by Laura Acton
“Nothing to apologize for. Whenever you are ready to continue, we’re listening,” Samuel Kelly said.
His lack of sleep loosening his emotional governor, Dan’s mask slipped, scrunching his brows together as the painful memory came center-stage in his mind. Again, unable to make eye contact with anyone, Dan dropped his gaze to his legs. After rubbing his clammy palms on his jeans, he curled his fingers, gripping the material as he prepared to explain what occurred next.
Dan’s voice took on a monotone quality, but stress eked out every few words. “We maintained our position as ordered. I argued with Dragon we should attempt to rescue Shy on our own. The 2IC insisted we stay put. I hated Dragon at that moment. I called him a coward and every dirty name in the book, but he wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t understand why Dragon would leave our brother in enemy hands, and accused him of wanting to advance on the back of his dead sergeant.
“I regretted my words as soon as they left my mouth. They were cruel since Dragon had become Shy’s best friend after Yankee died the year before. I try not to remember my Septembers in the service … nothing good ever happened. Every year some shit when down. Gambit, Yankee, and Shy died, our plane crashed, and once I was impaled … all in September.”
Realizing he rambled, Dan halted. His hands itched to hit something, and it took all he had not to ball them up again, and instead flexed them, spreading his fingers wide. His heart thudded in his chest, each beat painful. “Dragon only peered at me with sad eyes and said Shy wouldn’t want us to commit suicide trying to save him. It would’ve been suicide. No way we could’ve taken out all the insurgents.”
Dan turned his head to Jon. His eyes welled with liquid without his permission, and his tone became apologetic. “I’m a quick shot but not fast enough to take out forty before they discovered and killed us.”
Jon nodded. “You don’t need to justify to me. The numbers were far against you. Dragon is right. If Shy took care of his men as you say, then no, he wouldn’t have wanted you to put yourself at risk to rescue him. Not with those odds, Dano.”
Dan pushed back in his chair and swiped at his eyes, not willing to breakdown and bawl like a baby in front of strangers. He scanned the room for recrimination but discovered none. The back of his throat tightened, and Dan found it difficult to swallow as his eyes filled with water again. He blinked several times and tilted his head upward to gaze at the ceiling tiles.
The men remained quiet as he struggled to compose himself. “For thirty minutes, we observed through our scopes and checked in with TOC, hoping the QRF would reach us before the insurgents decided to kill Shy. During those minutes, they interrogated and beat the shit out of him. Then they started …” Dan drew in a shuddering breath.
His face screwed up in pain, and the tears he strove to keep at bay rolled down his cheeks as Shy’s screams and horrible images assaulted him. Dan slammed both hands over his ears, trying to quiet the shrieking. He curled forward and rocked back and forth in the chair.
Neither Jon nor Nick wanted to startle Dan, always a bad idea, but Dan was locked in memory and needed their help. Both put a hand on Dan’s back.
Dan jerked back and upwards. His wild eyes darted around before settling on Jon. Recognition flooded him. Jon, it’s Jon. Sluggishly Dan turned to the other side and spied Nick.
Pursing his lips together, Dan stopped himself from screaming along with Shy. That day in the perch, he had bitten straight through his lower lip to stay quiet, so he didn’t give away their position. Dan fought to remain afloat, but all his lifelines became limp, nothing moored him and the sensation of drowning threatened to take him to the bottom of the lake.
Empathy drove Nick to clasp Dan’s hand. The power with which Dan held on surprised him. “Got you. You’re not gonna fall. Can you tell me what are you experiencing? It appears to be quite painful.”
In a gravelly voice, Dan rasped, “Shy’s screaming. The bastards are torturing him. Cutting him to shreds with a serrated knife. They want information. Shy isn’t telling them anything. We survived the cornfield … we made it out alive, but now he is suffering the same fate. The animals are hacking off pieces of him. His fingers … one joint at a time. One ear … then the other, but he still won’t tell them what they want to know.”
Jon’s breath caught, and he noted a greenish tinge to some of the men in the circle. Hurling is what I want to do, too, but that won’t help Dan. He maintained his tangible link, shifting his hand to the nape of Dan’s neck and applied light pressure.
