The Desert Wolf, Chapter 3

												---------- The Desert Wolf ----------
															  Chapter 3
														Know Your Enemy Pt. 1
March 8, 2013
Sinjar Mountains
PFC Jason Winters

    Jason woke to the sounds of rustling and groaning in the frigid morning air. The men of the Islamic State were stretching and yawning, rubbing their limbs to get feeling back in them after a long cold night spent on the hard rock floor of the cave. Jason had no idea what time it was, but the slowly brightening sky peering in through the mouth of the cave told him it was early morning.

    Looking around, he noticed everyone had their bedrolls packed away and their equipment ready for another long trek. A few of the men had already started another fire and were making coffee, the delicious Arabic aroma wafting through the air made Jason's mouth water, but he quickly forced the thought from his mind.

    It's not like I'll be getting any to drink, Jason thought to himself bitterly. He yawned and stretched, listening to the popping and cracking of his stiff joints. Being cautious to not move his injured leg too much, he relaxed his effort, letting his arms drop...onto something warm and soft? Last he checked, cave floors were anything but warm and soft. Looking down to his left, he was met with the sight of the beautiful woman.

    She was curled up in the blanket on her side, her breathing slow and rhythmic, eyes twitching every so often giving hint of a dream playing out in her head. A strange, yet familiar scent wafted from her hair. Her head wrap had come undone, and her lustrous black hair had spilled out on the rocky floor, along with what Jason now noticed were two animal ears atop her head. Adorable, Jason thought, and strange. Can these...rifle women even dream? Did they even need to sleep for that matter? The longer he stared at her, the more questions filled his head. He ran his hand through his dark blond hair. Letting his own deep blue eyes roll over her, he noticed her jump slightly in her sleep, then slowly open her eyes.

    "Good morning miss, sleep well?" Jason asked flatly. He watched her sit up and stretch, then fix her hair up and re-wrap the fabric around her head, keeping her hair and animal ears tucked against her head, exposing just a few strands of her raven hair. She notices him staring and glares daggers at him.

    "What are you staring for American, have you never seen a rifle before?" the woman asks, ignoring Jason's earlier question. She stands and begins to fold the blanket they had both slept under the night before, much to his dismay. He had hoped to use it just a while longer to shield himself from the nip of the still morning air until the blazing sun rose up over the mountains and began to warm the earth.

    "Well, for starters, your a woman, who claims to be a rifle, that has dog ears and a tail, that can pull a gun from behind her back out of thin air. You tell me," Jason smarted back, the aches from the grenade wound, and the stiffness in his joints from sleeping in a freezing cave doing nothing to make his mood any better.

    The woman just stared at him blankly like he had just said something incredibly stupid, before going back to folding the blanket.

    "Do you truly not know a waffengeist when you see one? Are all Americans this stupid, or do you have a natural gift for it?" she snaps back, not bothering to look at him while cutting him down with her words.

    "I have no idea what you are talking about lady," Jason responded scratching the days old stubble on his jaw. "I've never heard that term before, I'm guessing that's what you are then? One of these waffengeists?" he questioned her.

    "Yes, as if it wasn't obvious immediately," she replied before walking over to the elderly Taliban leader to hand him back the blanket. She leaned down over the kettle holding the rich dark brew, inhaling the pleasant aroma of the coffee. She moves to pour some in a cup from a pack before one of the men snatches the cup from her grasp and shoves her away from the fire, dashing her hopes of sampling the warming liquid herself.

    As she turned to head out of the cave the men's leader stopped her and spoke quickly to her in a commanding tone pointing back towards Jason's vicinity. He had obviously given her a task of some sort, but unlike last night, she simply stared with her signature blank expression and turned to walk back to where Jason was standing.

    In the light of the cresting sun, Jason saw swirling patterns of her face trailing up from her neckline above her robes collar to stop just above her right eye. It looked just like the intricate patterns on the AKM she had pointed at him the other day. Animal ears, tattoos, and rifles that appear from thin air. Could this woman or whatever she was get any more confusing? Guess I'll just have to ask, Jason thought.

