Return to Shangra-La

Fiction - by David Stier

Please see "Road to Shangra-La" in our Winter 2024 Issue for the first episode in the adventures of Staff Sergeant Flanna O'Rourke and her team.

Combat Outpost Tangee, 60 kilometers South of Hajigak Pass, Northeast Afghanistan

Staff Sergeant Flanna O’Rourke rolls over on her cot as the nightmare begins again. It reels off in slow motion as it has since that first night after their battle with Humbaba the fire breathing dragon and as much as she tries, she cannot wake up—

Shorty drives the Humvee further into the grove. Flanna and Baser help Zuber to disembark where she finishes dressing his wound.

Baser climbs to the top gun position.

“I must’ve put a hundred rounds into that damned dragon,” Zuber says to Flanna through clenched teeth.

Shorty grabs the SAW from the rear of the Humvee, reloads it then climbs onto the door jamb to get eye level with Baser, their Afghan interpreter.

“We should have listened to you, my friend. I’m sorry,” Shorty says.

Baser checks the ammo feed, slams down the receiver’s cover then pulls back the charging handle. “Humbaba’s destiny is to guard this forest as the great deity Enlil has commanded throughout the ages,” he says. “Because of the All-father Cedar, Humbaba cannot be destroyed.”

The image of that tall tree flashes through Flanna’s mind.

The ground shakes as Humbaba lands at the grove’s edge and starts to move forward. It roars again, bathing her in a sulfur and rotten egg stench. Flanna swallows the bile that rises to her throat.

“Sarge,” she says. “We still got those two WP grenades?”

“Yeah,” Shorty says. “In the rear stow—”

“Humbaba will not use flame now,” Baser yells as he begins to fire. The dragon screams in pain. “It must keep the cedars from harm!”

“I got an idea, but I’ll need some time!” she says.

Flanna grabs the two white phosphorous grenades then races down the trail. Baser screams something at her back which she ignores.

Up ahead she sees the huge cedar that looks to her more like a giant black oak. She takes one white phosphorous grenade and readies to pull the pin when two giant cougars circle around from both sides of the All-father Cedar. They let out twin roars, she trips on a tree root, falls backward, drops the Willy Pete, grabs her last M67 frag grenade and regains her footing just as the cats lope her way. She pulls the pin and rolls it toward the left cat, backing up quickly while unholstering her Browning 9mil.

The grenade explodes under the left cat, lifting it off the ground, the disemboweled guts trailing like bloody grey worms. As she turns to fire the Browning 9mil, the other cat slaps her left arm. Searing pain races to her fingertips as it rakes the other paw’s claws across her body armor, knocking her down again.

The giant cougar—legs splayed to either side of her body—drools spit and hot smelly breath in Flanna’s face. Through double vision and using both hands, she forces the barrel of her weapon under the cat’s massive head, using it to keep the slavering fangs from her throat, then she jerks the trigger until the weapon fires dry…the last image is of the All-father Cedar wreathed in flames—

Flanna woke up bathed in sweat and rolled off her bunk with a hollow thump from the plywood deck of the tent. Several thumps followed as her tent mates hit the deck too, no doubt thinking a mortar round had landed somewhere in or near their COP.

“Sorry,” she said loud enough for the other six troopers in the tent to hear.

Voices cussed under their breath as they got back up on their bunks.

The zipper on the fart sack next to hers opened and a pair of feet moved toward her bunk.

“Another nightmare?” SFC Shorty Schwartz asked in a low voice after squatting down.

“Negative,” Flanna lied while propping herself up on an elbow. “I thought I was diving into my folk’s swimming pool.” It was a crumby lie and one a blind man could see through but it was the best she could come up with at the time. Hell, maybe Shorty would take it for a dumb joke.

“How many’s that make now, Red?” Shorty said loud enough for only her to hear.

