Texas Nights - Book 13 of the Damned of the 2/19th

Just Walk Away

Black Market Area
Prophet's Square
(Decomissioned Urban Warfare Center)
Jackingtonville,  Abanstan
(North Fort Hood, Texas)
Eastern Europe
(CONUS)
18 February, 1992
1300 Hours - Tuesday
Day Two of Operation Copperhead

The day was cold and cloudy with wind. A light rain drizzled down as we drove slowly down the street. If you ignored the fact that the people in civilian clothing were all well fed and in good shape with no children or infants, you could honestly believe this was another country.

Men and women stood around burn barrels, glaring at us as we went by. A few times we saw poorly hidden weapons under ponchos and raincoats. We slowly approached a barricade of plywood and burnt out wrecked cars. The men walking on the platform above the entryway wore orange tape on their arms to simulate which side of the ALF they were on.

The mullahs AKA Orange Team.

There was an M-60 point to our right, the blank adapter fitted, and two of the men were walking around, smoking cigarettes and carrying dummy RPG-7's. One guy was up there, carrying no weapon but a thick paperback book. He wore a large orange X on his poncho to show he was wearing his priesthood gear.

It was really done well.

I noted that all of OP4 was black guys.

Two guys stepped out, holding their hands up, and the vehicle came to a stop. They swaggered over to the windows, tapping on them. Donovan and I rolled the windows down.

"Whore, cover yourself if you wish to enter Prophet's Market," The guy at my window said.

I took the scarf around my neck and pulled it up over my mouth and nose. The guy nodded, stepping back. I looked over in time to see Donovan peel off several five 'dollar' bills from a roll of Monopoly money. The guy snorted and Donovan peeled off a 'twenty' and handed it over. The guy waved us forward and Donovan put it in drive and started forward.

"WAIT!" The black guy with the X on his poncho jumped down, waving his arms. He moved up, grabbed my scarf and pulled it down. He turned to the guy who had been willing to let us go by. "Why is this whore allowed into the Market of the Prophet?"

I saw Donovan slowly shift the vehicle into reverse.

The other guy leaned forward. "Whore, why are you here?"

I didn't avert my eyes from him. "And you are?"

"Mullah... uh...," He checked the card on his lanyard. "Mullah Mohammed, whore!"

"Well, 'Mullah Mohammed," I lifted up my aid bag, staring him right in the eyes. "I'm an American doctor. Mullah Aziz personally requested me to look at him. If you don't want me to go in, I'll just let him know that you decided he didn't need medical assistance."

"Are there no man doctors?" 'Mohammed' barked.

"No. You killed them all last week," I told him coldly. "In clear violation of the Geneva Convention, the same Geneva Convention that you are now calling upon for medical aid."

He shook his head, holding out his hand. "No, that was not us, that was the infidel."

"The Fireant?" I asked sweetly. When he nodded I snorted. "He's a boogeyman. Yeah, he might exist, but have you ever seen him?"

'Mullah Mohammed' shook his head.

"We'll be going in now," I said.

'Mullah Mohammed' waved his arm. "Escort this doctor to Mullah Aziz right away, let him know that I personally cleared her."

The black guy next to him rolled his eyes, but waved us forward.

The Black Market looked good, I'd give it that. There were booths close together, people in civilian clothes that were muddy and torn. Females with headscarves and scarfs over their faces, many of them wearing ponchos. Men walking around with rifles, followed by females. Sometimes two or three. The square was churned up mud, with burn barrels at the side. The whole area was smoky, with a tang of CS to give it a sour smell.