The Prodigy paradox

CHAPTER 5

Approximately 2KM SW of ANA Lower Observation Post (OP) Jubai, Kunar Province, Afghanistan

They had barely travelled two kilometers along the path to the overwatch position near the Jubai Upper OP, but David was already tired as hell. He had started regretting all the extra food and water he had packed about a kilometer ago, and he was now starting to regret the extra clothes and fleece. He figured he would be cursing the radio and batteries in another kilometer.

"How you doing sir?"

Looking over his shoulder he saw Doc grinning at him, and began cursing his medic's ever cheerful disposition. "I feel like a bag of smashed assholes Doc, thanks for asking" he replied sarcastically.

"That's because you stuck to the packing list that they put out back in December for that mission sir," Doc replied with a grin. "After four days of freezing your ass off and running out of food on that cluster-fuck, you overdo it now."

"Well observed Captain Obvious. Are you bucking for a promotion Sonny?" David replied in a gravely mock-NCO voice. "What's your grand survival strategy for when the inevitable snow rolls in and we get stuck up here for a few extra days?"

At his question Doc broke into an enormous, shit eating grin. "I'm gonna borrow from you sir," he said.

"Mooching, shit-bagging, motherfucker..." David grumbled, trying to hide his smile.

After a few minutes, just as David was starting to think about how nice it would be to stop for a quick break, Doc piped up again.

"I never asked sir, why does everyone call you Kenny?"

Smiling David cast his thoughts back to Boot Camp. "Laziness Doc. When I was in Basic all the other knuckle-draggers in my platoon didn't like bothering with my full name, Kennisham. So they just called me Kenny. By graduation the whole company was using it, and two of the guys I graduated with accompanied me to OCS. When I showed up they kept calling me Kenny, and everyone just assumed that was my first name. It stuck. When I showed up at the 101st I kept running into guys that knew me by that name from OCS and Field Artillery BOLC [Basic Officer Leadership Course] and it just kept going. Does it amuse you to know that one of the nicknames your officer's use was born of the laziness of Basic Training Privates?"

Breaking into another shit-eating grin, Doc replied with laughter in his voice, "Absolutely sir. It's good to know that some of you high falootin' officers can't escape your humble beginnings."

David appreciated the sentiment. He also appreciated Doc's less than subtle attempts at keeping him distracted from the pain in his back and legs; the result of hauling so much weight up a damn mountain. Returning his full attention back to the task at hand, he noticed the team ahead of him had stopped. Calling up to the next man in line David asked "Hey sir, why are we stopping?"

"Got a kid leading a donkey down the path ahead. He must be returning from a resupply run from the upper OP. We're gonna hold up and let him go past," replied Captain "Hollywood" Epps.

David nodded his head and held his arm up to signal the halt. Taking a knee and visually scanning his sector of fire for the short halt, he started searching the path nearby for better, and hopefully more comfortable, cover. It was a valuable, learned survival trait to always know where the nearest rock you could hide behind was. Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement up the line, and turned to see a boy of six or seven years leading a laden donkey down the path ahead.

David still had trouble with this country. A kid that age shouldn't be doing supply runs to military outposts in the mountains at seven in the morning. Hell, that kid was barely old enough to be in school in the states. But early during the deployment their interpreter Khan had explained how Afghanistan really worked. The insurgents would steal the supplies and kill any adult that tried to support an Afghan OP. The only way the villages could provide the government required support to the military, and avoid reprisal from the insurgents, was to use children for the supply runs. The insurgents wouldn't attack the kids, and even the most corrupt Afghan soldier would think twice about stealing from a child. Yeah, this country was FUBAR.

Taking a second look at the donkey, David started to wonder why it was carrying so much if it was returning from delivering supplies to the OP.

"Sir, stop me if I'm wrong, but isn't that donkey riding a little heavy for 'after' a supply run?" David inquired of Hollywood.

Turning to look closer at the child and beast duo that was now about twenty feet from their point-man, Sergeant First Class Bragg, Captain Epps reached up to key his mike, "Tongue-Punch this his Hollywood, does that donkey seem like it's riding a little low for a return trip, over?"

"Looks like it Hollywood, I'm about to have the terp [interpreter] ask the ankle biter what's up, over," came Bragg's response over the net.

David went back to scanning his sector, but could hear the interpreter Khan, calling out in the distance.

Less than a minute later Bragg's voice came back over the net "Hollywood this is Tongue-Punch, the kid says the ANA refused to pay him for the supplies, so he has to take the whole delivery back down to the village. He seems legit. The kid's crying his eyes out over it."

At this last message David's spider sense started shouting at him. This was totally wrong. The Afghan Army didn't plan for missed resupply runs. They were logistical idiots 75% of the time, and he would have bet his next paycheck that without the food on that donkey, the soldiers at that OP would go hungry by tomorrow. Sure they were greedy, corrupt, deceitful assholes who would certainly have refused to pay for a supply run; especially if someone had been embezzling the money from the Afghan government, which happened all the time. But they would have still taken the supplies.

Turning to Epps again, David voiced his concern, "Sir, you know that doesn't sound right. These ANA are more corrupt than Chicago politicians, but they would never let food and fresh water walk back out of an OP. What if it's an I.E..."

boom.

The loud, far off, thump of a large explosion in the direction of Jubai Lower OP was followed by the sound of small arms fire and a burst of radio chatter on David's radio. "...this is Gator 27, our lead vick just got hit with a VBIED and we are under fire from the north. We need QRF and any Air Assets ASAP. I say again, Gator Main this is Gator 27, our lead vick..."

BOOM!

Whatever else Gator 27 had to say on the subject was rendered undecipherable to David by the sound and shock wave of a much closer explosion about one hundred feet away. Knocked from his feet, blinded and deafened David noticed a few things at the same time once his vision returned.

First, he couldn't hear anything over the ringing in his ears, his nose was bleeding, and the pounding in his head wasn't doing him any favors either. Second, along the trail where the donkey and boy used to be, there was now an impassable crater about ten feet across and five feet deep in the mountain. Third, the front two SFAAT team members, Tongue-Punch and Pappy, were down and immobile. Fourth, he seemed to have an annoying flashing at the edge of his vision, back along the path behind him. Deciding to tackle this last issue first he blinked a few times to clear his vision problem, but the flashing continued. So he turned his head to see Doc, and Mother apparently in a shoot out with the Afghan commander's Personal Security Detail (PSD) back along the path. It had been muzzle flashes he was seeing.

Motherfuckers, thought David. Those goat-fucking, rag-headed, camel jockey motherfuckers finally decided to cash in on our hides.