She had to smile at the handle Zuber had given her on their first tour in the sandbox. He’d found out that “Flanna” meant “red-haired” in Gaelic, so the name stuck—even though she was a blonde. There were crappier handles though—like “Doc” or “Bones” since she was the platoon’s Combat Life Saver. It reminded her of Zuber’s fake-funny German accent and his slash-mouthed smile, so it kind of made her nostalgic when she heard it now.

This had been their third tour together but Zuber had been transferred back to the world a month back, minus his left arm below the elbow after their battle with Humbaba, the real-life fire breathing dragon of Babylonian legend. Flanna, Shorty, Zuber, their Afghan interpreter Baser and the now-dead Corporal JJ Johnson had greased the mother, but it was Baser who’d showed them how, and now Baser held a serious grudge—especially toward Flanna for destroying what he called the “All-father Tree,” a giant cedar that supposedly protected the world somehow.

“Maybe you should see the doc about it,” Shorty said, and not for the first time.

In the half-dark of the tent, she made out his face, burns mostly healed now from Humbaba’s last gasp of fire that had almost fried Shorty like it had JJ earlier on the road, and Zuber’s lower arm.

“And what do I say?” Flanna hissed only loud enough for Shorty to hear. “Hey Doc, I keep having these PTSD dreams about a big fire breathing dragon me and the boy’s greased last month so how ‘bout some Prozac?” She grabbed a pint of Black Jack from her locker, took a snort and passed it to Shorty who took two, then she capped it and put it away. Alcohol was supposed to be verboten, to paraphrase Zuber, but it could be had if you knew the right supply sergeant.

“I’ve got eight years in this lash up which means I got twelve more to go. How many of that lucky dozen would I get once I started talking crap about Humbaba?”

“Okay Red, I get the screenshot,” Shorty said. “Don’t blow a gasket.”

She reached for the bottle again then stopped herself. Last thing she needed was to get hooked on the booze.

“Besides, we all agreed to put a cork in this little adventure. Damn, Sarge, who would believe us anyway? Even if we took the colonel up there to see the carcass—if there’s anything left of it—he’d freak out about it blowing up his career path. I’m just trying to get through the last four months of this deployment. Hopefully when we get back to the world it will all fade away.”

“Christ,” Shorty said after about a minute—and no doubt what he was thinking on neither. “I need a smoke,” he finally said. “Want to join me?”

Red snorted at the irony in that. They’d greased a fire breathing dragon and they dealt with it by sucking the fire and nicotine into their lungs to deal with the aftermath. As she grabbed a pack of Marlboros, memories of the 15-meter long monster flashed through her mind: snake-like horned head, nasty looking fangs that lined the upper and lower jaws, forked tongue weaving back and forth, long skinny body covered in reddish brown scales with a barbed tail and translucent bat-like wings that flapped hard and fast to keep it hovering in place—like dragons she’d greased in video games, for Christ’s sake.

“Sounds like a plan,” she said as they both headed outside into the dead black cold of Northeastern Afghanistan.

An hour into the next day’s counterinsurgency patrol to locate roadside IEDs, the Humvee started to bounce.

“Earthquake! You gotta slow down, Shorty!” Flanna yelled over the radio. Why did everything have to remind her of what she called the Humbaba mission from hell? On that day they had earthquakes and these were the first since then. She half expected to see a crater-sized pothole for the Humvee to get stuck in like they did then too, but at least that didn’t happen.

Seconds after the quake stopped rain started to fall in slanting sheets of water that reduced visibility to about five meters. It bounced off the Humvee’s top and hood sounding almost like hail.

Baser was on this mission, sitting next to Shorty up front. He turned her way. His glare nailed her like twin smart bomb lasers.

They locked eyes, neither willing to give in. Then Flanna remembered the patrol’s situational awareness protocols and focused on the road, looking for suspicious mounds and depressions on her side that could clue any surprise packages just waiting to ruin an already bad day. But all she could ID right now was the berm along the road’s edge and the brown water running down it like baby waterfalls.