Nick asked Dan, “What are you doing?”
A strangled sob combined with a growl erupted from Dan as tears trickled out. “Trying not to hear, not to see … not to feel.”
Carles rose from his seat and walked over. He knelt in front of Dan and placed a hand on his knee. “There is nothing you could’ve done to stop what was happening.”
Dan pinned his glare on Carles. “You’re wrong. I never miss! Never!”
Jon recognized they were missing something but recalled Dan’s previous statement, ‘He begged me to kill him.’ “Dano, why did Shy beg you for death?”
Images so horrible to witness flashed in Dan’s mind. Too lost in the memory, Dan began to tremble.
Comprehension hit Jon like a ton of bricks as he connected Whitehall and the screams. His gut twisted as a gruesome scenario played out in Jon’s mind. He reached out and drew Dan to him, tucking the younger man’s head in the crook of his shoulder as he would Kent or Joey, wrapping his arms around Dan’s back and holding him securely. He merely held Dan’s shaking body as an occasional quiet sob escaped.
Jon caught Nick’s eye, communicating concern non-verbally via his expressions. Dan’s in overwhelming pain. I’m worried this might drive him to the ivory-gripped pistol.
A shake of Nick’s head, kind eyes, and placement of his hand on Dan’s back, offering comfort, communicated, ‘No, he is here. Dan wants help, and he must release his pain. You’re doing well, Jon.’
The abscess lanced, pus from a three-year-old festering infection seeped out as Dan’s tears acted as a saline solution, washing his wounded psyche. Agonizing images of Shy continued to assail him, but with much less power as they ran free from the locked cell which had imprisoned them until now. Although the memory of the day, what Shy endured, and what Dan did to Shy, still burned his soul and would leave an everlasting scar.
As the tidal wave of emotion began to ebb, Dan realized he soaked Jon’s shirt with his waterworks, and his tactical leader held him. At this moment he was beyond caring he cried in front of strangers, but it was disconcerting to him this was the second time in the past three months he lost control and embarrassed himself in the presence of Boss and Jon.
Pulling himself together, Dan wiped his eyes and pushed away, relieved Jon released him with no resistance. Struggling for composure, hard to do when not used to baring his emotions publicly, Dan’s voice reflected his anguish as he attempted to begin to answer Jon’s question of why Shy begged to die. “Although Shy yelled as they hacked him apart, he never divulged anything. Dragon and I recognized Shy would be maimed for life, but if he could hold on for only a little longer, he would survive.
“The rescue unit was about ten minutes out when …” Clenching his jaw as fresh agony crashed through him, Dan couldn’t stop the tears leaking out again. He angrily swiped at them and shouted, “Why? Why did he ask me? Why me?”
Fury unmistakable in his teammate, Jon endeavored to deescalate Dan by using a soft tone. “Why you what?”
Dan rocketed from the chair, sending it skidding backward a foot or so once again as he raged, “Why’d Shy beg me to kill him? Why not Dragon?”
Nick stood and turned Dan to him. He couldn’t answer Dan’s query but would help Dan process his feelings to discover the truth within himself. “What brought Shy to the point he pleaded for death? From what you say, the torture went on for a while. So, what changed?”
Breathing fast and hard, trying to control his rage,
Dan growled, “The fucking bastards poured gasoline on him. They lit a match …” Shy’s agonizing plea, ‘Blondie, shoot me. Please! For the love of God, put a bullet through my brain. Don’t let me burn alive. Do it now!’ ripped through Dan’s mind, followed by Shy’s ungodly shrieks as fire engulfed him. As Shy became a human torch, Dan peered through his scope and sighted the man he admired. Shy stared straight at his position, and his final plea carved deep into Dan’s soul.
Dan dropped to his knees, physically and emotionally spent. He sat back on his heels and covered his face with his hands as tears filled his red-rimmed eyes yet again. He spoke in a barely audible whisper, “They set him on fire. Shy begged me for a mercy killing. The last thing he yelled to me was, ‘Blondie, it’s gotta be you!’ I shot him. I killed him. Shy is dead because I never miss.”
