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My mission was to dismantle The Fear Division: the Middle East’s most lawless, vile rebel force. But no one could know that. Not inside the walls of the Green Zone and definitely not outside of it. Reason being, once The Fear Division knows you’re coming after them, they don’t even bother going after you.
Instead, they attack your family, your loved ones, your friends, hell, your third grade teacher, anyone who’s ever mattered to you. That’s why I
stick to myself. I could never put anyone I care about in harm’s way. Especially in the way of these animals.
Still, I needed a way to get into the Red Zone and posing as a low level military escort was a perfect cover. “The Chaperone”, that’s what they called me. And I played the part well. Whether it’s babysitting journalists or guarding medical supplies, I blend in, do my job, and most people don’t even notice me. That’s how I get in to the most dangerous conflict zones without anyone acknowledging my presence.
We hit a huge pothole and a bunch of passengers jolted in the air. I let a smile escape, my Chevy would never bounce around like this rusty old hunk of metal.
When everyone had settled down I took the chance to look up from under my cap and scan the others on the truck. I’d barely noticed them all day, if I’m being honest, we’d left early, just after 2 am, and I had one mission that day, it was a small task that was part of a bigger operation but I’d done my duty. I’d retrieved some intel that I would later pass on to my contact and I should have been pleased I guess, but I’d rather still be there, driving those rat bastards out of the Red Zone.
There will be lots more chances, Axe, I told myself.
I looked around the truck some more. Aside from the doctors and nurses I recognized from the Green Zone Medical Centre, I counted five or six male journalists huddled together. They were talking excitedly about what they had seen in the Red Zone that day—they were classic adrenaline junkies. Not that I blame them. I live for this, too. There was a female journalist I didn’t think much of, she looked uncomfortable and out of place. And then there was her.
Three
Honor
I scanned my fellow passengers on the truck, there were at least twelve of us, maybe more, some journalists and photographers like me, and a team of military medics and nurses, too—all of them covered in blood and looking exhausted from a long day of helping people.
Three weeks ago a scene like that would have jarred me, but like I said, I was starting to crave the excitement. I found myself almost jealous of the blood-soaked medical personnel. At least they had helped people that day, at least they had made a difference.
You can’t think like that, Honor, I scolded myself.
My eyes came to rest on a huge American soldier who leaned against the cab of the truck. He didn’t even seem to notice the huge potholes in the road, the choking heat, and the sense of panic that seemed to hang in the air even during times of relative boredom.
He had barely acknowledged any of us that day but his presence was still comforting—come to think of it I didn’t even know his name—everyone just referred to him as “The Chaperone”.
I strained to see if a least his surname was embroidered somewhere on his military uniform, like it is with most soldiers. It wasn’t. He wore a plain dark grey v-neck t-shirt with no sign of military affiliation on it except for the American Ranger tattoos that peaked out from under his shirt sleeves. His biceps flexed naturally—making his tats even more prominent—as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.
He had a thick dark khaki nylon belt and classic military issued cargoes… but there was something about his t-shirt and also his cap, for that matter, that stood out to me. It was like a plain greyish baseball cap, very unlike what you see on other soldiers, and it was pulled low over his eyes so I could only see his lips and jaw line. He wasn’t smiling or frowning, he was just focused and calm.
I snapped back to the moment and tried to look casually elsewhere—hoping he hadn’t caught me staring at him. But I found myself drawn to him. I stole just one more glance in his direction and found myself a little disappointed that he didn’t seem to notice my existence at all. He was transfixed on the Red Zone as it slowly disappeared into the dusty horizon. I wondered if he would have preferred to be back there.
Four
Axel
There were only two girls on the truck who were not medical staff. One cried loudly and looked around frantically, as though there was an escape hatch back to her old life and she just had to find it. Honestly I wondered why girls like that even bothered to come over here.
The other girl, from what I could see, was a photojournalist. She had her eyes closed but I could tell she was focused and calm, not scared or even nervous. Unlike the first girl whose curly hair blew wildly in every direction, the photojournalist had a high ponytail that swung softly despite the jolty motion of the truck—as though she was on a sunset cruise and not the back of a truck speeding outta hell.
She had rosy cheeks, too, which seemed out of place in this hell hole, and her lips weren’t dry like the other girl’s. They were pink and soft-looking.
Hmm, I caught myself wondering, maybe she’s just arrived here.
My attention came back to the moment when a series of blasts went off in the near distance. They were erratic and extremely loud. Some of the passengers yelped but I felt a surge of excitement as I subtly reaffirmed my grip on my assault rifle. I couldn’t help but notice the girl with the ponytail kept her eyes closed but smiled a little, as though she liked the closeness of danger, too.
Damn, I thought as I looked back towards the Red Zone, I should be there.
But I told myself to let it go. Today’s mission had gone well, small as it was and insignificant as it felt, it was part of a bigger mission and besides, according to everyone on that truck and pretty much everyone in the Green Zone I was “just a chaperone”… so I kept my impatience to myself.
No one could find out who I really was.
Five
Honor
