Free The Severance by Elliott Sawyer Page A

treacherous; on one side was a rock wall and on the other was a 200-foot drop into a ravine. Almost everyone’s attention was directed on the truck that was stuck and the extrication truck. The only soldiers not focused on the accident were the crews of the two remaining vehicles that had been posted as security on opposite ends of the stuck vehicle.
    Big Joe, the newest member of the Kodiak Platoon, had been the turret gunner of one of those trucks pulling security. Since his return to Afghanistan, he had actively avoided the gunner’s turret. He could drive trucks or even dismount and fight, but something about sitting uncovered in the gun turret frightened him. Yet, despite his best efforts, there he sat, feeling exposed in the night.
    Through his night-vision goggles, Joe caught a glimpse of a car moving on the mountain road in the distance, driving without headlights. The vehicle caught Joe’s attention because civilians didn’t normally travel at night, due to the nationwide curfew, and driving without headlights was suspicious, even without a curfew.
    “Hey, Joe, you got that car?” Parsons, the driver, asked over the intercom.
    “Yeah, I see him, barely. He’s hard to track in the hills without the headlights,” Joe replied.
    Several minutes passed before Joe saw the car again. It immediately disappeared again in the hills.
    “Sh-should we get the Captain or Sergeant McBride?” Joe asked.
    “Nah, man, we’ll just keep an eye on it. No worries,” Parsons said, unconcerned.
    Joe took a deep breath and tried to calm down. A minute later, Joe reacquired the car. It had increased its speed.
    “Parsons, that car is getting closer,” Big Joe said.
    “Yeah, I see it,” Parsons responded.
    “We should tell someone. That car is freaking me out,”
    “Okay, Joe, I’m calling it in. Keep your pants on.”
    Parsons tried to contact Sergeant McBride on the radio, but the platoon sergeant didn’t respond. He tried again, this time trying to get anyone to answer him.
    “The radio is on the fritz again,” Parsons said, as he leaned over to troubleshoot the equipment, which meant pounding on the radio with his gloved fist.
    Joe didn’t answer. He’d lost the car in the terrain again, but they could hear the engine straining at high RPMs to move up and over the terrain. Looking behind him, Joe saw the majority of the platoon still focused on the stuck vehicle. He shouted to get their attention, but the whine of the stranded vehicle’s winch drowned out his calls.
    The car was a bomb—that was for sure.
    Phantom pains surged up Joe’s previously broken leg and he began to sweat.
    The car pulled around the bend and was now a thousand feet away, with no signs of slowing.
    “This guy’s not stopping, Joe. Let them know we’re here,” Parsons said casually.
    “I’m on it,” Joe replied, grabbing the handheld spotlight in the turret. Hitting the “on” switch, he directed an intensely bright beam at the windshield of the oncoming vehicle.
    Cars always stopped when hit with a light, because it was well-known among Afghans that Americans would kill anyone who got too close to them with a vehicle, especially at night. Neither Joe nor Parsons had ever seen a car continue when hit with a spotlight, but this car not only failed to stop, it increased speed.
    “Shoot a warning shot, Joe,” Parsons ordered.
    Joe dropped the light and reached for his M-4 carbine. Procedure dictated that warning shots were to be taken with the lowest caliber weapon possible, but he couldn’t budge it from the makeshift gun rack in the turret. The weapons sling had become tangled around the turret’s turn crank. Joe tugged at the rifle two more times, frantic because he couldn’t free the weapon. The car was drawing closer and closer.
    “Joe, you going to shoot?” Parsons asked, now sounding nervous himself.
    “My carbine is fucking stuck!” Big Joe yelled, pulling at the weapon with all his might.
    “Fuck the M-4, dude! Use