The room went absolutely still and quiet.
Nick swallowed a thick lump as he brought Dan’s chair forward again, an action bound from the need to do something as he processed his own emotions. Son of a bitch. The Whitehall hostages’ screaming for them to shoot as the fireball engulfed them triggered Dan’s memory.
Jon took a knee beside Dan as the young man’s shoulders shook with silent weeping. After a few moments, with care, Jon assisted Dan up and guided him into the chair Nick set behind them. No wonder Dan isn’t sleeping. My nightmares pale in comparison to what he is experiencing. Mine are only conjectured while Dan’s are stone-cold reality.
Once he settled Dan in the seat, Jon spoke from the heart, “Dan, what you did … you helped Shy. You saved him from agony. You gave him a quick death instead of an excruciating one. What he asked you to do is an immense burden to carry, but you did it.”
As Carles stared up at Dan, from his position on the floor, he couldn’t begin to fathom the emotional price to be paid for deliberately killing a buddy. Shy requested too much of Dan, an enormous burden that could bow and break even the most indomitable man as he labored to shoulder the burden. Carles hoped Dan was robust enough to withstand a load of that magnitude.
Resuming his seat, Nick’s hand rested on Dan’s back. “I believe you answered your question. Shy solicited your help because he trusted you to end his suffering quickly. He knew your aim would be true. You also said Dragon and Shy were best friends. I doubt he could’ve asked his friend to bear the weight. Although different circumstances, you understand the toll of taking a brother’s life. Would you wish Dragon to be saddled with the anguish you suffer? And would Dragon have been able to take the shot?”
Dan swiveled his head to Nick. His voice reeked of raw pain, “No, I wouldn’t want him to experience the torment I do for killing Brody. But Shy’s death is on me. I killed him.”
Jon squeezed Dan’s left bicep and stated with authority, “No. You. Did. Not. The insurgents killed Shy. They tortured him and set him on fire. His death is not your fault. Your action provided mercy. You helped Shy, and you protected Dragon from a heavy burden.”
After several minutes of silence, the men in the room seconded Jon’s statements of a mercy killing. Those who spoke offered compassion for the pain Shy’s request caused Dan and sympathetic words of understanding.
As Dan listened to them, the ever-present ache started to lessen if only a little. Their open minds and kind words helped him to begin to process the memory and became a topical anesthetic on his soul.
Dan understood incising a purulent wound would not magically cure him. His recent liver infection gave him a model of the process necessary, but once opened, the poison could drain away. With time and the right care, this injury, like the other, would at long last begin to heal.
He stole glances at both Nick and Jon, grateful they forced him to come. The confidence he lost in them due to how they handled things when his dating Lexa became known, would mend too. Tonight, they demonstrated they cared, and Dan took another step closer to trusting them.
Brody smiled and turned to Shy. “He lanced the abscess. He will heal now.”
Shy nodded. “I shouldn’t have asked him. If I knew the pain it would bring Blondie, I would’ve never asked.”
Draping his arm around Shy, Brody shook his head. “Do not regret your choice. Dragon wouldn’t have been able to handle the weight, and he would likely be with us now instead of home with his wife and children.
“Dan is a chosen protector and possesses guardian angels, family, and friends who all care a great deal for him. As we have in the past, we will all continue to safeguard him and keep the darkness that seeks to claim his soul at bay.”
A smile appeared on Shy’s face as his own burden shifted and eased. For three years, he bore remorse for asking Blondie to kill him, and it only compounded after Dan accidentally shot Brody. His fear the younger man might take his own life because of the agony this caused him, began to dissipate. “You can count on me any time you need extra help. It is the least I can do in return.”
The Rack
10
October 5
Support Group – 11:15 p.m.
Samuel noted the exhausted miens of Dan, Jon, and Nick and called the meeting to a close. As the men left, many came forward and offered a few words of encouragement, and urged Dan to return as often as he wanted or needed. Carles gave Dan his phone number and said to call if he ever needed someone to listen with an open mind without judgment.
Dan remained sitting, consuming a bottle of water the older soldier named Ned brought him. Ned had patted his shoulder and said, “We are lucky to have men of your caliber serving the public. You are welcome here anytime, and I hope you return if you ever require support to carry on.”
