A World Apart (Part 1): 8,000 Miles

  8,000 MILES

  Part 1: A World Apart

  By Sean P. Thomas

  Text copyright © 2016 Sean P. Thomas

  All Rights Reserved

  To my wife, Jeannette, and my daughter Shay,

  who inspired me every day to keep writing this book.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  PROLOGUE

  “How is the boy doing?” John asked his wife. Sergeant John Simmons was sitting in his quarters located on a remote base in southern Afghanistan and talking to his wife Angela over a video call. John had been deployed for almost three months now and was going to be away from home for another nine months. He tried to talk to his family at least once a week.

  “He is doing fine, we both are. How are you doing?” Angie asked.

  “I’m doing ok; I don’t have much time to talk today.” John replied. He typically tried to talk to his wife and son Sam for at least an hour, but today was going to be an exception. John and his platoon were going on a patrol that would take them outside the safety of the base and keep him away for several hours.

  John and Angie had met in high school and had married right after graduation. That was four years ago. Shortly after their wedding, Angie became pregnant. They had Sam just before their first anniversary. He was only three years old, but was already quite intelligent. John and Angie were still very much in love after four years of marriage, but this deployment was their first time being apart for more than the three months John was away for basic training.

  John had been in the Army for almost three years. He was on the fast track, having been promoted to Sergeant in only two years and was already in charge of his own squad. He would be leading his squad as part of the mounted patrol in a short while in an area of Afghanistan that was heavily contested by the Taliban.

  “That’s okay, how long can you talk?” Angie asked.

  “I have about twenty minutes.” John said. “Where is Sam?”

  “He is asleep; he had a busy day in the park.” Angie replied. It was a late spring evening in Fort Bliss, Texas. John and Angie lived in post housing with their son Sam. Angie and Sam were there now, alone, while John was away on his deployment. Angie was a stay at home mom, which kept her busy most of the time, but being without John made the day-to-day routines harder to tend to. Without John to help Angie with Sam, being a mom became a full-time job without any breaks. “Have you heard any of the reports about this virus or whatever? It seems to be happening everywhere.” Angie exclaimed.

  “Yeah, I have heard about it, but not much on the details here.” John replied. “There have been a few guys come back from missions showing symptoms; they have been quarantined in the base hospital. We have been briefed to report it if we are experiencing any symptoms or if we see it in others.” There had been reporting on the news all week about some mysterious virus that was infecting people all over the world. The symptoms were flu like, but it seemed to be much more serious. So far, no one had died, but the symptoms of those infected had only worsened and to date, no one had recovered. There were hundreds of people showing signs of infection on every continent and more cases were being reported daily. The governments of many nations were joining forces to find a cause and develop a cure, with the United States CDC taking the lead, but were thus far at a loss per the world news. There were many cases of infected identified in both El Paso, Texas, just outside of Fort Bliss where Angie was living and across the world on John’s military base in Afghanistan.

  “I’m afraid to go off-post with Sam, I don’t know what I would do if he got sick.” Angie said.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much, I’m sure they will figure this out in time, but you are right, better safe than sorry.” John responded. “I want you and Sam to be very careful and avoid too much interaction with other people until they figure this out. You should go stock up on groceries so that you don’t have to leave the house too often.”

  “We will. I’m just glad that Sam isn’t in school yet, who knows how many kids are getting infected.” Angie said. “You need to be extra careful too. I know you are going out there and interacting with the locals. I am afraid you might get sick.”

  “I’m not too worried.” John replied. “I don’t typically have to get too close to anyone and we have good medical care here besides.”

  “You still need to take precautions; you have a wife and child here that love you and need you to come home.” She said.

  “I will baby, and I love you both very much too. I need to go.” John told her.

  “Ok honey, be very careful. We’ll talk to you next week. We both love you very much, and seriously, be careful.” Angie pleaded.

  “I will be baby; I love you both very much too, talk to you next week.” John winked and blew her a kiss.

  John clicked the red phone icon to end the call and the camera went blank. He sighed and stood up to get ready. John was about six feet tall and 185 pounds, he had short black hair. He was in great shape, mostly due to his rigorous training, but he always was an athletic guy. He played football, basketball, and baseball all through high school. He had even gotten a scholarship to a small college to play baseball, but when Angie got pregnant, he decided to enlist in the Army. John was also very intelligent. His cognitive abilities gave him an advantage over his peers, mostly because he didn’t have to try very hard to learn things. He was only 22 years old, but the circumstances of life and his career had made him wise beyond his age. John looked at a picture on his wall of his wife and son; he took the picture and carefully put it inside his wallet, then grabbed his gear and headed out for his rendezvous with his platoon.

