Road to Shangra-La
Fiction - by David Stier
Hajigak Pass, Central Afghanistan
While Staff Sergeant Flanna O’Rourke filled her camelback from one of the jerry cans secured to their Humvee, she studied the unpaved dirt road that seemed to go straight up for as far as she could see. The surrounding terrain was composed of tan dirt, rocks, sand and an absence of plant and animal life—the norm for this area of Afghanistan. Must be an Army rule, but it seemed like their company was always being assigned to garden spots like this. In the distance, the snow covered slopes of the Hindu Kush Mountains provided a break from the bleak moonscape. That they looked so close was proof to her that they were really damned far away.
Highest mountains I’ve ever seen. Makes Mt. Shasta look like a hill.
“Come on, Red,” Cpl. Lars Zuber said—called Lars because he liked talking in an annoying fake German accent. “You ain’t ze only grunt that needs wasser, liebchen.”
Flanna took her time, knowing it would piss off Zuber even more. This was their third deployment together and while he kept trying, he had yet to get under her skin—or more importantly, into her BDUs. Besides, she had him to thank for the handle she’d been saddled with. Once he’d found out that “Flanna” meant “red-haired” in Gaelic, the name stuck—even though she was a blonde. Though admittedly there were crappier handles—like “Doc” since she was the platoon’s Combat Life Saver.
“Sorry, Lars—and that’s Staff Sergeant Liebchen, to you, Corporal,” she said with the tight lipped smile that he hated. “If I knew it was you whining like a baby, I’d have taken longer.”
“Yeah, yeah. Very funny and about as hilarious as a two-legged stool.”
With a bow, she motioned to the still opened jerry can. “Quit yer bitchin, dude. At least I left it uncapped. Wouldn’t want your pea brain to explode trying to solve such a complex operation.”
Zuber tried to shoulder his way past, but she moved at the last second. Just another sandbox game they played. But when the rubber hit the road, they always had each other’s back.
“Alright you two badmins,” SFC Shorty Schwartz said. “Cut the grab ass and saddle up.”
“Badmins?” Zuber said. “Red’s the equipment slob not me, Sarge.”
“Says the moron who forgot his camelback on the last op,” she said while taking a seat in the rear of the Humvee next to Corporal JJ Johnson, who was cleaning his M249 SAW—again. JJ hardly said a word to anyone. He let his squad automatic weapon do the talking.
“Tell me JJ,” Zuber said as he took his position up top behind the .50 cal. Ma Duce. “When you gonna marry that thing? You just cleaned it ten minutes ago, dude.”
With a last swipe of a rag, JJ patted his SAW and flipped Zuber the bird.
Baser, the Afghan interpreter took the seat next to Sargent First Class Shorty Schwartz and checked his AK 47. Baser was a damn good fighter and excellent interpreter. The platoon was always glad to get him assigned for an op.
Shorty’d grown up in Montana, racing ATVs since he was a kid, so he always drove their Humvee. And at six-three, it didn’t take a genius to figure out his handle. Shorty stuck his head out the window and looked to the rear where the second Humvee with Staff Sergeant McCullum and the rest of the squad looked all ready to go.
“Red, check the radio. I don’t think Zuber knows the drill on that yet.”
“Wha—” Zuber started to say until Flanna kicked him in the leg then contacted their forward operating base and McCollum’s Humvee.
“Ten four with McCollum and the FOB,” she said over the intercom while Shorty fired up the Humvee. “But that was an unkind remark about Zuber’s operational proficiency. I just showed him, again, yesterday.”
Flanna re-secured her scarf over her face. Even with the windows up, dust always got in. 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. They’d been on this winding uphill trail for two hours now with no end in sight—especially since the wind had just kicked up and dust reduced visibility to about 20 meters, which slowed their progress even more.
“Hey Sarge,” she said over the intercom. “What exactly are we looking for this time? Taliban or maybe another road to Shangra-La?” Whenever they got an op that turned out to be a cakewalk, they referred to it as a “Shangra-La.” In the first six months of this deployment that had happened a grand total of once.