“Something about 10 meters distant at 12 o clock,” Mayhew, the new top gunner said. Mayhew had been transferred to the platoon to replace Zuber and so far he’d shown that he knew the drill. How he could see anything in this deluge though was hard to believe.

“Bowman,” Shorty said to the other new trooper, the one who’d replaced JJ Johnson. “You drew the lucky straw this time. See if you can detect anything.”

Flanna grabbed the compact low metal density IED detector and jumped outside. The near freezing rain bounced off her Kevlar and ran down her neck.

“I’ll take this one, Sarge,” she said. “I need a bath anyway.”

“It’s not your job, Red,” Shorty said. “Get your butt back in the vehicle.”

But she was already past the front of the Humvee, so he’d just have to deal with it later. Besides, Bowman had just made it to the sandbox, so she’d give him a break.

“Which side of the road, Mayhew?” she said over her radio handset as she crouched in a pothole full of water about five meters in front of the vehicle.

“It’s to your right and five more meters ahead,” Mayhew said while mumbling something else that sounded like crazy assed nut job. She actually agreed with that so maybe Mayhew was okay.

“Thanks for the compliment,” she said, hoping to twist his skivvies.

As she moved another couple meters closer to try and get a better look, she deployed the IED detector and switched it on.

“Dammit, Red,” Shorty said over the radio. “You got a death wish or something? What if some Hadji with a cell phone’s out there, waiting to blow up a stupid infidel?”

“I should be okay then, since the only stupid infidel on this patrol is behind the wheel,” she said. Someone in the Humvee snickered at that. Later she’d have to find out who and buy him a black-market beer.

As she toggled on the scanner, rushing water rolled over the mound and it disappeared. Flanna folded up the detector and moved back toward the Humvee. “Just a pile of mud,” she said over her radio handset, thinking that mud might be her middle name for a while too, once Shorty had his say about her lack of “discipline integrity.”

She started to climb back inside when the rain suddenly stopped. She heard what sounded like a steady beating of some kind of insect’s wings. A dark cloud appeared over the hill on the left side of the road headed directly for the Humvee. The noise increased in volume into a kind of roar.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the swarm. She’d read online about locusts that had laid waste to Afghan farms but never expected to see anything like this undulating dark green cloud.

“Button up Mayhew. A locust swarm is headed our way,” she said.

“Already done,” he said. “If I was you, Sergeant, I’d get back inside.”

Her gut flipped in fear and common sense told her to do what Mayhew advised, but she couldn’t move. Something prevented her from doing so. Then Bowman’s arm reached out and pulled her toward the vehicle, which broke the spell. She jumped inside and slammed the door shut just as the locust swarm hit.

The front windshield echoed with a snap-crunch sound of bugs, five times bigger than grasshoppers back home, as they splattered against the glass. It seemed like hours though it had to have been just a minute or so until the last of the locusts disappeared.

Baser touched her shoulder and she turned in surprise. He’d never touched he before unless it was in some kind of combat sitrep. He switched off his radio handset and moved his head closer.

“This is our fault, Sergeant Red,” Baser said, his eyes relaying a sadness she had never seen in the sandbox except from Afghan war victims—usually women or kids who’d just lost a family member. “We three are doomed.”

The rest of the patrol went without incident as they did about 90% of the time. But it was that last 10% that kept the pucker factor elevated for the entire deployment. 

As expected, Shorty reamed her a new one after they got back to the COP. She took it with a straight face—even standing at parade rest. Shorty didn’t order that, but she knew it would work some to placate the savage, so to speak. When he was finished, he ordered her to clean the splattered bugs off the Humvee then he’d stomped toward the perimeter to grab a smoke. She offered to clean Mayhew’s Ma Duse but he’d cleaned it when they got back. Once the bug job had been completed she went looking for Baser to get some answers about his latest chilling Humbaba declaration. She found him standing outside the interpreters’ tent, talking to the officer in charge of the Afghan advisors at this combat outpost, so she waited till he was free.

