A battered Iraqi military truck rumbles down a dusty road, kicking up a haze of sand in its wake. Inside, a squad of soldiers sits in tense silence, rifles resting on their laps. Among them is Lieutenant Amir Hassan, his red and white checkered keffiyeh wrapped tightly around his head to shield against the grit in the air. His sharp eyes scan the horizon, alert.
The truck slows as it approaches a small, weathered house—Salim Othman's home. The brakes groan as it lurches to a stop.
Captain Dar Basri, a hardened veteran with a permanent scowl, is the first out, boots hitting the dirt with a thud. Amir follows, adjusting the radio on his shoulder as he steps down. The two men stride into the yard, their presence immediately drawing attention.
The door creaks open, and Salim Othman steps out, forcing a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"Captain Basri," Salim says, nodding in respect. Then his gaze shifts to the younger soldier. "Amir. It's been a while."
Amir gives a curt nod in return. "Salim."
Dar doesn't waste time. "We need to move. Now."
Salim blinks. "Move? What are you talking about?"
"They're coming," Dar growls. "The invaders. Helicopters—Americans—flying in."
Salim's smile vanishes. "Invaders?" He shakes his head. "Captain, the war is over. We've lost."
Dar's face darkens. "Nonsense. There has been no surrender. In the name of God, this is our land—this is where we fight back!"
Before Salim can argue, Amir suddenly speaks into his radio, voice clipped and urgent.
"This is Lieutenant Hassan. Do we have eyes on the Americans? Confirm position."
A crackled response comes through, too muffled for the others to hear. Amir's jaw tightens.
Dar turns back to Salim. "They're coming. We need every available man in position—now—in case they land nearby."
Salim hesitates, his fists clenching. For a moment, it looks like he might refuse. But then he exhales sharply and nods. "Fine. I got it."
He turns and disappears back into his house. Moments later, he returns, slinging an AK-47 over his shoulder.
The three men jog back to the truck. As they climb in, Salim and Amir exchange a quiet glance.
"You really think this is worth dying for?" Salim mutters under his breath.
Amir's eyes flick toward the horizon, where the distant thrum of rotors is just beginning to stir the air.
"Doesn't matter what I think," he replies. "We're soldiers. We fight."
The truck's engine roars to life, and they speed forward to ambush the Americans.
******
The Iraqi soldiers crouch low in the scrubland, their AK-47s aimed toward the horizon. In the distance, three American helicopters—Black Hawks—descend like predatory birds, their rotors kicking up dust as they land near a shepherd hut.
Amir adjusts his red-and-white keffiyeh, pulling it tighter over his head before fixing his military cap on top. His dark eyes track the figures disembarking—Marines, heavily armed, fanning out with practiced efficiency.
"Look at them," Dar mutters, voice thick with disgust. "No respect. They think this is their land now."
Amir exhales sharply through his nose. "They'll learn."
Dar glances around, then gestures sharply. "Spread out. Quietly."
The squad moves like shadows—some peeling left, others right—while Dar, Amir, and Salim advance straight ahead. They drop to their stomachs, crawling forward until they reach the edge of a shallow ridge overlooking the village.
Salim curses under his breath. "Too many of them. We're outnumbered."
Dar's lips curl into a fierce grin. "Ambush them here, and we'll be rewarded greatly for our bravery."
Amir's fingers tighten around his rifle. "Promotions. Maybe even a commendation from command."
Dar lets out a rare, rough chuckle and fist-bumps Amir—a rare moment of camaraderie.
Salim smirks, his tone dry but playful. "We could all use the pay raise. My son's education doesn't come cheap."
Dar grins before raising his binoculars, scanning the Americans as they storm the shepherds' house. After a tense moment, he lowers them, his expression hardening.
"Salim was right. There are a lot of them." He turns to Salim. "You still up for a fight?"
Salim nods, jaw set. "Ready."
Dar shifts his gaze to Amir. "And you?"
Amir doesn't hesitate. "Just give the order."
Dar hands the binoculars to Salim. "Keep your eyes fixed on them. The moment they let their guard down—we strike."
The three men fall silent, watching, waiting. The wind carries the distant shouts of the Americans, the hum of their radios.
Salim squints through the binoculars, his grip tightening. "This makes no sense. Why would the Americans be out here, in the middle of nowhere?"
Dar grunts. "Maybe they're looking for Saddam's hideout."
Salim lowers the binoculars, raising an eyebrow. "You think Saddam is down there?"
"No," Dar snaps. "But those 'shepherds' might know where he is. We can't take the risk."
Amir's eyes flick to Dar. "You mean we kill them too?"