  CHAPTER 1

  The convoy was rolling down a gravel road in route to a small village located four kilometers from John’s base. Intelligence reporting claimed that this village was a hot bed for Taliban activity, so the chain of command thought it prudent to increase patrolling in and around the village to deter said activity. This was probably their twentieth patrol since that decision was made and John and his platoon had yet to see a single suspicious individual or any suspicious activity. So far, today’s patrol was no different. John was in the lead vehicle as they rolled into the village; everything seemed to be as it was on the previous nineteen or so patrols. The villagers made way for the large military trucks, but otherwise went about their daily business. Dirty children played in the dusty streets while women, dressed from head to toe in traditional Afghan garb, ushered them out of the way of the heavy vehicles.

  The convoy was approached downtown and turned left towards the local market. The market was a bustle of activity filled with canvas topped stands that lined the street, offering all sorts of goods, from cloth
ing to food stuff. Most of the vendors were middle aged men and the shoppers were mostly women and children with the occasional male escort. It was custom in Afghanistan that women were most often escorted by a male family member. Judging from their age, these were probably teenaged members of their respective families.

  At this point, the villagers were fairly numb to the U.S. military presence and most of the inhabitants paid the convoy no mind, other than the occasional glance or the hasty sidestep to move out of the convoy’s path. There was absolutely no indication that this patrol would go any differently than any of the other patrols that John and his platoon had conducted thus far. The convoy left the market street and made its way around the village to head back in the direction of the base.

  As they moved towards the edge of the village, John spotted what appeared to be a hastily erected field hospital. It consisted of a large dirty canvas held up by wooden poles with ropes securing it to the ground with stakes. Under the canvas were numerous individuals laying on bedding that consisted mostly of flat cardboard with the occasional rolled up piece of clothing for pillows. The prone individuals laying on the makeshift beds were lathered in sweat. Randomly, the patients would explode into coughing fits, and John noticed that some of them were coughing up blood. They were being treated by random women who were making rounds to give the patients water or swath the sweat from their foreheads. There appeared to be one man in the group that John presumed to be the doctor who was standing over one very still man and shaking his head in what seemed to be confusion. The still man’s lips and chin were caked with dried blood as well as his shirt all down his chest. John couldn’t help but think of the reports of the strange virus spreading across the world and decided that he would report this sighting once they returned to the base.

  As the convoy rolled beyond the last building on the way out of the village. One more successful patrol without incident, John thought and sighed with relief. His inner dialogue was interrupted however, when he spotted a man dressed fully in black run across the road about a half a kilometer to their front.

  “BRAVO SEVEN, THIS IS BRAVO TWO-ALPHA.” John said into the hand mic of his radio. BRAVO SEVEN was the call sign for the platoon sergeant who was also the convoy commander for this patrol.

  “THIS IS BRAVO SEVEN, GO AHEAD TWO-ALPHA.” Came the response.

  “SEVEN, THIS IS TWO-ALPHA, BREAK. I HAVE VISUAL OF A MILITARY AGED MALE DRESSED ALL IN BLACK RUNNING ACROSS THE ROAD APPROXIMATELY TWO KILOMETERS TO MY ONE O’CLOCK, BREAK.” John reported over the radio. “THE INDIVIDUAL JUST DISAPPEARED INTO WHAT APPEARS TO BE SOME SORT OF HIDE POSITION ABOUT ONE HUNDRED METERS OFF THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE ROAD, OVER.”

  “TWO-ALPHA, THIS IS SEVEN, CONTINUE FORWARD WITH CAUTION, BREAK.” The platoon sergeant instructed John, then he keyed his mic again and spoke to the entire patrol. “ALL VICS, THIS IS BRAVO SEVEN, WEAPONS HOT, POSSIBLE AMBUSH ONE HUNDRED METERS OFF THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE ROAD. OBSERVE AND REPORT ANY ACTION. THIS IS BRAVO SEVEN OUT.” VICS was a commonly used designation for vehicles in the military.

  The convoy moved forward slowly. John intently observed the area where the man had disappeared. He couldn’t see anything. Suddenly his vision went white hot and he felt as if he was floating. The blast of the explosion sounded in his ears milliseconds later. The truck had struck an improvised explosive device, a roadside bomb. He was being turned upside down as the truck was rocked to the side from the explosion. The truck rolled over to the left and settled on the driver’s side. John was hanging from his seat belt in the passenger’s seat as his vision slowly returned. He looked to his driver to find that he was not moving. There was a large piece of shrapnel protruding from the driver’s neck, just below the chin strap of his helmet. His eyes were wide open, but unmoving. John was sure he was lost.

  John felt as if he had been tackled by a three-hundred-pound lineman. He found it difficult to move, but he was able to get his right hand to the quick release mechanism on his seatbelt. He turned the latch and fell down hard onto his driver’s body. As soon as he was upright, he quickly checked his driver for vital signs and confirmed that he had died in the explosion. He looked over into the gunner’s hatch and was horrified to find the lower half of his gunner, from about the sternum to the feet, hanging awkwardly in the gunner’s harness. The rest of his body was nowhere to be seen. John wretched in his mouth, but quickly gained his composure, he had to see if anyone else was wounded. He looked in the back of the truck and saw four additional unmoving bodies. He started to move to the back to check for vitals when the passenger door swung open above him.

