Strike Force Black

by C T Glatte

  Yates reached out to steady him and Jimmy pleaded. “What? Executed? By who? For what? What the hell’s going on?”

  Lieutenant Yates was clearly flustered at Crandall’s outburst and was desperately trying to calm him as bystanders became interested. “Sit down, soldier. Calm down. Just sit a minute.”

  Jimmy pushed him away. “Get off me.” He looked around the open floor. There were far too many wounded for the main hospital, so they’d expanded into the local high school gymnasium. There were hundreds of beds, each filled with a wounded American or Canadian soldier. He saw the exit on the other side of the room and moved towards it.

  He only made it a few feet when two MPs were beside him clutching his arms, holding him in place. He struggled to break free but the big men had little trouble holding Jimmy’s wiry frame.

  Jimmy stomped the right MP’s foot, aiming for the toe-box. Despite his slippered feet, Jimmy’s heel smashed down hard and the burly MP gasped and bent over, loosening his grip. Jimmy yanked his arm away then smashed his elbow back into the man’s nose. Blood squirted in all directions as his head snapped back and he fell backwards, tripping over his own feet.

  “Hey,” the second MP yelled and gripped him tighter. He stepped behind Jimmy’s back and yanked his left arm up until Jimmy thought his shoulder would dislocate. He stopped struggling, trying to relieve the pressure by standing on the tips of his toes. The MP put his foot in front and pushed. Jimmy fell face first and the heavy MP landed on his lower back with his knee firmly planted. “Stop the bullshit, Crandall,” he seethed into his ear. “I oughta break your traitorous arm, you little piece of shit…”

  Another booming voice, “At ease soldier.”

  The pressure on Jimmy’s back and shoulder remained but slackened slightly. “Sir, PFC Crandall assaulted Richardson. He’s trying to….”

  The booming voice interrupted. “I saw the whole thing. Now let him up. Get an ice-pack on that nose, Richardson.”

  Jimmy heard a muffled reply and felt himself being lifted harshly by the uninjured MP. He gave Jimmy one last push and gripped the handle of his sidearm hanging from his utility belt. “Don’t try anything, Crandall.”

  Jimmy saw raw hatred emanating from his eyes. It could’ve been because he just beat the crap out of his buddy, but this seemed like something else. “Who you calling a traitor, you no good lousy…”

  “At ease! Both of you.”

  Jimmy looked who the voice belonged to and immediately stiffened, seeing major insignia on the unfamiliar officer’s shoulder. He ground his jaw together and faced him. He snapped off a half-assed salute, noticing the worried look on Lieutenant Yate’s face.

  The major didn’t have nametape. He was tall with an athletic build that only comes with constant hard training. There was nothing about his face that was unusual, in fact if you saw him in a crowd you’d never be able to pick him from a myriad of other faces, except for the eyes. The brown color wasn’t unusual, but they had depth. As though they’d gazed upon things no man was supposed to gaze upon. They left Jimmy chilled and instantly put him on his guard, as though he were being scoped by a Russian sniper.

  There was no return salute and finally Jimmy dropped his hand back to his side. Without taking his eyes from Jimmy’s, he spoke to the MP. “Help Richardson out of here, Sergeant.”

  “But, sir. He just…”

  “Now,” the major’s voice cut him off making the MP jump. Without another word the MPs sulked off, muttering about tearing Jimmy’s head off if their paths crossed again.

  Jimmy ignored them and asked, “Who are you, sir?” He wasn’t in an Army uniform and the only insignia on his tan shirt was the golden major’s leaves. He wondered if he were perhaps a navy man.

  The major grinned. “I’ll ask the questions, PFC Crandall.”

  Jimmy was slow to put his clothes on. His countless cuts and scrapes, some which still had stitches, made his movements slow. His immobility over the past few weeks didn’t help anything. After the brief and violent clash with the MPs, his body was now protesting any and all movement, as though making him pay for the abuse.

  The major waited with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He watched him as though he were a stack of especially stinky shit. When Jimmy was lacing his boots he asked, “Were you wounded or just…resting?”