As Samuel and Jon talked, Nick moved to Dan, the only other person left in the building now. “Would you like a lift home?”
Though wrung out, Dan declined the offer, desiring to be alone to process everything. “No, thanks. A ride in the cool breeze will be nice.”
Recalling Dan’s coping mechanisms included cycling Nick did not push. “Alright. Get some rest this weekend. If you need to talk, you got my number. We’ll see you at Bram’s on Monday.”
“I’ll be there after volunteering at Mayfield.” The thought of joining the team on Thanksgiving lightened Dan’s mood slightly. Heading for the exit, he waved bye to Jon, not wanting to interrupt his conversation with Samuel.
Jon acknowledged the wave with a nod before refocusing on the retired sergeant. “Thanks for providing decaf only, but I don’t think I can do another session without coffee.”
Samuel chuckled. “Happy to assist in a small way, as was everyone. Do you think Dan will sleep?”
Nick joined them. “I hope so. I’ll check in with him tomorrow.”
Jon shook his head. “Let me do that. I’ll invite him to shoot a round of golf and play basketball with Kent and his friends. That way, I’ll be able to tell if he slept regardless of what he tells me.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Nick said with a smile, glad they learned enough about Dan’s use of deflection to find ways to flesh out the truth without confronting him directly.
With tomorrow a day off, both Jon and Nick offered to pitch in to help Samuel put the tables and chairs away, store the leftover sodas in the cabinets allotted to the support group, wash the coffee urn, and generally tidy-up the meeting hall used by various groups.
Outside Support Group – Bicycle Rack – 11:25 p.m.
Dan yawned as his tired mind whirled, trying to sort out a few items. Jon’s actions this evening required some thought. He couldn’t peg his tactical leader. He ran hot and cold with him and challenged his fledgling profiling abilities. Though in some ways, Dan figured Jon experienced as much difficulty reading him as he did Jon.
He believed tonight they took another step forward and hoped their next meeting wouldn’t include two steps back. Though, if truth be told, it had not been like that in the past couple of months. Jon chilled out a bit with him and did seem to listen more often. Debrief after the abduction call was a perfect example.
After he launched himself from the balcony on to Zellers, Dan fully expected Jon to read him the riot act during debrief. But Jon became his staunchest ally and shushed the others so he could explain why he reacted as he did. Loki’s nervous twitch, his bouncing knee, slowed as Dan told them how he recognized the grenade to be a fake … he was the only one in the position to see it from the right angle.
His reason for jumping was two-fold. One, Ken Zellers was a man filled with anguish. Months earlier, Ken learned that while deployed five years ago, his former girlfriend gave his child up for adoption without ever telling him she was pregnant. Ken searched for his daughter and located five-year-old Candy Dempsey. The heartbroken man went off his rocker and tried to take her back after a lengthy legal attempt to nullify the adoption and gain custody of Candy failed. A sad situation that didn’t need to end in Ken’s death.
The second reason, his desire to keep Candy from being further traumatized by witnessing her biological father’s death if Ken escalated once he realized there was no way he would be able to escape with the girl. Ken was distraught and not thinking, but he didn’t deserve a death sentence. TRF was about saving lives, and his action safeguarded both Ken and Candy.
He also prevented Jon from carrying the weight of taking another life. Every life they ended came with a price … especially those like the Whitehall subjects and others who were not bad people, only men and women making poor choices in the situations they found themselves in.
Dan blew out a long breath and yawned yet again as he unlocked and then wrapped the cable around the neck of his seat. As he grabbed his helmet from the handlebars and put it on, his thoughts returned to tonight. Jon’s insinuation he might be a coward had ticked him off but also prompted him to release and share the memories of Shy.
Sighing, Dan glanced up at the dark sky. “Brody, Jon reminded me of Blaze, and Nick said stuff you used to say. They are trying to rebuild trust, and tonight they helped me like you, and the guys did so many times. I wish I would’ve shared with you what happened on the mission, but I couldn’t face the pain … so I shoved it away and pretended it never happened.”
