Arenas Malditas – Creepypasta

Parte 1

He sido muchas cosas diferentes en diferentes momentos de mi vida. Soy un veterano de ocho años del Cuerpo de Marines de los Estados Unidos que sirvió en la Guerra del Golfo. Fui, por un período relativamente corto, esposo y padre. He trabajado en construcción, camiones, catering y muchos otros trabajos subordinados. Más recientemente, he logrado construir una carrera sólida en ventas de seguros, una elección de carrera que espero dure, a diferencia de las últimas cuatro o cinco veces que he intentado. Creo que a la edad de 51 años, finalmente estoy empezando a pensar claramente sobre lo que quiero de la vida, después de décadas de falsos comienzos y oportunidades perdidas. Todavía lucho con la depresión y las dudas sobre la ruptura de mi matrimonio y lo lejos que me he alejado de mis hijos, pero me he acostumbrado a las frecuentes decepciones de mi vida. Durante años, también he luchado con un caso moderado de agorafobia, y solo en los últimos años he buscado un tratamiento serio para ello. Para aquellos que no saben, la agorafobia es un miedo generalizado pero intenso a ciertos lugares y ciertos parámetros, y la imagen de un agorafobio vinculado a la casa proviene en gran medida del deseo de Evite estos lugares temidos a toda costa.

Nunca he estado completamente confinado en mi hogar como muchas personas con agorafobia, porque simplemente he tratado de controlar mi miedo y pánico naciente tanto como sea posible, a un costo considerable en términos de estrés y ansiedad. Fue solo después de haber sufrido un ataque cardíaco leve el año pasado que finalmente busqué una terapia seria para mi condición, como el estrés de ignorarlo todos estos años. Probablemente me mata. Las personas con agorafobia tienden a experimentar este miedo en entornos específicos que desencadenan sentimientos de vulnerabilidad y temor. En mi caso, le temo al aire libre, especialmente en áreas remotas y aisladas. Recuerdo el verano 97, poco después de dejar los Marines, hice un viaje por carretera a Las Vegas desde mi casa en Riverside, California. La Interestatal 15 pasa a través de la extensión plana del desierto de Mojave entre estas dos ciudades, y durante todo el viaje, tuve que parar tres veces para recibir un ataque de pánico en la carretera. Supongo que es por eso que siempre he preferido vivir en ciudades abarrotadas, y por eso viajo tan poco, a pesar de la abrumadora necesidad de viajar desde mi juventud. He sabido durante años qué es exactamente lo que desencadenó mi desarrollo de agorafobia, y pensaría que saberlo lo haría más fácil. Solo desearía que fuera así de simple para mí. Lo que experimenté en esos días oscuros de marzo de 1991 está claro en mi mente, aunque sé intelectualmente que todo lo que sucedió no debería, podría no es posible, y esta incertidumbre ha sido una nube oscura en mi mente desde entonces. En cierto nivel, sé que mi ansiedad por lo que he visto probablemente sea exagerada, que estoy preocupado por algo sobre lo que no tengo control y que no puedo Ni siquiera confirmo que es realmente la verdad. Pero, por otro lado, no puedo evitar pensar que debería estar preocupado, que despedirlo sería como ignorar un tren de alta velocidad cuando estás a segundos de ser tocado por él. Cuando comencé mi terapia, me dijeron que escribir y escribir en un diario mis pensamientos sería catártico y aliviaría mis ansiedades. No puedo decir con certeza si o no. Pero poner todo en papel podría ayudarme a responder algunas de mis propias preguntas.

Como dije antes, soy un veterano del Cuerpo de Marines que sirvió en la Guerra del Golfo de 1991. Me uní a los Marines en el verano de 1987 a la edad de 19 años. Me gradué el año anterior y pasé mi primer año después de la secundaria asistiendo a una universidad comunitaria y trabajando en un trabajo junior entregando pizza. Siempre tuve la intención de unirme a los marines, pero como promesa a mis padres, probé toda la experiencia de la "educación superior" antes de decidir con certeza . Bueno, después de un año de golpear los libros y entregar demasiada pizza a antiguos compañeros de clase, estaba listo para dar el paso. No estaba motivado por ningún sentido del deber patriótico; Nunca he sido tan patriótico. Pero mi propio padre había servido en la Marina durante Vietnam, y sus historias sobre todos los amigos que tenía en la Marina y todos los lugares exóticos me motivaron. Eso, y tal vez vi un poco demasiadas películas de guerra cuando era niño, incluidos clásicos como El dia mas largo y Patton. La oportunidad de hacer nuevos amigos, ver el mundo y tener una verdadera comunión fue abrumadora para un joven solitario que nunca había estado fuera de los Estados Unidos.

Avancemos tres años y medio, y soy parte de una tripulación de tanques en Bravo, 1st Tank Battalion, US Marines, y estamos estacionados en un campamento remoto del desierto en Arabia Saudita, justo al sur de la frontera kuwaití, esperando con ansiedad la orden de cruzar la frontera y expulsar a las fuerzas iraquíes de Kuwait. Nuestro batallón de tanques M60A1 Patton ha estado esperando herido y listo para atacar durante tres meses, escuchando disparos de artillería iraquí distante a varios kilómetros de distancia. Así es, todavía estábamos usando tanques Patton cuando cruzamos el golfo. Si bien el ejército estaba casi completamente equipado con los últimos y mejores tanques Abrams vistos en todas estas imágenes de la guerra, todavía utilizamos la última generación de tanques de los marines. Cualquiera que haya servido en los Marines sabe que cuando se trata de logística y suministro, el Cuerpo siempre ha sido el hijastro pelirrojo de los militares, por lo que nos conformamos con lo que teníamos.

Pero esto no es un golpe para el venerable tanque M60 Patton. Aunque el diseño tenía treinta años en este punto, seguía siendo una máquina de combate excelente y formidable. Con los años, el diseño también se ha actualizado continuamente con nuevos equipos para mantener su rendimiento a la par con otros tanques de batalla principales modernos. Nuestra máquina, que cariñosamente llamamos "Hell Hound", había recibido el conjunto estándar de mejoras: óptica moderna avanzada, un estabilizador de armas, un conjunto de armadura explosiva-reactiva y construcción. Me alegra decir que nuestra tripulación tenía total confianza en nuestro tanque, y puedo dar fe personalmente de que nuestra máquina estaba más que lista para enfrentar cualquier tanque o vehículo blindado que tenían los iraquíes, como el T-55 , T -62, o incluso el temido T-72.

Había cuatro hombres en nuestra tripulación. Yo era el tirador, que, en mi opinión, era la parte más importante de la tripulación. Nuestro comandante de tanque, o TC para abreviar, era un tipo llamado Paul Hilaire, que era unos años mayor que yo y un profesional estable y competente; el cargador era un tipo fornido y musculoso llamado Gilbert Castro, quien como yo también era de California y el más joven; y nuestro conductor, Tim Laury, que estaba bastante nervioso, pero aún tenía un sentido del humor muy seco. Todos nos habíamos entrenado juntos durante dos años en Camp Pendleton y luego en 29 Palms, y ahora que estábamos sentados al borde de una operación de combate real que habíamos estado esperando todo este tiempo, estábamos impacientes. Nuestro campamento aislado en medio del desierto de Arabia estaba en el fondo de la nada, y como estábamos tan cerca de saltar, estuvimos confinados allí durante varias semanas. Cuando las fuerzas iraquíes intentaron invadir Arabia Saudita y tomar la ciudad de Khafji en enero, estábamos al borde de nuestros asientos, con la esperanza de que finalmente pudiéramos ver alguna acción real. . Todos estos meses, soñamos con correr por el desierto como Rommel, para liderar la lucha contra el enemigo, pero nos decepcionó cuando otras unidades recibieron este honor. No fue hasta finales de febrero que finalmente obtuvimos la orden que todos esperábamos: cruzar la frontera y entrar a Kuwait para expulsar a las fuerzas de ocupación iraquíes. Admito que estaba más emocionado y encantado que asustado. Puede parecer una actitud estúpida para un joven apresurarse tan voluntariamente a la guerra, sin saber con qué se va a encontrar. Pero tiene que entender que llevamos años capacitándonos para este tipo de operaciones, y nos veíamos a nosotros mismos como profesionales consumados, como comerciantes que hacemos su trabajo, y estábamos ansiosos por tener la oportunidad para aplicar nuestras habilidades, y darle a Saddam Hussein y sus muchos, la Guardia Republicana Republicana una patada rápida. Esta es la actitud entusiasta del Cuerpo de Marines. En las primeras horas del 24 de febrero de 1991, nosotros y el resto de la 1ª División Marítima recibimos órdenes de avanzar a Kuwait.

Como miembro de la Task Force Papa Bear, cruzamos la arena que marcaba la frontera entre Arabia Saudita y Kuwait y nos encontramos … No mucho, en realidad. Cruzamos varias áreas bloqueadas por alambre de púas, pero la resistencia real de las fuerzas iraquíes era bastante limitada. De vez en cuando, una unidad enemiga disparaba sin entusiasmo hacia nosotros, en su mayoría con solo unos pocos disparos por honor, y se rendía cuando tomamos represalias y cerramos sus posiciones. Las tropas iraquíes, a quienes nos dijeron que se habían endurecido después de años de luchar contra Irán, en realidad estaban bastante cansadas e infelices y demasiado dispuestas a rendirse. No puedo culparlos; un hombre como Saddam Hussein no vale la pena morir. Entonces, durante esos primeros días, eso fue lo más que encontramos. Las unidades marinas reunieron a miles de prisioneros, causaron pocas bajas y solo encontraron ocasionalmente unidades blindadas iraquíes. Cabe mencionar que no nos encontramos con estos tanques enemigos directamente y que no veríamos una batalla de tanques seria hasta unos días más tarde. En varias ocasiones, hemos disparado contra objetos que pensamiento podrían ser tanques enemigos, pero que a menudo resultaron ser vehículos ya destruidos.

No fue hasta el 27, cuando finalmente llegamos a Kuwait, que tuvimos la suerte de tener una batalla real que habíamos estado esperando todo este tiempo. La batalla del aeropuerto internacional de Kuwait fue una de las batallas de tanques más grandes de la guerra, aunque gran parte tuvo lugar en los suburbios que rodean el aeropuerto. Y esta batalla no decepcionó. Nos encontramos con una gran fuerza de tanques del ejército iraquí y la Guardia Republicana justo al lado del aeropuerto, y en una breve pero increíblemente tensa batalla, simplemente limpiamos el suelo con nuestro enemigo. Destruimos más de 100 tanques y vehículos blindados durante esta acción, y yo mismo marqué mi primer asesinato real en combate blindado. Bueno, toda la tripulación está en el origen del mérito colectivo por tales logros, pero siendo el tirador y el que "apretó el gatillo", por así decirlo, quedé bastante satisfecho con yo por un tiempo A medida que avanzábamos, el TC vio un T-62 iraquí escondido detrás de una línea de edificios destruidos, presumiblemente tratando de flanquearnos, y crucé el arma principal y la puse en mi mira. Y a una distancia de 850 metros, hice un giro de 105 mm a través de la torreta del tanque, así me dio una bonita silueta lateral como las que tenemos en el entrenamiento. Este disparo sacudió visiblemente todo el tanque enemigo como si hubiera sido golpeado por una roca, y una gran columna de humo seguida de un brillante chorro de llamas estalló desde la escotilla superior, que era para haber alcanzado casi seis metros en el aire. Estaba bastante orgulloso de este disparo y mi primer disparo blindado, pero después de unos momentos, me sorprendió la verdadera gravedad de lo que acababa de hacer. A pesar de la feroz actitud de "matarlos a todos" cultivada dentro de nosotros a lo largo de nuestro entrenamiento, hacer el acto es bastante diferente. Cuando ves un tanque enemigo, tiendes a pensar que tu enemigo es la máquina misma, como si los seres humanos en la tripulación ni siquiera existieran. Pero cuando me di cuenta de que mi disparo probablemente había matado a los cuatro hombres en este tanque, algunos de los cuales pudieron haber sido alcanzados por el proyectil o que habían sido incinerados cuando se cocinaban las municiones, yo Fue golpeado por una sensación extraña durante varios días después. Incluso si el contexto moral de la guerra hiciera mis acciones un poco más explicables, no pude evitar pensar que había cometido algo realmente serio. Después de todo, había acabado con cuatro vidas humanas apretando un gatillo; nadie ha escapado de los restos ardientes de este T-62. Pero a pesar de saber que probablemente me hubiera hecho lo mismo en su posición, todavía estaba sorprendido y confundido por la sensación de tener tanto poder y elegir elegirlo. usar destructivamente. Pero como dije, supongo que es solo guerra. Y nada como una guerra para enseñarte que la moral es una bestia voluble.