    And ask he did as soon as she finished trudging back towards him like a child going to detention. He paused for just a moment, the woman's expressionless face doing little to hide the burning fury in her sapphire like eyes.

    "So then, what exactly is a waffengeist?" he asked plainly, not seeing any point to beating around the bush. "I've never heard that term but it doesn't sound Arabic to me, care to explain?"

    "No, I don't," she retorted bluntly with all the grace of a woman scorned. "It's a long story and we will be moving out soon enough. I'm to keep guard of you from now until we reach the main camp. I've been given permission to shoot you if the need arises." She says the last sentence hoisting her phantom AKM onto her shoulder, using the sling made from a red and white shemagh.

    Before Jason can respond one of the parties scouts runs into the cave, shouting in Arabic and motioning for the leader of the group to follow him out of the cave. Taking hold of a pair of binoculars, he obliges the man, an annoyed look on his face. the man kept repeating a couple of words over again, "easifat ramalia". The two men shortly returned to the cave covered in a thin layer of sand they were busy shaking off while conversing with the others in the group.

    "What does that mean?" Jason asks, turning to his ill tempered warden, hoping to illicit an answer from her.
She took a long deep breath and sighed heavily, sitting down on the ground and leaning back against the stone walls of the cave before answering.

    "Easifat ramalia, it means sandstorm," she responds a look of pure disgust on her face. "What it really means," she continued "is that we will be stuck in this small cold cave until it blows over. It's too dangerous to try and maneuver through the mountain ranges when you can't see a foot in front of you."

    Her eyes widened as if she had realized she had let slip something important, and glanced toward Jason's direction.

    "But don't get any ideas, you're just as likely to step wrong and fall off the side of a path to your death as any of us."
Jason just raised his hands in a placating manner and shrugged.

    "Hadn't thought of it," he lied. That was the first thought to pop into his mind, but he soon found himself agreeing with the woman. he had no idea the direction they traveled to get here and with no visibility, he'd just walk around in circles anyway. "How long do these things last?"

    "A day or two usually, I suggest getting comfortable." she replied, irritated at the turn of their luck.

    Jason's heart sank slightly at the failed prospect of escape, then he mustered a halfhearted grin and took a seat across from the woman. She was very beautiful he thought to himself again, every feature seemingly designed to draw a man's attention. She looked to be about twenty or twenty one in age, if things like her could age that is. He spoke up, the grin still playing out on his face.

    "So, I guess now that we are going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, there is plenty of time for that story don't you think?" Jason said eyeing the mystery shrouded woman. She didn't take kind to his prompt, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

    "If it will get you to stop asking questions every five minutes like an imbecile," she answered him, making herself more comfortable before beginning the tale. Jason speaks before she can start, frustrating her further.

    "Before we get to that, what do I refer to you as? I can't go calling you 'woman' or 'girl' forever. Do you not have anything you prefer?" Jason inquired.

    "No, I don't, I'm a rifle and you do not name a rifle do you? Besides, why would you concern yourself with getting to know your potential executioner?" the waffengeist replied, a chill creeping into her voice.

    "I...I don't know, Stockholm syndrome I guess?" Jason responded, unsure himself why he cared so much. Boredom, loneliness, curiosity? Any of them could be a factor in his attempt to find some comfort in his bleak circumstances. "But you're not just a rifle though, right? You're one of those things you mentioned earlier, a waffengeist aren't you?"

    "Yes, as I was going to explain before you interrupted me," she said, her blend of accents thickening in her frustration. "Now be quiet and listen. A waffengeist is a spirit that is attached to a weapon. A rifle, a pistol, machine guns, a...how do you Americans say, a shotgun? That's what is most common for a waffengeist to bond with. Though I've heard of very rare instances of a geist bonding to large weapons like tanks, but I've never encountered one."

	 Jason just stared at her like she had proclaimed to be from a different planet, and she might as well have been at this point. Pure shock and disbelief washed over his face, and she seemed to take a slight amount of satisfaction in it. A million thoughts and questions flooded his mind, but he kept quiet, saving them for later.