Silence for a couple of minutes while Shorty navigated a particularly nasty curve on this godawful strip of cow path that Afghan’s called a road.
“Supposed to be an ISIS outpost at the top of this stretch of road. We should be there in another five hours or so.”
Five more hours?
A loud whump came from their six, followed by some kind of animal roar that passed directly over their Humvee.
“What the—” Shorty said over the intercom just as Zuber opened up with the Ma Duce while Baser started screaming in Pashto.
The roar changed to a scream—maybe in pain?
“Nailed the sucker,” Zuber confirmed over the intercom.
Flanna yanked down the window and against better judgment, stuck her head outside. In the dust blown distance, she saw something very long and very large with what looked like flapping wings, but it disappeared into the dust storm before she could get a better look.
Shorty slammed on the brakes and a still screaming Baser jumped out and slid underneath the Humvee.
“You’re with me, Red,” Shorty said. “Lars, keep watch up top. JJ get outside and back him up.”
Flanna grabbed her aid bag and headed for the second Humvee. Through the dust she made out flames.
Not good at all.
Shorty had grabbed the fire extinguisher and hosed down the flaming cab as Flanna readied her aid bag. After the CO2 had killed the flames she moved in, but one look in the front and rear of the Humvee was enough. All five troopers looked like they’d been deep fried. Shrunken and burned beyond recognition. How could a single explosion do that?
“Christ,” Shorty said over her shoulder. “What caused this mess? I ain’t seen nothing like this before. Have you?”
“Only at Church’s Chicken back home,” she said.
“Damn, Red! Show some respect, huh?”
“Deal with it in your way, Sergeant, and I’ll handle it in mine. What’re we going to do now?” she said, just to change the subject.
Shorty scowled at her for a moment, then turned on his heel and headed back to their Humvee, so Flanna did the same. When she’d stowed her aid bag and the fire extinguisher she noted that Baser had just slid from underneath the vehicle. She walked over to his side of the Humvee and started dusting him off, which showed how rattled he was since he’d never let her—a woman—do that before.
“Baser,” she said. “Do you know what hit us?”
The Afghan wiped off his face with the sleeve of his blouse. Flanna had never seen someone’s eyes as wide as his at this moment.
“Humbaba,” he said in a shaky voice. “We must go back now.”
“Humbaba?” she asked. “What’s a Humbaba? What I saw looked like some kind of giant flying snake.”
“Yes!” he said while nodding his head several times “That is Humbaba! We must go back or we will all die!” but before she could ask for more intel, Baser entered the Humvee and slammed the door.
Since this was Flanna’s third sandbox tour in Afghanistan, she’d gotten used to Afghan superstitions, but she’d seen what she’d seen, and it wasn’t a gunship or jet. As she entered the vehicle—her gut tied up in knots—and listened as Shorty tried to contact the FOB, she tried to get Baser’s attention, but he just stared straight ahead as though in a trance. She thought about shaking his shoulder but didn’t want to risk giving offense.
After several minutes of nothing but static on both the primary and alternate frequencies, Shorty gave up.
“Did anyone see what hit us?” he asked.
“Looked like some kind of fire breathing dragon,” Zuber said.
“Say what?” both JJ and Shorty said at the same time.
“Yeah,” Flanna confirmed. “For once I agree with Lars. What I saw looked long and skinny for its size and it had big flapping wings. Baser says it’s something called a Humbaba.”
At the sound of the name, Baser seemed to wake up.
“Yes, Sergeant Shorty. It was Humbaba and we must turn back or we will all die!”
“Aw, come on, Sarge,” Lars said. “We’re supposed to be the hammer right? That dragon looked like a big ol’ nail to me, yeah?”
Shorty sat there for a couple minutes, tapping the steering wheel with his left hand.
“Okay troopers,” he finally said. “There’s nothing we can do for Sgt. McCullum and his guys, so I say we head on and get some payback. Red, keep trying to make contact with the FOB and if you can get though, apprise them of the sitrep.”
During Shorty’s instructions, Baser kept violently shaking his head. Shorty squeezed Baser’s shoulder to get his attention because they all knew from past experience that he was comfortable with this gesture.