“Sgt. Nabi,” she said, as respectfully as she could, doing her best to ignore the glare that seemed to have become a permanent part of his dark shinned, handsome face whenever he looked her way. He stood rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. This would require all of her admittedly rudimentary diplomatic skills if they were going to fix this problem—if it could be fixed at all.

“May I speak with you for a moment?”

At first she thought he’d refuse, but then he relaxed and his fists unclenched. “What is it you wish of me, Sgt. Red?”

“After the battle with Humbaba you said something about the world now being in danger. You’re the subject matter expert on this, Sergeant, which means I’ll listen respectfully to anything you have to say on how we can fix this problem. Maybe I’m wrong, but since that battle you seem to have held me responsible somehow, so if you could explain further I’d appreciate it.”

Baser’s glare increased, then it lessened somewhat from twin lasers to double daggers.

“Killing Humbaba not as bad as destroying the All-father Tree,” he said. “That freed the Jinn Pazuzu into world. Infidels use word demon in place of jinn,” he said. “Pazuzu is enemy of Humbaba. Humbaba was Guardian of Cedar Forest of Enlil, the All-father. You destroyed All-father Tree, which freed Pazuzu, Lord of Winds, rains and earthquakes. Pazuzu also ruler of famine and drought and Lord of Locusts.”

“So the rains and locusts yesterday were brought by Pazuzu,” Flanna said,“as some kind of attack?”

Images of cleaning the splattered bugs off the Humvee surfaced. That bit of education was worse than any corrective discipline she’d had, maybe going all the way back to basic training. She didn’t even want to think on cleaning them off herself. If Bowman hadn’t grabbed her and broke that spell it could really have gotten foul.

“Good that you got back inside Humvee, Sergeant Red,” Baser said, seeming to have read her mind. “Had not done so maybe you would be dead now. Pazuzu is enemy of you, Sgt. Shorty and me. We are all of us doomed.”

The fatalism contained in that statement and expressed on Baser’s face explained more than she’d ever believed possible about understanding this war and the Afghan people. He’d said it like an American would ask for an In-N-Out burger. Flanna took out a pack of Marlboros, offered one to Baser then lit them both.

“How often can I expect to be attacked by locusts?” she asked. If it was going to be a daily event, her ass was definitely grass.

“Pazuzu makes terror toward her victims. She maybe now wants you to worry about time of next attack.”

Flanna didn’t know whether that made her less or more worried, so she tried to look at it like smart troopers did about a combat deployment. If it was your time it was your time and so be it.

“So if Pazuzu is the enemy of Humbaba, why is she our enemy now? Wouldn’t she be grateful to us somehow?”

The look Baser gave her had moron written all over it. She held her temper, reminding herself that she knew squat about Babylonian demonology.

“All-father Enlil made Humbaba Guardian of forest,” Baser said slowly, as though speaking to a child. “You destroyed All-father Tree which freed Pazuzu and maybe Jinn Lamashtu, enemy of Pazuzu. Both jinns hate all men.”

Effing fantastic. Not one jinn but two.

“Lamashtu brings illness to babies and adults—also horrible dreams. She sucks blood from young men too.”

Gets better and better, maybe explains the nightmares though.

“So this Lamashtu jinn hates all humans but also hates Pazuzu?” she asked and as she did, a hazy idea began to form.

“Yes Sgt. Red. Maybe two jinn enemies now so we are twice doomed.”

“You said both jinns are enemies, right? What if we got them to fight each other?” Flanna asked.

Baser said nothing at first but then he almost smiled, and his eyes got less of the double dagger look. “Is possible,” he said. “I have amulet that may help.”

“Let’s go talk to Sgt. Schwartz. Maybe we can work this out.”

Flanna and Baser found Shorty where he usually was when they weren’t on duty, chain smoking in an empty outpost near the perimeter. He’d always smoked a lot, but in the past month it had gone up to almost three packs a day.

Didn’t take an Einstein to know why, neither.