    "That is what I am, a geist, bonded to this rifle," she continued while materializing the AKM from thin air into her hands. "This rifle and I are the same being. This human-esque form you see before you is my geist form. It reflects the weapons soul into a physical being. Do you understand?"

    Jason simply nodded, then offered her a question that had been biting at him for a while now.

    "But if your a spirit, how can you interact with things like that blanket or your clothes? You can't actually do things like that can you even though I thought I saw you do them." Jason was more confused now than when she had begun.

    "Did it not feel real when I hit you with my butt stock the other day?" the geist quipped back. "In this form, I am just as real as if I were in my rifle form."

    Jason leaned back on the cool cave wall and reflected on his thoughts for a moment before prompting another group of questions, to the woman's dismay. "How did you come to be, and are there more like you? Is this a recent thing?"

    "There is a being called the Mother of Rifles, she made us, and not even us geists know exactly how or why. And yes there are many more than just myself, but geists aren't a common place thing. None of the other men's rifles here has a geist for example. And no, it isn't a recent occurrence. There are geists in rifles as old as muzzle loaders, maybe older, but I've never met older ones than that."

    All of this information being poured into Jason's ears causes him more headache than he thought he would have to put up with.

    "Can a geist die?" Jason asked abruptly.

    The question caught the woman off guard, and she seemed to tense up at the thought of it, ultimately choosing to ignore it outright.

    "The rifle mostly determines the geist's appearance," she replied, choosing to answer a question he had not asked. "These tattoos on my body are from bored hands carving into my wooden furniture. It's painful to us, even in rifle form we feel it."

    She ran her slender fingers lightly along her face, tracing her tattoos. She didn't seem to be aware of this, as when she noticed Jason staring she quickly ceased and returned to her story.

    Jason's head swam with all the information he had been told. Then a question came to him from the depths of his mind.

    "So, why are you here then?" he asked.

    He had meant it to be a simple, innocent question. But the look of shock and confusion on the girls face surprised Jason, and he felt uncomfortable as an awkward silence lingered between them. The only sounds came from the men huddled together near the front of the cave, chatting among themselves and the howling winds of the sandstorm raging outside. The forceful gusts and currents of sand rasping against the mountains and the mouth of the cave sounded like a haunting apparition. After a lengthy pause, the geist spoke up.

    "I don't know why I am here, what purpose does a rifle have other than to protect their owner?" she replied, saying the last words almost to herself, the hint of sorrow not going unnoticed by Jason.

    "Is one of those men your owner then?" Jason inquired of the woman, but the question seemed to agitate her, as if he had asked a deeply personal question.

    "I have no owner. I never had one," she responded. She brought her legs together and raised her knees to her chest to rest her chin on. Jason couldn't help but notice the way the soft fabric of her black robes stretch faintly against her moderate chest.

    A solid large b-cup, maybe a small c-cup? Jason thought to himself, letting a small grin adorn his face. The AKM geist notices and glares at him with a questioning look on her face.

    "What is amusing American?" she spat, obviously annoyed by his goofy expression.

    "Oh, nothing, just... thinking," Jason replied forcing the grin off his face and letting it go blank. "It's Jason by the way."

    She said nothing at first, simply staring into his eyes. But not with a look of anger, or disgust, or malice. She seemed to be rolling the name around in her head. After a moment of contemplating his name, she spoke back to him.

    "Your name sounds weird." she replied flatly, causing Jason to chuckle lightly to himself.

    "Well I suppose it would to someone from this part of the world, but that goes for the names here sounding odd to someone like me being from America." Jason thought briefly on a few of the names he had heard during his short time here. "I was named after Jason, the leader of the Argonauts, from Greek mythology. My father picked it out, he was a huge mythology and history buff," Jason continued, explaining his names origin.

    "Why bother telling me this? Are you that desperate for conversation?" she asked, keeping eye contact with him.

    "I thought you might get tired of calling me 'American' eventually, so now you can call me by name, something we need to remedy with you I think." Jason acknowledged. The idea he brought forth eliciting a huff of annoyance from the geist, which Jason found oddly adorable.

