1 Chapter 1. Lost Questions

                    The Naked War

"Hey Sarge' why the fuck we in this God forsaking country again? and why we still haven't kill anybody, what the fuck?", complained private Rogers to his platoon sergeant. "Relax private, this is a good thing, besides you'll get your chance, trust me, you don't want to rush the inevitable, now shut the fuck up and keep moving foward, Uncle Sam doesn't pay you to ask questions", replied Sergeant Roy.

Private Rogers then replies, "Sarge, you and I both know Uncle Sam isn't pay us enough to ask questions. Huah! But I'm just saying, It's 130 degrees, and the only thing that seems to be cool is the shade next to these fucked up houses, these streets are covered with dirt, there is trash everywhere and the side of these road are filled with carcasses of dead dogs and cats. Fuck this country, they can have it. Let these fucks, kill themselves" Sergeant Roy turns around smiles at his private and says, "Private, you're an idiot, Just keep walking and shut up"

The streets are quiet. The soldiers are walking behind an up-armored vehicle with 3 more soldiers inside. One of soldiers is on a heavy machine gun sticking out from the top like a sore thumb. They are walking in the city of Tikrit Iraq with the expectation of clearing out any hostile forces from harming the locals and themselves. The locals are not only staring at the soldiers with their piercing eyes, they also seem to be preparing themselves for something. They are picking up their children from the streets, running inside their homes. Something is about to happen.

The eerie feeling is tingling down private Roger's back; his eyes are scanning everything around him, just like he was taught in training. He's felt this feeling before; the feeling reminded him of the way he felt when he held his fathers hand, before he died.

It happens. Blood is everywhere, grown men are crying in agony. The street is now filled with bullets and smoke. The soldiers were under attack by a nearby radical group. The bullets were ricocheting from the walls like ping pong balls. The ground shook like the bottom of a rollercoaster while it was in motion. The air was getting tighter and tighter to breathe, hard to breathe like a fish out of water.

Private Rogers is lying on the ground with his weapon still attached to him by a harness. He's in shock; the sweat under his uniform feels like it was drenched in water. His eyes are trying to focus through the thick smoke. He brushes off small pebbles from his chest and starts to crawl backwards away from the burning army vehicle. Rogers felt the wall behind him; he looks for his weapon and quickly grabs it, points it then pulls the trigger. The two screaming insurgents from his left went down before noticing what hit them. His eyes open wider than 2 half dollar coins. He hears the bullets enter their bodies like a butcher knife stabbing a pig. He turns to his right and sees three more insurgents with AK- 47s screaming and running towards him. This time he pulls the trigger quicker and with more force as if the bullets would travel faster and more accurate. He takes down two out of the three; the third one is wounded but is still moving closer. Rogers then stands up and pulls out his combat knife.

He sees red. His eyes are filled with rage and anger; he feels his adrenaline pumping through his blood. He stretches his arm towards his enemy and stabs him in the chest as hard as he can. Rogers looks into his enemy's eyes as he feels the warm gooey blood splatter all over his face. Rogers then squeezes the knife deeper into chest while looking at his enemy's pupils get wider and blacker. He's dead. He slowly lowers the body with the knife still in his hand. The dead man is lying on the ground, Rogers is standing over him and pulls the knife out. He steps over the body and stands there with his weapon dangling on his chest by the harness. The bloody knife on his right hand is dripping blood on the dirty ground. He looks up, takes a deep breath; looks back down to his knife and decides not clean it before placing it back into its holster.  His heavy breathing is the only thing heard.

The 19 year old Bronx native realizes he is alone. He looks around for cover, he sees a broken down vehicle on the side of the road. He straddles to it; he then tries for his radio. Nothing. His radio was shot off. Angrily he wipes off the blood from his face. Nervously, he looks for the other soldiers by kneeling over the car; his mechanical eyes are scanning from left to right. His heart is beating, his hands are trembling; his helmet feels like a huge rock is resting on his head, he takes it off. His mind is running wild with questions, "Oh shit, Think Chris! Think! What the hell am I suppose to do now? Where the hell is everybody? Am I Alone? Shit!... Chris, relax.. Ok..ok.. I got this!... Think of the training…Fuck, I should've paid more attention. shit! shit! shit!. ok, lets relax Chris! I got this!"

Private Rogers is exhausted, his back was in severe pain, however; his trigger finger is next to the trigger. He gets up and takes another look around his surrounding. He sees nobody. He sits back down and places his head back on the vehicle. Rogers then remembers what his sergeant said to him earlier, to never anticipate the inevitable, to relax, to shut the fuck up and keep moving. KEEP MOVING.  Rogers decides to continue to follow his leaders order, checks his weapon; the loaded magazine was half full while his other magazines haven't been touched and still intact. Rogers grabs his helmet, puts it on and slowly stands up to KEEP MOVING.

As Rogers keeps moving down an alleyway with his gun pointed forward, he hears voices. His training kicks in, he moves quickly away from the wall and hides behind a broken down carriage with fart smelling apples. He quickly glances over the carriage and sees two men carrying loaded AK-47s heading the other way. The sight of the weapons makes his heartbeat faster in anticipation of getting into another fight. He gets up and quickly, yet, nervously runs to the opposite side and finds cover in a doorway to a house. Rogers is trained to keep moving forward; however, in this situation, he is thinking to where.

Two hours passes and Rogers is still in route to an unknown location. Its getting dark, the moon is the only light in the street. The locals are in there homes and Rogers is tired. His eyes are getting heavier; his back is in great pain.  Desperately, Rogers decides to go into an abandoned building filled with bullet holes from prior fights. He enters into the building, sits down near the far wall, puts his weapon on his legs and looks around his new habitat.

