June 2014, Deserts of Iraq

Sand, it’s hot and gets into everything. It was my third week here in the deserts of Iraq and I was more than ready to go home when my assignment was up. 

Our small research outpost was stationed next to the ancient ruins of a Mesopotamian temple that was discovered buried under the dunes by a satellite topographic survey. Uncle Sam had been looking for oil and found something actually interesting out here in the wastes. That is where my job comes into play and why I had been sent here at 3:00 AM on a Tuesday a few weeks ago.  

As a warrant officer my job was to assist our DOD scientists with their research and to ensure anything of value was brought directly to the attention of command. The temple was believed to hold relics and carvings that could unlock bits of history that had been lost to humanity for thousands of years, and as a die hard Indiana Jones fan it held special meaning for me. 

The reality was that the days were long and brutally hot and progress was frustratingly slow. The sun constantly bore down on us, reflecting off of the white sands and turning the air into a hellish haze. My team and I had grown used to the harsh conditions though, and our skin had long since adapted, turning a dark tan and cracking many times over.  

We were a tight-knit group, bonded by our time served on several other long deployments together and the camaraderie that came with facing danger together many times over.  Evenings were our only true reprieve and we would find ourselves huddled in the mess tent, sharing stories and laughing to keep up our spirits on these long deployments. 

“And then I did a backflip and broke the bad guy’s neck!” Roared Sargent Daniels, laughing loudly at a joke he had told a dozen times, his laughter a warm reprieve to the cold night. 

“Sure you did! Nevermind the time you threw out your back picking up a box of rations.” Corporal Dennin added with a teasing laugh. 

I smiled and lifted my cantine, “To Daniel’s bad back!” I toasted him with a wicked grin. To my surprise he snorted out his food, part of it exiting through his nose and then proceeded to nearly choke before someone threw him a water. 

The ruins did have a certain quality about them at night. They were hauntingly beautiful, a sharp contrast to the barren wilderness of the desert. Towering columns of granite, crumbling walls that bore intricate carvings, and a forty meter wide spherical relief inside of the center temple that seemed to glow in the light of the moon. 

I had assisted every night with tracing the relief carvings of the main temple and had started to piece together the story they told. On the seventh night I had asked one of the scientists translating them to tell me the names of the characters depicted and he obliged. 

“The one on the left by himself is the god Tehom-Raash, and the ones on the right are the Pantheon of Nine.” I was grateful for him putting a name to the imposing figures as they began to capture my imagination and thoughts of an ancient war waged between gods grew in my mind. 

Getting up from the table we had all been sitting around I walked over to the opening of the tent and looked out towards the main temple. Watching as the moonlight above lit it up in an ethereal mixture of blue light and dark shadows, my thoughts slowly drifted to those carvings. I wanted to know more about the story they told and the history that the ancients had once lived through. 

Distracted I hadn’t noticed when Specialist Adams walked up beside me, I jumped when he spoke pulling me out of the deep trance I had slipped into.  “Will you be spending another night out with the ghosts, sir?” A sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he waited for me to respond. 

He had noticed my less than subtle obsession with the ancient ruins and had more than once caught me nerding out about the history behind them. 

I chuckled nervously, and turned to face him, “Am I really that obvious?” already knowing the answer. 

“You were one hundred percent the kid that would dress up as Indiana Jones for Halloween, I would bet two weeks of leave on it.” He laughed.

“You aren’t wrong! If I hadn’t joined the Army when I did, I would have definitely ended up working at the Smithsonian.” I said, also laughing.

I smiled at him and he turned to look out at the ruins, also admiring them from our small mess tent.  

He shook his head. “Have at it then, you definitely belong in a Museum.” His eyes sparkling as he did. Giving him a nod of thanks, I turned and headed out, making my way up the sandy path to the entrance of the temple. 

Most people wouldn’t expect a desert to become cold, but at night it would often drop down into the 30’s and tonight was no exception as the wind began to pick up around me. Pulling my cover down tighter onto my head so it wouldn’t fly away, I walked the remainder of the path and entered the temple.

Light from the moon lit up the interior through the holes in the ceiling and as they did they would fall onto the relief carvings of the gods. It was in this lighting that I found my true fascination, they seemed to come alive as the moon hit them, like they were being animated by the shifting light. 

I walked over to the carving of the god on the left, and taking out my tracing papers placed them over it to begin my sketch. As I placed my hand onto the carving, a faint electrical sensation lingered over my skin and the surface of the stone felt warm to my touch.

The carving depicted what looked like a man with a long braided beard, he was larger than the other nine gods, and he held two massive war scythes, one in each hand. The details of his face had long since been worn away by time but in the light of the moon his body cast dozens of shadows that seemed to dance around him. Above his head was a crown, and he stood in front of a throne that was flanked by two large raven-like birds. 

As I stood there absorbing the meaning behind the carvings, the feeling of a presence entered the large room. My skin rose, and I turned around quickly to see who else was there. No one was in the room with me. 

Taking out my flashlight and my side arm, I looked around more carefully to see if someone had snuck in while I was distracted. I trusted my gut and something was warning me that I wasn’t alone.

As I carefully scanned the interior of the temple, a quiet voice whispered in my ear. “Son of Idim.” I jumped and spun around looking for the person speaking. No one was there. I was alone. I felt eyes on me, like those of a predator. The shadows around me began to dance and the wind began to blow, kicking up the dust inside. 

A primal urge rose inside of me telling me that I needed to run. I had to leave this temple right now. I was the prey and I couldn’t see what was hunting me. I began to move toward the entrance but as I did, a large explosion rocked the camp. 

