The Night the Drones Returned

The Night the Drones Returned

The night was colder than usual in the small Afghan border village of Sarkha. Winter had already settled into the valley, and people were trying to sleep early under heavy quilts. But on this night, no one would rest. Shortly after 11:43 PM, the familiar and terrifying sound returned to the skies. A faint hum, a trembling vibration, a noise that every villager had learned to fear. The drones had come back.

For several peaceful months, the region had been quiet. There had been no airstrikes, no buzzing, no reason to fear the night sky. Farmers had returned to their fields. Children were playing on dusty roads again. Even the market traders had begun to smile a little more. But peace in this part of the world never stayed long, and everyone knew it.

Rehan, a 17-year-old boy, was the first to notice the sound. He had been sitting outside his mud house, sipping chai while watching the stars. His younger sister Amina sat beside him, busy counting shooting stars. Suddenly the boy stiffened. He tilted his head and listened again. Amina looked up and asked softly if it was what she feared. Rehan didn’t answer. He rushed into the house shouting for his father. They stepped outside and listened. The father whispered for everyone to turn off the lamps and stay low. All across the village, people moved like frightened shadows. Because they remembered what happened the last time the drones came.

Within minutes, the quiet humming grew into a deep roar. Three or four drones circled above like metal predators, their blinking lights slicing through the darkness. The wind carried dust and fear across the valley. Dogs barked anxiously. Children cried as their mothers pulled them close. Men whispered prayers with trembling hands. Then the first explosion hit. A thunderous blast erupted near the old hilltop, lighting the entire valley in a single white flash. For a second everything was visible, and then the darkness swallowed it again. Rehan’s mother covered her ears, begging Allah to protect them.

A second drone swept lower, its red search lights scanning the rooftops. The villagers pressed against the walls of their homes, praying not to be seen. Earlier that week there had been rumors of militants crossing the border. Checkposts were on alert. Patrols had increased. But no one had thought the drones would return this soon. Some believed they belonged to foreign forces. Others whispered they came from the other side of the border. No one truly knew, and no one cared. The villagers only wanted to survive the night.

The next explosion came without warning. A bright orange fireball swallowed the western edge of the village. The ground shook. Walls cracked. People screamed. Rehan shouted that it had hit Uncle Karim’s house. Without thinking, he ran with his father toward the flames. When they reached the burning home, smoke billowed into the sky like a dark storm. They heard faint crying inside. Together, they pulled out Karim’s young son, coughing and terrified. But Karim himself never emerged. Despite everyone’s effort, the flames consumed the house too quickly. His family collapsed on the ground in grief while the drones continued circling overhead.

Then, as suddenly as they had come, the buzzing began to fade. The red lights disappeared into the thick clouds. The night became painfully quiet. But the silence felt heavy and unnatural, like the sky itself was waiting. Rehan wondered why the drones had left so suddenly. His father told him they never truly leave; they only wait for their next mission.

When the first light of dawn touched the mountains, the villagers walked out to witness the destruction. Three houses were reduced to rubble. Many were wounded. One man was dead. The fear still hung in the cold morning air like smoke. Rehan climbed the hill overlooking the village. The mountains looked peaceful, but the smell of ash and dust reminded him that nothing was normal anymore.

Amina joined him, her voice trembling as she asked if the drones would return. Rehan took a deep breath. In a place like this, he said, they always come back. And just as the words left his lips, he heard it again. A faint, distant hum rolling across the valley. The sound no one ever wanted to hear.

The drones were returning.