Todavía me sentía así, aunque también disparé y destruí dos BMP iraquíes y un automóvil blindado; un momento de exultación breve, seguido de un sentimiento de culpabilidad incipiente pero palpable. Pero he aprendido a lo largo de los años que, si bien los arrepentimientos pueden ponerlo en un mejor camino, puede resultar poco bueno pensar en cosas que no puede recuperar. Aprender esto es lo que me ha mantenido a flote durante todos estos años y trato de transmitir a otros la perspectiva moral que desarrollé en ese momento. Pero me estoy perdiendo. La campaña terrestre en Kuwait fue bastante corta, solo alrededor de cuatro días, y lo que Saddam Hussein había prometido que sería la "madre de todas las batallas" había sido sobre todo una derrota catastrófica de las fuerzas iraquíes que habían dañado seriamente su prestigio internacional. Por nuestra parte, fue decididamente … decepcionante, especialmente en comparación con lo que nos dijeron que esperáramos. Pero tuvimos la guerra que soñamos durante tanto tiempo, a pesar de sus inesperadas decepciones y verificaciones de la realidad.

Durante unos días, mantuvimos nuestra posición en una ubicación al oeste de la ciudad de Kuwait conocida como Al Jahra, mientras otras fuerzas se movían alrededor de Kuwait a través de el sur de Iraq estaba limpiando las fuerzas enemigas que intentaban retirarse. Fue durante esta fase que tuvieron lugar batallas controvertidas como la Carretera de la Muerte o la Batalla de Rumaila, que fueron controvertidas ya que ocurrieron después del alto el fuego y fueron llevado a cabo contra unidades iraquíes que técnicamente cumplían con el mandato internacional de retirarse de Kuwait. El 2 de marzo, recibimos nuestra propia misión como parte de este esfuerzo, con la intención de bloquear la retirada de cualquier rezagado que intente retirarse a Irak por rutas secundarias en el noroeste de Kuwait. Tuvimos que liderar una marcha sobre el desierto para tomar una posición de bloqueo en una carretera paralela a la frontera iraquí-kuwaití, donde evitaríamos que alguien intentara forzar su camino. La posición de bloqueo que se suponía que debíamos tomar era en realidad sobre la frontera dentro del propio Iraq, aunque esto no es estrictamente inusual, ya que otras unidades del La coalición también estaba bien dentro de Irak.

A primera hora de la tarde, nuestro pelotón de cuatro tanques, dirigido por nuestro comandante de pelotón, el teniente Rattner, partió, de acuerdo con nuestras órdenes. La distancia era de unos 100 kilómetros, aunque estábamos completamente abastecidos de combustible, y un tanque Patton puede recorrer 500 kilómetros fácilmente a un ritmo razonablemente eficiente. El viaje duró aproximadamente tres horas, pero como estábamos a 7 u 8 kilómetros de nuestro objetivo, de repente se nos ordenó dar la vuelta y regresar a la base. Fue irritante, porque estábamos contentos de tener otra misión, y habíamos conducido todo el camino para nada, justo cuando el clima estaba empezando a cambiar. Se estaba formando un shamal o tormenta de viento bastante grande en el noroeste, y la idea de quedar atrapado en una tormenta de arena en el medio de la nada no era muy atractiva, d & # 39; Sobre todo porque un shamal puede durar varios días. Después de un breve descanso, trazamos la ruta que usaríamos para regresar, y como la guerra casi había terminado y debido a que estábamos en medio de un desierto sin rastro, decidimos que no hubo riesgo de reanudar la misma ruta.

Pero un shamal se está moviendo bastante rápido, y después de solo veinte minutos, nos encontramos abrumados en medio de una violenta tormenta de arena que oscureció por completo nuestra vista. En estas condiciones, tuvimos que adaptar nuestros métodos para evitar la separación. Si bien a algunas personas se les ocurrió la idea de quedarse y esperar la tormenta, esto se descartó rápidamente, ya que podría durar varios días. En cambio, redujimos nuestra velocidad a menos de 20 kilómetros por hora, encendimos nuestras luces delanteras y decidimos permanecer a menos de 10 metros del vehículo que tenía delante. Asimismo, se instó a los comandantes de cada tanque a abrir sus escotillas y dirigir a sus conductores, a pesar de la arena soplada; se esperaba que lo cubrieran y lo apoyaran, para que tuviera una vista clara del tanque en frente. Los artilleros y los comandantes también podrían usar su óptica térmica para monitorear el vehículo que se encuentra adelante y evitar la separación. Nuestras radios no funcionarían tan bien en este clima, pero hicimos nuestro mejor esfuerzo para mantenernos en contacto con los demás.

Al salir, seguí de cerca la firma térmica del escape diesel del vehículo que tenía delante. Éramos los últimos en la columna, así que dependía de mí prestar mucha atención. Hilaire, nuestro TC, tenía la cabeza fuera de la escotilla superior, soplando ráfagas de viento y arena dentro de la torreta, y creo que al menos una libra de arena debe haber descendido sobre mi collar en mi uniforme Con todo este desastre dentro de nuestra torreta, Hilaire se cansó y cerró la escotilla, ordenándonos al conductor y a mí que prestáramos mucha atención a dónde íbamos. Más tarde, algunos comentaristas describieron la Guerra del Golfo como una "guerra de GPS" debido a la influencia del sistema en nuestras tácticas, pero en nuestro pelotón, solo el vehículo del comandante del pelotón la tuvo. Así que hice todo lo posible para cerrar los ojos a este penacho de diesel, mientras buscaba las amenazas poco probables que podríamos encontrar. Fue entonces cuando comenzamos a tener problemas para mantenernos al día. Nuestra radio, que necesitábamos para mantenernos en contacto con el resto, comenzó a descomponerse en el peor momento posible. No era inusual en sí mismo; a veces las radios y otras comunicaciones pueden simplemente volverse locas o molestarse sin razón aparente. Pero sin eso, solo tuvimos contacto visual con otros vehículos.

El teniente Rattner era un muy buen oficial, pero podía ser bastante errático y tomar decisiones instantáneas sin contar siempre a todos lo que estaba sucediendo. Noté que el tanque frente a nosotros se alejaba lentamente, aparentemente más rápido que nosotros. Hilaire le gritó a Laury que acelerara el ritmo y mantuviera el ritmo del resto, pero con tan poca visibilidad, la aceleración hizo poco para mejorar la situación. Peor aún, este contorno distintivo de un tanque en las térmicas comenzaba a desdibujarse, probablemente debido al viento, y constantemente se hacía cada vez más difícil ver a nuestros camaradas frente a nosotros. La velocidad de la columna parecía aumentar constantemente y, a pesar de que estábamos acelerando tanto como pensábamos en esta situación, continuaron alejándose. Todos empezábamos a preocuparnos, y Hilaire, que trabajaba con la radio, hizo todo lo posible para restablecer las comunicaciones con los demás. Después de tocar esta caja de radio y hacer una diatriba colorida, Hilaire finalmente se rindió en la radio por el momento.

En ese punto, el tanque frente a nosotros comenzó a desvanecerse dentro del alcance visual. Casi habíamos duplicado la velocidad de nuestra caminata, pero con las arenas constantes que soplaban, el camino que estábamos siguiendo comenzaba a ser enterrado y a desaparecer. Finalmente, después de unos minutos tensos, el resto de la columna se desvaneció. Laury continuó avanzando con la esperanza de encontrarlos, pero esto resultó inútil. Hilaire continuó jurando e insinuando que el teniente Rattner tenía conocimiento carnal de su madre y decidió usar su pistola cohete con la esperanza de que alguien más estuviera allí. Presta atención. Abrió la escotilla y disparó nuestra pistola de bengalas al aire, pero eso no hizo mucho; el viento simplemente lo empujó y desapareció rápidamente. Ahora todos empezábamos a preocuparnos. En este punto, nos hemos perdido extraoficialmente y nos hemos separado de nuestra unidad, atrapados en medio de un desierto sin huellas y prácticamente ciego. El camino ya no era visible, ya que había sido enterrado por la arena, por lo que tampoco podíamos seguirlo de manera confiable. Laury nos hizo movernos a un ritmo más lento en la misma dirección general, con la esperanza de poder tomar un descanso de la tormenta pronto para poder ver a dónde íbamos. Después de un rato, Hilaire le dijo que se detuviera; avance sin saber dónde podría arriesgarse a alejarse del recorrido, especialmente cuando el camino ya no es visible, y si vamos demasiado lejos en la arena, corremos el riesgo de atascarnos y lanzar una pista.

Cuando todavía estábamos en el campamento, habíamos oído hablar de otras unidades que se perdían en las tormentas de arena durante las maniobras, pero era la primera vez que esto nos ocurría. Hilaire sugirió, y acordamos, que deberíamos quedarnos hasta que la tormenta disminuya un poco y hacer todo lo posible para restablecer las comunicaciones con todas las unidades amigas cercanas. Usar una brújula y simplemente dirigirnos hacia el este desde nuestra posición parecía lógico, ya que nos vimos obligados a encontrarnos con una unidad amiga en esa dirección. Una vez más, todavía estábamos preocupados con la idea de atascarnos en las dunas de arena, así que esperar hasta que el camino estuviera despejado parecía la mejor opción. Así que nos quedamos en nuestra posición durante varias horas con la esperanza de que la tormenta se calmara. Pero anochecía y la tormenta no solo parecía más fuerte que nunca, sino que incluso parecía peor. Era difícil atravesar una tormenta de arena a la luz del día y era imposible hacerlo de noche. Tomamos la decisión de quedarnos allí por la noche, una decisión bastante impopular, ya que esta misión abortada innecesaria había durado demasiado en este punto, pero aparentemente no teníamos otra opción.

Ya dormí dentro de nuestro acuario y créanme cuando digo que no es lo ideal. Pero dormir afuera en la cubierta del motor de popa o cavar un hoyo para dormir en la arena fue una propuesta aún más incómoda, así que descansamos en nuestro tanque, tomando turnos. Nuestro motor auxiliar estaba funcionando para que pudiéramos seguir calentando y ópticamente, pero tratar de dormir en este espacio reducido era difícil. Me imagino que fue peor para Laury, ya que la posición del conductor era aún más estrecha, aunque más inclinada. Hilaire continuó jugando con la radio mientras Castro y yo discutíamos sobre nuestros equipos de baloncesto favoritos; Es un gran admirador de los Bulls, aunque es de California. No esperaba dormir mucho en el tanque, de todos modos. Finalmente, Hilaire perdió la paciencia y decidió que deberíamos intentar salir de todos modos, confiando en nuestra brújula para mantenernos orientados hacia el este, porque no podíamos ver el Sol. Le advirtió a Laury que se relajara si parecía que nos atascamos en la arena, aunque el desierto era afortunadamente plano, por lo que no tendríamos que escalar una duna de arena. Laury nos dirigió hacia el este, lo puso en marcha y salimos a un ritmo lento y cuidadoso.

Moverse por la arena era lento e Hilaire estaba preocupada por la cantidad de combustible que estábamos quemando en comparación con la carretera. Habíamos usado alrededor de una quinta parte de nuestro combustible diesel para llegar tan lejos, por lo que no estábamos demasiado preocupados por hacerlo, incluso si el motor tenía problemas. Hemos tratado de mantener un camino recto hacia el este, pero a menudo hemos desviado nuestra ruta para evitar trozos de tierra molestos como las dunas de arena. Fue entonces cuando algo realmente extraño comenzó a suceder. Todavía estaba oscuro y polvoriento afuera, y sin ver el cielo, necesitábamos nuestra brújula para apuntarnos en la dirección correcta. Pero nuestra brújula comenzó a actuar muy extraño. La aguja parpadeó y comenzó a girar, sin mantener una orientación fuerte y se rompió de un lado a otro mientras viajábamos en la misma dirección. Hilaire, desconcertada por este desarrollo, ordenó que Laury se detuviera. No tengo idea de qué tipo de fenómeno podría hacer que una brújula se comporte así, pero ciertamente nos sucedió. Antes estábamos preocupados, pero este extraño evento nos tenía a todos en la mira.