He’d heard them coming and turned. From the look on his face he was still PO-ed so Flanna thought the high and tight super trooper act would work best.

“Sergeant Schwartz,” Flanna said, not quite at attention. “Baser and me think we may have a way to fix the Humbaba problem.”

Shorty looked her up and down using his I’m really pissed off and you look like something I need to scrape off the sole of my boot expression—a look he’d worn a lot when dealing with Flanna during the past month. Almost, he blew smoke into her face.

“Short of bending over and kissing our butts goodbye?” he finally said.

She ignored the comment and explained what she had just learned from Baser about why they were on Pazuzu’s death list and how maybe they could get these two new demons to fight each other. Then she asked Baser to correct anything she got wrong.

“Sgt. Red mostly right,” Baser said. “I also have lucky amulet that may help—also a prayer from Imam.”

“Okay,” Shorty said. “But how do we find them and can our weapons do the job? They worked like crap till Red nailed that tree the last time.”

“Me and Baser think that maybe they’ll fight each other if we can yank both of their chains at the same time.”

“So even if we can do that, how do we find them first?” Shorty pressed.

To buy time because she hadn’t thought of that little problem—hey, she was a combat life saver not an effing general—she offered Baser another smoke then lit them both again.

“Sergeant Baser,” she said while mentally crossing her fingers. “Do you have any ideas about that?”

“Both jinns will be in Cedar Forest of Enlil, where we destroyed Humbaba. If we go there they will try to destroy us.”

Shorty took out another cigarette and lit it with the still burning butt, crushed the other under his boot. He smoked half the new one in silence. Flanna wanted to grab him and shake him. Instead she looked out toward the towering snow covered slopes of the Hindu Kush Mountains, again reminded of how the seeming closeness proved they were so very far away.

“So happens tomorrow’s patrol heads up the road towards Hajigak Pass where this thing got started,” he said, then he flicked the ember from his smoke and put it back in the pack. “We’ll have to clear this little exercise with Mayhew and Bowman, so maybe we better get that issue locked and loaded ASAP.”

“Okay troopers,” Shorty said over the radio. “Stay sharp and watch your six. Looks like the IED part of this mission is giving us a break so far, but you know what they say when things look too easy. Don’t expect any Shangra-La moments today.

“Shangra-La?” Mayhew said. “Could you explain the nomenclature on that phraseology?”

Flanna shook her head.

Perfect replacement for Zuber. Next he’ll start using some weird accent.

“Just a little joke we use to describe cakewalk ops,” Flanna said over her radio. “You are familiar with the mission parameters and kinetic objectives, correct Corporal?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Bowman butted in. “Understood five-by-five.”

God give me strength. Two high and tight idiots…

Mayhew swung the top gun turret to the right and opened up with the Ma Duce.

“Mortar fire at our three,” he said in a calm voice while squeezing off controlled three-round bursts of .50 cal, using the tracers to mark the direction.

An instant later a grey mushroom cloud tinged with orange hit the road 25 meters to the front, followed seconds later by an explosive crump that rattled the windshield.

“Use the Ma Duce to show the location!” Shorty screamed over the radio while he swung right and headed up the slight grade of the small boulder and depression covered hill.

“Approximately 100 meters at three o clock,” Mayhew said then he sent a longer burst to paint the position.

Shorty gunned the engine. The Humvee bounced like they were going airborne. Up, down and side to side the vehicle rattled and loose equipment bounced all over, including Flanna who’d not secured her seat belt.

Déjà vu all over again recalling the first Humbaba op.

She and Bowman bounced off each other like they were a couple of organic pinballs.

“Glad to see I’m not the only one with a seat belt phobia,” she said.

She cinched on her seat belt, saw a faint puff of smoke from the mortar tube beyond the windshield, and then a bunch of Hadji’s jumped up out of fox holes on both sides like Afghan Jack-in-the-boxes, AK-47s and RPGs all aimed at the Humvee. The last fired mortar round landed 20 meters to their six. Shorty showed why he did the driving. His Montana ATV experience growing up usually did the trick. Most drivers would have tried to outrun the mortar barrage, but not Shorty.