“Baser, my friend,” Shorty said. “We have to go on. If you wish to stay here with our fallen comrades, you may, but we could really use your help.”
Baser stared out the front windshield for about a minute.
“Okay, Sgt. Shorty. I will come with you.”
As they turned another sharp bend in the road—this one lifting a front wheel off the road’s surface—Shorty’s expertise got them around the turn and not over the cliff.
After that kickass maneuver, a small valley and a grove of evergreens became visible.
“What kind of trees are those?” Flanna asked Baser over the sound of the laboring engine. Dark green trees lined both sides of the road, forming a kind of grove that looked totally out of place in this brown desert wasteland. And there was a much larger tree near the grove’s center as well.
“Khegún—I think you call them cedar, as in the Cedars of Lebanon,” he said. “We are probably close to Humbaba’s lair. His purpose is to guard this grove which contains the All-father Cedar. Expect him to appear soon.”
“Hear that, Lars?” Shorty said over the intercom. “Stay hard and keep your eyes peeled.”
As they approached the grove, some ruins also appeared through the still swirling dust.
“Hey Sarge,” Zuber said over the intercom. “Looks like this road goes right through those trees. Might make for good cover.”
“See Red?” Shorty said. “Even a dim bulb like Lars can come up with a good idea sometimes.”
“Jawohl herr Unteroffizier!” Zuber said. “You should thank my grosse schmarts, ya?”
“Good God,” said Flanna. “Here we go aga—”
But the gab fest ended with the same monstrous roar they’d heard when McCollum’s section bought it, only this time it was loud enough to shake the windows.
A huge flying snake rose up from the ruins. Flanna got a better look at it this time and for damn sure wished she hadn’t. It let out another roar from its snake-like horned head. Nasty looking fangs lined the upper and lower jaws and a forked tongue wove back and forth in what looked like a regular rhythm. Sucker was about 15 meters long, covered in reddish brown scales with a barbed tail and translucent wings, like a giant bat’s, that flapped hard and often enough to raise a mini-dust storm while it hovered in place. More than anything else, Flanna was reminded of the dragons she’d seen in video games.
“Humbaba!” Baser screamed.
Flanna yanked down her window so JJ could get in a few licks with his SAW.
“Head for that grove!” Zuber yelled then opened up with the Ma Duce.
Zuber was damned good on the .50 cal. He fired measured bursts that hit the dragon in the lower abdomen then moved upward into the chest. And JJ added to the fun by lacing one of the dragon’s wings with 5.56mm rounds.
With an even louder scream—this one in obvious pain—the dragon rose upward, gaining speed with every flap of its wings.
In the meantime, Shorty had floored the pedal and the Humvee bounced and swerved downhill along the rutted and pothole-covered road. Flanna was thrown around like a pinball, wishing she’d secured her seatbelt.
About 100 meters from the cedar grove, heavy rain started to fall and the Humvee started to bounce.
“Earthquake! You gotta slow down, Shorty!” Flanna yelled over the intercom, remembering the time she’d been caught riding in a car with her parents during a big quake in Northern California.
“The hell with that!” Shorty yelled back, and shifted to a higher gear.
“This is of Humbaba!” Baser screamed. “Enlil the All-father has given Humbaba this power!”
Flanna finally secured her seat belt just in time to see the huge pothole.
“Pothole ahead! Swerve right, Shorty!”
Mostly Shorty succeeded, but the left rear tire caught the pothole and the Humvee swerved into the ditch along the side of the road. They nearly rolled over but somehow Shorty managed to throw the Humvee into reverse, grinding the gears as he did so and in a huge swirl of dust, they stopped, tilted steeply to one side. With a final shake, the quake stopped.
“It’s coming back!” Lars yelled then started to cut loose with the Ma Duce again.
“Damn! ” JJ said and kicked open the door, jumped out the right side, and started firing his SAW in measured bursts. Both 5.56mm and .50 cal slugs now fired in a deadly tandem—confirmed by a second pain-filled roar. Shorty slowly backed up the Humvee till it was almost on the road again.