Before Dar can answer, the thunderous roar of an American helicopter tears through the air, flying dangerously close. Dar scrambles to his knees, shuffling back to a weathered metal case. He flips it open, revealing an RPG-7.
Salim's eyes widen. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Those are our people down there," Dar growls, thrusting the RPG into Amir's hands.
Amir hefts the weapon, testing its weight. "This'll make them regret landing."
Dar's grin is feral. "Perfect time for an ambush. Fire."
Amir doesn't hesitate. He braces the RPG on his shoulder, eyes narrowing as he tracks the helicopter hovering near the huts. "Who's the target?"
"The bird. Take the shot!" Dar barks.
Amir exhales, finger tightening on the trigger. "Allahu Akbar."
The RPG fires with a deafening WHOOSH, the rocket streaking through the air in a trail of smoke. It slams into the helicopter's tail rotor, erupting in a fireball. The crippled bird lurches violently, spinning like a wounded beast before crashing into the ground near the shepherd huts. The explosion shakes the earth, sending debris and flames roaring into the sky.
Chaos erupts.
The Americans scramble, shouting, diving for cover as gunfire rips through the air—the Iraqis open fire from the ridge. Bullets chew into dirt, wood, and flesh.
Dar laughs, reloading his rifle. "You think we'd just bend over for you, dogs?!"
Amir smirks, ejecting a spent magazine. "They'll learn the hard way."
Then—another helicopter screams toward them.
"GET TO COVER!" Salim roars.
Amir dives behind a jagged boulder just as the helicopter's mounted machine gun unleashes hell. Dirt and stone explode around them as bullets stitch across the ridge.
Salim tackles a young Iraqi soldier, yanking him down as bullets punch the ground where he stood.
The Iraqis return fire, rounds pinging off the helicopter's hull. The American gunner keeps shooting, forcing them to keep their heads down.
Salim crawls to Dar, voice urgent. "This is going badly. We need to fall back!"
Amir hears him, firing a few defiant shots at the bird before joining them. "We're sitting ducks up here!"
Dar shakes his head, eyes blazing. "No. We push forward—they can't shoot us if we're among them!" He shoves Salim toward the slope. "MOVE! CHARGE!"
Amir doesn't wait. He sprints down the hill, AK barking as he runs. Bullets whiz past him, kicking up dirt at his feet.
They reach the village fast. A young Iraqi soldier races beside Amir—only to be gunned down by an American in a gas mask peeking from behind a wall.
Amir pivots, firing three rounds into the American's chest. The man crumples.
Salim drags the wounded Iraqi behind a boulder as Amir slides into cover behind the same wall the American had used.
Dar and the others pile in behind them, but not before another soldier is cut down, his body slumping mid-sprint.
Salim pants, gripping his rifle. "What now?"
Amir curses, reloading. "What do you think? Kill the sons of bitches."
Dar nods. "We finish the job."
He barks orders. "SPREAD OUT! OPEN FIRE! KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM!"
The Iraqis fan out, guns blazing.
Amir leaps over the wall, dropping an American with a single shot before sliding behind a crate.
Three more Americans fall to his bullets.
Then he springs over the crate, dropkicking a Marine square in the chest. The man stumbles back, and Amir puts a round in his skull before he hits the ground.
As he ducks behind cover, he sees the second helicopter—engulfed in flames—plummeting from the sky. It crashes in a fireball, shaking the earth.
Amir fires twice more, dropping two more Marines—
Then the ground buckles beneath him.
A sickening CRACK echoes as the earth gives way.
Amir plummets, his body slamming against jagged rock on the way down. He lands hard, his shoulder dislocating with a pop as he crashes onto cold, ancient stone.
******
A sharp, stabbing pain jolts Amir awake. His vision swims, blurred at the edges, as he gasps—his shoulder is on fire. He grits his teeth, sweat beading on his brow as he forces himself up onto one elbow.
"Son of a—" he hisses, fingers probing the swollen joint. Dislocated.
With a grunt, he braces his good arm against the stone floor, twists his body sharply—
POP.
A strangled curse escapes his lips as the joint snaps back into place. He flexes his fingers, testing the movement. Good enough.
His head throbs as he staggers to his feet, blinking against the dim, flickering torchlight—wait, torchlight?
"Where the hell am I?" he mutters, voice rough.
His rifle lies a few feet away. He snatches it up, checking the magazine—half-empty. His keffiyeh is loose, the fabric slipping down his face. He yanks it off with a frustrated growl, tossing it aside. His hat is gone, lost in the fall.
No matter. Move.
Gun raised, he advances through the cavernous ruins, boots crunching on ancient debris. His eyes dart—shadows shift. His finger hovers over the trigger.
