Four strangers fighting in the Iraq War find their lives intertwine and their fates forever changed when they collide in a string of events in the northern Iraq city of Mosul. A newcomer to the bloodshed in Iraq, Jeremiah must find a way to make sense of the violent conflict his country has thrust him into. What he finds may make or break his future as an American soldier. Following the tragic death of his brother, Juma can t stand the thought of continuing on with the status quo of life before. Placing blame on the Americans in his country, he starts down a path that affects everyone around him. Coping with the kidnapping of his best friend and fellow police officer, Ali finds himself going above and beyond to fight for the future of his family and his country. Abu-Zah ara always knew he would fight jihad, but he never knew he would be leading his closest friends against the occupation of his own country. Can they find a way out of the tangled destinies which have them holding knives at each other s throats?
The Land Between Two Rivers
By R.A. WilsonAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 R.A. Wilson
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4772-8379-0Chapter One
The Soldier
The parking lot was full of tears and quiet talk and was considerably busy for three o'clock in the morning. The rest of Fort Lewis was tranquil, with no people in sight, but here, at these buildings soldiers were entering and exiting buildings in what seemed like chaos to the untrained eye. Nearly five hundred soldiers and their families swarmed the battalion area in the crisp, moonlit night. The base, a remnant of the Vietnam era, still echoed the wars of the past, even in 2004. The fluorescent lights from inside the buildings backlit the poorly painted pale yellow bricks that made up the homes of the young men who were considered the protectors of the country. The soldiers were drawing the weapons they would cling to for the next year of their lives, for the protection of not only themselves but also of their fellow soldier, while conducting the final checks on all the things they would need in Iraq. This created a hive of excitement understood only by the people inhabiting the building.
In reality, the soldiers did not know what they really needed. Instead they packed everything, just to make sure they were not forgetting anything. "Do we really need this extreme-cold-weather suit? I thought we were going to a place that is really hot!" No one had an answer to the question. This was going to be Operation Iraqi Freedom Three, but there were still not many people in leadership who could provide the soldiers with the answers they needed to be ready for war. Instead they prepared for the worst and expected the ugliest.
In between waiting in lines and finding each other, soldiers were visiting with their families and introducing them to the people that they would eat with, sleep near, and trust for the unknown year that lay ahead. All the soldiers were well trained and by army standards "ready" for a war that had never faced this army before, but the soldiers still did not know what to expect. When they thought of this deployment, they thought hot, desert, sand, danger, and very poor living conditions, perhaps just tents in the middle of nowhere. As they stood there in their desert combat uniforms, watching the slowly solidifying mass of chaos, they knew that not all of these people would come back and that that some would come back missing a leg, an arm, an ear. They were still soldiers and still proud to serve their country, even though not all would say so aloud, too pompous to admit that they liked being an American soldier. Still they stood there, despite that the odds that faced them.
"Babe, you seen my family?" Sergeant Jeremiah Bernard asked his new fiancée, Mckayla.
"I haven't seen them yet. Oh, wait. I think I see your mom."
Jeremiah looked over into the parking lot and saw his mom with her arms crossed, peering into the pandemonium. She was wrapped up in a jacket that was much too thin for the frosty air. Jeremiah set down his protective vest and helmet and wandered over to retrieve her. As he approached her, he could see the fear in her eyes. Although Jeremiah stood six inches taller than his mother at five feet ten inches tall and had the build of a triathlete, his mother still did not believe her little boy could take care of himself. His mother was always supportive, but she was still very protective of him. In high school, when Jeremiah went out for the wrestling team, she went to every match. Even though she was there, she almost never watched him, as she cringed at his every movement on the mat, sure he had broken something.
"Hey, Mom, we're over here," Jeremiah called across the parking lot. "Where is Dad?"
"You know your father; he refused to come, but you know he sends his love," Jeremiah's mother replied in her constantly reassuring voice.
Jeremiah's father was very liberal and did not hide it. He had always been against the war in Iraq; he was convinced it was a war about oil, and the reasons for invasion were all propaganda to support Bush's ridiculous war. Because of this, Jeremiah was not surprised his father did not show up. When his father found out Jeremiah had joined the army, he drove down to Jeremiah's college dorm fuming and nearly got into a fistfight with him.
"I have to finish getting my stuff together; let's go over here by Mckayla," Jeremiah asked his mother when he turned back toward his bags. As they weaved back over to the bags, Jeremiah wondered if his father went through the same thing when he went to Vietnam. His father was drafted in the later years of the Vietnam War and thought the army was a joke. He didn't want his son to experience the scarring section of his life, which he had pushed out of his memory, and therefore never discussed with his family.
A voice hollered from behind Jeremiah, his mother, and Mckayla, "Sergeant Bernard." Jeremiah turned around to find Private First Class Wynn, who was one of two new soldiers among his four.
"Got all your stuff over here?" Jeremiah asked him.
"Yes, Sergeant."
