Where Mountains Care Not

Where Mountains Care Not

Graham Swanson

1919, 1989, 2021

The Remnants of the Army of Jallabad, Lady Butler, 1842

Afghan War Rug with Tanks

Striking! Andrew Miller

 I- Full Spectrum Warrior

Codename: Full Spectrum snuck onto a helicopter loaded with new recruits. He still had grass in his hair from Pyongyang. A tailored coat covered his chest armor. He sat in the rear and stared over everyone’s shoulder to see out the pilot’s window.

They soared over ice crested mountain tops. Sharp. Brutal. Like someone carved them with a sword. Rotors echoed over the snow. Steep, barred ridges stabbed the sky. Below they saw the cloud of chalk float over the valley.

The helicopter began its descent. The layers of glaring snow melted away to a ravine in the mountain side, to a muddy bastion full of thorn bushes. Thawing mud trickled down over loose rocks and red foothills. They flew over a dry riverbed. The mud gave way to deep cracks and dust with sparse patches of irrigation and crops.

Quiet sunlight filled the rumbling helicopter. The temperature increased from freezing to 110 degrees. The engine echoed against the surface of the rocks. Roofs appeared from the dust storms. Rows of Humvees drifted past the village and the walls of the COP.

Full Spectrum knew what the new guys were thinking. Pale, sickly light in their eyes hidden by their caps. Nervously twitching their fingers and tapping their toes. The COP was fifty meters from the Village. Surrounding the COP was a ring of low shrubby hills. To the northeast a blade of steep, ancient ridgelines cut the sky that reached the Hindu Kush. To the southeast, broken hills towered over dry river beds. To the west was a rising high ground of ridges that stacked higher and higher like the spines of giants.  

They were surrounded on all sides by steep terrain, tight roads constricted by crops and irrigation ditches. Bolts of gunfire scitted over the ridges of gravel. Plumes of smoke punched the ground around the COP. They could hear the thumps of the mortars blast through the wind.

Full Spectrum wondered how many insurgents watched him from the opposing cliffsides. He counted the smoldering vantage points. His eye followed along the miles of irrigation ditches. Pathways from the village to the hills wove through the scrub plants. Walls and terrain obstructed fire, the shadows of Wadis led right up the perimeter like an open vien. Towers did not cover approach routes.

The helicopter sank from the sky into the clouds of smoke and dust. The taste of burning metal hung in the air. Wind swept into the helicopter as the landing gear pressed into the clay. They secured their weapons and rucksacks. A scratch of gunfire erupted over the clouds, and return fire belted out. The sound of bullets merged like glass.

By the time the recruits had filed out Full Spectrum advanced 50 meters ahead. He saw no one in the air. He saw no one on the ground. No white and tan uniforms. No civilians in the field.

He crawled under razor wire and collapsed barriers. Shots whirled overhead as the vibration of a helicopter swept the breast of the hills. The sky dimmed. The strip of great gorges blocked the eastern sun.

He sought shade under crushed pillar. He rested but the wind dropped at 30 miles an hour. Tt pressed his coat against the ridges, deafened his senses. Grit entered his sinuses. His mouth tasted like mud. His radio crackled as he put his eye to a scope. He watched the streams of mortar fire, and watched their trajectory, sketching the patterns in his notes. Then he turned his attention to the ditches.

The irrigation ditches were a tangled network that went on for miles. He traced each one. Open veins that led right to the walls of the COP. He took a pill and swallowed it. Then he ejected the sim card from his phone and swallowed it. Then he raised the scope back to his eye.

Shadows of men lingered around the COP. He saw trash bags, heaps of plastic bottles, soldiers scurried, vehicle doors flew open, they grabbed heavy weapons, then advanced in a line to the perimeter.

Some soldiers hesitated. They just patrolled with their guns over their shoulder. They did not react to Full Spectrum when they saw him. Their steps were heavy, their faces were dark with dirt and weariness. But their eyes were loose, like the body was on a pre-set path, the mind was racing with thoughts.

Full Spectrum looked away from them. By the gate of the COP a bullet riddled truck sat with its wheels submerged in dust. A burning pool of fuel flowed beneath it. The fumes touched the sky, and for a moment, turned the sky red. When the mortar fire paused, he darted through the smoke, and executed his stealthy infiltration.