  “Sergeant Simmons, Sergeant Simmons, are you okay?” The soldier above him asked.

  “I…I don’t know, they’re dead, they’re all dead…I think…maybe…I don’t know.” John replied. “My leg…it hurts; I think my left wrist is broken…what happened?”

  “Your truck hit an IED, it was an ambush, we are still under attack, I have to get you out of here; take my hand!” The soldier screamed.

  “What about the guys in the back? I think they are gone, but I’m not sure. We have to get in there and see if anyone needs help.” Cried John.

  “Later Sergeant, we are under attack, you have to get out of this truck, we need to suppress the enemy, now!” The soldier yelled.

  John grabbed the reaching soldier’s hand and was quickly lifted out of the passenger door. He scrambled onto the side of the truck and rolled over the edge, landing hard on the ground next to the roof of the cab. He could hear machine gun and rocket propelled grenade fire coming from the other side of the truck. He couldn’t see the soldier who pulled him from the truck until suddenly he came flying over the cab to land flat on his back right next to John. He was grasping at his throat and blood was gushing from in between his fingers. He had been shot in the neck. John quickly took a dressing from his first aid pouch and pressed against the soldier’s neck, franticly trying to stop the flow of blood. The soldier was coughing up blood and his arms and legs were thrashing in what appeared to be his final death throes. Almost immediately after John applied the bandage, the soldier suddenly stopped moving and the life went out of his eyes. John threw the bloody bandage to the ground and yelled in rage.

  John took a moment to inspect his own wounds at that moment. He noticed a piece of shrapnel sticking out of his right thigh. It appeared to be somewhat superficial, barely penetrating the leg. John grabbed the piece of metal and pulled it out with a grunt. Blood poured from the wound, but he quickly stemmed the flow with his hand. He removed another bandage from his pouch with his left hand. It became apparent at that moment that he had indeed injured his left wrist in the explosion, but as he tried to rotate the wrist, he knew that it wasn’t broken, likely only sprained. He wrapped a dressing around his torn leg and was satisfied that the bandage could stop his bleeding.

  John noticed that the dead soldier’s weapon was laying in the sand close to his body. He grabbed the rifle up in his right arm, pulled his injured left wrist against his chest and started to crawl towards the front of the overturned truck. When he reached the front of the truck, he noticed that a small few of his fellow platoon members were concentrating fire on an area off the road in the direction that he had first seen the man run to and hide. He inched around the truck so that he could assist in the battle. He immediately identified several targets off the road. There were at least fifteen men about thirty yards from his position. They were all dressed in black clothing and most of them had their head and face covered as well. Their clothing was familiar in that it was similar to the clothes often worn by insurgents that belonged to local Taliban terrorist cells. The insurgents were all armed; most of them carried AK-47 rifles and a few of them had RPG launchers resting on their shoulders. The Taliban members were focusing their fire on friendly defensive positions around the three trucks behind his own.

  So far, it seemed that the enemy had not noticed him. He took whatever cover he could from the truck and took aim at the nearest insurgent.
He aimed down the sights at the man’s chest, held his breath, and then squeezed the trigger. He flinched as the rifle recoiled, but quickly refocused on his target just as the bullet ripped through his chest. The man flailed as he fell backward and then became very still after he hit the ground. John took some satisfaction as he realized he had just killed one of the insurgents, but his attack had drawn the attention of two others; he had given away his position. One of these men started firing his rifle in John’s direction. John reeled as bullets ricocheted all around him off the metal of the truck. John carefully looked back towards the enemy to see if he could return fire on the man, but as soon as he did, he noticed that another insurgent was aiming an RPG launcher in his direction. Time seemed to stop as the RPG left the launcher and trailed smoke as it made its way towards John. He started to retreat behind the truck just as the grenade struck the front bumper right next to him. John was flung backwards as the grenade detonated on impact. All the air was knocked out of his lungs as he hit the ground. His ears were ringing loudly and his vision was completely blurred. He struggled to orient himself, he tried to move, and then he saw black.

  CHAPTER 2

  It was the day after John had called. Angie was driving on post towards the commissary to stock up on groceries, as her husband had suggested. Sam was securely strapped into his car seat in the back of the SUV. Angie was the same age as John. Sam just recently had his third birthday. Angie was five-foot-seven long brown hair. She was thin and attractive. John had noticed Angie in their sophomore year in high school and never paid attention to another girl after. She was a volley ball player and she ran track, but they met after a basketball game that John had played in. He had ridden the bench most of that game and had plenty of time to survey the stands. He saw her sitting there with a girlfriend and after watching her more than the players on the court for most of the game, he resolved to approach her after. By the next week, they were an item, and within a month, they were in love.