"Good, now go find your twin, and I will check over it," Jeremiah replied. He had just earned the rank of sergeant two months ago and had four soldiers under him, the youngest and newest being Specialist Duncan and Wynn. The pair had entered the military on the buddy program, meaning they trained together and went to the same duty station. They were college buds when they decided to join, after Duncan had graduated and Wynn flunked out of his classes; they couldn't find jobs. Duncan had lost his uncle on September 11; he was at the Pentagon at the time of the attacks. They thought the army would be the next big step for them.
Duncan and Wynn approached, dragging their large duffel bags behind them. "How you guys doing? Are you ready to go?" Jeremiah asked them as he checked to make sure they had their weapon and other important equipment like their protective mask.
"Good, our families already left last night. My mom said it would be too sad to watch us pack up and get on the buses," Duncan replied.
"Yeah, she said that she would just imagine we were still at Fort Lewis and not think that we are in Iraq," Wynn added.
"This is my mom, Pam," Jeremiah said.
"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Wynn said,
"Take care of my boy, please; I know you boys will always be together."
"No problem," When said.
"Mom, please," Jeremiah said, rolling his eyes. "You two go over by Greene and Crow," he said, indicating Jeremiah's other soldiers who had been in the unit almost as long as he had.
Just then, the First Sergeant called out, "All the duffel bags need to be stacked by the trucks, and formation will be in fifteen minutes. Pass it around."
"Does that mean we have to say good-bye now?" Mckayla asked in a panicky voice. She had not said much; she did not want to believe that the man of her dreams was going to a foreign country for a year.
"Don't worry, baby. They will give us time for that," Jeremiah said.
The bags were stacked, and everyone lined up in the company formation, with their families standing to the sides, looking on. The squad leaders made sure all the soldiers were present and none had run off. The chaplain then stepped to the front and led them all in a prayer. Sniffles echoed through the crowd as he asked for the protection of the fathers, sons, men who stood in uniform in front of them.
"Alright, now that we know that you all showed up, I'm going to give you twenty minutes to say your last goodbyes, and then we are getting on the buses," First Sergeant announced at last and let them get out of formation. When Jeremiah left formation, he noticed that Mckayla was sobbing, and he immediately put his arms around her. Meanwhile, Jeremiah's mother was trying to be strong, but he could see the anxiety in her movements and the way she held her arms around herself. He turned to his mother and held her, and she broke down crying. Jeremiah pulled both of his girls into his arms.
"Baby, take care of my mom. I'll be fine. I will call both of you as soon as I get a chance."
They stood there in silence, unresponsive to his attempts at comforting words. There was a stir in the crowd, as people began to pick up their gear and line up near the buses. He kissed his mother and his fiancée and disappeared into the organized chaos he called the 2/38 Infantry Battalion.
Chapter Two
The Iraqi Policeman
Ali shoved his identification into the depths of the bag that held his uniform, pistol, and the other things he would need for the next few days. He tried to make sure everything was hidden to the outside eye, in case someone looked in the bag. Ali was proud to be a policeman, but he was not stupid; he knew if people found out, word would get around to the terrorists. This would put not only his life in danger but also the lives of his family. He zipped up his bag and looked around the room to make sure he was not missing anything. Ali found his wife, Fatima, in the kitchen, making his breakfast. He looked at her, amazed at her beauty, as her black hair cascaded down to the shoulders of her thin frame. As he watched her work, he heard a knock at the door. He couldn't peel his eyes away from her; two months ago, he had married her, his uncle's daughter, and he had been extremely happy since. He felt his life was coming together. Until his marriage, he had been living with his older brother, in the house that used to belong to his father, but his brother moved out just before the wedding. He had the fairly small house just for him and his wife.
Ali went to the door to find his best friend, Yassin. "Welcome, brother. How is your family?" Ali asked.
"They are well, and how is your wife?"
"She is well; would you like to come in for some tea? I believe we have enough time."
"Of course."
Ali and Yassin had joined the police force at the same time, eight months ago. They decided they wanted to help their country and fight terrorism. Alone they were afraid to join, but once they discovered each other's feelings, they agreed that they could do anything together.
The two sat down in the reception room, and Fatima brought them tea. "I think it is getting much worse out there," Yassin said with a worried look.
"I agree, there seems to be more attacks on a daily basis. I heard that Yarmook Police Station gets hit nearly every day with anything they can hit them with."
"That is not the worst. The Iraqi National Guard that is working on the west side has lost almost twenty men in the last month. The Americans have even asked commanders to increase security at each government building."
"People say that Mosul is becoming the next Fallujah, the way things are going," Ali said. "I'm worried that there will be so many terrorists that the Americans have to come through and bomb, like they did in Fallujah. If that happens, many innocent people will die."
"We are police; we will have warning, and we can get our families out of the city. Besides, I don't think the terrorists will ever be able to take over Mosul. It is too big, and there are many forces here."