La brújula parecería arreglarse brevemente, pero cada pocos minutos volvería a enloquecer, y el hecho de que tuviéramos que recorrer ciertos lugares no ayudó a mantenernos en el camino. Una vez más, decidimos detenernos y esperar la luz del día para orientarnos, pensando que no habíamos estado tan lejos de la carretera desde nuestro breve desvío. Hacia el amanecer, nuevamente decidimos echar un vistazo para ver dónde estábamos. La tormenta de arena se había calmado un poco, ya que aparentemente habíamos encontrado espacio en la tormenta con cielos relativamente despejados. El frente de tormenta seguía arrasando al este y al oeste de nosotros, por lo que este respiro probablemente duraría poco. Todos estábamos terriblemente consternados al ver que el paisaje que nos rodeaba no se parecía en nada a lo que habíamos visto hasta ahora, sin puntos de referencia, caminos ni nada visible; Incluso nuestras huellas a través del desierto habían sido tragadas por la arena. A nuestro alrededor había dunas de arena, y con la tormenta en el horizonte en ambas direcciones, no se veía nada más allá de nuestra posición. Es así durante un shamal; millones de toneladas de arena son arrojadas al aire y depositadas en otros lugares, pareciendo mover colinas enteras a través de los desechos. Esto aparentemente nos pasó a nosotros. Nuestro entorno había cambiado casi por completo, y en medio de un desierto sin huellas, era una situación peligrosa.

Ahora que era a la mañana siguiente, nuestra ausencia y falta de comunicación seguramente habría sido notada por el comandante de la compañía, sentimos que un esfuerzo de investigación probablemente habría estado en curso en este momento. Esta hipótesis nos hizo sentir mejor, incluso si nuestra radio todavía no funcionaba. De même, les avions de la Coalition étant très actifs dans cette région, nous pensions que nous pourrions être repérés par un avion passant qui relayerait notre position auprès des unités amies de la région. Mais cet optimisme ne durerait pas. La tempête commençait à reprendre, les murs de sable se refermant sur nous et aucun avion ne devenait visible. C'était extrêmement étrange pour nous. Tout au long de la campagne, il y a eu un flux constant de chasseurs et de bombardiers au-dessus de nous à toute heure, frappant des positions dans tout le Koweït et l'Iraq, et nous en avons vu beaucoup pendant notre mission. Peut-être, nous pensions, qu'ils étaient échoués à cause du temps, et une fois le shamal passé, ils auraient peut-être mieux à nous trouver. Mais le shamal pourrait durer des jours, et il pourrait être plus long de nous retrouver dans notre nouvelle position bien en dehors des sentiers battus.

Nous sommes tous sortis du char en espérant nous dégourdir les jambes, nous soulager et peut-être repérer une brèche dans la tempête que nous pourrions exploiter. J'étais parti faire une pisse, même s'il faisait encore assez de vent, tandis qu'Hilaire restait dans le réservoir, le sortant à nouveau avec la radio. J'étais sur le chemin du retour vers le tank, incroyablement cochée parce que le vent m'avait fait pisser sur le devant de mon uniforme, quand j'ai entendu Hilaire et Castro crier avec excitation. Selon eux, la radio fonctionnait à nouveau, ce qui était un soulagement majeur. Nous nous sommes tous précipités vers le char, confiants que nous venions de trouver un moyen de sortir de ce gâchis, et nous nous sommes tous rassemblés à l'intérieur de la tourelle pour voir ce qui se passait. Hilaire tripotait la radio, ajustait la bande et essayait d'obtenir un signal clair. Il s'est arrêté quand quelque chose ressemblant à une voix est venu sur le haut-parleur. Mais c'était une voix profonde, étouffée, remplie d'électricité statique avec des mots inintelligibles, mais le rythme et la cadence sonnaient définitivement comme une personne qui parlait. Cela a continué pendant plusieurs minutes alors que nous regardions avec une haleine appâtée tandis que Hilaire tripotait les boutons, sans effet apparent. Ce discours étouffé a continué juste avec de courtes pauses, lorsque Laury a souligné que les mots étaient répéter. C'était exactement les mêmes phonèmes inintelligibles dans une séquence d'environ vingt secondes, qui s'arrêtent brièvement avant de lire le même message, si on pouvait l'appeler un "message".

Nous avons tous été stupéfaits par ce virage inattendu, et peu importe combien Hilaire tripotait les boutons, les sons de la radio sont restés exactement les mêmes. Enfin, après environ cinq minutes, le signal s'est simplement coupé au milieu de la séquence, ne laissant qu'un faible murmure de statique. Mon cœur se serra dans mon estomac alors que je réalisais que nous étions à nouveau coupés de toute communication avec le monde extérieur. Mais nous nous sommes tous demandé à haute voix quel signal nous avions même reçu par la radio. Hilaire avait changé à chaque fréquence et bande, et toujours ce même discours inintelligible, encore et encore. Laury a spéculé que le signal pourrait avoir été un message préenregistré, comme un avertissement de raid aérien, que nous avions capté par accident. Nous ne pouvions pas dire ce qui se disait, donc cela aurait pu être dans une langue différente. Je lui ai dit que les mots ne ressemblaient pas à l'arabe et que la voix semblait trop profonde pour être humaine, comme si c'était un ordinateur ou quelque chose. Au plus près de nos chiffres, j’ai peut-être bavardé avec une autre unité de la Coalition qui parlait une langue différente, comme le français.

Mais à ce stade, nous étions juste en train de cracher du ballon. Le fait était que le signal radio avait été coupé et ne pouvait pas être récupéré, ni aucun autre signal ne pouvait être capté, donc la radio était redevenue pratiquement inutile. Il était au moins capable de s'allumer, ce qu'il n'avait pas fait la veille. Tout ce qu'il restait à faire était de revenir à notre plan initial de se diriger vers l'est, jusqu'au golfe Persique si nécessaire, et d'espérer que des unités amies pourraient nous aider. Être entouré de dunes de sable compliquait maintenant cela, car nous aurions maintenant du mal à les traverser dans n'importe quelle direction. Nous ne pouvions même pas dire exactement où nous étions, car le paysage qui nous entourait avait complètement changé. Mais errer dans le désert semblait mieux que de rester sur place et mourir de soif, et même si nous avions une bonne quantité de rations et d'eau, camper dans cet endroit n'était pas très attrayant. La tempête continuait et commençait à se rapprocher, le ciel devenant de plus en plus flou. Nous avons remonté notre char reparti, en espérant que notre route vers l'est se concrétiserait.

Partie 2

Sortir des dunes était aussi difficile que nous le craignions, et nous étions tous assis sur le bord des sièges, écoutant le rugissement du moteur, espérant désespérément que le son redouté d'une piste lancée ne viendrait pas. Finalement, il a semblé que nous avions atteint le sommet de la colline et que nous descendions, quand nous avons vu que les dunes continuaient dans cette direction sur des kilomètres. Hilaire commençait maintenant à être sérieusement préoccupé par notre consommation de carburant; il nous restait quatre cinquièmes du char quand nous avons fait demi-tour, mais maintenant il ne nous restait plus que les trois cinquièmes, même si nous n'avions parcouru qu'une fraction de la distance à travers le désert. L'effort de grimper sur ces dunes avait pris beaucoup de carburant, et maintenant avec les dunes de sable dans toutes les directions, et la tempête de sable qui reprenait, nous commencions tous à désespérer. Hilaire est resté cool et a ordonné à Laury de ne plus gravir de collines et de se contenter de la terre basse entre elles. Castro commençait cependant à s'agiter. Il n'avait pas tout à fait vingt ans et, dans sa courte vie, n'avait probablement jamais été dans une situation aussi mauvaise que la nôtre. Il commençait à harceler Hilaire avec des questions sur où nous allions, avions-nous assez de carburant, sommes-nous sûrs que c'était la bonne façon, et cetera. Finalement, Hilaire le claqua pour se calmer et Castro se replia sur lui-même, boudant.

Après quelques heures, le moteur a commencé à surchauffer suite à l'effort, et nous nous sommes arrêtés pour lui permettre de se refroidir. La tempête s'était de nouveau relâchée, et nous avons tous débarqué pour faire une vérification d'entretien et rechercher un chemin potentiel. Hilaire a décidé de nettoyer le filtre à air pendant que le moteur refroidissait, Laury et moi avons vérifié la tension de la piste, et Castro a été envoyé pour explorer le sommet d'une dune de sable pour une issue. We had gone far enough that the desert had flattened out a bit, with much more space in between hills, and we took this as a good sign. Still, fuel was now a concern, and lacking any landmarks we couldn’t tell how much further we needed to go. Castro returned from his scouting mission, saying that there were still no landmarks, but the ground to the south was much flatter and probably easier to get across. Laury and I went back to our work, thinking Castro would just mill around until we remounted. A few minutes later, we looked up to see that Castro had wandered off. He had one of the weapons issued to our crew, a Colt Commando, and we were worried what he might have gotten himself into. I climbed a hill to west to get a view around to find him, and I saw him cautiously walking west, rifle in hand, as if he expected a threat. He was probably about a hundred meters away, scanning the horizon, and didn’t respond when I shouted his named. I ran out after him and caught up with him before he got too far, but he still didn’t respond even when came up next to him. He was absolutely fixated on some point in the distance that I couldn’t recognize, and I practically had to shake him to get his attention. He acted like a man coming out of a trance, and when I asked him what the hell he was doing, he answered, “Nothing, I didn’t see nothing,” almost as if I were accusing him of something. He abruptly turned around, slinging his rifle, and brisked walked back in the direction of the tank.

I was baffled by this strange behavior, especially from a man like Castro, who wasn’t much more than a kid. I chalked it up to the stress of the situation, but I still resolved to tell Hilaire about it, in case something escalated. I returned to the tank shortly after Castro and saw that Hilaire was still working on the engine and nursing some skinned knuckles. The engine had finally cooled down, but he said that the coolant was starting to pick up sand, which could clog the whole system. Unless we jury-rigged some kind of water filter, we’d just have to deal with it and watch the engine temperature more carefully. I told him about Castro, and he said that noticed similar behavior, and the normally verbose young man was uncharacteristically quiet. Our concerns expressed, we remounted and proceeded south, towards the hopefully flatter terrain.

We went south and east, trying to stick to low ground, and for a time we had relatively clear visibility in our path, so we could stay on a rough course. It was like this throughout the afternoon, with Laury counting down the ticks on the fuel gauge. Out of nowhere, in the course of less than a minute, the storm brewed up again more violently than at any point so far. We were all startled when we heard especially harsh gales of wind and sand pelting against the outside of the tank, and visibility dropped so low that even the thermals couldn’t make out anything much further than 60 meters. Worse still, we even noticed some bright flashes of lightning, and if there was lightning, there could be rain, and in this terrain and sudden downpour could cause a flash flood that could swamp our tank. The suddenness of the storm caught us all by surprise; we had gotten used to the general ebb and flow of the weather, with periods of relative calm in between constant winds. I kept scanning the horizon through the thermal when I started noticing some strange objects. Actually, they didn’t even seem like just objects; I could swear they were moving! At first I briefly panicked when I thought I saw a human outline, maybe a hostile enemy, but it sank low to the ground and tumbled across the sand like no living creature I knew of. I was thinking that perhaps it was some kind of loose debris, a tarp maybe, that had drifted across the desert in the storm, but then I noticed that there were more of them.

I was so stunned for a moment that I didn’t immediately tell Hilaire what was out there. I wasn’t even sure what exactly *it* was out there. There were at least three or four signatures in the thermal, all white hot like you would expect from a person or animal, but there was nothing about them that made them seem like a person. After all, what would a person be doing out here in a storm like this, in the middle of nowhere? I saw some of those signatures suddenly flip up, and I could swear then that there was something vaguely human about that posture. When I told Hilaire, he immediately got on his periscope and scanned in that direction, but he couldn’t make out anything. Castro suddenly seemed even more agitated and froze up, just riveted to his seat. I wondered at that for a second, but kept scanning for these “beings” or whatever they were, not sure if they were hostiles or just wild animals. But as quickly as they came into view, they suddenly disappeared into the storm, with no trace of their passing.

The sudden apparition and the brief panic it caused left all of us rattled for a time. We were definitively lost out in the middle of the Kuwaiti desert, with no clear clue where we were or what direction we should go, and now there was the possibility that we were trapped with some strange creatures in a blinding sandstorm. I say ‘possibility’ because I was not completely sure that what I saw was a living thing, but the way it glowed in the thermal scope would suggest that it was. The storm continued to rage all around us as we moved further south and east, and the pelting of sand against the turret hull grew stronger and stronger. Fuel was now getting worryingly low, as according to Laury, we now had just under a third of a tank left, enough to get us 150 kilometers at an efficient speed, but we were not at an efficient speed. We were still trudging across open desert, burning more fuel than usual, and the possibility of having to hoof it from here to civilization left us all deeply worried. Eventually evening came with still no sign of human habitation anywhere, and we knew that it meant spending yet another night out in the open desert. As a Marine I’m used to the idea of spending nights far from civilization, but out here, totally alone, and with some strange creatures roaming about the wastes, I was starting to have serious doubts about my choice of career.