“Come on, JJ!” Flanna yelled over the sounds of MG fire. “We gotta book!” But just as JJ turned to climb back in, she heard the sounds of crackling fire along with the smell of sulfur and rotten eggs. She looked out the back windshield just as a line of fire traced its way toward JJ, immolating him in raging flames. JJ got out a single scream then collapsed, disintegrating into blackened and fried body parts.
“JJ!” Lars screamed then he opened up again. “Come on, bastard! You want some? Here it is!” He fired in one continuous burst this time, most of the rounds hitting the dragon in the head.
The dragon screamed again then it shot another line of fire their way, catching Lars in the left arm. He fell back inside the Humvee with a scream. Flanna grabbed the fire extinguisher and doused the flames. Lars’s lower arm was gone except for the stubs of both arm bones below his elbow.
“Take it easy, Lars,” she said as she opened up her aid bag. “Red’s here, my man, and I got something for the pain,” then she shot him up with some morphine and got to work on his crisped arm.
“Get the SAW, Red,” Lars said between gasps of pain. “Probably we’re gonna need it.”
She jumped out of the Humvee as Shorty put the vehicle in gear.
“Wait, Sgt. Shorty!” Baser said then he got out and started to fire his AK in measured three-round bursts.
Flanna grabbed the SAW, she and Baser jumped back into the Humvee, and Shorty floored it just as another line of dragon fire hit the spot they’d just left. Five meters from the cedar grove, the dragon nailed the Humvee in the left rear quarter. It had them dead to rights but as they passed into the grove, it screamed in rage, and like a spigot being shut off, the flames ceased.
Shorty drove further into the grove then stopped. Flanna grabbed the fire extinguisher from the rear and killed the fire, but not until the left rear tire popped off, sounding more than anything like an amplified fart.
Both Flanna and Lars laughed.
“My sentiments exactly,” Lars said. “Least there ain’t that shitty Humbaba smell to go with it.”
Once Flanna had extinguished the fire Shorty drove the Humvee further into the grove. After that, Flanna and Baser helped Lars to disembark where she could finish dressing his wound, then Baser climbed to the top gun position.
“I must’ve put a hundred rounds into that damned thing,” Lars said. “And outside of a few indignant roars, it acted like I only gave it a case of indigestion.”
“Yeah,” Shorty said, keeping watch down their back trail. “And JJ nailed it good too.” Shorty grabbed the SAW from the rear of the Humvee and reloaded it with a full ammo can then he climbed onto the door jamb to get almost to eye level with Baser. “We should have listened to you, my friend. I’m sorry,” Shorty said. “But if we are to survive, we must have your help.”
Baser checked the ammo feed, slammed down the receiver’s cover then pulled back the charging handle. “Humbaba’s destiny is to guard this forest as the great deity Enlil has commanded throughout the ages,” he said. “Because of the All-father Cedar, Humbaba cannot be destroyed.”
The image of that tall tree flashed through Flanna’s mind.
“Sarge,” she said. “We still got those two WP grenades?”
“Yeah,” Shorty said. “There in the rear stow—”
The ground shook as Humbaba landed at the grove’s edge and started to move forward. It roared again, bathing them all in the same sulfur and rotten egg stench. Flanna swallowed the bile that rose to her throat.
“Humbaba will not use flame,” Baser yelled as he began to fire. The dragon screamed in pain again, swiping at the slugs as though they were gnats. “It must keep the cedars from harm!”
Flanna rushed to the rear stowage compartment, grabbed the two white phosphorus grenades.
“I got an idea, Sarge. But I’ll need some time!” she said.
“Get on it Red,” Shorty yelled. “We’ll hold it off.” Shorty waited till the dragon opened its maw before firing a 40mm thumper round into its mouth. Reflexively, Humbaba’s jaws snapped shut, followed by a muffled explosion then an earsplitting roar of pain. He reloaded and gave the M4 to Zuber then he grabbed the SAW and started to fire at Humbaba’s head. She took the white phosphorous grenades and threw an M67 frag grenade at the dragon, then rolled one of her last two M67s to Lars.
