SGT Adams takes the lead as we form to clear the

entrance; we skirt the wall before the entrance, one man behind the other, weapon nosing its
sector of fire. I scan the top of the barricade. Nothing, which was strange as posted guards would
at least had a chance at spotting us after crossing the road. Then again, Ive cleared bases before
with only one guard roaming the ramparts. I glance over, checking for Adams signal. He holds a
fist, still scanning.
His fist turns into a tilted finger and one man signals the man behind with a pat on the
loin. Trekking through a dark causeway, out into the open of the settlement we find nothing. The
lead returns to Gator, who splits us up. Gator, SGT Adams, and I investigate one half while the
others scan the opposite.
Outside the causeway, scattered throughout the small village are bodies. Some covered in
blood, others with no visible wounds. We fan out in three directions. I clear a hut. SGT Adams
clears a dumpster. Gator scans the rusty battlements.
Metal sheets layering a roof slide off, ringing loudly. Oooh my fault. Reyes says
turning to us.
I almost lit you up like a chandelier. I say, turning my weapon away from him.
Reyes laughs. I would almost pay to see that.
Face it. As long as strip clubs are in business, youll never have that kind of money.
Sadly, true. Reyes replies.
Gator scoffs at us and we regroup towards the entrance. Ujoh and Adams stare down at a
group of bodies.
Some ones still here. Gator mumbles. A groan cries out. Ujoh and I investigate the
source. Before reaching the first shed, a man crawls out. Ujoh puts the laser on him, I turn mine
to our 9 and 6 o clock. Dried blood stains his face and torso. He appears to be unaware of our
presence.
Dont move. Ujoh shouts, his M-4 pointed at the man. He continues to writhe, moving
only by the arms.
Ujoh nods back to me and D-clips his weapon. He struts over and stomps on the mans
back. I train my weapon on the bloodied man while Ujoh pulls out the zip ties. The man screams
and resists in agony as Ujoh struggles to zip tie him.
Someone playin some hide and seek? Reyes says, smiling.
Yeah he seems delusional. Adams replies.
Reyes crouches down beside him. Well he did better than the rest.
No other survivors?
None. Not even the women. Reyes replies, stretching.

Gator placed a hand on the rusty structure. Good. Less paperwork for us back at the
office. He spat dip at the corner of the wall. Whats he got on him Ujoh?
Ujoh and Adams drag the man to the wall and sit him upright. I found no ting. Not
teven a weapon.
Bell walks over, Ask him what the hell happened here. Ujoh nods and translates the
Lts message. They exchange some words, but not much. The mans hesitance makes
communication difficult.
His name is Chineua, and he is a refugee in this place.
Thats it?
No he says theyChineua jumps up and grabs Ujohs weapon. He shouts in Arabic over and over. No! we
are not here to kill you! I slam my weapon into his head and Ujoh snatches his weapon back.
Bell gestures to Ujoh for translation, Look Chineua, calm down. We dont want to hurt
you. Make this easy on both of us.
We cant fuckin trust this dude Lt. Just radio in. Reyes complains.
Ujoh begins to translate when Gator gently shoves Bell out of the way.
His gothic eyes and casual gait gives away his thin patience. He swiftly kicks Chineua in
the groin, draws his M-9 pistol and presses it into his chin. He spat to the side of Chineua and
questions him in fluent Arabic: Youre not just a refugee. Arent you?
Chineuas once fierce, yellow eyes glanced at the tobacco-filled lump outside Gators
chin. For a moment, Gator seemed to stare into his soul. And he found, like him, the man was a
killer. Chineua utters in broken English, Fuuck you! Theryr cooming bok
Huh?! Gators face scrunches. Whos coming back?
Chineua laughs. Gator strikes him with his pistol. He grunts, slumped over. More blood
shows through his smile.
Remind me not to laugh around you. Reyes comments and turns his back. Gator stands
up and sheathes his pistol.
Forget him. Hes so insane he cant tell us what happened.
I thought as much. Ujoh agreed. Making our way to the statue, I notice Bell looming
over Chineua.
You okay Lt? I shout in concern. We need you to talk to your fancy desk jockey
friends.