  Jimmy sat upright and scowled at him. “Seen any combat, Major?”

  The major ignored the jibe and turned his back on him. “Follow me, Private.”

  The walk from the gymnasium to the idling jeep was cold. Jimmy looked at the slate gray sky and thought it looked like it might snow any moment. The parking lot was wet with puddles of slush, which he tried and failed to avoid. Despite the unpleasant weather, it felt good to move. Even though the air was cold and hurt his lungs, it was good to be outside in fresh air again. He didn’t realize until now, just how stifling the gymnasium air was.

  The major took the front seat beside his driver who was dressed similarly in nondescript clothes. It was an Army Jeep, but that and the major’s insignia were the only indicators they were in the military. Jimmy wanted to ask the major his name but doubted he’d get an answer. The major would tell him whatever he thought he needed to know and nothing more.

  The short ride to the hospital was done in silence. The driver pulled up near the front entrance and Jimmy followed the major past the front desk and into the bowels of the hospital, eventually entering a room filled with the smell of cooking food.

  The cafeteria was nearly empty, only a few hospital workers clanging pots and pans. Like every other hospital employee he saw, they were old, everyone under forty-five was in the service.

  He hadn’t seen any damage to the building, and he wondered how they’d avoided the air and artillery attacks the town of Anchorage had been inflicted with. He doubted the Russians cared one wit about the fact it was a hospital. They’d simply been lucky up to this point. For the first time he realized how vulnerable he’d been cooped up in the school gymnasium. A single five-hundred-pound bomb through the roof would’ve been disastrous.

  The major led him to a two-person table set off in the corner and they both sat. The major took a look around making sure no one would eavesdrop and said, “Your father was executed for treason.”

  The words hit Jimmy like a sledgehammer to the skull. He stared, unable to formulate anything. Only a moment before he’d been full of questions but now couldn’t remember a single one. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The major watched him with a bemused look. It sparked Jimmy’s anger and he finally found his voice. “Treason!” It wasn’t a question, but a stark statement of disbelief.

  “It was a secret military trial. Quick and efficient. Your father was found guilty and executed a week later by firing squad.”

  Jimmy suddenly felt like he’d puke. He managed to stammer, “That - that’s insane. My father’s not a…traitor.” The word tasted foul on his tongue. The major only stared. “For spying?” Jimmy asked. The major’s face didn’t change, still with the bemused half-grin. Jimmy shot to his feet and leaned forward ready to strike the conceited shithead.

  The major leaned forward and pointed a beefy index finger at Jimmy. “No. For the shit you’re about to try.” His eyes looked dangerous, like those of a python.

  Jimmy thought if he tried to strike him, he’d find himself in the hospital again. “What — what do ya think I’m about to try?”

  “He struck an officer. During wartime, that’s a traitorous act.”

  The news was even harder to take. He looked into the major’s dark eyes and shook his head, trying to comprehend what he’d just heard. “You — you killed him for —” He could hardly speak. His face was flushed nearly purple with rage and confusion. “For hitting someone? Was it the fucking President or something?”

  The major’s eyes turned deadly again and his finger wagged, “Watch your mouth, son. You’re already walking a thin line.”

  The anger subsided, repl
aced with a deep pit of darkness. Jimmy didn’t want to cry, to show weakness in front of this asshole, but the emotions coursing through him were too much. First his best friend, now his father? Why? Why was this happening? He dropped his head, feeling the despair overtake him like a black wave. His body jerked with heavy sobs, which made no sound.

  He didn’t know how long he cried but when he looked up, the major was gone. Jimmy looked around, wanting to ask more questions. He wiped his eyes and saw the arrogant bastard pouring himself a cup of coffee. He watched him walk back to the table, sipping the steaming cup. “You done blubbering?”

  “Fuck you, Major.”

  Instead of ripping his head off, the major grinned showing off perfectly straight white teeth. “I’ll give you that one for your loss, but that’s your one free pass.” Jimmy wanted to say it again, louder, but the major continued. “You and your mother will be flown to Washington DC for the funeral.”

  “Flown?” Jimmy had never been on a plane.

