Charlie's Requiem Novella (15 page)

“Yeah,” I said. “With what I saw today, I don’t doubt that they feared for their lives.”

“You don’t know the half of it!” Beth chimed in. “We’ll all talk later. In the meantime, Mike and I are scheduled to get assignments tomorrow. We passed the test too, I guess.”

“See you tomorrow night,” I said and both groups moved their separate ways. I knew the condominium complex John had given us the key to. I had a friend who had lived there a few years before. It was only a ten-minute walk from here.

“Think they’ll be OK?” Beth asked John as they made their way back to the OPD building.

“I think so,” John said. “I deal with people all the time and they seem to have their act together. I mean, they are taking care of the kid and they were smart enough not to open fire when they saw me.”

“Yeah,” Beth hesitantly said. “But I do worry!”

“That’s what mother’s do!” Mike shot back, smiling at Beth.

“Tru dat, big man!” She replied with a smile.

“At least no one knows where they are!” John said.

No one, it seemed other than one other person. His freshly shaved head was starting to sunburn and beginning to itch. But he never noticed, having become intrigued with the group of four walking into the city in front of him. The two girls especially caught his attention. Yes, the girls. Those girls and their green surgical scrubs.

The pale ghost moved quietly behind the three as they shared holding their fourth little passenger. Their day was almost over; a safe destination lay just ahead!

The city was deathly quiet as the final leg of their journey as the condominium complex finally came into view.
Just in time
, thought Janice
. I’m dead on my feet
.

Or so the saying goes.

Authors’ Notes

By Walt Browning

We hope you enjoyed the book. Collaboration with another author was a first for both of us. Writing in tandem presented some challenges, but the obstacles were quickly overcome and we are happy with the results.

Our goal was to both entertain and inform. Charlie, in contrast to Morgan, is a city girl with little or no prepping knowledge. Her journey will involve a lot of learning on the fly, which will educate the reader on the potentially dangerous situations you may face as an urban environment.

If the response to the novella is positive, we are looking forward to more stories of Charlie and her fellow refugees as they struggle to survive in a hostile big city. The tricks and tradecraft needed to live in close quarters with millions of desperate people present an entirely new dynamic to the Going Home series. One that we hope you all enjoy.

Finally, we have included a chapter from Walt’s first book, “The Book of Frank: ISIS and the Archangel Platoon.” The story of a young, retired Marine who is drawn back to Iraq. He joins a group of operators hired to rescue a group of children trapped in a town controlled by ISIS. The book is available on Nook and Kindle.

Again, from both of us, thank you and enjoy.

Visit Walt Browning’s website here:

http://www.waltbrowning.com

And Angery American’s website here: 

http://www.angeryamerican.com

The Book of Frank: ISIS and the Archangel Platoon

Chapter 1

Tall Kayf, Iraq

January 7, 2015

“Sara”

5pm local time/8am EST

Sister Sanaa sat in a chair, taking inventory of her meager belongings. She brought these few personal items when she was forced to suddenly flee her convent in Mosul, when terrorists began purging Christians in her neighborhood late last November. She brought a large group of children with her that had taken refuge in a small town called Tall Kayf, a town 20 kilometers to the north.

From early summer to that fateful November day, their convent in Mosul was taking in displaced children. The parents of these poor children that ranged in age from 3 to 14 years had been slaughtered by ISIS in the towns to the south between Mosul and Baghdad. Fleeing to Mosul to find refuge, the tidal wave of jihad followed on their heels. With no one to stop them, and in many cases, getting support from the Sunni Muslims in the areas they conquered, ISIS claimed hundreds of miles of territory with almost no resistance. Often, they only halted their advance to fully cleanse the conquered populations before moving on, trying to guarantee that there was no significant enemy behind their advancing line.

With a population of 600,000, Mosul is one of the largest cities in Iraq, of which about 20,000 are Chaldean Catholic. Sister Sanaa was living in a convent in Mosul; that is until several weeks ago.

When ISIS arrived early that summer, over 10,000 Christians quickly left the city. Having only hours of warning, they gathered together what they could and fled the coming jihadist storm. Throughout the remaining summer and fall, the nuns kept a low profile, trying to help the remaining Catholics in the city.

Things went well at first. When ISIS initially invaded the city, the population was largely unaffected. Most of the Islamist wrath was still being directed at the cities to the south, and with battles outside Mosul, against a Kurdish Peshmerga resistance.

But in November, ISIS soldiers began walking the streets looking for Christian homes. When found, the homes were marked with a large letter “N” on the walls by their front door. “N” for Nazarene. Jesus was from Nazareth. The Chaldean convent received one of these marks, painted in bright red for all to see.

It took the insurgents several weeks to mark all the homes in the city’s neighborhoods. Then, the Islamic soldiers began purging the Christian homes. Soon, soldiers appeared on the convent’s street, so Sister Sanaa gathered the orphans who had been taken in by the order and brought them with her to Tall Kayf.