After a moment, he finally looks up and says, Sergeant Hit. You used to be a medic
right?
Uh yeah. Realizing what he wants me to do, I pull my handy I-FAC.
Up ahead, Gator turns around. Come on Lt. Leave him we gotta go!
The hell is wrong with you?! He needs medical attention! Bell protests.
Gator steps over to him. WE. DONT. HAVE. TIME!
Reluctant, I weigh in, Lts right. Whats with the rush? The mission has changed, the BC
wont get on your ass for this.
He looks back at me with a glare that would melt any bravado. I throw my hands up in a
shrug.
Bell steps to Gator.
Sergeant Dunn his shaky voice begins. ..Im in charge! He stood inches from
Gators face. Although he was much taller, Bells young and clean-shaven face deeply contrasted
against Gators square, scraggly jaw.
I swear you West-point grads are the worst. Gator started. You come here thinking
youre a shot caller? You aint in charge of nothin but wipin your--Adams appears between the two with an urgent look. Both men jump at his sudden
presence. Shit Adams. Startled, Gators lowers his weapon. Kid, you gotta stop doing that.
Look at this sergeant. He hands a crumpled note to Gator. Chineua threw this away.
Just as Gator un-ravels the note, a thunderous clash of doors makes him drop it.
I shout at the trio, Aye! We got company!! Two large armored vehicles full of
insurgents pull up from the north and south entrance.

Around twenty of them blitz our position. Reyes and Ujoh find cover behind two houses
opposite of each other. Bullets crackle over my head just before I slide behind a shed. When my
adrenaline flows, I swear I turn into the black Flash, but with guns; it gets ugly. Their sheer
number and fire power pin us down. Reyes and Ujoh drop three of them. I drop a couple myself
after playing Russian roulette with an RPG.
Bell and Gator prepare for an insurgent flank attack. The first five to try it are reduced to
body parts by two claymores. Heavy rounds riddle the shed, quickly turning it into Swiss cheese.
Theres break in fire. I pop out of cover and bolt like a rabbit to a small house. Heavy fire starts
once more, slowly chipping the house down to splinters. Shadows of two men approach me from

both sides. I toss a grenade to my left; it doesnt go far enough. Attempting to escape a very
explodey death I run, to where I came. The explosion throws me into an enemy.
A stinging in the ears from the shellshock disorients me. As I regain my breath, I struggle
to wrestle a knife away from my throat. My grip slowly wilts and the knife inches closer. An arm
wraps around the mans neck and yanks him up. Gator strips his knife and stabs him through the
heart. The large hunting knife slices through his vest like wet tissue paper. The blood red tip
peers just through the other side. He tosses my weapon back to me, his words are mute through
my temporary deafness.
Reyes and Ujoh join me as we neutralize the remaining enemies. Adams and Bell clear
the rear of our perimeter. Gator appears to have bitten off more than he can chew. Four enemies
have him on the defensive. Their spread out position makes it difficult for a shot without
catching one myself.
Bullets rain past Gator as he ducks and weaves in and out of various shields. He dives in
front one of the armored vehicles. He crawls under its engine and fires rounds into their heels.
More rounds follow into heads and faces. Gator rolls from under the truck and fires sitting
upright; peppering the fleeing men in the back.
When the area is clear, we regroup by the vehicles. Ujoh props Chineua up by the front
tires. Naturally, we huddle a small circle around Gator.
Yeah lets never do that again. Reyes pouts.
Gator smiles wryly. All that shit you talk Reyes? You should of deployed with me
before.
Thats just my war talk. You knowformotivational purposes. Reyes replies.
War talk, war faces. Thats what yall new soldiers believe in. Gator loads his lip with
fresh dip. In my first unit, we didnt sound off. We let rounds off.
My eyebrows raise. Well damn.
Bell joins the group, Sergeant Dunn wheres that note?
Gator reaches into his cargo pocket and reads the note. He struggles to decipher the
handwriting and calls Ujoh to his side. His mouth drops.
His name aint Chineua, itsDunn watch out! Bell jumps behind Gator and absorbs the shots aimed at his back.
We blast Chineua---or whatever the hell his name was---into shreds. An automatic pistol
falls from his right hand. Reyes kicks it out of his reach. He finds a small field knife in his left
hand.
Gator shakes a barely responsive Bell. Lt!!

Bell grits his teeth in pain. DunnIcant.I cant feel my legs.