She yanked down the window so that Bowman could get in a few licks with his SAW, and in spite of his high and tightness, he definitely knew the drill. The two Hadjis with the RPGs took several rounds, doing the M-249 jitterbug before falling like rag dolls. Several Hadji AK rounds hit both armored sides and the bulletproof windshield starred in places with AK hits. The right rear window shattered and Flanna felt something hit her cheek. Her gloved hand came away red with blood.

Baser cut loose with his AK and tumbled the three remaining bad guys with 7.62 rounds, and for good measure he gave them some more, making them do some jitterbug moves of their own. Shorty swerved to the left, giving Mayhew a clear shot at the mortar crew with the Ma Duce, and damn did that trooper deliver. He fired three long bursts and besides giving everyone in the Humvee a permanent case of tinnitus, the two man mortar crew flew backwards as though they’d sprouted wings, rolling for several meters once they hit the deck. And for good measure, Mayhew shot up the mortar tube turning it into a pile of busted up junk.

“Christ, Mayhew,” Flanna said. “You really know how to do the dance, my man—and you too Bowman.”

“Ten-four on that,” Shorty said as he turned back toward the road, stopping only long enough for Flanna and Bowman to secure the Hadji’s weapons, ammo, IDs and other intel including jihadist propaganda and a map. They stowed it all in the back of the Humvee and climbed back on board.

“No matter what, now we’ve completed our assigned mission,” Shorty said. “So we’re covered.

“Hooah!” all five troopers screamed.

“Now the real fun starts,” Flanna said as she stuck a hemostatic bandage on her wounded cheek then re-secured the scarf over her face. Afghanistan was a permanent hot or cold dust bowl, depending on the time of day and season, so in this heat it was a choice between sweating and breathing.

Only the sound of the Humvee’s engine was heard for the next few klicks.

It was all coming back to Flanna and probably Shorty and Baser too. An hour later they reached the burned-out wreck of Sgt. McCullum’s Hummer, flipped over now on the steep slope of this godawful strip of crappy cow path where it had all begun.

“Hadjis must’ve scavenged it for usable scrap,” Shorty said.

“Were getting close now, boys,” Flanna said to Bowman and Mayhew. “Humbaba fried that Humvee, taking out five troopers. Be ready to deploy CS in case we run up against more locusts,” she said and clipped two CS tear gas grenades to her tactical vest, making sure Bowman did the same since he’d be outside the Hummer too.

In another twenty miles they turned the sharp bend—again lifting a front wheel off the road’s surface. Shorty got them around the turn and not over the cliff. The small valley and cedar grove became visible below.

Dark green trees still lined both sides of the road but many looked unhealthy now, like half-dead pine trees Flanna had seen in Northern California—trees that had been infested with some kind of beetle, she was told. And all the vegetation slumped some as though they were being starved of water. The All-father Cedar she had torched with the Willie Pete grenades was nothing but a charred stump, but from this distance there was no evidence of Humbaba’s carcass or the two big cats she’d greased.

“No time like now!” Shorty yelled then gunned the engine. The Humvee rumbled downhill, the trooper’s weapons ready. They rolled into the grove, prepared for the worst, but all they heard was the running Humvee.

Nothing remaining of Humbaba either.

“Maybe Pazuzu wants a better look at yours truly,” Flanna said, so she jumped out the vehicle with an M67 frag grenade in her hand. “Here I am, butt face!” she yelled. Come and get it!”

Only the wind rustling though the cedars answered.

Baser, Shorty, and Bowman egressed the Humvee.

Baser took out a 6-inch silver plaque that had two nasty looking figures on it, one with a scorpion’s tail and the other with long talons on its paws, plus writing in some ancient script.