She raced down the trail. Baser screamed something at her back but she ignored it, figuring that time was definitely not on their side.
The sounds of gunfire, thumper rounds, and dragon roars lessened somewhat as she turned a bend in the trail. Up ahead she saw the huge cedar that looked more like a giant black oak from back home in California.
She took one of the white phosphorous grenades, but as she readied to pull the pin, two large cats, looking like cougars only bigger, circled around from both sides of the tree.
Maybe more All-father guardians?
They let out twin roars and while not as loud as the fire-breathing dragon variety, they still scared the crap out of her causing her to trip on a tree root and fall backward. She dropped the Willy Pete and grabbed her last M67, regaining her footing just as the cats started to lope her way. She pulled the pin and rolled it toward the left cat, backing up quickly while unholstering her Browning 9mil.
Perfect timing as the grenade exploded under the cat, lifting it off the ground, the disemboweled guts trailing like bloody grey worms. As she turned to fire the Browning, the other cat slapped her left arm. Searing pain raced to her fingertips as it raked the other paw’s claws across her body armor, knocking her down. The cat—legs splayed to either side of her body—drooled spit and hot smelly breath in her face. Through double vision and using both hands, she forced the barrel of her automatic under the cat’s massive head, using it to keep the slavering fangs from her throat, then she jerked the trigger until the weapon fired dry.
She lay there for a minute under the cat, blood seeping over her BDUs and down the side of her neck. Then with all the strength she could muster, she rolled it off and stood, hands on knees until her vision cleared.
She staggered to the Willy Pete she’d dropped, picked it up then limped toward the giant tree. In the distance she heard the Ma Duce and SAW cutting loose with an occasional crump of a grenade. Once close enough, she pulled the pin, lobbed it toward the trunk then stumbled backwards out of range. After it cooked off and the WP streamers landed, she got close enough to throw the second.
The tree went up fast, like a tinderbox. She half jogged, half limped back toward the Humvee. As she rounded the bend in the trail, she caught the last death throes of Humbaba. It clawed at its throat as though suffocating, and with a final ear piercing shriek, it fell backwards, kicked its legs several times then lay still.
As she limped to the Humvee, Baser climbed down from the top gun position. Shorty, standing with the SAW, barrel down in the dirt and wearing a look of incredulity, slumped down on his butt. Lars sat off to the side, his Browning 9mil lying in his lap as he tried to reload. She took it and loaded another mag then handed it back.
“Thanks, Red” he said with a drugged-out morphine smile. “Knew you was good for something."
“Guess you got the tree,” Shorty said through a grimace of pain. One side of his face had suffered second degree burns as did his left arm, but both of his eyes seemed okay. His body armor, laying in the dirt, and half fried, supplied the reason he was still alive.
“The bastard let off a little shot of flame then it seemed to remember the damned trees,” he said.
“The All-father Tree’s toast,” she said. “Also two big ass cougars.”
Flanna took some water gel from her aid bag and slathered it on Shorty’s face then wrapped a dressing loosely around the burns.
“Maybe this’ll help your looks,” she said with a smile.
Shorty tried to laugh but winced instead. “Bet you said that on purpose,” he said as she got to work on his arm, then she helped him to stand and to move next to Lars, who leaned against one of the cedars.
“You okay, Baser?” she asked, receiving a nod in answer.
“But world may not be now,” he said with a piercing look at Flanna.
The Humvee was mostly intact. Humbaba must have ignored it. That or the Ma Duce had kept it at bay. Only the flat tire needed changing. Baser could do that with their help.
She took off her body armor and blouse, washed away some of the blood with a bag of saline and treated the gouges in her arm. Fortunately they weren’t too deep but they’d definitely leave scars.
“Looking good, Red,” Lars said as he ogled her sweaty t-shirt.
She ignored him while working on her arm. After she put her blouse back on, she turned, giving him the tight-lipped smile he loved so much.
“Looks are all you’ll ever get, my man. Now shut up or I’ll let you change the tire.”