"You're right; I always imagine the worst of things. We must get going."
The pair finished their tea, grabbed their bags, and left the house. They walked down the small road near their house and found their way to the nearest main road, where they found a taxi to get to police headquarters in downtown Mosul. They had the taxi drop them off near the police station, but not right at it, not wanting anyone to know they were policemen. They wound their way through the market and up to the police station. Right after they arrived, they changed into their uniforms.
The supervisor then told them they would be conducting a checkpoint just outside the city, on the road to Tall Afar, for the next three days. Tall Afar was a larger city approximately one hour west of Mosul. The next three days seemed to drag on as they worked uneventfully, tediously, and repetitively in the blistering heat for twelve hours and then went back to headquarters each night to pull short shifts of guard duty. The situation in Mosul did not permit the policemen to go home. If they were to head home each day, they would be easy targets for terrorists. So instead they worked for three days straight and then went home for two days. This was the kind of work they had been doing since they joined, and after these three days, they were tired and ready to go home. Yassin and Ali changed into their civilian clothes and headed out the door.
"It's been a long few days. I am so glad to go home and see my family," Yassin told Ali as the two of them exited the gate of the police station. They were still ever so cautious of their surroundings as they left.
"Well, thanks are to Allah that nothing has happened these past few days and we are all well."
"We all give thanks to Allah for this," Yassin said with a smile.
"Even though sometimes I wish the terrorists would come out, so we can rid the city of them. If you think about it, we did not find anything at the checkpoint, but that does not mean the weapons or the terrorists are still not coming into the city. It just means that they found a different way into the city," Ali said in dismay.
"You cannot stop everything, Ali. We changed our location several times, and we were bound to find something. We can look on the bright side: maybe they did not come to Mosul during these days. Maybe the terrorists don't have any more weapons to bring into the city."
"Maybe they are afraid of us?"
Ali and Yassin laughed as they wandered through the market to the taxi stand. They passed countless shops in the downtown market that had everything imaginable, from food to blankets to electronics and hardware. The market was always busy and packed with countless people from in and out of the city. There were hundreds of cars packed around the taxi stand, with people begging for passengers. Ali and Yassin hopped into a car that could make it out the market without any problems.
"Look, we have time to make it mosque before the noon prayer," Ali said. "Would you care to join me?"
"The Al Mahmoud Adeen Mosque?"
"Of course. I love hearing from Mullah Abdullah about his thoughts on the current situation," Ali said.
"He never really talks about the current situation. I guess he is just trying to play it safe. You know, stay off both the good and bad people's radars. Talk bad, the Americans arrest you; but if you talk good, the terrorists threaten you. It is just a lose-lose situation for these guys."
"The shame really lies in the fact that they are leaders and should be able to say what they want," Ali chimed in.
"Actually give us guidance in times of need," said Yassin with disgust. The two sat in silence for the rest of the ride to the edge of their neighborhood. They walked down to the mosque and headed in for prayer.
Mullah Abdullah chose to speak of theft and how it is wrong. Just as Yassin predicted: no real advice.
"In the neighborhood, there have been a few cars stolen. They were cars belonging to members of the community that were poor and very much need the cars, and now they have nothing. One of these cars belonged to my cousin." Mullah Abdullah continued to speak about the subject and made sure to add in verses from the Koran about how stealing is wrong. He also asked people to donate to the families who lost cars.
After his speech concluded, Mullah Abdullah wished everyone well before they headed for the door. After the prayer, Ali stood up and started for the door. He talked to his neighbors that he saw in the crowd. "Abu Khadija, how is your family?" Ali asked an old man who lived next door to him.
"Good, thanks be to Allah, and how is yours?" Abu Khadija echoed the greeting as they both found their shoes.
"They are good, thanks be to Allah."
As the two approached the door, the crowd started to jam up, and no one was moving. Ali's attention began to focus ahead as he tried to see over the heads in front of him. Ali was short and was unable to see much of anything. He could vaguely hear Abu Khadija talk to him as he tried to see what was going on. Ali could hear arguing in the street. He walked out the door of the mosque, and it became clear what was going on. There were two men wearing ski masks, passing out some sort of flyer by the door. As Ali made his way down the sidewalk, one of the men shoved a flyer into Ali's chest. Ali grabbed it and started to read the leaflet that was causing such commotion. He slowed his walk as he stepped into the street and then looked up to see where he was going and saw Yassin. Yassin's face was gray with fear, and he looked nauseated. Yassin usually had pale skin, highlighted by his light reddish-brown hair and dark eyes, but the gray was definitely a change. Yassin and Ali were nearly twins, except Ali's hair was curly. The two stood eye to eye at about five feet six inches tall, and Ali gazed into Yassin's eyes, wondering what had happened. Ali looked back down at the handout; he had not read enough to know what was going on.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Land Between Two Riversby R.A. Wilson Copyright © 2012 by R.A. Wilson. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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