Interpreter #5

After I finished with the dude, Mink came up. I said : "that's the extent of it" gesturing at the prisoner with dramatic hands, like a magician presenting the rabbit-hat. Mink set his pack down, brought out the book, opened it up and began to read in a slow, raspy growl while the Interpreter did his thing:

"Cave Wave". Common name for the anti - bunker incendiary DC 190. Cave Wave was developed at Los Almos labs in 1987 and designed by Emmit Oslen at the instruction of Team Leader Scott George. It was tested in Los Almos in summer of '89 and commissioned in January of 1990. First stock was deployed in march of '90 during operation Desert Shield.

The guy's eyes were still bored. I kept watching, Mink kept reading:

"...Designed to strike at targets deep in the earth, or protected by reinforced earth. Cave Wave's explosive charge is equal to about two tons of TNT and its effectiveness is enhanced by a load of molten iron that deploys seconds before the explosive charge, spraying with force onto anything within a 20 yard radius. Dropped from an "invisible" height of 37,O00 feet, Cave Wave can burrow and penetrate to 100 yards depth, inundate the entire target depth with hot metal, and explode with enough heat and force to displace the earth in two hundred yard circumference.

The Interpreter motor-mouthing in Farsi the whole time, and now the guy's face is changing. The 'Terp finally stops so it's complete silence as we sat and regarded one another. I flash Mink a glance and he goes on.

"Cave Wave has a special second stage to its attack which makes timely retaliation in kind a virtual impossibility. Seconds after the initial detonation, another charge sets off what's known as a "Jacob's ladder" effect. A parcel of white phosphorous is blown into the impact zone from the remaining length of projectile, just after this ignition a third, smaller explosion blasts nano-thermite powder into the breach, setting every cubic centimeter of impact zone on fire for up to 24 hours.

The guy's face has gone shock white. His lips dissolve into an unbelieving rictus. He begins to speak but he can't find words. I turn to Mink, point at the guy:

Tell him ten minutes.

The Interpreter turned to him as well, said something, then another thing. None of it sounded like "ten minutes" but the guy started singing pretty quick.

Later on we watched the strike. I had the guy brought back. Left his family doing whatever in the village. Yes, that's some tough shit. this is a story that begins with me doing some tough shit.

Something that never comes across when you see fighting on tv: the noise. War is loud as fuck. Louder - probably - then anything most people are going to be exposed to during the course of sleep>work>fuck, unless they happen to work in demolitions. Even then, there's nothing like the sounds of armed, industrialized combat.

We took a position at the high point of an arroyo overlooking the village, and for a few minutes we looked down on them. There were kids playing. Goats. A group of women were gathered on the far side, tending to what looked like a stage coach from the old west.

I had them bring the guy up to watch. They cooperate, and they think that's it. They think they're going free. They need to be taught. The guy looked puzzled, but he was smiling. The interpreter wasn't around.