  The major nodded. “You’ll take a flight out of here in a few days once the escorts arrive. This airspace is still contested.” He grinned again and Jimmy decided he liked his serious face better. “Don’t be scared, I’ll be right there to hold your hand,” he teased.

  “You’re coming along? Why?” The major didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead not showing any emotion. Jimmy shook his head. “Can I at least call you something besides, major?”

  The major’s mouth turned down slightly as he considered. Then he gave a slight nod, “You can call me, Black. Major Black.”

  “Is that your real name?” Jimmy asked. Major Black looked at him as though he were the stupidest piece of shit on earth.

  Jimmy spent the next few days trying to get in contact with anyone from his unit. Since being carted off the battlefield, he’d only seen a few soldiers from his unit; wounded men. But he had no idea how the rest of his friends were faring on the battlefield and he felt bad that he was in relative safety while they were in mortal danger every day.

  He finally ran into Private Caulkins, a soldier from his company. He’d been wounded in an artillery strike. He was missing his right leg from the knee down but despite that, he was upbeat. “Crandall,” he exclaimed loudly when Jimmy approached him. “Is that you?”

  Jimmy grinned, and reached his hand out. They shook heartily. “In the flesh. You’re the first son-of-a-bitch from the company I’ve seen in a long time.”

  “Hell, we all thought you’d gone bonkers.”

  Jimmy looked down, unable to hide his shame. “Yeah, I uh, well, I…”

  Caulkins held up his hands. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Hell, there aren’t many of us originals left. Nothing to be ashamed of — losing Hank like that.” He shook his head. “We all liked him.”

  Jimmy pointed at the stump of his leg. “Does it hurt?”

  Caulkins leaned forward and rubbed just above the stump. He shook his head, “Not bad. It’s the damned phantoms that are the worst.” Jimmy tilted his head and Caulkins explained. “Even though that part of the leg’s gone, it’s like my brain doesn’t get it. I still feel stuff down there. They call them phantom pains and they’re a bitch. Like having an itch you can’t scratch. Drives me insane. They tell me they’ll go away, but I don’t know.” He looked at Jimmy, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “Still better than being up there.” He gestured north, toward the front. “This is like heaven.”

  Jimmy looked around and dug into his boot where he’d stashed a small flask of whisky. He held it up, “Maybe this’ll help.”

  Caulkins’ grin broadened, “Can’t hurt.” He reached out unscrewed the lid and tilted his head back quickly, then cringed as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. He handed the flask back and uttered, “Thanks.”

  “What’s it like up there now?”

  Caulkins’ grin disappeared. “It’s hell. Hell on Earth. When we first pushed ‘em back, it was great. I mean, we were finally advancing, pushing them back for a change. We’d march past their burned-out tanks, see their dead instead of ours. It felt like we were finally winning, but when they got to the thick forest, they stopped us cold.” He leaned back in bed but stayed on his elbows. “We dug in, they dug in. Now it’s trench warfare, just like we read about during World War One. It’s cold. You’re wet all the time, occasionally dry just cause the wet’s frozen on you. There’s artillery every day going both ways.” He pointed to his stump. “That’s what got me. I was in the damned latrine taking a shit. Next thing I knew I was twenty feet away, on my back with a shit-ton of dirt and crap on me. My leg was still attached at that point I guess, but hanging by a thread. They cut it off when I got here.”

  “Jesus, Caulkins. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’ll be sent home. My war’s over and for that I’m grateful. By the way, you getting lucky with any of these nurses? Haven’t seen any beauties but,” he gave a sideways grin, “beggars can’t be choosy.”

  Jimmy grinned back and shook his head. “Haven’t felt the urge, to tell you the truth.”

  Caulkins guffawed, “You truly are fucked up. Hell, I lost a leg and I’m still horny.” Despite the grim circumstances, Jimmy laughed. He didn’t remember the last time he had and it felt good. But then he thought of his father and the laughter seemed completely inappropriate and out of place. An image flashed through his mind of his father tied to a post in a field with riflemen facing him. He wondered if he died with a blindfold on or had he stared into the eyes of his executioners. Caulkins noticed the faraway look and put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Just gotta put it behind you until this is all over. Just stow it away or you’ll go insane.”