"This is Hassan, does anyone copy?" he barks into his radio, voice tight. Static.
He tries again, switching channels. "Lieutenant Hassan calling any Iraqi units—respond!"
Nothing.
He slams a fist against the radio. "Damn it!"
Then—a sound.
Not gunfire. Not voices. Something... wrong. A guttural, scraping noise, like claws on stone.
Amir freezes.
"...No." He shakes his head. "You're hearing things."
He forces himself forward, jaw clenched.
Minutes later, the ruins open into a wider chamber—a collapsed staircase, a broken wooden platform. And there—
Salim.
The older soldier is trying to climb a set of crumbling stairs when the wood splinters beneath him, sending him crashing back down. He curses, rubbing his leg.
"Of all the missions... of all the places—"
Then he spots Amir.
Their eyes lock. Relief flashes across Salim's face as he jogs over.
"Amir! Thank God—I'm glad to see a fellow human down here."
Amir's brow furrows. "What the hell does that mean?"
Salim's expression darkens. "Exactly what I said. There are demons in these ruins."
Amir groans, rolling his eyes. "Are you serious?"
Salim grabs his arm, insistent. "I know what I saw! There's one right—" He points toward a pile of debris near a tunnel entrance, where a rusted truck lies overturned. "—under there, but—"
Amir cuts him off with a sharp gesture. "Enough." His voice is steel. "Get your shit together, soldier. There are no demons. No angels. No ghosts. We are Iraqi Army, and we have a mission: find a way out, and erase those Americans. Focus."
Salim opens his mouth to argue—
Then a low, inhuman snarl echoes from the darkness behind them.
Both men freeze.
Amir's grip tightens on his rifle.
"...Or," Salim mutters, "we could run."
Amir's eyes dart around the cavern. "And where the hell do we go?"
Salim shrugs, breath ragged. "Anywhere but here!"
They scramble, searching for an exit—but the ruins are a maze of collapsed tunnels and dead ends. No way out.
Then—that sound again.
A guttural, clicking growl. The truck and debris shift, metal groaning as something powerful pushes against it.
Salim pales. "No way..."
The creature's head emerges first—pale, elongated, jaws lined with needle-like teeth. Its black eyes lock onto them as it heaves the wreckage aside like it weighs nothing.
Amir's hands tremble as he raises his rifle. His voice is barely a whisper. "Bismillah..."
Salim doesn't wait. He bolts for the collapsed staircase, leaps, and grabs the broken edge, hauling himself up.
Amir slings his AK across his back and follows, muscles burning as he claws his way up.
A glance back—
The creature is free.
It scrambles after them, limbs moving in jerky, unnatural strides.
"MOVE!" Amir snarls.
They reach the top, spinning to fire—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Salim's pistol clicks empty after three shots. Amir's AK rattles off ten more before falling silent.
"Out!" Amir hurls the rifle at the creature. Salim chucks his pistol next, the useless weapon bouncing off the monster's hide.
They sprint for a pile of boulders, scaling the debris as the thing climbs after them.
Salim's foot slips—
A clawed hand snags his ankle.
"AMIR—!"
Amir spins, draws his sidearm, and fires twice into the creature's arm.
It SCREECHES, recoiling—just as sunlight spills through a crack above, burning its outstretched fingers. The monster howls, jerking back.
"GO!" Salim yanks free, and they leap off the boulder, hitting the ground running.
They race back down the stairs, launching themselves over the gap—
Salim lands hard on his stomach, skidding. Amir tucks into a roll, but his bad shoulder takes the impact. Pain explodes through him. His pistol clatters away.
"Shit—!" He scrambles for it.
Salim doesn't wait. He lunges for the wrecked truck, wrenching at a jagged metal shard jutting from the debris.
The creature turns toward him.
Amir scoops up his pistol, aims—
BANG! BANG!
The shots strike its back, useless—but it whirls on him, snarling.
"HURRY!" Amir shouts, backpedaling.
The thing pounces, slamming him down. Claws dig into his wounded shoulder.
Amir screams—
Then—
"EYAHH!"
A shout. A wet CRUNCH.
The creature shudders, shrieking as Salim's makeshift spear punches through its chest.
Amir presses his pistol under its jaw—
BANG.
Black blood sprays.
They kick the twitching corpse off, panting. Salim hauls Amir up.
For a long moment, they just stare at each other, hearts hammering.
Then—
They laugh. Breathless, half-hysterical.
Amir wipes sweat from his brow, nodding. "Alright... maybe you're not crazy."
Salim smirks. "Told you."
A beat.
Then—distant gunfire. American voices.