The odor of burning and rotten meat within the COP made his stomach turn. He could smell the teams of men covered in sweat. They rushed to move equipment and clear the pathways. Extinguish fires. Gather the wounded. One soldier paused his rescue to stare at the stars appearing in the sky as the sun began to set.

The structures in the outpost wavered in the wind. Computers, radiators, infirmary, lodging, tents, American Flags. He entered the FOB. Maps plastered against the wall, one soldier operated two radios, another sat drenched in sweat smearing ink and moisture on a page as he wrote. The Commander of combat operations sat at desk.

Full Spectrum saluted. The Commander recognized him, but seemed to accept his presence rather than welcome it. Dust lingered in the air longer than it should’ve. A map below had sectors blacked out. Outside smoke curled into balls. He waited patiently for something, almost like the Intelligence Officer standing before him was a small piece of something bigger.

The Commander stood up.

“Is it time?”

“Activty likely in East.” Full Spectrum pointed to the map.

“What does likely mean?”

They discussed intel of enemy movements around the region.

Full Spectrum produced a grainy photo of a man. The backdrop was underground, yet his clothing was pristine.

“That’s him.”

The Commander studied the photo.

“Why did you build that there?” Full Spectrum pointed to the map.

“That’s how it goes.” The Commander said.

Outside the air pulsed with more thumps. Full Spectrum executed his cover plan. The air whistled, then the ground shook. Men jumped aside. Shell after shell punched the gravel. The soldiers jumped back into position. Rows of tan jackets ran into the open. Some shouted, some laughed. Some weighed down by their weapons. One soldier wore no helmet, another wore a towel around his shoulders.

The Commander rose from his seat and leaned against the doorway. Each impact came closer to the FOB. He listened to the whirl of the wind and the cadence of the explosions- then the column of pops that fired from the helicopter as it marbled the hills. He felt no pressure from the sun’s heat or the wind’s wrath. His eyes got lost in the clouds of dust turning gold in the sunset. They looked like diamonds unfolding.

“Golden Hour.” He said. “They end their attack at Golden Hour every time.”

The barrage ended. The wind blew harder, faster. Cold. Darkness and frost filled the darkening valley. Weary Soldiers began moving trucks, cleaning up rubble, covering bodies in sheets. Some men laughed around a fire. The Commander lit a cigar. Full Spectrum looked at him a little longer. He sipped on a cup of tea.

“I haven’t slept in ten days. ” The Commander said quietly.

Smoke trails drifted across the sky. Moonlight turned them into silver traces. The Commander focused his eyes and raised his head. A scorpion crawled over his glove. Full Spectrum noted that it had been there the whole time, but the Commander didn’t react. 

    “That’s how it is.” 

  II- the Soccer Incident

Shapes on the ridge glinted. When the wind hurled dust over the mountains, when birds left the nests, the shapes remained huddled over the charred remains of a Russian BTR80. The glass of a scope glimmered. The armored patrols began in the quiet of the morning. They scoured the valley.

After footpatrols had been established between the COP and the village, armored patrols mobilized to suppress mortar fire from the hills. The Commander set up patrols between the agriculture sector and the village. The Commander however had them re route. They drove down tight gravel roads smothered with wheat plants and hemp trees. Down dusty expanses. Up hills and across cliff side paths. The Commander sat at the machine gun, letting the wind and sun wash his face.

The patrol re-routed back towards the village. On the outskirts they could smell livestock and stale fires. Children stopped their jobs to carefully observe. Old men went into their mud shacks. Mothers pulled their children by the hands.

The Commander gently waved at the people, but they fled to their homes. They swerved around craters in the road and heaps of debris. The soldiers inside the vehicle scanned the rooftops and holes in the walls. The road had collapsed so they turned down the alley way and drove over broken glass and rubble. The soldiers inside watched every gap, every maladjustment, every moving shadow.

The Humvee almost scraped the walls of the buildings. They slowed down, drenched in sweat, inching out of the alley way, anticipating a barrage of bullets to rain down on them. As they left the alley, they looked back to see a man in a vest sitting back, watching them.