When the storm finally eased off, we stopped to do our necessaries and call it an evening. Castro was being particularly fidgety, so we gave him the first watch. Exhausted as I was, having not slept much the previous night, I finally was able to get some quality shuteye, curled up at the back of the turret floor under the loader’s ready rack. Since I had third watch, I was able to get a few hours in before my turn. I was woken by Laury at 0300 hours to begin my watch, although I wasn’t thrilled about spending any time outside the tank in that storm. I opted to keep my sidearm with me in addition to the rifle; whatever was out there, I would take no chances. I sat outside the tank on the front glacis next to the driver’s hatch, surveying the scene. I was glad that I would have a break in the storm, but this small comfort was rather short lived. The wind slowly picked up its pace, and once again the tank was shrouded in complete darkness. It was then that I was able to register a faint sound, indistinct at first, but which started to stand out as high-pitched howl. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve said it was like the nasally hoot of an elk, but I knew it couldn’t have been that. In a different situation, I might have dismissed it as a trick of the constant winds, but this time I was fully alert and on the lookout for any sign of the creatures from the previous day. I pounded on the hatch and Hilaire almost immediately came out of it and wanted to know what was happening. I told him that I heard something out there, even though I couldn’t see it, and I wanted to be inside the tank if it showed up.

We both climbed back into the tank and I immediately got to my position and scanned the horizon for anything. But to my disappointment, the thermal optic was on the fritz, and everything appeared hazy and dim, but even so I could make out something in the distance. I was just about shitting bricks at this point, convinced that these were the creatures I had seen yesterday, and even though I couldn’t prove they were hostile, I just se sentait it. The storm was making it difficult to see, but I recognized those forms, and I was sure they were getting closer. That howl was now slightly audible inside the tank, and everybody was on alert. We had done numerous close-combat drills before, practicing scenarios where enemy troops got in close enough to our vehicle that we couldn’t use the main weapons against them, but even our practiced minds couldn’t fathom just what kind of threat we faced.

We stayed absolutely silent inside the tank for several minutes, trying to discern the howls from the ceaseless gales outside. The howling ceased abruptly, and Castro, who had gone white with fear, suddenly jerked up from his seat. Through the turret wall behind him, we could make out a faint scratching noise, like the pawing of an animal, and we were so riveted by this that we were caught off guard by harsh thunk on the turret behind me. I jumped at this and nearly brained myself on turret roof, and a few seconds later, I could swear I heard something like laughter. It was a thin and sibilant sound, not human at all, high-pitched and sinister. Then we heard a skittering sound across the roof of the turret, like a large creature scuttling across it, and Hilaire tried to look through the cupola to see what it was, but nothing was there. The scratching sound became more insistent, and now the pattering was happening across the entire outer surface of the turret, and sharp, screeching sound came from the front, right over the port for the gunner’s sight. Castro, who was fighting panic this entire time, finally lost it and began pounding on the turret walls, screaming and cursing, demanding to whatever was outside to leave us alone. At first we were about to smack him and make him be quiet, but his outburst gave way to a moment of silence around the tank. When the attacks resumed, we all took Castro’s cue and started banging on the walls, shouting and swearing, giving our best ‘war faces’, trying to scare off the hostiles. Finally they gave up their attack and ceased their scratching and banging on the outside. But as they made their retreat, I once again heard that horrible, sinister laugh, fading into the night.

Morning came with all of us completely drained. The attack during the evening had left us all shaken, and now more than ever we felt the urgency of our situation. We all wanted to leave this area immediately, and Hilaire agreed with us. But the situation did not improve. We kept rolling onwards in the same direction for about an hour when Hilaire suddenly ordered us to stop. None of us saw any reason for the delay, but we weren’t stopped for a second before he jumped out through his hatch and strode in front the tank. We all followed his lead, not knowing just what he had in mind. We caught up with him to see that he holding his head in his hands, growling “No, no” to himself. We asked what was wrong, and he rounded on us pointed out that it was impossible for us to have gone so far and not arrived anywhere near civilization. We had traveled well over a hundred kilometers since getting lost, but in all that time we had not seen or discovered n'importe quoi. There should at least have been a road or trail somewhere, or a village or hamlet. There should have been aircraft overhead, and even though we were lost, some kind of search effort must have been underway, but we had neither seen nor encountered anything but endless hills of sand. He cursed himself for his decision to go off the main road when we first got separated from the column, saying we should have stayed put and waited for a break in the storm.

But he was right about one thing: we should definitely have encountered something by now, just by the sheer distance we had traveled. Kuwait is a small country, it seemed impossible that we should be so hopelessly lost when we knew where we started from and how far we needed to go. All we had seen since then was nothing but rolling sand dunes that always seemed to be in a different place when you looked at them. Our fuel was now perilously low, only about a quarter of a tank, and days’ worth of travel had gotten us nowhere. Had we wandered out into the desert even farther than we thought? We knew that heading east, even with a moderate deviation to the south, should have gotten us someplace that could recognize, but there was nothing but desert in all directions, and no sign whatsoever of human civilization anywhere in all that time. Unless Kuwait had magically gotten twice as large in the span of two days, this couldn’t have happened. Hilaire was almost despondent, and seeing him start to lose it had a serious effect on us.

All this time Laury was observing the horizon, which had now mostly cleared as the shamal finally died down after all this time. He called out to us while we listened to Hilaire, and we saw that he was pointing to some spot on the horizon that we couldn’t make out at first. But he was insistent, and kept pointing towards what he called a “tower”, and after a minute I saw just what he was pointing at. Far in the distance off to the west I could faintly see a grey object, a tower like he described, and I could see that it actually glittered slightly in the sunlight. It was quite small in the distance from where we stood, hardly poking out above the hills, but it seemed attainable, and it most definitely was not a mirage. But it was to the west, deeper into the desert, in the complete opposite direction we had resolved to go. This dissuaded us for minute, but when we realized we had endlessly driven east with no result, heading west towards a sign of civilization seemed totally rational to our desperate minds. All at once, our spirits lifted tremendously, and we decided then and there that we would turn west, making a dash towards the only sign of humanity we had seen in days, fuel reserves be damned.

Castro, however, did not seem all that pleased. I thought he would be the most excited by this news, given that he was under serious strain from our situation, but he was actually quite muted. We told him that our new path led west, and assented to this without any comment or complaint. But the rest of us were jubilant, thinking that the end of our ordeal was in sight, and we gave little thought to what we would actually find there. We mounted our machine and turned it west, into the direction of this heavenly sign to a group of stranded and desperate men. We took a much quicker pace than we had in days, only loosely paying attention to our remaining fuel. Our tank surged across those hated desert sands, and even as the weather yet again took a turn for the worse, we felt unstoppable. The shamal we thought had died out picked up with a vengeance, and once again we were nearly blinded that curtain of sand and grit, but we kept that shining tower in our sight the whole way. As if rising to the challenge, the storm grew ever worse, and soon visibility was nearly gone, but we still had our bearings. Through the thermal I observed the horizon for this tower, catching faint streaks of heat in the direction we were going, convinced that this was our destination.

At this point, Hilaire once again began working on the radio, and after days of inactivity, that voice recording once again filled the speaker. It was still muffled and filled with static, and no more intelligible, but it was a stronger and clearer signal than before. Days before we had wondered at the wisdom of trying to follow such a signal, but in our desperation, we were prepared to accept many risks. Indeed, it seemed as if the source of this mysterious signal was coming from this tower we had spotted in the distance, as the signal came in clearer and clearer as we kept going. I thought we must have been very close when the violence of the storm suddenly became worse, and the pattering on the outside of the turret gave a sign of what we had feared most: rain. We were in one of the driest places on Earth, and we had somehow stumbled into a goddamned rainstorm! I suppose it was possible that a shamal could bring in scattered rain clouds that hung over the desert, but this seemed like an unfathomable stroke of bad luck. But still we pushed on, hoping that our mad dash would bring us to our destination before the worst of it took hold.

Our desperate hopes proved fruitless as we came upon a distinctive sight of a torrent of water rolling across the sand: a flash flood, brought on by this rain. For a vehicle as large and heavy as a Patton tank, a flash flood might not seem that dangerous, but we were driving over soft, porous sand, and there was no telling just how deep this stream could be or if the ground beneath would hold out. Hilaire was unimpressed by this obstacle, and seeing we were so close to our goal, he made a snap decision to just ford ahead through the flood, hoping that speed and weight would keep us upright. At Hilaire’s signal, Laury gunned the throttle and drove forward into the mud and muck of the flash flood, and the tank noticeably sank into the ground, but we still managed to keep moving forward. But this momentum was slowly fading, and as we made to within a few meters of the other side, the tank started getting bogged down in that water-logged sand. Laury kept at it, pushing the engine harder and harder, and old Hell Hound managed to slowly inch forward. After a tense few minutes that seemed like hours, we finally reached the other side, but it was still not over. The rear of the tank was still in the stream, and just as the rear made it up onto the bank, we heard the dreaded clunk-clunk-screech of a track being thrown. Despite lurching onto more solid ground at the last second, the Laury had still placed too much stress on it, and it simply bunched up and rolled off.

We all got out to examine the damage, our once high spirits now crushed, and saw that it would take hours of work to get the track back in place, hours spent out in this horrible storm, even when we were so close to our destination. Hilaire wanted us to focus on getting the tank back in order, but Castro and Laury both floated the idea of simply pushing ahead on foot, hoping that we were close enough to reach our destination without transport. Hilaire aggressively vetoed this idea, saying that leaving our machine behind was not an option, especially since all of the weapons were still operational. Following his suggestion, we all gathered at the side of the tank to begin the arduous task of getting the track back on the road wheels. All this time, the storm had kept up its constant assault, and even face-wrapping and goggles could only do so much against the high speed barrage of sand. Thankfully the rain had ceased and the threat of any more flash floods was gone, although the stream of water we had just crossed continued flowing for hours.

We had been working on the track for just over an hour and making good progress when Laury pointed out that Castro yet again seemed like he was going wander off from the rest of us. He was stalking off into the storm, rifle in hand, behaving very similarly to that trance-like state I found him in the day before. Shouting over the wind would do no good, so I ran after Castro to try and get his attention. To my surprise and shock, Castro suddenly broke into a heaving sprint further into the blowing sands, and Hilaire bellowed from behind me to follow after him. I wasn’t thrilled by this idea as I was convinced that I would end up getting myself lost out in the storm, but I was still deeply worried about Castro. His increasingly strange behavior these last few days had left us all quite disturbed, especially since he had been so cool and levelheaded during the battle at the airport. I charged after him, barely keeping up and struggling to even see him through all the dust and grit in air. For a few moments, he disappeared from my sight completely, and I nearly panicked thinking that both of us were now hopelessly lost out this weather. I kept running in the direction I last saw him, silently praying that he would turn up while simultaneously cursing him for running off like this. Without warning, I suddenly moved into break in the storm, my vision suddenly clear, and I saw Castro at a dead stop about thirty yards in front of me, staring up in awe at something in the sky. I was then that I saw just what we had been traveling towards all this time.

Looming high above us, silhouetted against a sky still filled with storm and moving sands, were a pair of dark stone objects that I recognized as buildings. The bases of these buildings seemed totally buried in sand, but the rest of them stuck out above the ground at least five or six stories tall. They were mostly square and featureless, the sides canted inwards slightly like a trapezoid, with no trace of windows or doors on the outside. The facade of each building was just a flat, barren stone exterior, not sand-colored or beige like most structures I had seen in this region, but dark grey and very smooth. Above us they loomed on the side of a particularly steep sand dune, like the ramparts of a great fortress, spaced only a short ways apart. Castro and I were equally dumbfounded by this unexpected discovery of such strange architecture in the middle of a barren, featureless desert. But odd as this was, it was still the first clear sign of civilization we had seen in days, and these clearly were not natural features of the land.

I finally broke out of my own astonishment and got Castro’s attention. He was still awestruck, but not pleased or excited as I felt. I urged him to follow me back to the tank to tell the rest that we had finally arrived at the mysterious destination we had been following this whole day. With some reluctance, he agreed to follow me back to the others. We must have wandered off close to a quarter mile into the storm, and I had no clue how we might find the rest going back through the storm. Castro suddenly took the lead and began moving briskly back in the rough direction we had come. Since I had no better ideas, I followed him closely through the storm, hoping that he his sudden confidence meant he knew where he was going. To my relief, we shortly caught sight of our tank and saw Hilaire waving his arms over his head, signaling to us his position. He must’ve been incredibly relieved to see us back. I excitedly told Hilaire and Laury what we had found ahead, and they were just as perplexed by what we told them as we had been when we found it. The work on the track was nearly done, outstripping our expectations, and I tried again to urge Hilaire to just push ahead on foot back the structures. Again he rejected this idea, but with Castro and I back, we could more quickly finish repairing the track.

