Saviour: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel (Savior Book 3) by Natasha Thomas Page A
Authors: Natasha Thomas
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communicate our positions signalling the all clear in fifteen minute intervals. We didn’t see it coming, and to be honest I don’t think we could have done anything differently if we had. Both of us had done everything by the book. We’d followed all the protocols, and everything still went to hell in a hand basket faster than you can say, ‘fuck me’.
IED’s, or Improvised Explosive Devices, were our biggest threat over there. Most people think of landmines when someone says IED, that’s a falsehood and fucking awesome propaganda campaign meant to make the world feel more secure as they go about their daily lives. The fact is, IED’s can be made of anything. Ranging from homemade bombs, vests, and grenades; all the way through to landmines, triggered car explosives, or rudimentary missiles. The dangerous part of an IED is what they’re filled with. The answer is pretty much whatever the fuck they can get their hands on. Nails, glass, small pellets, screws, washers, fucking anything that will do damage. In our case what we were hit with was along the lines of a grenade filled with glass and ceramic shards. Not just one though, dozens of them, for hours, with little to no predictability. That was only the diversionary tactic mind you.
After the first explosion rocked our makeshift camp Plugger woke the rest of our team, and in seconds we took up defensive positions knowing infiltration would come next. The real threat when faced with insurgents, other than the insurgents themselves, is they tend to have little to no concern for human life happily using themselves as martyrs in their cause.
With very few options for retreat, most of them were through unknown terrain and honestly we had no idea where the grenades were being launched from as yet or how many insurgents we were facing, it was smarter to defend our current position, wait out the attack. I wouldn’t have believed you if you’d warned me before this clusterfuck broke out that this would end up being our biggest mistake. But it was, and it was also one I’d deeply regret for the rest of my life.
By the following night five members of our eight man team died in the fire fight that lasted almost a full twenty-four hours. Only Plugger, Sarge our teams 2IC, and, I survived long enough to be airlifted out of the battle zone. There wasn’t even enough left of our fallen to transport back to their families and loved ones. Gruesome doesn’t begin to describe the scene the emergency Blackhawk crew heli-lifted us from. I relive those scenes every night, repeatedly in my nightmares. The screams. The terror. The blood. The confusion, and the pain, so much fucking pain.
I don’t see the whole dream in vivid detail, just pieces. Flashes of light. Sounds of explosions rocking our camp. The screams of pain. Arms. Legs. Blood. Fuck. So much blood. The bodies of our teammates. The men whose families had now lost a son. A father. A brother. A friend. A life cut short before its time. Soldiers.
We fought for justice for our fallen, Plugger, Sarge, and I. We fought fucking hard, but like everything else about that deployment it ended up being a clusterfuck.
We re-joined the rest of the U.S. armed forces at the military fortified compound in Kandahar, only to find out it was a similar story for our friends in SEAL Team 2. They’d lost four members of their team in an almost identical attack three days prior, so it didn’t take a genius to work out there was an information leak somewhere. And that explained a fuck of a lot that up until that point had remained unexplained. However, that wasn’t the most pressing issue at the time, so like a lot of other shit in the Navy it was set aside.
Making sure families of our fallen soldiers were informed, given a chance to grieve was more important, and also protocol. Two uniformed officers were dispatched to each family’s home to break the news of their loved ones passing. The horrifying
IED’s, or Improvised Explosive Devices, were our biggest threat over there. Most people think of landmines when someone says IED, that’s a falsehood and fucking awesome propaganda campaign meant to make the world feel more secure as they go about their daily lives. The fact is, IED’s can be made of anything. Ranging from homemade bombs, vests, and grenades; all the way through to landmines, triggered car explosives, or rudimentary missiles. The dangerous part of an IED is what they’re filled with. The answer is pretty much whatever the fuck they can get their hands on. Nails, glass, small pellets, screws, washers, fucking anything that will do damage. In our case what we were hit with was along the lines of a grenade filled with glass and ceramic shards. Not just one though, dozens of them, for hours, with little to no predictability. That was only the diversionary tactic mind you.
After the first explosion rocked our makeshift camp Plugger woke the rest of our team, and in seconds we took up defensive positions knowing infiltration would come next. The real threat when faced with insurgents, other than the insurgents themselves, is they tend to have little to no concern for human life happily using themselves as martyrs in their cause.
With very few options for retreat, most of them were through unknown terrain and honestly we had no idea where the grenades were being launched from as yet or how many insurgents we were facing, it was smarter to defend our current position, wait out the attack. I wouldn’t have believed you if you’d warned me before this clusterfuck broke out that this would end up being our biggest mistake. But it was, and it was also one I’d deeply regret for the rest of my life.
By the following night five members of our eight man team died in the fire fight that lasted almost a full twenty-four hours. Only Plugger, Sarge our teams 2IC, and, I survived long enough to be airlifted out of the battle zone. There wasn’t even enough left of our fallen to transport back to their families and loved ones. Gruesome doesn’t begin to describe the scene the emergency Blackhawk crew heli-lifted us from. I relive those scenes every night, repeatedly in my nightmares. The screams. The terror. The blood. The confusion, and the pain, so much fucking pain.
I don’t see the whole dream in vivid detail, just pieces. Flashes of light. Sounds of explosions rocking our camp. The screams of pain. Arms. Legs. Blood. Fuck. So much blood. The bodies of our teammates. The men whose families had now lost a son. A father. A brother. A friend. A life cut short before its time. Soldiers.
We fought for justice for our fallen, Plugger, Sarge, and I. We fought fucking hard, but like everything else about that deployment it ended up being a clusterfuck.
We re-joined the rest of the U.S. armed forces at the military fortified compound in Kandahar, only to find out it was a similar story for our friends in SEAL Team 2. They’d lost four members of their team in an almost identical attack three days prior, so it didn’t take a genius to work out there was an information leak somewhere. And that explained a fuck of a lot that up until that point had remained unexplained. However, that wasn’t the most pressing issue at the time, so like a lot of other shit in the Navy it was set aside.
Making sure families of our fallen soldiers were informed, given a chance to grieve was more important, and also protocol. Two uniformed officers were dispatched to each family’s home to break the news of their loved ones passing. The horrifying
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