The stranger watched them vanish behind a cloud of dust. They hurried down the road. A few snipers shot at them. One shot hit the Humvee, the rest landed in the dust. “They’re testing us.” The Commander said.

The patrol went on without incident. The enemy ran to the hills after the village fell. Peaks loomed over them from all around. The commander looked calm, but really he stared into a ball of light, like a reflection of a mirror, following the Humvee from ahead. They drove by the fields where they conducted their first foot patrol after months of fighting. He looked up between two mud houses. He could still see it.

The light of a shadow, the feathers of wings, a halo on the mane of a lion and the tail of a snake winding around bending rays of sun.

The sound of the sky breaking open and pouring thunder over the world

The smell of one thousand ripe orchards fermenting in a river

The taste of sharp almonds

the freezing cold of a polar vortex

When the road became the narrowest he jumped out of the vehicle. He walked alongside on foot. There was something in the air that day. Dirt choked the back of his throat. Glints of sunlight reflected from the metal on his body. He didn’t curse the heat or snarl. He walked slowly ahead with his weapon wound over his shoulder.

The voices of village children lifted from some vegetation. A soccer ball rolled between them as they kicked up dust. A dog darted back and forth after them. The ball flew up through the air. The Soldiers saw them but kept driving. They could feel eyes on them.

The Radio crackled. A Patrol was hit by a sniper’s bullet. No casualties.

The Commander got lost in the sound of flies. He heard the soft fleshy sound of impact, and a force tumbling in the wind. The ball smacked him in the side of the head. Knocked his sunglasses off, knocked his helmet askew. He held his hand out to signal a halt. The Patrol stopped.

The Soldiers stuck their heads out of the windows. One nervous voice asked “What are we doing?”

The Commander readjusted his helmet and glasses. He slowly picked up the Soccer ball. He shrugged at the soldiers, and looked back at the kids. They stood back between the patrol and vegetation, too scared to look at him, not sure what the warrior before them was going to do. The tackle on his chest, the high cut helmet, the night vision lens on the side of the helmet, his black glasses. They didn’t dare move.

    Why does he look like a bug?

Full Spectrum looked at the hill top.

The Commander kicked the ball into the air. He laid his weapons down and charged into the field, big smile on his face. Before the kids could react, the ball landed where the side of the Commander’s boot caught it. It popped up into the air, and landed before the kids. He began rolling the ball between his feet, daring the kids to take it, then he ran down field with it at his ankles, with the children in pursuit.

Full Spectrum listened to the scratch of gunfire in the distance. He wrote in his notes how many times the Commander did something he didn’t like. How many times he visited the village. How long he stared at the space between the mud houses.

Dust curled in strange shapes around the boys. It danced among them the children, the Commander, his anxious patrol team. And the watchers from the hill top.

From the damp rocks and shrubs of the hill top, where the sun did not touch, an eye tracked them through a scope. The lens magnified the valley floor. Inside he saw the Commander hesitate as the kid took the ball, then he bounded in the dirt, chasing after it, to the silent laughter of the kids.

The hills watched over the valley. Three shapes watched from their perch, memorising every detail. Hard, silent frowns. Not a single word was uttered. The soft outline held his breath, and aligned the scope closely. The muscles around his eye steady and tight. The rest of his face drooped as he recognized his target. Light glint lingered. He didn’t move yet. His hand rose to his chin. One man next to him held his breath, then carefully glanced back behind them, then back to the valley.

The boy kicked the ball. He perceived strange forms among and beyond them, but did not know their names. He began to hide a shy smile from the Commander who chased after them. He laughed again. A bullet whistled by his head.

Something seemed to be hanging over the head of the Commander. He laughed too loud. Tracked the ball like prey. His boot steps pounded the ground. His hollers echoed against the cliffs. The clothing of the kids looked bright in the hanging dust. Red, white, fabrics glared against the sun.

The children could only detect pieces. Even the wind hesitated. They laughed at its bright colors.

The children could tell. Even when the soldiers scattered, it remained there. Something beautiful… something impossible… something inhuman. They smiled as the vehicles moved down the road. Some even laughed.