With great speed and excitement we got back to fixing the track, and in less than an hour, our tank was operational again. We remounted and proceeded in the direction we had gone earlier, still carefully rationing our last sips of fuel to cover the short distance. Once again, we made it through that sudden break in the storm and once again beheld the awe-inspiring sight of those looming towers. We knew we likely couldn’t get the tank up that steep hill, so we circled around the base of it, our eyes fixed upwards to survey the perimeter of this bizarre settlement we found so far out into the desert. As we drove around, we saw that there were other structures around the top of the hill extremely similar to the first two, spaced evenly apart. Between two of them we finally found a relatively manageable slope leading up to the crest of the hill, and cautiously we moved up this path, alert for whatever we may find in this strange and remote place. We reached the top of the slope and moved slowly between the two structures, nervously eyeing the upper reaches for any possible sign of trouble.

We passed between the towers and came into a flat, empty area surrounded on all sides by these strange buildings, an area that seemed strangely like a plaza of some sort. And in the center of this plaza was the glittering tower we had spotted in the distance hours before. It was an enormous steel-gray obelisk that must have been a hundred meters tall or more, built out of smooth and polished stone that still shined slightly in the dim sky. But despite this obvious sign of civilization, there was no trace of human life anyplace around the whole area. This whole unexpected scene left us dumbstruck for many minutes until Laury suggested we dismount and explore the area in the hopes of finding any locals we might ask for information. We were reticent about this at first given the unnatural solitude of this strange and isolated city. Apart from these blank and ominous buildings, the whole area was still as barren as much of the rest of the desert we had just left. We moved slowly and cautiously deeper into the plaza area, now completely unnerved by the silence. Though the sky was still hazy and mostly obscured by the sandstorm, the wind on the ground level was quite calm. We finally parked our tank in the shadow of the obelisk, and we all sat quietly for a few minutes, internally debating our next course of action. The excitement of the hours before, when we thought our predicament had come to an end, was all but gone. No sign of life was remotely present here; all we seemed to have followed were some ancient and long-abandoned ruins far from anywhere.

3e partie

After a few quiet minutes, Hilaire ordered us all to dismount and survey the perimeter for any signs of life. With reluctance, we all climbed out and had a good look at our surroundings. The buildings, particularly that obelisk, were even more impressive and ominous up close and personal. We explored all around the base of the obelisk, and on the others side from where we parked we saw yet another strange structure that escaped our notice before. It was a large ziggurat, mostly covered by sand, set in a low depression in the ground, like something sitting in the base of a bowl. But this wasn’t like any normal ziggurat I had learned about in sixth grade history class; this one had rounded edges on each successive tier, and each tier was not flat, but slightly inclined upwards. Unlike the other structures, this ziggurat was quite fairly squat and wide, though still very tall compared to the others, and the stones that made up the outside were a dark rusty red color, almost like brick, but completely smooth and without seams. At its base was an arched opening with a high peak, blending seamlessly into the smooth exterior. Being in a depression in the ground, the top of the ziggurat was still lower than the other buildings, but up close we could see that it was at least as tall as all the others.

Entranced as we were by this unusual scene, we still couldn’t deny that we were in a similarly dismal situation as before. We were still stranded far into the desert, and now we had too little fuel left to go anywhere else, and the hopeful sign of human habitation had turned out to be totally lifeless and abandoned. The best we could claim was that we now had a recognizable landmark, but without fuel or other transportation, navigating according to this landmark would have been useless. The buildings might provide better shelter from the sandstorms, so could still hope to wait out the shamal and try signaling to passing aircraft. This of course was assuming that aircraft were momentarily grounded by the storm. We still had plenty of MREs and fresh water, as well as a mostly-stocked survival pack with medical supplies and tents, so if needed we could last in this spot for a week or more, but none of us were excited about that. But there was no alternative. We had used much of what remained of our fuel getting here, and driving back out into the desert would have been worse than useless. However, being at a distinct landmark in a featureless desert could make it easy to find us from the air, so for the time being that was the obvious choice.

For the rest of the day we explored the whole site, examining the buildings for any clue of recent human activity. Many of the buildings on the perimeter were still inaccessible, their entrances presumably buried underneath the sand, and only three had usable openings. The insides of these structures were strange and fascinating, but disappointing as far as survival was concerned. Like the exteriors, their interiors were largely barren, consisting of a single cavernous chamber whose ceiling was many meters above our heads. Strangely, the insides were reasonably well lit, even though there were no windows or obvious sources of illumination. Looking up, we saw that there was shallow dome protruding from the ceiling that seemed to be composed of a highly polished metal that appeared to be brass or even gold. The dome was highly reflective, and though its surface was totally opaque, there still seemed to be a mesmerizing amber glow that seemed to reflect from within it. This feature was repeated in identical fashion in the other outer buildings we accessed, and it struck us that such a building didn’t seem like it was meant for humans to dwell in. What could this building even be for? It had no furnishings like tables or places to sit. Higher up there were ledges that stuck out from the wall, but with no clear place to climb up to reach them. These bizarre identical buildings seemed to have no obvious function, and in fact didn’t even seem like they were meant for human beings at all.

We explored the ziggurat last, thinking that this might be the obvious place for us to shack up during our time here. The entrance to the ziggurat was quite dark and seemed to shrink a bit as we moved inward. It led into a similar open chamber as the last last buildings, but this one was almost in the shape of globe, with the walls and ceiling being a cavernous dome and the floor being a bowl-shaped depression similar to the one the ziggurat rested in. In the center was a trapezoidal mound with rounded edges, perhaps six feet tall and similar dimensions wide and long. Like the others, this chamber was illuminated by some unseen source, but with a soft greenish-blue light instead. The ground in the depression was especially bright, as if cast in the harsh glow of a spotlight, but from no visible source. The surface inside the dome was noticeably less smooth, but on closer examination, we could see that it was because it was absolutely covered in strange drawings and hieroglyphics etched into the stone. These markings were so bizarre that we could hardly decipher their meaning, but some of the drawing were more legible. The drawings clearly showed crude human shapes, not much more than stick figures, but they were clearly meant to represent humans.

The drawings showed many vaguely recognizable scenes, like people gathering around what I assume was a campfire, and another appeared to show a battle of some sort. But this battle scene was where things got strange. On one side was clearly human shapes, gathered with spears and other weapons, but the other side was composed of something that didn’t even resemble a human being. It appeared to have two arms, but instead of legs it had a cluster of flat, wide appendages that were splayed out almost like knives. Altogether these strange “legs” formed a wide fan, like a bird spreading its wings. The head was also oddly shaped, with a pear-shaped base and a wide crescent perched on top. From this “head” were etched lines pointing towards to humans on the other side, like some kind ray or emanation. Further down was another drawing with human figures arranged in a sequence. The sequence started with a typical drawing of a human figure, but further drawings showed human figures with increasingly long limbs, while at the same time they adopted a more hunched gait, like more like a gorilla or a chimpanzee than a man. Above the sequence was a figure of the non-human creature from the previous battle drawing, hovering above the sequence as if it were observing it. What was most odd about this sequence is that it appeared to go right-to-left, with the normal man at the logical beginning of the sequence, and the long limned creatures further down towards the end of the sequence.

But these disturbing drawings weren’t our main focus for now. When we finished our explorations, it was nearing darkness and about time for us to set up camp. The storm outside, which had previously been so calm around this strange city, was now increasing in force. But strangely, the wind didn’t feel like it carried the familiar abrasive sand; now, it appeared more like a very fine dust, almost like smoke, with only a few grains of sand mixed in. Laury mounted the tank and drove it around to the front above the ziggurat so that we could clearly see it from the entrance. In another situation it would have been more appropriate to camp near our tank, but with such crappy weather and a spacious shelter so close at hand, we decided to make our camp inside the ziggurat. To avoid the brightness inside, we camped in the middle of the entrance tunnel, sheltered from the wind but with a clear line of sight up to the tank.

Our guard was relatively low as we bedded down for the night, but we kept all of our rifles and sidearms with us at our sides. Since there was no sign of human life in the area, and because we were so isolated, we didn’t really expect visitors. But at the back of my mind, I clearly remembered the previous night, when we came under attack from those creatures roaming through the sandstorm. We weren’t really all that far from where it happened, and as darkness fell, I felt my heart sink, desperately fearing that those creatures might have followed us. I volunteered for first watch, not wanting to take any chances, and for two hours I sat on watch, ruminating on our situation. I thought mostly about those creatures. They had descended upon us the previous night in the middle of the storm, as if it didn’t bother them. Clearly they had no trouble moving in the storm, and had even managed to follow us for a ways before their attack. But they couldn’t just vivreout in the empty desert, could they? Did they need any kind of shelter as they roamed the sand dunes? Maybe they burrowed into the ground, or hid under rocks like scorpions. If they burrowed, maybe there were whole underground colonies of them out there, lurking under every dune or canyon wall. Maybe they sought shelter other places; maybe even in a place like this.

Hilaire had the second watch, and I woke him after I finished mine. I almost didn’t want to end my watch, trusting nobody else to hear what I heard, or see what I saw. I could’ve let Hilaire stay asleep and continued on my own sleepless vigil. He could certainly use the sleep after the last few days we’ve had. But at the appointed time, I woke him anyway, still nursing vague hopes of sleeping through any of this. Castro, who had been on edge for three days straight, was now sleeping like the dead, so if he could do it, I suppose I could as well. As I closed my eyes, I kept thinking about whether or not we were really alone out here. Hilaire took up his post without complaint and reassured me that he would keep a sharp lookout; he must have known what I was thinking. But as I drifted off to sleep, I could swear I heard through my dreamless haze that distinctive high-pitched howling in the far distance, echoing slightly through the entrance of the ziggurat.

I woke up to find my blanket covered in dirt from the storm the previous night. Laury and Hilaire were discussing doing any more exploration around the perimeter, hoping that our elevated position would give us a better view of landmarks in the distance. A stiff breeze was still blowing, but it didn’t carry much dirt or dust, so I was hopeful that the hellish shamal was finally calming down. Castro sat against the outside wall of the ziggurat, staring blankly off into the distance. Once again, we set ourselves to exploring the outer limits of the ruins, looking for any other areas that might be accessed. We would spend most of this day examining the horizon from the edge of the hill, hoping for a sign of a landmark, all the while keeping an eye on the sky for any passing aircraft. Still, nothing. That didn’t make any sense to any of us. We knew the war was pretty much over, but there still should have been aircraft overhead. Even worse, the weather was now quite clear; Coalition planes shouldn’t have been grounded. Unless the Coalition had completely stopped their air operations, I couldn’t think of any reason why we were so isolated out here.

We convened back at the ziggurat to discuss our options, so thoroughly discouraged by our lack of success that we were all starting to doubt that we would ever get out of this place. Tempers began to flare as we argued about our next move. Laury was now openly pessimistic about our chances; Hilaire was doing his best to convince us to stay together stick with the plan; Castro didn’t say much at all. He abruptly left the argument and began tentatively exploring around the mound at the base of the ziggurat chamber. We hardly paid him any mind while we argued, but then a resounding thud echoed throughout the chamber, followed by a ear-piercing hiss and an enormous gust of air from the middle of the chamber. As we turned, we were just able to see that the mound in the center had collapsed into the ground through a large sinkhole, and we saw Castro falling after it. We forgot our grievances with one another and sprinted to edge of sinkhole to see what happened to Castro. Leaning over the edge, we called out his name at the top of our lungs, hoping that he had survived the fall. But that sinkhole was astonishingly deep, so far that we couldn’t even see the bottom of it, even with the light in the chamber. After several minutes calling his name down the sinkhole, we finally heard his voice faintly echoing up the abyss.

