Project Apex by Michael Bray

were either seen as saviours or invaders depending on who you spoke to) and the Taliban insurgents, who had as many supporters as they did detractors. With neither side willing to back down, it was the public who suffered, living in constant fear. Akhtar had never known peace, and so the rattle of distant gunfire and constant military presence were perfectly normal to him. However, something had changed in recent days, something which he couldn't quite understand and liked even less.
    He led his brother by the hand through the maze-like streets, skirting around fellow citizens who were in just as much of a hurry as he was.  He looked into the faces of these strangers as he passed, and saw they too wore the same tense expression which had been brought about by the recent change in the atmosphere. Akhtar glanced at his brother, who was devoid of any concern or panic. His face was a picture of simple wonder, his mental deficiencies blocking out the wider problems of the world. Akhtar didn't know exactly what was wrong with him, only that he had been born a lot earlier than he should have been, and spent a lot of his early months in the hospital. Now aged seven, he relied on the care of others. Sometimes, Akhtar would look at him and be sure he could see intelligence in his eyes, and with it frustration at not being able to articulate it. Youness mouthed words, which to most would be a series of unintelligible grunts. Akhtar and his family had learned to understand his brothers unique language perfectly, though, and looked at the source of his siblings distress, which in this case was an untied shoe.
    "Come on, in here," Akhtar said, leading Youness to an open arched passageway off the main street. He knelt and started to tie his brother's shoe, still unable to shake the uneasy feeling in his stomach. Someone sprinted past the doorway, making Akhtar draw a sharp breath. He leaned out of the passage, watching the man go on without stopping, looking over his shoulder every few seconds before disappearing into the crowd. Akhtar looked back the way the man had come and saw people craning their necks as they looked down the street. Others, like the man who ran past them, were moving on, hurrying away from whatever they could see.
    "Wait here, Youness. Don't move." Akhtar said, getting to his feet and giving the crowd his full attention. Something was definitely going on. He could tell by the activity at the head of the narrow street where he stood. The main thoroughfare was now jammed with people who were, for the most part looking back over their shoulder. With the agility possessed by most children of Akhtar's age, he clambered onto the window ledge of the building where they had stopped and cupped his hand around his eyes so he could see against the glare of the sun. There appeared to be some kind of commotion in the middle of the street. There were five men, all armed and dressed in black. He recognised the uniforms as the same ones worn by the soldier at the checkpoint who had taken out the terrorist attack single handed. The five men were arguing with a team of US soldiers, who outnumbered them by at least ten. Snatches of words came to Akhtar through the still air, but the general chatter of those around him made it impossible to pick out what was being said.
    An older man down on street level saw Akhtar’s vantage point and joined him on the window ledge, gripping the inside of the open frame to steady himself so that he too could see what was happening. The two shared a second of eye contact, before turning back to the face off in the street. The U.S soldiers were now gesticulating with their weapons, faces set into determined grimaces. The men dressed in black pointing in response to the insignias on their shoulders. Even from so far away, Akhtar could sense the danger as memories of what happened at the checkpoint a few weeks earlier came flooding back. It was normal to see the military here in the city, however, it was