“Amulet should bring Pazuzu and Lamashtu after I speak Imam’s incantation. Both should prize it, which is the trap.” Baser paused for a moment and looked skyward.

“Pazuzu comes!” he said, followed by what Flanna assumed was the incantation spoken in Pashto, then he tossed the amulet to the ground several meters to their front. Only the winds continued at first. Then they rose in volume.

A lion’s roar sounded in the distance that grew louder by the second. The ground started to shake, knocking the three troopers and Baser to the deck. Then the beating of locust’s wings was heard, which grew louder as well.

“Lamashtu comes too!” Baser screamed.

“Put your gas masks on,” Shorty ordered.

Suddenly a human-shaped apparition appeared, floating five meters above them. It had a horned lion’s head, clawed hands, talons for feet, plus two pairs of wings and a scorpion’s tail which lashed from side to side. A cloud of locusts descended from the direction of the destroyed All-father Tree.

“Pazuzu!” Baser’s screamed, his voice muffled by the gas mask.

It hovered above them for a moment then swooped down, her scorpion tail swinging. Almost it skewered Flanna. She jumped backwards. It lunged again, this time the stinger caught her Kevlar and the strap of her gas mask, ripping both off while the stinger scraped her scalp. She lay on the ground trying to shake the dizziness away, feeling a painful burning on the top of her head and that falling sensation indicating an irregular heartbeat. She scrambled on hands and knees with hazy vision, looking for her gas mask while the head pain increased.

Close but no cigar—I hope.

From blurry eyes she saw the other troopers hit the deck as Pazuzu flew upward. Then the locus’s attacked.

She found the gas mask as the first locusts hit, pulled the head strap over an arm, securing it for now while sweeping her other gloved hand in front of her face to keep the locusts at bay. More of the insects tried to bite her though body armor and BDUs with only minimal success, but some of them bit her in the face. She screamed, grasped one of the tear gas grenades, pulled the pin and held it away from her body, sweeping her arm in a circle to disperse the CS. Then she set it on the ground, letting the grey cloud surround her. The buzzing roar faded. She closed her eyes and held her breath, but they still burned. With her free hand she secured the gas mask then cleared it.

“Open fire!” Shorty screamed over the radio once the three troopers had regained their feet.

Through burning blurred vision, Flanna saw Mayhew—who’d not donned his gas mask—get in the first licks with the Ma Duce. He fired a five-round burst, stitching the jinn from crotch to chest. It gave out a high pitched shriek, glared at the Humvee’s top gunner with murder in its eyes but Mayhew just grinned and let it have some more. Shorty followed with his M4, as did Bowman with his SAW, and Baser cut loose with his AK. After deploying her second CS grenade, Flanna un-holstered her Browning 9mil and aimed for Pazuzu’s torso.

“Bowman, Shorty, how ‘bout some more CS?” she yelled over the radio.

“Roger,” two voices said into her speaker and more of the gas surrounded the four troopers in billowing gray clouds which the locusts couldn’t handle, many falling to the ground while the others took flight.

She reloaded the automatic, and now that her eyesight was mostly back to normal, she took careful aim at one of Pazuzu’s eyes and fired. Its head snapped backwards and it shrieked even louder, looking straight at Flanna with anything but warm and fuzzy feelings.

The force of the combined firepower pushed it backwards as its shrieks rose. Both Mayhew and Bowman kept up the MG fire and once Pazuzu was knocked far enough away, Shorty hit it with a 40mm HE round from his thumper. It exploded on contact with Pazuzu’s chest in a flash of orange and black. And then in a beautiful follow up, he lobbed a 40mm CS round at the still hovering cloud of locusts. Mayhew copied that move with his M4 thumper. The swarm seemed to get the message and dispersed.

The jinn flew upwards using the cedars as cover, but the weapon fire followed and the shrieking continued.

Still dead-on target, but where’s Lamashtu?

Baser yanked off his gas mask, ran to the amulet and held it aloft.