That town, about twelve miles north of Mosul, had a printing shop at the local Chaldean Catholic church. A weekly newspaper and fliers were produced there by the nuns, which helped connect the Chaldean community. Earlier that day, the other two nuns from her convent, Sister Nami and Sister Elishiva had been driven by a local volunteer to this church to use the printing presses. So when the terrorist soldiers appeared in her neighborhood, and with no motorized transportation available, Sister Sanaa and the orphans walked the eleven miles to find another safe haven. They joined the other two nuns in Tall Kayf.

~ * * * ~

A fortunate and wise move it was. Within two hours of leaving, Muslim soldiers raided the convent in Mosul they had just abandoned and blew it to rubble, taking with it millennia of irreplaceable history. This historic building the soldiers destroyed had been home to the nuns for over a hundred years, and was itself over a thousand years old. Made of stones from the local quarries, there was little to burn. Explosives, along with heavy military vehicles, leveled the convent. When they were finished, nothing was left. There would be no reminder of the blasphemous past for these Sunni conquerors. All traces of any of the kuffar, the unbelievers, was obliterated. Centuries-old manuscripts and artifacts were lost forever.

During the conquest of Mosul, the devastation of the non-believers was utter and merciless. Men were summarily executed; and women, depending on their age, were sold into slavery, raped and then killed or just shot on sight.

The children were subject to a slightly different fate. The rule was that if a child could talk, the child could convert. Those that chose to hold to their faith had their heads cut off. Little boys and girls, as young as two years old, were beheaded. Their bodies, still wearing their colorful dresses and preschool outfits, were left headless in the cross streets. Tiny victims of the Muslim jihadists.

For the older girls, the rules were different. If the girl was close to nine years old, she could be sold into marriage. Mohammed’s reportedly favorite wife, Aisha, was six years old at the time of his marriage to her. He graciously waited until her 9th birthday before “consummating” the marriage. Mohammed was in his 50’s at the time. Thus, 9 years old seemed like a good cut-off point for the conquering hoard.

The volunteer who drove the two nuns to Tall Kayf never returned. And with the arrival of Sister Sanaa with 14 orphans and no car, bus or truck, the nuns had no choice but to stay with the children and protect them as best they could.

A few days after they took refuge in Tall Kayf, ISIS forces arrived. An advance guard of over 70 terrorists came up from Mosul and frightened away or executed most of the Christian population, leaving a number of abandoned homes. One of these provided shelter to the 17 refugees while the church was sacked and the town cleansed of any further non-believers.

Tall Kayf, meaning “stone hill” in Arabic, had alley-way homes built into the side of the hill. These stone and white plaster buildings had been present for centuries, their foundations shaken over the years by earthquakes and attacked by floods. They lean, crumble and give the general impression that they could fall at any time; but they continue to stand, looking the worse for the wear.

One of these hillside homes belonged to a local Chaldean merchant, and was left empty when the family fled the city. A storage room sat in the back of the house, carved out of the side of the stone hill. The door to the room was hidden by wooden shelving. The nuns cleared the area leading to the storage room of anything of value and stacked worthless towels, trash and bottles on the shelves to help hide the doorway. After all were in the room, they pulled the shelving up against the wall from within the room and closed the door.

Sitting in the pitch-dark room, they could hear the invaders outside breaking and looting. Praying silently, the group held their place for the rest of the day and throughout the night. After dawn, when the last sounds of the raiders had not been heard in over 12 hours, they gently opened the door inward and slid the shelving unit away, allowing Sister Sanaa to search the house. Once the safety of the house was confirmed, they settled down to wait out the invaders and look for their chance to escape.

Six weeks later it was early January, and they were running short of food. Fortunately, the Islamic militia was relaxing its guard, having searched and secured the city. As the weeks passed, so did the invaders’ interest with the town’s occupants. The Islamists were more concerned with a growing threat from the Peshmerga militia that had taken back a town about eight miles to the north. That town, Bakufa, represented salvation to the nuns and the children in their care.

After pushing the Islamists out of Bakufa, a Christian militia was left to defend it. Called Dwekh Nawasha, which means, “We are the Sacrificers”, they were the beginnings of an organized resistance. Tall Kayf thus was at the new front line of the war. Eight miles of no man’s land stood between Sister Sanaa and freedom for her and the orphans that she was protecting.

With her food supplies desperately low, Sister Sanaa and the other nuns were forced to make a difficult decision. The nuns knew they needed to get to Bakufa, but who would risk the journey to get help?

“I don’t think we can wait any longer,” said Sister Sanaa. “We only have enough supplies to last a few more days. The abandoned homes are empty of food. We cannot risk another trip out of town for more. We have to get help.”

“But who?” Sister Nami replied. “At my age, I could never make that trip on foot; and Elishiva would never hold up to the pressure. It is taking an act of God to keep her from falling apart as it is.”

Sister Nami, well into her 70’s, has taken the roll of “Mother Superior” or head of the convent. The walk to Tall Kayf from Mosul would have killed her. Even the walk to Bakufa, although several miles shorter, was out of the question. Sister Elishiva, who was in the other room with the children, was young enough to attempt it. But the nun had seen too much death already and her ability to cope with the possibility of discovery, rape and a painful death was too great to handle. Sister Sanaa, although slightly older than Elishiva, would be the only choice.