Chaos erupted. Mortar shells tore through the night, the ground shaking violently as gunfire erupted. I heard the shouts of men screaming in pain and alarm. My mind worked overtime to push through the confusion that threatened to cloud it. ISIS cells hadn’t been spotted near to this area yet, there shouldn’t be any insurgent groups within this region.

I ran for the entrance of the temple and stepping out into the night air saw two of my men, Daniels and Adams sprinting towards me. I instinctively raised my Beretta, ready to give them cover as my training and experience took over.

As they ran towards me, two men wearing black head wraps came out from behind a tent and started to fire at my men. I returned fire immediately causing one to drop to the ground and the other to dive behind the tent in an attempt to avoid being hit. I was too far at this distance to have any real accuracy but even the threat of being shot was enough to keep their heads down. 

Daniels made it to me first and we retreated inside as Adams joined us. “Sir, there are at least two dozen of them out there. Dennin is dead.” he said in a grim voice. 

Shocked, all I could do was give him a curt nod. Dennin was a brother to me, but with so many insurgents right outside it would be lucky if any of us survived this. “Are any of the patrol still alive?” I asked, looking for hope that we had at least a few more men able to fight. 

Adams spoke up, “Unknown sir, but unlikely. They wouldn’t have been able to get this close to us if they were.” It was true. If Michaels and Goodman were still alive they would have warned us before a group this large could infiltrate the camp. 

At that moment a deafening boom shook the building, and we were violently thrown against the stone walls with a thick thud. Shrapnel sliced through the air, embedding in my back and leg. The world became a blur of pain and noise, my ears ringing, and my vision swimming like someone had taken a bat to my head.

I could hear the agonized cries of my comrades filling the air, and as I turned towards them I could see their faces contorted in pain as their blood pooled underneath them. 

The sand was red.

Cold, my body felt so cold and the ground felt so warm. I realized somewhere in the back of my mind that I was also bleeding. I didn’t want to die. I couldn’t die. I needed to get away from here, find cover, find a way out. 

I started to crawl. I headed towards the center of the temple, a desperate attempt to find a way to escape, to live. Every inch I moved, pain shot through my body like lightning. My arms, they feel so weak. I feel so tired, I just need to rest—shaking my head to clear my mind. I refocused myself. 

I could hear footsteps, voices approaching outside of the temple now. 

Redoubling my efforts I pushed with my legs, pulled with my arms, and clawed my way to the center of the temple. I could hear the men entering now, shouts in a language I didn’t understand and then the sound of gun fire so loud it felt like it was next to me as it reverberated through the interior dome. 

Then it faded. The ground beneath me opened and a void swallowed me. 

I fell— several long moments went by before I regained consciousness. My body screamed at me in pain, telling me I was close to death. The air was difficult to breathe; putrid, reeking of decay. Slowly, I lifted my head and tried to stand but I only made it to my knees. 

Looking around I was in a vast obsidian hall, darkness extending in every direction.

A colossal figure, bound in heavy chains sat on an iron throne, his form a mass of shifting shadow. His skin was made of glimmering black scales, and his eyes radiated a cold fire. The spirits of the damned circled his throne, a parade of the dead. They sang to him, the sound of an endless whisper, a song I couldn’t comprehend. 

His eyes turned to me. A feeling of being stripped bare overcame me, everything I am, had been laid out before him.

Slowly, the figure extended his hand towards me. I rose to my feet, and compelled, I moved forward, each step heavier than the last until I stood directly before his throne. “Kneel.” It said in a deep, and commanding voice, and I knelt, too tired to resist. 

He continued, “At last, Son of Idim, you have come.” He smiled a wicked smile like that of a hungry animal. 

I couldn’t understand what was happening, was any of this even real? In what was left of my rational mind I knew I was dying. I knew that this experience was most likely my mind firing neurons randomly in a desperate attempt to save myself before my body gave up and everything was over. 

I don’t want to die.

His voice pierced my mind in that moment, “Son of Idim, I will save you and give you strength, but in turn you will owe me a life debt.” He looked down at me, his eyes unreadable, and waited for me to confirm my decision.

What an impossible decision, I am going to die, this isn’t a choice at all.

Exhausted, I said simply, “Then save me.” His eyes flashed and a deep guttural laugh reverberated throughout the hall. My forehead burned as if a hot brand had been placed against it and I let out a wordless scream. My world spun, and everything faded to black.

Voices echoed in the distance, muffled and indistinct. I was aware of being lifted, my body jostling with each movement. Pain shot through me, sharp and unrelenting. I opened my eyes but everything was a blur to me. 

"He's alive! We've got him!" An urgent voice cut through my haze. 

I felt the rough texture of a stretcher beneath me, my body swaying as they carried me away. Each step sent waves of agony through my shattered form.

"Hang in there. You're going to make it," another voice said, closer now, and filled with determination.

I was dimly aware of the hum of a helicopter, the sound growing louder as we approached. The rush of wind and the thumping of the blades became my world, drowning out everything else. Hands secured me, strapping me down, and I felt the lift as we took off, the ground falling away beneath us.

"Stay with us," the medic urged, his face swimming into view for a brief moment. I tried to focus on his eyes, finding a strange comfort in their steadiness.

Delirium took hold as the pain and blood loss overwhelmed me. I drifted in and out of consciousness—through the haze, I could hear the medics working frantically, their voices a constant murmur of urgency. I felt the sting of needles, the pressure of bandages, but it all seemed distant, as if happening to someone else.

"He's stable for now. Let's get him to the base," one of them said, their voice filled with relief.

As we flew through the desert sky, the ancient god’s voice was a haunting echo in my mind, a promise of something that I could not yet fully comprehend.