The boy went back to his chores after play time ended. Tending the field, moving the animals. When he returned home that night, he noticed the lantern light emitted from the open door. His mother was quiet. His father was quiet. The animals were quiet. He stood aside for a moment. Long enough for a gecko to cross the street. Carefully he let himself in. He saw his parents sitting on the mat the way they did when something serious happened. Still. Formal. Mother kept her eyes on the ground. Father could not take his eyes from his son’s. A visitor sat beside them. Once the boy was before his parents, the visitor stood up. He wore a submachine gun across his chest., but his mouth slowly stretched open with a warm grandfatherish smile. His eyes never left the boy’s. They were on him before he stepped into the house. No words. He slid his hand out of his pocket and offered him a piece of candy.

III- Survivor’s Euphoria

The next morning it was quiet. The sound was gone. A metallic ring replaced it. No mortars at dusk. No machine gun nests. Just dogs barking. Combat patrols rolled out as scheduled. The digital clock beeped.

. A combat vehicle struck an IED in a muddy gorge up slope. Abandoned buildings on nearby hills burned to the ground. Shadows darted between ravines and drainage ditches. Men took the walls of the COP. No helmets. Towels around their necks.

Sand storms blew over the valley. Red lights shot up into the sky and expanded. The Commander approached with goggles on. He stepped over the barriers and stood on the outside where he could see the village lights.

“Can you see it too?” The Commander asked Full Spectrum. 

Full Spectrum was always nearby.

“Yes sir, I see it.” Full Spectrum said. He tightened his visor so he didn’t have to look.

On the other side of the storm, the villagers stared at the same red lights. Some welcomed them. Others fastened their doors and windows shut.

The red lights spun together at first, then one swelled up and gave off long flares like long bird winds. The other light separated into little lights, and they wavered beneath the light of the flares.

The following days they spent painstakingly sweeping the roads and clearing routes. Shot ripped up the crops and struck the vehicles covering them.

The Commander stepped outside the Humvee. He walked on the edge, against the open sky and the armor of the vehicle. Just one step over into the uncleared path. He told the patrol to move slower.

Later they raced to cut off an enemy truck. The truck went through the village and the Humvee followed. The road sank. They were on the truck until a crowd of villagers got between them. The Commander ordered the driver to halt. The villagers were startled at first but they began flowing between the mud walls high above them.

Bombs went off around the Humvees. Another ambush. The Commander drove through crop fields to enter combat. Bullets hit his windshield but he just smiled at the snowflake patterns in the glass. Rockets fired into the air.

Where he saw shadows run, he led the combat patrol. They found a desolate building, he kicked the door in, fired down the stairs. A body dropped below. Old food poured on the ground. He waited at the window. A white truck raced up the road towards them.

RGP fire riddled their position. Most rockets missed but one rocket struck a vehicle. Everything hung trapped in a moment.. Their shadows rippled like heat waves. The road shifted from beneath him.

When the shadows sank back into the ground, the Commander was laying in the gravel, the wind knocked out of him, a scratch on the bridge of his nose. He got up, didn’t care about the blood trickling from his nostrils, he didn’t care about the fire on his chest burning through his armor. He rushed to get the survivors to the infirmary. The wounded lay under a ray of red light.

When he got back he cleaned the dirt from the gash on his nose. They told him that Full Spectrum was MIA. Vanished after the RPG hit the vehicle. He told them to organize scouting teams to find him.

The commander looked at his wound in the mirror. It didn’t look deep but it hurt to breathe out of. He hadn’t felt pain like that since before they took the village. He wished he could volunteer for the next one.

The next day he took another foot patrol to the village. Nice day. Pretty flowers. Women on the outskirts beat laundry. No kids. The Commander thought maybe they had started the school back up. He turned down the road into the village to check. The road felt muddy as it sank into the mountain. Walls rose about him. He waved at an old woman and her escort. He hadn’t seen them before. They walked by without reacting.

He waved to five people on the street. Not one lifted their gaze to meet him. He doubled crossed the street and turned back the way he came. At the house of the elder, they had tea after he chased the enemy out. The elder wasn’t home, so his eldest son came to meet him. The Eldest Son said nothing, he just started through the Commander.

He went back to the market. Hundreds gathered. Not a single person there recognized him. He went to the merchants he saw almost everyday.

“Hey, it’s me. I need a phone charger.”

The merchant didn’t know what to say….