We called to him to see if he was injured, but we could hardly make out his voice, he had fallen so deep. From what I could make of his faint words, he said he was unable to get up. We couldn’t see him from where we stood, and the light we shined down the hole couldn’t penetrate the thick dust that still hung in the air. Hilaire went back to the tank and quickly returned with a length of rope, intending to try and rappel down the sinkhole to retrieve Castro. The hole was so deep that Laury and I didn’t have high hopes for retrieving him, but we knew that we would certainly try. Laury and I both secured the rope and Hilaire began his descent down the sinkhole, shining his light down into the abyss. He tried to descend rapidly, but the dust and loose dirt at the edge of the hole made it difficult for him to get a decent foothold. He went ever deeper in to the hole, getting so far down that we could hardly see him, and we were starting to run out of rope. All the while Hilaire was calling down to Castro, trying to reassure him that we would get him out of there, but Castro’s responses became increasingly faint and inaudible, and finally ceased completely. When we ran out of rope to safely lower Hilaire any further, we called down to urge him to come back up. After a few minutes he resurfaced, utterly defeated and on the verge of tears. It seemed that Castro was all but lost down that godforsaken sinkhole, and it seemed like we had no real chance to get down there and find him.

Morale was poor before, but losing Castro like this was absolutely devastating. He was the youngest man in our crew, just shy of his twentieth birthday, yet dependable and steadfast as a man twice his age. Despite his odd behavior in the last few days, we still owed a lot to him. He led us here to this place, and even though we were still lost, it was better than taking our chances in the desert. In those early days, when we were bogged down in the sand dunes, he took the personal risk of scouting a way out of there. Losing him like this, in this strange and ominous place, was something that hammered home more than anything the hopelessness of our situation. Even so, Hilaire still talked about making another rescue attempt down the hole, even though Castro’s voice was gone, and we didn’t have nearly enough rope to make it down. When Laury and I suggested that Castro could be gone for good, Hilaire flew into a rage and cursed us out for just abandoning him like this, saying that we shouldn’t even be thinking about leaving a man behind, alive or dead. We didn’t say anything in response. Between our fatalistic helplessness and Hilaire’s guilt about this whole situation, hope seemed like a vulgar proposition.

Hilaire sat by the hole for the rest of the day, occasionally calling Castro’s name down the hole with no response. Laury and I camped outside of the entrance, ostensibly to keep watch, but mostly to commiserate where Hilaire couldn’t hear us. Both of us were convinced that we would probably die out here. Either we would run out of food and water, or be the victim of an accident like Castro’s, or we would try our luck in the desert and die of thirst and heat stroke. Darkness came again, and Hilaire was still inside the ziggurat, shouting down the sinkhole until his voice went hoarse. Laury and I regretted telling Hilaire to just give up, even though we still believed it was hopeless. No aircraft had ever shown up. No sign of a search operation looking for us. We were the only human faces that any of us had seen in days. There’s really something strange about being stranded in a place so lifeless and empty. I guess we’re not really used to the idea of being so alone, so far from city lights and crowded avenues, the general hustle and bustle of human life. This place, these ancient ruins, all of it should have reassured us with a reminder that once upon the time, human beings had set foot in this place. Instead, it seemed like there was nothing really human about this place at all.

We prepared to spend another night in the ziggurat, and Hilaire finally gave up his desperate mission. This time, he volunteered for the first watch; Laury and I were nervous about being around him, because of his desperate and clearly agitated frame of mind. We didn’t really think he would hurt us, but his abrasive outbursts were starting to get more personal and hostile, and being around him like this was an extremely unpleasant experience. Nonetheless, we supposed that he could really use some alone time to work through his issues. Being around us probably wasn’t easy for him either, the way Laury and I were moping and being generally hopeless.

I was asleep when Hilaire charged in through the entrance shouting in pain and panic, rousting Laury and I from our leaden sleep. As we came to our senses, I noticed that the air outside was utterly clouded by a resurgent sandstorm and through it I heard distinctly that high-pitched howl that we all knew so well. Hilaire was limping as he sprinted inside, and I saw that his right leg was slick with blood and a large gouge was ripped in his pant leg. He shouted “they’re back, they’re back” as he charged in, more terrified than I had ever seen him. In less than a second we gathered our weapons and trained them on the entrance, nerves alight and convinced that this would be our last stand. The howls grew louder with each passing second, and more of those horrific, sibilant voices joined in with the chorus of screams and howls. For several seconds we focused on the wall of airborne sand blowing across the entrance, knowing at any second that something could come storming in with great numbers. When a shadow became visible through the storm, one of us must have panicked an opened fire through the entrance, the report of gunfire nearly deafening us in the confined space. All of us joined in, firing rapidly at every shadow and vague silhouette visible through the darkness, without regard to conserving our ammunition. When my rifle went dry, I didn’t pause for a second to reload, instead drawing my sidearm and keeping up the fire until I emptied that as well. We had taken the ammunition for our individual weapons with us when we made camp inside the ziggurat, but anything more powerful than small arms was still on the tank, outside the storm and probably surrounded by those creatures. As our magazines went empty, we stopped for a moment, examining the entrance. Nothing had apparently come through, but we couldn’t see if all of our fire had actually hit anything.

But something was obviously out there. We turned our attention to Hilaire’s leg wound, a sizable gash running down his right leg that must have been nearly a foot long. That was clearer evidence than anything that whatever had followed us here was now clearly hostile and meant to do much worse to all of us. We were now unexpectedly throw back into a fight for our lives, and if Hilaire was right, then the outside of the ziggurat was just about crawling with those creatures, and they were almost certainly prepared to descend upon us once they had gotten their second wind. Holding out inside the tunnel might have some advantages; we could funnel the hostiles into a narrow path and create a virtual shooting gallery out of whatever came through, but we could only do this with our small arms. And what would we do once we ran dry? Could we possibly hope to kill or drive off a hostile force of that size using only what we had? If they remained committed to the attack after we fired our last rounds, the only hope of defense would be to physically block the entrance, and without any nearby loose debris or entrenching tools, we couldn’t make that happen. But our tank seemed the best bet for defense. The coaxial and cupola machine guns still had thousands of rounds of ammunition left, and if that failed to drive them off, then we could just button our hatches and wait out the hostiles.

But getting back out to our tank would mean having go back outside and dash over 150 meters up the edge of bowl, all through both the storm and the creatures outside waiting to ambush us. As we saw it, there was no alternative. As long as we stayed inside, we were confined in a kill zone from which there would be no retreat. We hastily reloaded our weapons, planning to make a dash for the tank, firing from the hip in the hopes that we could suppress our enemies long enough to make it. Hilaire stuffed a rag into the wound on his leg, and I worried about whether or not he would be able to make it the distance to the tank, but he had as little choice in the matter as any of us. We braced ourselves for a few seconds, preparing for our mad dash, convinced that we would all be dead within the next few minutes. Hilaire, like a true leader, was the first out the entrance, and we followed close behind, expected to be set upon the second we left the opening. We were relieved not to have anything jump on our backs as we plunged into the storm, but that relief was short lived as we saw dozens of silhouettes coming through the sand on both sides. We fired wildly from the hip, spraying fire at the level of these grotesque, vaguely human shadows. This bold maneuver certainly did catch these things off guard, backing off for a few seconds, but others ducked and weaved and carried on their attack. Laury, immediately behind me the whole way, stumbled to the ground as I saw one of those things tackle him from behind, swiping and scrabbling at the back of his head. I turned back, and rather than risk shooting Laury, I charged in like an old time Napoleonic soldier, rifle tucked at my hip, and reaching the creature I swung out my weapon like a club and bashed it across its face with the butt of the rifle. I helped Laury to his feet and got him moving again as he clasped the back of his head with both hands.

The dash to the tank must have taken a minute at the most, but it seemed like at least an hour, a frantic hour firing wildly at shadows in the mist. But against all odds, we had actually made it back our machine, and I have to say, the dusty outline of Hell Hound seemed like a divine gift from above. We remounted the tank like getting reacquainted with an old friend, but rather than close the hatches, Hilaire got on the fifty-cal machine gun on the cupola and without hesitation swung around in the direction of our assailants. He bellowed a vicious war cry that seemed to come from the bowels of Hell itself and without pause opened up on the outlines coming through the storm. Laury and I crouched at the bottom of the turret while I inspected his wounds. He had indeed sustained numerous cuts on the back of his scalp, and though these didn’t look too deep, they still bled like mad bastards as scalp wounds often do. I wrapped his face rag around the back of his head like turban hoping to staunch the flow of blood; that was the best I could do for time being until we got out our medical supplies. I used the commander’s override to switch on our auxiliary engine and restore power to tank, and even though we were dangerously low on fuel, I knew it could keep us going for a little while longer at least. I tapped the back of Hilaire’s leg and let him know that I was about to traverse the turret, and he shouted back in acknowledgment. I shifted the turret the turret in the direction of our attackers, turned on the thermal and flipped over to the coaxial machine gun. And good God, I must have seen hundreds of thermal signatures through the dust. Pausing was not an option. I immediately let it rip with the coax into the line of thermal spots, firing long bursts in a general sweeping motion aimed at ground level. For the first time, I could see with my own eyes that we were doing serious damage to our attackers, mowing them down in absolute droves between the sharp chatter of the coax machine gun and the steady hammering of the fifty cal. But these little bastards learned quick. Soon they were skittering across the ground, ducking and weaving and even leaping several feet in the air to avoid the incoming fire. Worse still, I could see in the peripheral that now thermal signatures were coming from further to the sides in both directions; there was no way I could move the turret fast enough to get them all. I shouted to Hilaire that they were trying to split our fire, and that he should aim right as I moved the turret left.

But there were just too many of them, moving too quickly in all directions. No sooner did I set my sights on the attackers from the left that Hilaire screamed that they were about to climb onto the tank. I heard then the pounding and scratching on the turret walls as the creatures scrambled up the sides, and Hilaire screamed something and tried to draw his sidearm. One of those things tackled him and tried to grapple with him, and for the very first time I got a close look at what exactly these creatures were. It was pale and hairless thing, humanoid in shape, but with no nose and a long, sloping maw with no lips and glossy black orbs for eyes. I was stunned by this sight for a second, and I tried to pull Hilaire down into the turret. Several more scrambled up the tank piled on top of him, scrabbling and clawing at his whole upper body as he screamed with panic and rage. Laury threw himself around Hilaire’s legs and we pulled as hard as we could to get him back into the turret. With a sudden and violent jerk, Laury and I were yanked upwards with Hilaire, bashing our heads into the turret ceiling, and in a flash we felt Hilaire’s legs slip through our grip and out of the turret hatch.

We were stunned and horrified for a few seconds as we struggled to comprehend what had just happened. Hilaire was gone, torn out of the turret by the creatures that had overwhelmed our position. For a few moments were stared dumbly at the open hatch, listening for a scream or any sign that Hilaire was still out there, alive. I thought I could make out his shouts through the roaring storm, but they quickly faded into the din of howls and gales of sand. Laury had the presence of mind to finally close the hatch, a move that in that instant probably saved our lives as well, as the hatch wasn’t closed for a second before violent scratching and pounding resonated through it. We both slunk to the bottom of the turret floor, staring at the hatch and hoping that it was secure enough to keep out a determined group of these creatures. And they were determined- we must have sat there for hours riveted on the hatch, jumping at every violent assault on the turret hull. Good God, there must have been des centaines of them out there, and not the least bit dissuaded by the heavy losses they took trying to overwhelm us.

We lay on the turret floor horrified and completely despondent about our predicament. We were now down to half of our number. Losing Castro had been bad, the worst moment so far, but losing Hilaire was a virtually irrecoverable blow. Without leadership, trapped in a metal box, with our choices being to stay here and starve or risk getting torn to pieces, we believed we now had a clear picture of exactly how we would end up dying. When it finally struck us that Hilaire was lost, I couldn’t take it anymore. I broke down in tears, both in despair and disbelief. I had never suspected that such a situation like this was even possible on Earth. I had expectations of dying as an old man, surrounded by my children and grandchildren, or of dying a noble death in combat with a foreign enemy. Getting trapped in the middle of the desert and getting torn to bits by hideous unknown creatures didn’t even seem possible, but no matter how much I blinked and rubbed my eyes, there was no waking up from this nightmare. There are no words to describe what it’s like to stare your imminent death in the face. Even in the worst scenarios, there would seem to be some optimism, some skepticism about death that could carry you through the worst of the fear. That battle at the airport those days before was like that. Rolling forward against enemy fire, wary that a lurking enemy tank or RPG could suddenly light you up end your war without warning; that was a real fear, but you also knew that it might no happen as well, that you’d be lucky or good enough to get out of combat with all your parts intact. But knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that the jig was up, in a way more horrible and seemingly impossible than you ever thought possible, took my last reserves of courage right out of me.