“Pazuzu!” he screamed, followed by more Pashto. The jinn looked downwards at the Afghan, so Baser threw the amulet further into the open dirt clearing.

With another shriek it swooped down again so they all hit the deck once more. It grabbed the amulet, clutching the silver rectangle to its chest. Its stinger nailed Bowman in the shoulder on its way back up into the treetops.

“Damn it!” Bowman screamed then dropped his SAW, falling to one knee.

Up in the cedars, Pazuzu’s shrieks turned to laughter as if it had captured a valued prize.

“Pazuzu has taken the bait!” Baser yelled in triumph.

A second, even louder roar was now heard as another apparition appeared. This one had a lioness’ body and head with long razor-sharp talons at the ends of all four paws. It also had huge flapping wings, which seemed to be the standard nomenclature with all Babylonian demons.

“Lamashtu!” Baser screamed.

It glared downward at Flanna and the rest of the troopers, then dived at the Humvee.

Mayhew opened fire at Lamashtu with a long burst from the Ma Duce. The fifty caliber rounds stitched the jinn’s chest then moved upward, nailing the head with another sustained burst. One of the incendiary rounds hit it in one eye—a real twofer for the top gunner—as Lamashtu’s screams briefly rose in volume.

“Hooah!” Mayhew crowed in delight then let Lamashtu have some more.

But this jinn’s screams seemed almost an afterthought, even after Mayhew fired another burst. It batted at the .50 cal rounds with one of its clawed front paws in seeming annoyance then swooped down at the top gunner.

Mayhew kept firing till Lamashtu reached the Ma Duce. The jinn ripped it from its mount with a swipe from the other paw and sent the machinegun flying over the rear of the Humvee.

Flanna was sure the top gunner was toast until his head popped up from the hatch and he started firing M4 rounds towards the retreating jinn as it headed toward the other troopers who now formed up in a dispersed crescent formation. Together all four soldiers opened fire—even Bowman who managed the SAW in a cradled arm. The M4 rounds, SAW, Baser’s AK and Flanna’s Browning 9mil all fired together, the sounds combining into enough noise to guarantee another case of tinnitus.

Then at the last second, Lamashtu looked down where Pazuzu had come back into the open, still clutching the amulet.

Pazuzu shrieked a challenge at its ancient enemy.

Fast as an Apache gunship, Lamashtu changed course, dove at Pazuzu and tried to wrest the amulet away. Both jinns engaged in a tug-of-war, Pazuzu lashing out with its stinger while Lamashtu raked Pazuzu’s body with its taloned paws, both taking an incredible amount of damage.

Flanna and the rest of the humans watched them rise ever higher into the air until the shrieking faded as both grew smaller in the distance. Then, with a clap of thunder that knocked them all to the deck the shrieking stopped as both jinns disappeared.

After that they stood, all eyes turned to Baser.

The Afghan wiped his sweating forehead with the sleeve of his BDUs and smiled for the first time in a month.

“We have won,” he said. “Both jinns now banished to the Underworld.”

“You mean we’re permanently off their shit list?” Flanna asked.

“Unless Enlil decrees otherwise,” he said, the double daggers now gone from his eyes.

Good God, how many more demons do we have to worry about?

“Unless Enlil…oh, forget it,” Shorty said. “At least we won this round.”

Flanna heard the sound of boots crunching dirt clods behind her. Mayhew had egressed the Humvee, stroking his chin, still with that killer’s smile plastered across his pie hole.

“Nice moves with the Ma Duce, Trooper,” she said while gently feeling the top of her head. “Nice work with the thumper too,” she added while heading to the Humvee and her aid bag to treat Bowman, who was in obvious pain.

Mayhew shrugged. “All part of the service, Sarge,” he said, the smile tilting to the side, something she found disturbingly familiar.

“You don’t use any fake-funny foreign accents, do you Corporal?”

“Nein, herr unteroffizier,” he said.

“Glad to hear that,” then she gave him her tight-lipped smile, reserved for those special troopers.