“Coming right up, Sir.”

The Commander went to the soap merchant. He and the merchant used to talk a lot about the future of the country. But when he came to the stand, no one was there.

At the COP soldiers gracefully moved into position. Another attack began. Shells hit the ground. Trucks with machine guns rushed the perimeter and fired. Bullets chopped the makeshift walls to patches. The soldiers moved with ease, unimposed by the sharp cliffs all around them. Smoke cans fell, then a rocket smashed one truck to pieces. Gunfire sounded like crunching gravel. The blue of the sky faded. When Golden Hour began, the firing ceased.

The soldiers reveled in the moment of victory. They hailed their weapons and threw their helmets off. They breathed in the toxic air of burning cars. They put their armor back on and marched into the wreckage of the battlefield. Red lights led them forward. Just like they did every Golden Hour.

At Golden Hour the Commander came to the outskirts of the village. The locals watched him behold the vision between the two houses.

The children watched the soldiers gallop with the red lights.

IV- The Final Phase

The next day the village was deserted. Packs of stray dogs tore through the alley ways. The Commander did not see a single person. Not in the fields. Not in the bizarre.

The Commander went into Full Spectrum’s lodging. The note book sat in an open drawer. A laptop sat open with the notes all typed up and formatted into a PDF. The record of attacks, ambush routes, IED explosions, strikes, pauses. But also the behavior of the men in the valley. Morning: Movement. Enemy Probes. Midday: Contact. Casualties. Golden Hour: Everything stops.

    “It moves like a heart beat.” He wrote. “but what happens after the final phase? Disasociation.”

Outside trucks moved in a chain. Helicopters soared above. But not a single new recruit got off.

Somewhere under ground, Full Spectrum sat on the ground in a cell with no light. Dripping wet on the rocky floor. Cold chilled his legs. He could hear them through the door. Mutter and arrange equipment. It sounded like kitchenware. Soon.

Two guards came in, with an old man between them. Outside masked men arranged pliers, forks, constrictors, gauges, electric wire. The door closed. Full Spectrum sat there exhausted. The old man brought a light with him. They didn’t give him much of an interrogation. They let him know that he’s too valuable to keep here and will be moved. When they left, Full Spectrum gagged. He gagged until his mouth foamed, and spat the SIM card onto the floor.

The old man walked patiently over the frozen ground as hundreds of fighters jumped into the back of trucks. They packed them with heavy guns and rocket launchers. They marched and sang battle nasheeds. The time had come to crash down the gates of heaven. This time the COP would fall and they’d have the village back. The ritual of war went on. Each side depended on violence from the other to receive the thrill they had all become addicted to.

The next day the Commander sat at the machine gun on his patrol with the taste of dirt in his mouth. They came across the village. Something was wrong. The streets were deserted. Nothing but the rubble from the battle and stray dogs. Windows and doors barricaded. He peeked inside and saw nothing. No fire, no food, just prayer mats.

The Commander patrolled the fields. He looked at the space between the two houses. He thought he saw something but it was just the shadow of moving clouds.

The whole time he was acting routine, but was thinking why did I act like that?

Rotting animals, burning trash, a toy soaking in pools of oil. Bullet casings. A soccer ball sat in the field. Even the dogs avoided him. Coated from head to toe in filth. He didn’t even notice until now.

    When the battle sirens went off, he took one last look at the village, and got back into his Humvee. Overhead, slow war planes shined over the smoke dimming the sky. They dropped 500 pounds worth of bombs. Bright bombs strobing behind the mountain peaks. The enemy just retreated into snowy caves under the mountain.

The ritual goes on. Even to this day, the news said a second assault fleet of 2,500 marines has departed from Japan towards the Persian Gulf.

The Commander eventually gots onto a plane but he still thought about the visions while doing everyday things like getting lunch.One time his thoughts were interrupted by a server. He looked up and walked out of the restaurant without ordering anything but a glass of water. It was Full Spectrum writing his order down. Someone is looking at the space between the two mud houses and is having a vision of the Commander in his battle armor standing there.

Outside it had just finished raining. A haze hung over the alfalfa field. Light swirled on top. Dust and pollen settled over the highway. He scanned the hilltops and roofs. Everything was still.