Laury wasn’t doing much better himself. He had never broken into tears, but he was definitely showing the same hopelessness that had crushed me. Without options, we just curled up on the turret floor, resigned to waiting hours or days or whatever might come. Somewhere in there, I fell into a dreamless sleep that must have lasted several hours. No nightmares; when you’re truly exhausted, miserable, and emotionally drained, there are no dreams or nightmares. The only nightmare is waking up again. When I did awake, I looked at my watch and saw that it was 0530 hours. Laury was still awake, staring back up at the hatch. He turned his attention to me and pointed out that the outside was completely silent, no pounding or scratching. This got my attention. Had our attackers given up? Were they waiting for another opportunity, or did they have some other plan for leaving us? Laury proposed that maybe we should take a brief look outside, even consider making a run for it. That didn’t make much sense to me, because there didn’t seem like there was any place à courir. However, having a quick look around for an idea of what to do next wasn’t a terrible idea.

I looked through the thermal sight and saw nothing. Laury used the commander’s cupola to examine in all directions around the tank, and again, no sign of anything. He picked up his rifle and cautiously opened the hatch while I held my breath, waiting for something to storm in as soon as it opened. But there was nothing, silence. Unusual silence, in fact. Even the storm had finally calmed down, and although dust still hung in the air and clouded the sky, there wasn’t even a slight breeze. For several minutes Laury scanned all around, not sticking his head out above eye level. He noticed that the fifty cal machine gun had been torn out of its mount and laid on the ground next to the track. Laury said he going out, and even though I protested harshly, he pulled himself up and out of the hatch. After a few minutes with no screams of alarm, I tentatively followed him up. Indeed, the whole scene was eerily still and silent. No trace of our attackers remained, not even the corpses of all those we had slain the night before. They had evidently taken their dead with them and done God knows what with them. More disturbingly, there was no sign of Hilaire either. When he was snatched from that turret, he had simply disappeared off the face of the Earth. But at this point, I had no real hopes of finding him. I can only surmise what must have happened him at the hands of those creatures, but if their violent attacks were any indication, I would be surprised if anything was left.

Part 4

Laury pointed down at the entrance of the ziggurat we had abandoned the previous night. He suggested we should try to make our way back there, maybe for any trace of our former commander, or to reclaim any supplies we had abandoned at our camp in the entrance. I thought now he was starting to take some excessive risks, but the silence and stillness of our surroundings swayed me. Daylight was starting to come on more strongly, and nothing was visible in the distance. I think he was mostly interested in the first aid kits we had left behind; although the bleeding from his head wounds had stopped, he must’ve wanted to find something more than a dusty rag to bind his wounds. With some reluctance I got fully out of the tank and followed to the edge of the bowl. With some hesitation, we proceeded down the bowl to the ziggurat with a slow and particularly cautious pace. But something about the ground beneath our feet didn’t feel quite right. Until now, it was mostly soft and porous sand, but now it seemed more firm, like it had settled and was squirming under our feet. We were suddenly overcome by a chorus of hellish shrieks, and I saw just what made the ground feel so strange. Dozens of the creatures burrowed out from the sand and leaped straight up from the ground on all sides of us. These fucking things actually ambushed us! They had deliberately waited us out, hoping we would leave our armored refuge, all so they could take us out in the open, from right beneath our feet!

Laury and I just panicked, letting loose our rifles on the creatures as they sailed through the air above us. To our dismay, the sounds of gunfire no longer seemed to dissuade our enemy, but they did duck and weave just enough to slow them down. We just sprinted down the bowl to the entrance with our backs to the enemy, hoping beyond hope that we wouldn’t get taken down before we made it inside. One creature did manage to reach me, tackling me with surprising strength for their emaciated frames, and I nearly nearly stumbled all the way to the ground. Like a miracle, I managed to get my feet back under me before hitting the ground and I kept going, practically breathless when I finally crossed the threshold of the ziggurat entrance. The creatures balked at first, as if they objected to entering this place, but as Laury and I made it into the main chamber I could hear them making their way down the entrance corridor after us. We had run straight into a trap, an open chamber with no real exit, and I figured now that this is how I would die. But Laury wasn’t finished yet. He ran over to the edge of the sinkhole that had swallowed Castro earlier, staring into it resolutely. He was actually suggesting that we go down into that endless abyss, with no knowledge just where the hell it even led! I was ready to refuse this out of hand when the hoots and shrieks of the creatures near the entrance made me think better. I had resigned myself to a grisly fate at their hands, but thinking about it, plunging to my death down the hole didn’t seem much worse. Laury grabbed the rope we left there earlier and spiked it into the ground with an entrenching tool. Without hesitation, he took to the rope and began his descent down the hole.

I watched incredulously after him as he swiftly descended without braking. When he disappeared from my sight I tried to yell after him, but the noise of those creatures made it impossible for me to hear any response. I saw them finally enter the main chamber, crawling all over the ground and walls at the threshold, and without much choice I took my own place on the rope and slid down. I took it more slowly than Laury, and as I descended below the edge of the hole, the shrieks and howls turned into something else. It became that hideous rasping *laugh* I had heard so many days earlier, as if they were amused by my attempt at escape. When I made it far below the rim, I looked up and saw those horribly familiar faces looking over the edge, giving off that disgusting laugh all the while. I focused my attention downwards on the depths of the pit. Down this far, the dust had become thick enough that I couldn’t see more than two yards below me, but doing anywhere but down was not an option. I slowed my pace and descended until I reached the end of the rope, with the bottom still nowhere in sight. I wondered just how I would go from here, but Laury had evidently made it down, so there must have been some way. The dirt surrounding the pit was quite loose, but it was heavily sodden and probably could make a good handhold. I made the decision then to try and free climb down the rest of the way.

This proved quite challenging and slow, but the dirt managed to hold so long as I plunged my hand as deep into it as possible. I must have gone down another twenty feet this way when the dirt became less stable. As I swung forward to dig my boot into the side of the hole, I lost my grip without warning and tumbled down into the abyss. I slid down against the edge of the pit, desperately clawing at it in the hopes of catching a new hold, but it was for nothing. I fell a good thirty feet before suddenly hitting the bottom and collapsing flat on my back. I felt that the bottom was soft and porous sand, and having slowed myself down against the side of the pit, I had managed to save myself from falling to my death. Castro had fallen down this way as well, and I was suddenly struck by the hope that he might have survived his fall into the pit relatively unharmed. Despite this hope, I saw no trace of anywhere he might have ended up. I remembered he had fallen all the way down the pit, closely followed by collapsing debris from the mound, which dashed my hopes of his survival. If he had made it all the way down, he would have hit the bottom much harder, and maybe crushed by the rest.

At the bottom of this pit was tunnel entrance, a small tunnel that seemed hastily excavated from the dirt like a mine shaft rather than carved or sculpted. I called Laury’s name down the tunnel and to my relief heard his distant response. I worked my way through the cramped tunnel, which must have extended over a hundred yards at least, and I came out of the tunnel to another bizarre and awe-inspiring sight. Laury was just outside the end of the tunnel, staring at the same thing. We found ourselves in another enormous chamber, at least as large as that at the top of the hole. Most of it was quite dim, but in the center was a considerably bright light, almost like direct sunlight, illuminating the center of the chamber. In the center of the chamber, shrouded in blinding reflections, was glossy black pyramid with a short obelisk on top. The structure was entirely colored black, and was polished to a smoothness and sheen like obsidian. The light surrounding the pyramid ended at a stark boundary with the darkness of the rest of the chamber, like a line in the sand, and at the pyramid’s base was a round stone altar. The altar was the familiar red color of the ziggurat above, but the surface of it was as smooth and polished as the pyramid and glinted like a precious metal that I assumed was platinum.

We were riveted by this sight for many minutes, completely dumbfounded that such a thing was lying here under our feet, something even more alien and ornate than anything we had seen above. I started to approach it slowly, this time more confident that Laury. I felt an insatiable desire to approach and even touch the pyramid, struck by its brilliant sheen. I didn’t even seem like it was made of solid material, but a glossy static liquid. Laury followed me to within a few yards of the light boundary on the floor of the chamber, but stopped and began to urge me back. I slowed my pace, but I still wanted to get a good look at it. The boundary of light was unusual, but not immediately disconcerting, and I didn’t feel any fear of crossing it. Laury implored me more urgently to stay back, but he still followed me closer to the line. I stood less only a few feet from the line when I stopped, and I became aware of a reverberating hum in my ears. It was a powerful noise, as if some titanic energy buzzed around the chamber, and this noise gave me pause. Laury came to my side, telling me that we should keep our distance from the light.

I finally agreed with him, but my eyes were still fixed on the gleaming pyramid, and I struggled to take a step back from it. Further back, Laury had stopped dead in his tracks, looking around as if hearing something unusual. I still only heard the hum, but he began whipping his head around, as if barraged by noises all around him. He asked me if I heard what he was hearing; I asked if it was the hum, but he said the sound was more like voices. I listened closely as well, and to my shock and utter horror, I heard that distinctive deep, static-filled voice repeating unintelligible words. It was the voice we had heard on the radio days before. Now it was becoming louder and more insistent, and the fear it gave me broke my trance and got me moving farther from the pyramid. Laury was still listening, now frantically searching about for the source of the voice. He fixed his eyes on the pyramid, and in a low and determined voice, he said “there!” and pointed at the obelisk on the top. He started inexorably striding forward towards the light boundary he had urged me away from moments ago, and now it was my turn to fear for his life.

I came up behind Laury and grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to direct him away from the pyramid, but he suddenly shook me off with startling violence, even elbowing me in the ribs. He slipped from my grasp and began walking to the boundary with great determination. Again I came up from behind and grabbed him a few feet short of the edge, and he began to struggle even more aggressively. I tried to bear hug him and drag him away, but he threw his head back and struck me on the nose. I instinctively let go to cradle my nose, and he charged across the boundary of light as I screamed his name. He got a few feet beyond the line and quickly slowed to a stop. He began writhing on his feet as if something was burning him, and to my horror I saw heat vapor rising off his skin. His cries became audible and his pained groans quickly rose to agonizing shrieks. His body started jerking incontinently as his shrieks rose. He sunk to the ground almost to his knees, but he was suddenly thrown up into the air by some unseen force, tumbling end over end. Then to my shock, his body hung in the air for a few seconds, still screaming, and he began to roll and twist in the air. His whole body was twisting violently, and I saw that this unseen force was twisting, bending and breaking his body section by section. The rolling motion rose to a tremendous speed, and with one last powerful and blood-curdling shriek, Laury was completely torn apart in the air, his shredded remains being catapulted into the far reaches of the chamber.

I was shocked beyond words at this sight and I couldn’t move from that spot for several minutes. I saw Castro fall to his demise into a sinkhole, I saw Hilaire dragged away by those creatures, but the sight of Laury being torn limb from limb by an invisible force was beyond reckoning. Castro and Hilaire’s deaths at least seemed physically possible. But I didn’t know of any force on this planet capable of doing such things, or for several moments I wondered if I had just hallucinated it. After I came around, I knew for sure what I had seen actually happened. Nothing remained of Laury, not even shreds of uniform or spots of blood in dirt below. I backed away from the edge of the light and curled up on the floor of chamber. I was now alone, alone in this horrible place that by rights shouldn’t even exist. I’m a lifelong skeptic, and I should know that places like this weren’t possible anywhere on Earth, but I also know what I saw. I know that Gilbert Castro, Paul Hilaire, and Tim Laury never came back from this place, and that nothing was ever found to prove what happened to them. But even if this whole dark time was just some revolting fever dream, those basic facts remain, and the images will never go away.

I stayed curled up on the ground for what must have been hours. Every death of one of my comrades had driven me ever deeper into despair, and even when I thought I wouldn’t get worse, it did. I can say with complete confidence that those hours were the worst of my life. We escaped thirst and starvation in the desert, only to find ourselves set upon by creatures that probably no living human had ever seen before. We escaped them only to find ourselves faced with being trapped at the bottom of a pit, only to be set upon by physical forces that nobody has ever described. I was utterly defeated. Despite my previous despondence, I had managed to keep some semblance of reason and sanity, but at that time I was finally starting crack up and lose it. I got to my feet and paced around the chamber, cursing the universe for making such things possible, especially here on Earth, no longer thinking of my own death but what would become of this place after I was gone. I was furious that this place had gotten the best of us, had devoured three human lives so swiftly and without any regard or remorse. The idea entered my head that this place might somehow be alive, as if this dead city in an inanimate patch of desert was consciously evil and uncaring. I might seem ridiculous to think such things, but my own safe perception of reality was so shattered that anything seemed possible.