    "I told you, I am a rifle, I have no need of a name. There is no need to give everything a name you know, it's pointless." she responded. The howling and groaning of the storm outside continuing to grow in intensity, send sprays of sand inside the cave.

    "Well, I suppose that's true for the most part. But this is different. You're not just a rifle, you've got a life of your own and a personality. Your unique, so that's why you need a name." Jason inferred, scratching his head and giving her a slight grin. "Also, what's with the dog ears and tail, is that normal for all geists?"

    She shifted in her spot, tucking her knees in closer to her body and breaking eye contact with him. She was obviously uncertain about how to respond to him.

    "Not dog, wolf, they are wolf ears and tail; yes they are functional," she said matter of fact like, swinging her tail around to her front to show him. "Isn't it obvious? And no, different geists have different features. Polish AK rifles seem to be wolf like if my sisters and I are the standard," she explained.

    Jason was amazed at the thought of other weapons having spirits and animal features wandering around in the world. He decided to try his luck and ask her about her life.

    "So tell me about yourself, what led you to this walk of life. Did you choose to be here? Surely you've got some interesting stories from your childhood up to now right?" Jason questioned, the urge to learn more about his odd acquaintance pushing him on. The geist let out a short bark of laughter, drawing a few gazes from the men, and startling Jason somewhat, laughter being a drastic change in the young woman's mood from the brooding and off putting up until now. He found her laughter intoxicating.

    "I did not have a childhood, geists are not born. Neither do we age, we simply are. One day I realized that I was...more. More than just wood and polymer and metal," answered the geist. "My life's story is nothing special, not worth talking about."

    "Well, we aren't going anywhere for a long while yet and I'm willing to listen if you're willing to talk." he responded, hoping to gently push her towards talking.

    She sat motionless for several minutes doing nothing but breathing and staring a hole into the stone floor. Jason had given up hope of further conversation when she spoke softly to him.

    "I will tell you of my life, what little there is," she answered. "But, in return I want to hear of your life in America. Those are my conditions, it's only fair for you to tell me of your life in return for me doing the same." she spoke, raising her eyes to meet his.

    Jason nodded his silent approval, a grin beginning to spread across his face. He was over joyed that he finally broke down her harsh and unwavering demeanor.

    She took a deep breath before speaking again, clearing her head and preparing herself.

    "I am a select fire, Polish KbK AKM, 7.62x39mm assault rifle, production date 1973," she began, much to Jason's delight, though he thought it was an odd start. "I was manufactured by the Radom weapons plant in Poland along with hundreds of thousands of others, though only about a dozen more had geists." she continued

    "Myself, and my sisters the other geists, were excited to be issued and serve our owners well. It is the greatest life a rifle can live, serving and protecting one's owner." She sounded almost happy at the mention of the other geists she called her sisters, but the happiness vanished as soon as it had appeared. "But before we could even be issued, we were coated in oil to preserve us, boxed up into a large crate, and then myself and many more were swept out of the country one night and sold to a group of weapon smugglers here in the middle east. I never saw my sisters again, and I spent the next several decades in secret storage, or being moved around from village to village along with the other ordinary AKM rifles."

    The geist sniffled, and for a moment Jason thought that she would start to shed tears, but none came and she simply shifted her weight, cradling her rifle form in her lap before she continued her story.

    "That was my life, it was torture, a maddening and wretched existence. Isolation, even for a geist, can make some go crazy. I only stayed sane by communicating with what few geists I came into contact with," she explained, the pain in her voice apparent. It tore at Jason's heart, even if she were with the enemy, living that sort of life was a terrible thing for anyone to endure.

    Jason spoke up in the pause of the story and asked a question, hoping it wouldn't put her off telling more of her story.

    "So did none of the men here know what you were?" he asked delicately.

    "No, I didn't make it known to them that I was geist, not at first. Such things are looked down upon here. We are seen as abominations, an affront to their beliefs." she explained clenching her fists in anger. "It wasn't until after the ambush of your convoy that I revealed myself to them, hoping to win their favor by capturing you, but they were horrified, and told me to not take that form again with being told to do so. I haven't even been fired at all yet." responded the geist quietly in a somber tone. But Jason had heard her, and decided to ask, it seeming to be important to her.