The broken down building is covered with trash all over, the roof is caved in and the half broken stairs on his left seem useless to go up. Rogers scans around and sees the four walls covered with bullet holes, a collapsed ceiling, burned down stairs, dirt, trash and the light of the moon coming from above him.  He second guesses his choice on staying here but is too tired to get up and look for another place. "This'll do, for now" he mutters to himself.

After Rogers decides his safe zone was clear, he pulls out a green canteen filled with warm water and drinks from it. He closes his eyes when he feels the warm sensation of the water pouring down his throat. He puts the canteen down and still keeps his eyes closed until he finishes the last gulp in his mouth. The idea of something so simple like water pouring down his throat made him forget about the situation he was in. Rogers for a second forgot he was in a third world country alone, behind enemy lines, and no chance of communicating for help. The tranquility in his mind was safe, comfortable and peaceful. He falls asleep.

The next morning, the beaming ray of the sun directly shines on Rogers eyes. He comes back into reality; with his eyes still closed he reaches to reassure his weapon is still there. It's gone! He quickly opens his eyes in fear and sees three men, two of them aiming AK-47s at him. The two men with the AK-47s are surprised to find the soldier alive, they start screaming at him with rage and persistence. The man in the middle is calm and well groomed. Unlike the other two, he was wearing black slacks, black shades,  a white button down t-shirt tucked into his pants. He calmed the other two men by tapping the top of their weapons, while staring at Rogers.

The well groomed man kneeled on one knee in front of private Rogers and said in a calm relaxed toned voice, " Hello, My name is Rashad Al' Zamin, first let me tell you that I am a reasonable man, I am a simple man, However, I am also a business man. You have come to our country unannounced, unwanted and clearly unwelcomed. You have made the people of my country mad… sad… and happy at the same time. Your political views are considered to be radicalized by your own Government, yet, you are quick to judge ours; I know it's not your personal fault. I know you are just a beginner… a novice, a pawn in the works of your government. I know you probably joined your army to fight for your country, but… you are not fighting for your country when your country is not fighting a war, they are fighting themselves. But, enough of that political stuff for now! Lets talk business, ha! shall we? yes?....ok... so…I want something from you and you need to get out of here alive, you need to do something for me and I will do something for you.….Deal?" Private Rogers is staring at Zamins face in disgust, His nose is glaring, his hands are sweating; his heart is beating faster and faster and faster. He smiles, with a smirk on his face Rogers says, "NO, I was told to shut up and keep moving, you fucking idiot!" Zamin puts his head down and shakes left to right, then stands up. In more serious tone voice, Zamin says, " This is going to be good, I think you and me are going to get along very well…talk you later". Zamin then turns around and walks away. Rogers looks up at two remaining men in the room, reaches for one of them and gets hit in the head by the other. Rogers is knocked out unconsciously. Zamin then walks back into the room and assertively says, "Pick him up and put him in with the others"

    The hours passed by and Rogers now waking up. He is naked, his hands are tied up behind him and his head is covered with a brown cloth bag. He has a rope wrapped around his neck; however, it tied enough for him to breathe. It's Hot! The temperature is 120 degrees and Rogers is naked sitting on a hard and dirty ground; with the rocks and hay annoyingly pricking his ass, making it more uncomfortable. Rogers yells, "HELLO?... HELLO!!??".  A calm male voice answers him back. " It's no use, these sand-monkeys aren't going to listen to us, just sit there and wait till they come for you".

Stunned in amazement to hear proper English, Rogers says " Holy shit, you speak English, are you an American?". The voice answers back and says, " Yea…why?.... are you an American?" Rogers quickly tries to get closer to the voice and replies. " I am an American soldier, my squad was hit yesterday afternoon and I decided to keep moving forward to get away of the shit. I ended up camping my stuff in an abandoned house near the river and fell asleep, I woke up, my weapon was gone and then met this fucking asshole with his two goons, Rasha something Zaymeen,… or something like that!, and now im here, what about you?"  No answer. "Hello, you still there?", said Rogers. Still no answer. Rogers starts to get even more nervous, his palms are sweaty, he grabs a nice size rock he feels near his hand and waits for what's about to happen. He feels he said too much, his heart is pumping faster than before, his mind is turning, thinking of the worse things possible; " This could be a trick, I just told him my name, I told him what I was doing here, and now he's going to kill me, Holy shit!, Please let this be an American, or somebody that is a friendly. Fuck!"

"What's your name son", the voice replies back. Rogers is scared, however, the voice reassures him he is still not alone in the room. He panics and stays quiet. Then he thinks about it, " I said a lot already and I'm still alive; if I stop talking now, then God only knows what's going to happen, fuck it".  Finally Rogers decides to answer back, he nervously says, " Rogers… Private Rogers, US Army". The man starts to move towards Rogers. Rogers feels the man get closer, his heart is pumping the fastest it has ever pumped, the sweat from his head is getting heavy, the screaming rock in his hand is getting strangled in fear, his eyes are moving left to right and his mouth is quivering, his shoulders are getting weaker and lower, his back is leaning more on the wall and his toes are curling up into the hay. The man calmly whispers in Rogers ear, "Rogers… it's Sergeant Roy, before anything, I need you to listen to every word that I'm saying, don't try to be a hero, and most importantly!, don't' say…"…..  BOOM!* The door kicked open,  two insurgents run in, one kicks Roy in the head and the other hit Rogers with the butt of his weapon. They are both unconscious. Zamin walks in, stands over them and points, then he says. "This one first".