A kite flew, a single kite, flitting in and out of the smoke that rose from the barricades the insurgent fighters had raised that morning. She watched the kite, remembering the days when she and her brother would fly their own in the market place, off to her right, the sound of haggling in her ears, smells from a hundred countries filling her nostrils, the sun flashing off of rows upon rows of dented, chipped silverware. She remembered laughing, as they ran, trailing their kites, through the streets, to escape the half-hearted attempts of the guards to catch and punish them.
Today, there were no people in the square. A donkey lay on its side, long dead, bloated in the hot sun, still tied to a cart that had already been stripped of its wheels. The fountain had stopped running, and what few weeds had somehow managed to survive now listed, brown, as thirsty for water as she was for the past.
Behind her, to the south, she heard gunfire, short, disciplined bursts. By the sound, she knew it was an AK, or the Right Hand of God, as her brother had told her once. Perhaps it was her brother who was shooting, at whom she did not know, or if he even lived. Peeking around the corner at which she stood, she watched five men running along the side street toward her, bent low, in single file, not saying anything, disciplined. Plaster and rocks rained down on her, bouncing off her hijab, as something slammed into the wall directly above her. The last thing she saw, before she lost consciousness, was an armored vehicle of some sort with a man halfway out, pointing something in her direction.
Behind them, he heard the vehicle scrape to a halt, surely getting ready to fire. Who is that? Silly girl will get herself killed, the man at the front of the column thought to himself. What is she doing out here in this part of town, it is off limits, and dangerous, she could ... damn!
At that moment, he watched the wall the girl was looking around explode, and dust obscured his view, for the moment. The five figures reached the end of the short road, passing a burned out SUV, and threw themselves against the short wall. Looking over, the leader saw the girl lying on the ground, but did not see blood. Good, she must still be alive. What in God’s name is she doing here, he asked himself.
Peeking around the corner himself, he saw that the armored car had turned the corner, and was coming their way. He knew that the enemy would shoot the girl, thinking her armed, or loaded with explosives, if they made it to the end of the street, and turned to the other four. Having caught their breath, the four nodded that they ready, looking at him intently. None of them had seen the round hit the wall near the girls’ head, or had seen the girl at all, for that matter. The leader pointed, in her direction, letting them know that, if they did not stop the armored car, and rescue the girl, she would be killed. Four pairs of eyes stared back at him, the men awaiting him to command them, to lead them.
How did I get myself here, he thought, to this square I used to come to play in, with my sister, when we were younger? Why do these men follow me, willing to die at my command? Wheels crunched on broken appliances that lay in the street as the beast came closer, breaking him from his brief reverie. He signed for two of the men to loop north, then left, to flank the armored beast, and to get as close as they could to it in the small courtyards that lined the square. The two, not much more than boys themselves, were off and running before the last words left his mouth, saying something he could not hear to each other, chuckling quietly.
He looked quickly over to the girl, ducking back down quickly as a burst of machine gun fire raked the opposing wall of the market. Suddenly, one of the two remaining fighters sprinted east, across the barren expanse in front of them, leaping across a dead animal, up and over another twisted heap of car, dancing and leaping as someone on the armored car let loose with a steady stream of fire. Before he was halfway across the marketplace, the leader had handed one of the two makeshift satchel-bomb they had brought, and, cellphone in hand, sprinted around the corner, directly at the armored car, screaming for the other boy to follow.
On top of the vehicle Private ______’s heart skipped a beat. The leader was running right toward him, with a bundle in one hand, and what looked like can’t let him reach the car, not with the hatch open like this, who knows what’s in that bundle, he thought, swinging his weapon down, sighting on the figure coming his way, just another half second and
In his peripheral vision, off to the left, as he was lowing his weapon on to sprinting figure, the Private saw two torsos pop up from behind the wall, and knew he was dead.
The soldier sticking halfway out of the armored car was turning to shoot him when his head and left shoulder were torn away, and he slumped over in the open hatch of the vehicle, and down into its bowels. The leader saw another machine gun swivel, this one on motors, attached to a turret with little armored mirrors for peeking out, toward him. He confidently, almost lazily, underhanded the bundle in his hand, up and over the top of the large vehicle, where he figure the sniper had been standing, at the same time pressing and holding down the number eight, on his cellphone.
A shout from one of the men who had flanked the tank, an old victory cry they had used, before the war, when their team scored a goal in soccer, informed him that his aim had been true. Glancing at his phone, he saw the call connect, and turned to run for the girl, a bit of her scarf just peeking around the corner.
The young woman woke to the ground humming against her face, dust stinging her eyes. Looking up, she saw a large tire shoot into the market place, followed by a limp body that flew a few yards, crumpled, and slid to a halt. After a moment, she rose, and peeked around the corner to find the once menacing armored car belching smoke, its top splayed like a half-peeled orange. She heard a cough from the crumpled lying a little ways into the market place, and rushed to its side.
“Are you ok?” she asked.
“ ... “
A gasp escaped her lips, as she turned the figure over onto her lap, blood trickling out of her brother’s ears, both eyes bruised, as if from a fight, his jaw lolling, breath barely escaping.
“You are safe now, brother, let me take you home.”
Looking up, she started at the other four men, dirty and young, standing close to her, but let them bend to hoist her brother up on their shoulders, and run off to the east, toward home.
She rose to follow.
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