    "Is being fired that important?" Jason blurted out, not understanding the geist's demeanor at the mention of it. Her cheeks flushed red at his prompt, and she averted her eyes away toward the ceiling for a moment while answering his question.

    "Y-you wouldn't understand, it's a rifle thing." she offered suddenly, her answer not satisfying his curiosity. But he left it alone, seeing as it must be something personal to her by the way she had acted.

    Jason felt compelled to attempt to console her, but he refrained at the last second thinking it odd to feel so much affection toward someone who may end up killing him. Instead he asked yet another question.

    "So, if you aren't from this part of the world originally, and these people treat you less than you had hoped, why do you still fight for them?" He inquired. "They are evil people, killing others just because they don't believe how they do. They killed my friends back in that ambush. Doesn't that bother you?"

    "Do you have a faith you hold on to?" she asked, her question taking him off guard.

    "Yes, I'm Christian, like my parents. Why do you ask?" he replied.

    "Did the Christians of old not kill those who didn't believe like they did? Many who weren't Christian fell to a crusaders blade, no?" she responded surprising Jason with her knowledge of such events. "Besides, we rifles do not concern ourselves with your human views of right and wrong because we do not see things that way. We are made to fight and protect, and to kill if necessary. I've been in this country and around it's people so long I suppose I simply adopted their ideals. I have very little memory of my homeland anyway."

    "Well, I never agreed with what the happened during the Crusades if that's any comfort, but I see your point," he offered.

    She nodded her approval and then look at him expectantly, but his blank look prompted her to remind him of his end of the bargain.

    "I am finished with my tale, I said I didn't have much to speak of remember? It's your turn to talk," she reminded him.

    "Oh...right," Jason said through a long yawn, his tone hinting at not really knowing where to start. Looking out towards the open sky visible through the mouth of the cave, he saw that it was already dark out, the storm still going strong. The jihadi fighters had unpacked their bed rolls again and were getting ready to sleep it seemed.

    The geist noticed this too, and her tail sank down to her own surprise. Had she really been disappointed about not being able to hear his story tonight? She didn't know and she wasn't going to let it show. She stood and stretch, slinging her rifle form over her shoulder and walking to the front of the cave prompting Jason to question what she was up to.

    "Where are you going?" he asked, not sure where she planned to go in the small cave, with nothing to see outside with the sandstorm blowing.

    "Going to get a blanket for the night, I don't want your shivering to keep me awake," she explained without turning back and walking over to the old man to ask for one of the spare blankets and converse with him, probably to tell him anything important she had discovered during their talk.

    Jason couldn't help but grin at her, she was an interesting person to be sure, a mystery wrapped in an enigma. He began to think of names again for her while she was preoccupied. A few names of Arabic and Polish origin bounced around in his head. His line of thought was broken when she walked back into his view and began to unfold the blanket. Jason smiled and spoke up, a decision falling into place in his head.

    "Ashah," he said softly, letting the name roll off his tongue.

    The geist turned to face him and looked at him with a quizzical expression.

    "What is that?" she asked, seemingly genuinely confused.

    "Your name," Jason responded. "I think it suits you, and it sounds pretty. What do you think?"

    The geist blushed, her lightly tanned cheeks turning a hot red and her wolf tail standing up from her body. Turning her back to him once more, she answered him while pretending to straighten the blanket, a large smile rolling across her lips.

    "Sounds weird," was all she said, though Jason had seen her blush and noticed the way she had reacted; he knew she liked it.

    "Well, I guess I'll just have to keep using it until you get used to it then," he poked, not being able to resist teasing her a little. For a moment, he felt like all the worry and sadness of the past days events had been washed away, if only for a moment. He stood as one of the men was putting out the small cook fire and moved over to where she was now lying, wrapping the blanket around himself and tucking his ACU jacket under his head as a makeshift pillow.

    "I'll tell you all about my life tomorrow, I promise. Goodnight Ashah," he said, trying out her name once more. A slight huff from beside him made him smile, but not as much as what followed.

    "I hold you to your word then. Goodnight...Jason." she answered softly.