The problem was that an eight-mile journey would take her more than a day, both increasing the chances of discovery, and exposing her to harsh winter conditions. Further complicating things, Sister Sanaa had strained her aging hip on their original journey from Mosul. It was now completely inflamed and walking found her with a pronounced limp. Another long journey could well be her last.

Last night, it was well below freezing. Tall Kayf and the rest of northern Iraq can stay below freezing for many days in the winter. More importantly, with ISIS patrols scouring the northern half of the city, speed as well as silence were required. With Sister Nami too old, and Sister Elishiva too unstable, the journey would fall again onto Sister Sanaa. She was their only option.

“I will go,” Sister Sanaa finally said. They all knew it was a death sentence, but they saw no other choice.

“Sister Sanaa, I can help” came a quiet voice. The two nuns turned to see one of the orphans standing in the doorway. Sister Sanaa stood up from her chair where she had been rummaging through her sack, looking for clothing for the expected journey.

Sara was the oldest of the orphans, having led three other parentless children north to Mosul from Bayji, a 114-mile journey. At 14, she was tall for her age, taller than any of the nuns, with dark brown hair and even darker eyes. They were eyes that had seen too much in her short time on this earth. She stood in the doorway, holding a coat and small sack folded over her arms.

Not yet a woman, and past being a child, Sara escaped from Bayji in June when ISIS overwhelmed the town. The terrorists attacked the town’s government buildings, killing most of the people working there, including her mother. She never found out what happened to her father, other than being told by another refugee on the road to Mosul that he perished trying to get to her mother. No other details, just the information that he had been killed. She liked to think that he died valiantly, and that he was able to extract some revenge on the attackers. But this was probably only wishful thinking. Her father had not been a warrior. He had never held or fired a weapon as long as she could remember. He had been a merchant, owning a store that specialized in western imports.

His job had brought him into contact with many foreign individuals, including the American soldiers that had been in their town years before. With the expectation that the Americans would be with them for a while, he had even taught her English, at least enough to converse on a basic level.

When the Americans began to pull out of the area, it was a shock to him. No conqueror had voluntarily left Iraq that he could remember. History didn’t work that way. First Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian king in the twelfth century BC to Alexander the Great in 331 BC, followed by the Muslims in the 7th century and the Ottoman Persians in the 16th century, Iraq was a land of the conquered. It only changed hands when it was conquered again.

When America abandoned the country, it didn’t make sense to her father. It eventually led to his death when the American withdrawal left a power vacuum in the area. Like any vacuum, it was quickly filled. Unfortunately, it was filled by evil, nothing more than the pure, unadulterated evil called ISIS.

“No my child,” says Sister Nami. “This is not your journey. We can handle this. Go back to the others and we will be out shortly. And tell Sister Elishiva that we want to speak with her.”

“But Sister Nami, I have done this before. I can do it again.” she replied. There was no pleading or fear in her voice, just a simple statement of fact. “I can be there in less than a day. I promise I can do it,” she states.

“No Sara, I cannot take that chance” Sister Nami replies bluntly.

“Sister Nami, I can travel more quickly than anyone here. I know this town and how to escape it. I have been with you to find food. You know I am quiet and can avoid being caught. Please let me do this. You have done so much for us. It is time I did something for you and the others” she flatly explains.

“Sister Nami” Sister Sanaa whispers. “We should talk about this.”

“Absolutely not!” Sister Nami whispers forcefully back. “This is not up for discussion.”

“Sister Nami and I must discuss this Sara. Go tell Sister Elishiva to come in here so we can tell her the plan we’re considering,” Sister Sanaa tells the young orphan. Sara returned to the hidden room where the orphans and Sister Elishiva were staying.

After Sara disappeared, Sister Nami was about to say something when she was cut off by Sister Sanaa.

“Sister Nami,” she says quickly. “She is right. She has the best chance to save the other children. This is not about us and our lives. It is about the orphans.”

“We can NOT put her in that kind of danger,” Sister Nami says.

“We must do what has the best chance of survival for these children!” Sanaa replies. “On our journey up here from Mosul, I had difficulty keeping up with the children. That trip damaged me. Now, I don’t know if I can even make it to Bakufa. Perhaps, if I could rest on the way, or if there were not a time constraint, I could do it. But with the need for stealth, I doubt I can make it past the patrols.”

“And,” she continued, “we do not have the luxury to hope I can get past the guards blocking the northern end of town and then make the 8-mile walk. Our food is nearly gone; or at least there is not enough to prevent these children from starving in the next week or two. And who knows how long it will take for help to arrive.”

The elder nun didn’t like where this was going. The anger she felt at the situation was almost unbearable. She wasn’t blaming God, but couldn’t understand why this was happening. This horror she was living in. This nightmare was a test of her will and patience, and she was about to run out of both.

“I just can’t imagine sending Sara,” Sister Nami stated. “It goes against every belief I have. Everything I am tells me not to send her.”