I reached the peak of my despair down in that pit, in the dismal shadow of the pyramid, when I lost all reason and picked up my rifle. The thought of suicide had indeed crossed my mind at various points, but that wasn’t what I intended now. Laughing maniacally, I loaded a fresh magazine, chambered a round, and level the barrel at the pyramid. That hateful object seemed like the source of all my despair, and I cared nothing for any consequence of my actions. I fired round upon round at the side of the pyramid, rounds that mostly bounced off without effect. But one round did make a gouge in that finely polished exterior, and I was exultant at this petty sign of revenge realized. I broke out of my state when I noticed that the entire chamber seemed to tremble. Now I was suddenly regretful of my ill-considered actions, deeply afraid of what new event I had just triggered. The trembling only got worse, and that damned hum I had heard earlier came back with a vengeance, with a volume that was almost deafening. I dove to the ground on my stomach, covering the back of my head while still trying to see what was happening. Now debris was starting to fall from the ceiling under the persistent shaking, and I saw that the light surrounding the pyramid was not only getting blindingly bright, but was starting to expand to cover an increasing area of the chamber.

I scrambled away from the expanding boundary of the light, knowing full well what would happen if it overtook me. I pressed myself against the wall towards the chamber entrance, and looking back I could see that part of the tunnel had collapsed. Now I had no chance to retreat or seek cover. The boundary of light slowly expanded towards the edge of the chamber, and the pyramid was now trembling violently in place, and the obelisk at the top emitted a fierce beam of light up through the ceiling of the chamber. As the line edged closer to me, I tried to brace myself for the horrific fate suffered by Laury. But the line slowed, then stopped. The hum was now absolutely deafening, a hellish abyss of noise that felt like it would cave in the sides of my skull. But without warning, the hum ceased, and the light boundary suddenly contracted towards the pyramid, and the entire chamber became deathly silent. A rushing sound like the roar of waterfall suddenly rose and several brilliant flashes of light emitted from the pyramid. I resisted the urge to watch what was happening and buried my face into the dirt. Then, another piercing silence, and a continuing bright light that felt even hotter than standing in direct sunlight, and a swift roar and shock wave that lifted me off the ground and slammed he viciously into the dirt. The roar and shock wave seemed to go on for hours, and in that brilliant spectacle, I lost myself completely.

I thought I was dead. But somewhere in there, I realized that if I was dead, then I couldn’t possibly be thinking anything, much less that. Coming to my senses, I found myself partly buried in sand in the midst of a enormous crater surrounding me. Beyond the edge of the crater I could see that the sky was visible; I had somehow ended up above ground! That sky was clear, refreshingly clear after so long spent in miserable dust storms and penetrating darkness. I was still quite weak, but I was able to shake myself out of my partly buried state and stand on my feet. Now I could see around the crater more clearly. Above the crater, where I assume the dead city should have been, was now a patchwork of hills formed from dirt and sand that looked freshly churned. No sign of the strange buildings or the towering obelisk at the center remained. I surveyed this whole scene in a complete daze, unsure of what had just happened. The roar and the shock waves felt like explosion, and I did find myself at the bottom of a crater, so I assumed that was what happened. I have no clue how I could have survived such a thing. At that moment, I was struck by feeling of victory and exultation the likes of which I never experienced again, not even on my wedding day nine years later. Against all odds, I was somehow still alive when the rest of the city and all the disgusting creatures that inhabited it seemed to have been wiped from existence.

I remember being overcome with a fit of deranged laughter over my unexpected “victory”. In this state, I wandered out of the crater and into the desert, being sure to head east as we had done all those days before. I had no expectation of finding my way out of the desert, no plan to do much of anything. Being satisfied with somehow destroying that hated city was enough to carry my mind through anything. I just trudged east without pause, never thinking of where I was going or if I was still fated to die out there in the desert. There aren’t many memories of this part of my journey. I know that I was walking through the rest of that day and much of the night, although I don’t remember sleeping. All that I could remember was the walking east into the rising sun, hardly a care in the world. It’s not that I forgot or that I was totally nuts by that point, but because at that time I didn’t think the journey was that important. After all, can anyone remember every inch of a daily commute they’ve done a thousand times or more?

Again, against all possible odds, I was finally found and rescued at last. During my walk across the desert, I came upon a road, maybe even the same road we had left days before when we first got lost. I was sitting at the edge of the pavement when a passing civilian spotted me and offered me a ride. Thinking about it later, I should even more grateful to that man, willing to offer a ride to a stranded stranger, especially one in my deranged condition. The next stop we made was a town in Saudi Arabia called Hafar Al Batin, where I was delivered into the care of a British expat who was able to contact U.S. Forces still operating in Kuwait. Seeing human life again was a overpowering experience, and I nearly broke down in tears again when I beheld a busy street scene. Within the day, I was back in the company of fellow Marines, and I was put on a chopper back to Al-Jahra, where the rest of the battalion was still posted.

I don’t what kind of welcome I expected, but I certainly didn’t get a warm one. The entire unit was well aware of our absence and had been on edge for over a week waiting for any news or sign of their missing comrades. When I came back alone, they knew to assume the worst. But there wasn’t any time for fond greetings with the others. Despite my poor condition, I was brought in for a full debriefing on the events of the last several days and to shed light on what exactly happened out there. If I were in a better frame of mind I would have been offended by the accusatory tone of their questions, but after what I had been through, those stuffy pricks didn’t intimidate me in the slightest. Without hesitation, I told them the exact story I’m telling you now, with greater brevity and minus certain details. To say they were utterly flabbergasted by this tale would be an understatement. I could tell they thought my recollection was a lot of bullshit, but I didn’t care. How could I care? *I* knew the whole story, and they didn’t. Maybe they wrote it off as a fever dream of a man stranded in the desert, or some elaborate joke meant to mock them. I was coldly written off as a lunatic placed into the care of Navy doctors to recuperate from the ordeal.

However unbelievable my story, there were still some undeniable facts, facts that have mystified me ever since. We began our journey back to base in north-western Kuwait, near the Iraqi border. When I emerged from the desert and was found, I was well over a hundred miles west of where we should have been. The town of Hafar Al Batin is in north-eastern Saudi Arabia, but the road we took into town came from the west. It is true that we deviated west when we spotted the dead city in the distance, but there is simply no way we could gotten that far, especially since we had spent the days before heading east. Not only that, but based on how far we had traveled in the days before, we should have practically driven into the Persian Gulf before turning west. Instead, we were lost out in the middle of a trackless desert with sign of anything but sand in the distance. How could we have gotten that far west? How is it possible that we found ourselves well beyond the fuel range of our tank in Saudi Arabia, well out of our way? Maybe if I knew the exact location of the dead city on a map, I could work it out, but I don’t think any trace of that place still exists.

I spent about a month in a Navy hospital healing and regaining my strength. A month might seem excessive for a case of exhaustion, dehydration, heat stroke, and some small gashes on my back, and it was. I realized within a few days just why I was kept there for so long. At least three or four times a week I would be summoned to talk with a Navy psychiatrist to go over the specifics of my story. It was clear at that point that I was being accused of having lost my mind and their clumsy attempts at “therapy” and “emotional support” meant I could end up with a Section Eight, or even worse, be confined to a psychiatric unit. From that point on, I clammed up and claimed I “couldn’t remember” anything clearly about that time. My previous bravado when first recounting my story to my battalion commander was more or less exhausted, but I instead learned to be at peace with my own knowledge. Because of all this, I spent far longer than I needed to in their care, but after thirty-three days, I was finally deemed fit to return to my unit and discharged. My guess is that they just got tired of my obstinacy, and decided to waste their time on somebody else.

Returning to my unit was a more distressing experience. The others had been kept in suspense about our fate during that whole time, but the fact that I returned alone and that Hilaire, Castro and Laury were never to be found again changed their attitude towards me. Maybe they thought I abandoned them out in the desert, or that my wanderings were part of some ill-conceived attempt at desertion, but they always held me in suspicion from that point on. As confidently as I had conveyed my story to our superior officers and the Navy shrinks, I never uttered a word of it to them. By that point I was exhausted with recounting the story, and I was starting to worry that repeating it elsewhere might get me thrown back in the psych ward. My silence didn’t help my case with my fellow Marines, who thought I was hiding something, perhaps some proof of something sinister on my part. Oh, if only they knew the truth. Others were more sympathetic and thought I was still recovering emotionally from everything, but they were something of a minority. Marines are expected to bring their comrades home no matter what, alive or dead, and I hadn’t. From then on, I was permanently tainted in their eyes.

I still reenlisted later that year, confident that I was more or less recovered from my ordeal, and a little stronger besides. Because my comrades were turning against me, I was transferred to another tank battalion in the Marines, and thankfully my checkered reputation didn’t follow me. However, I was not fully done with the debriefings. Even years after that, I would still be periodically summoned by officers of an intelligence unit and some men from the Pentagon. They would press me to go through the whole story again, eager to extract some new detail that I might have missed before. Of course they still acted like it was horseshit, but they couldn’t fool me. The fact they were still asking the same old questions years later proved to me that something about my story got to them. But even though they still had a record of my original report, the full unadulterated story I told my superiors before, I started to change my story. I was getting real tired of the cycle of constant interrogations and thinly-veiled suggestions that I was either a nut-job or a liar. The creatures became an “unidentified enemy insurgency”, the dead city was “an unmarked and abandoned settlement”, and what happened to Laury became the consequence of stepping on some “unexploded ordnance”. They must have known I was deliberately changing my story because they wouldn’t stop pressing me for details of my original account, even though *I* was now claiming that it probably wasn’t true. But ironically, despite their assertions that the original story was “ridiculous”, the fact that they were still interested has only made me more secure in my own knowledge.

My last years the Corps were rather rocky, despite the transfer. This was when I was first starting to manifest symptoms of agoraphobia, particularly during training exercises at Twentynine Palms. The sight of that open and endless desert could instantly bring me back to those dark days hopelessly lost with nothing but vast stretches of dirt in every direction. At first my hands would shake and I would become sweaty and riddled with anxiety, but things only got worse from there. On night exercises, I would be trying desperately to suppress moments of intense dread and panic, remembering how those creatures ambushed us from beneath our feet, hoping that we wouldn’t have to spend a night in the field. When we did, I wouldn’t sleep a wink the whole night, always on alert for whatever might be prowling out in the wild, far from human civilization. The thought that any place on Earth could be so barren, unpopulated and unexplored never failed to fill me with anxiety. I knew how it felt to somehow be lost or hidden from sight even when you can see for miles in all directions. It makes me wonder what sort of things can be hidden out in barren wastes and remote places around the world, maybe even places like the dead city or those horrible creatures. Having seen what I’ve seen, heard what I heard, anything seems possible when I behold vast horizons and empty skies.

I think it was because of this that I developed disciplinary problems that marred my service record during those last years. Insubordination, absence without leave, occasionally theft of Marine Corps property, these were some of the more typical offenses that I got myself into. But the most serious problem I developed was substance abuse, particularly alcohol. I couldn’t afford hard stuff on a Marine Corps salary, and weed never seemed to do anything for me. I would brawl with Army guys or sailors, come back to base from leave while drunk, or talk back to my superiors. I don’t really know why I started acting this way; maybe because military discipline no longer intimidated me, or maybe I needed a desperate escape from my thoughts and recurring nightmares, or maybe I was just a lame drunk. I faced some quite serious charges during these pathetic escapades, but thankfully they never pinned anything more egregious on me, and a demotion and some days in the stockade were the worst I got. In 1995, when my chance to reenlist again came up, I opted just to leave. Everybody else wanted me out, and I felt there was nothing left for me to gain by staying. Despite the disciplinary problems, I still managed to receive an honorable discharge, and without any hits my pension.

The rest I’ve already told. Since then, I’ve just bumbled through life, checking off various milestones that any adult should. Hilaire, Castro and Laury never will. I could chalk that up to the fortunes of war, but in our case I don’t think that quite applies. From their loss I learned a few things about the world and about myself, and in some ways, I think I’m stronger because of it. True, my agoraphobia left me virtually crippled for years, but that’s because I saber. I know what I saw out there in the Arabian Desert in those early days of March 1991, and I know that my friends Hilaire, Laury and Castro will never be coming back, and I know that in the remote places of the world anything can lurk beneath the vast and cursed sands under our feet. If that means I’m slightly crazy, then so be it. But I simply can’t be afraid any longer and the stress of it all is slowly killing me. That’s why I’m finally seeking help for my condition. My therapist might think the story is just a nightmare or a delusion, but I’m willing to accept that. Somehow, I have to reconcile not being afraid with knowing that the dead city and those creatures actually existed, that any such things are possible on this planet. Somehow, I have to make a future for myself in such a world. But when I awoke in the rubble of the dead city flush with victory, I learned that there is some comfort in knowing that there will eventually be an end to all things, and an end to everything that comes after.