  Jimmy looked him in the eye. “They shot my father.”

  Caulkins’ expression changed from concerned to confused. “Your father’s KIA too? Jesus, I had no…”

  Jimmy interrupted, “Not in combat. They shot him for, for —” he found he couldn’t say the word. It felt so wrong. He knew it couldn’t be true, knew in his heart it wasn’t possible.

  There was a sudden roar of multiple engines outside making both men cringe and look at the ceiling of the gymnasium. Caulkins had to yell over the din. “Air raid?” There was fear in his voice.

  Jimmy stood, keeping his eyes up and shook his head. “There’s no siren. There’s usually a warning. Must be the bombers and fighters they’re expecting. They must be ours,” he said excitedly. He murmured, “Means I’ll be leaving soon.”

  Caulkins put his hand to his ear and leaned forward. “Huh?”

  Jimmy didn’t want to explain. He thrust his hand out. “I’ve gotta go. Glad you’re gonna make it outta here.” Caulkins squeezed his hand and waved as Jimmy trotted toward the exit.

  Jimmy rushed outside and looked up as wave after wave of beautiful sleek fighters streamed overhead. They circled in pairs, waiting their turns to land. They were painted off-white with splotches of black smudges and he thought they were well camouflaged for the conditions. As they got lower he noticed they weren’t entirely camouflaged. The tail was streaked with a pink slash. He wondered what it signified.

  The airport was a half-mile away and before he knew it, he was trotting along the slushy road. He’d been released by the doctors a few days before and he’d tried to exercise, but found it difficult to jog on the icy streets without risking a fall, so he’d stuck to the gym, lifting weights.

  Running along the edge of the street, splashing through muck and slush felt good for a change. His new uniform and boots were getting wet and dirty but he didn’t give a shit. It felt good to run and he relished it.

  By the time he got to the airport gate, most of the aircraft had landed. A soldier with the white lettering of an MP on his helmet stepped out from the one-man shack and held up a hand. He had an M1 carbine slung over his shoulder and looked cold and grim. “Hold it right there, buddy.”

  Jimmy looked beyond him and pointed. “Just want to watch them land, if that’s alright.”

  “You
got business inside?”

  “I’m supposed to get a flight out of here on one of those.”

  The MP sneered, “Oh really? Where’s your bag? Your weapon? Hell, you don’t even have so much as a coat.”

  Jimmy’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Come on. I just wanted to watch ‘em land for chrissakes. What harm can it do?”

  “Get the hell outta here.” He put his hands together, blew into them then rubbed them together trying to stay warm.

  Jimmy remembered the flask in his boot. “Hey, I’ve got something that’ll make your guard shack warmer.” The MP looked back at him suspiciously. Jimmy reached into his boot and pulled out the shiny flask. He shook it and the sloshing told the MP it was half full.

  The MP looked around sheepishly but approached. Jimmy unscrewed the lid and the MP smelled the contents. “Whisky,” Jimmy said smiling. “You can keep it safe for me while I’m inside.” He tilted his head, “Deal?”

  The MP took another look around then quickly snatched it out of his hand, took a quick slug and shoved it inside his coat. His face contorted as the whisky did its magic. “Deal,” he said.

  As Jimmy walked past, the MP stuck his head out and handed him a piece of paper. “If anyone harasses you, give ‘em this.”

  Jimmy took it and held it up as he walked past. “Thanks. I won’t be long.”

  The MP smiled, “Take your time.”

  Jimmy pushed through the front doors of the Anchorage airport. Before the war it had been a small municipal airport with very little activity, but now it was a bustling hive of activity.

  Jimmy looked out over the airfield, it was full of taxing fighters. He remembered months before, sleeping in the field beyond the main runway on his first night in Alaska. He and Hank had dug a foxhole and watched a Russian air attack on the airfield. He tried to identify which hangar he’d seen take a near miss and realized there were far more hangars and buildings than there used to be. The engineers had been busy.