Virgin for the Woodsman

by Eddie Cleveland

  "Well, your mama don't mind all the fifty dollar bills I've been throwing her way. Just sayin'" Armstrong teases him.

  "Man, my mama is a nice lady. I keep telling ya, she's a good, God loving woman. She wouldn't have nothing to do with your low-life ass." Thompson smiles. After more than a year together, the guys all chuck shit at each other and laugh it off pretty quickly. They say that the Marines is a brotherhood, but I'd say it’s more than that. I'd always gotten along with my own brother, but the bond I have with these guys runs deeper than blood.

  "What about you, Captain? You gonna get home and find yourself a good woman to settle down with? Or you gonna throw fifty bucks at Thompson's mama?" Armstrong asks with a twinkle in his eye. Thompson gives him a nudge in the ribs with his elbow but doesn't say anything to defend his poor mother, this time.

  "Nah, you boys know I'm married to the Marines. She's been keeping a roof over my head and feeding me three square meals a day since I was eighteen." I answer.

  “From the doe-eyes that make-up chick’s been watching you with, I’d say you already slayed some pussy over here, didn’t ya?” Armstrong says too loudly.

  He hasn’t changed since the jock I knew in high school. When I first got off my leadership course and was assigned leadership of this platoon, I was shocked as shit to see him in my ranks. Cameron Armstrong was our school’s big quarterback. He was supposed to head off to university and play college football for the Colorado Buffaloes.

  Instead, he followed his gut to the military. I’ve asked him, off-side, if he regrets it. He said the only thing he’d ever change is that he would have joined the army sooner. That being said, Armstrong’s contract is expiring soon after this tour and he’s made it clear that he’s still gonna go play college ball. We like to bust his balls and tell him the Buffaloes won’t take on a geriatric like him, but he just brushes it off. Truth be told, if anyone has the swagger, skill and gumption to get out of the military and go back to school to play some football, it’s Armstrong. I look forward to watching him play one day.

  “Keep it down, Armstrong!” I hiss, popping my head up like a gopher to see if Tiffany heard. From the friendly smile on her face she didn’t seem to. Or, if she did, she didn’t care. Instead, she bats her fake eyelashes at me and gives me an exaggerated wink.

  Don’t dip your pen in the company ink, they say. Even though she’s not military, she’s here under our care. I should’ve known better than to fuck her brains out the first chance I got. And the second. And that third time was just greedy. Damn it, fourteen months is a long time with my old right hand, palm-ala. It’s not like you can just go into town here and pick up chicks. That’s a good way to get your dick blown off.

  “I knew it, you dog.” Armstrong’s eye’s light up. He’s got me and he knows it. “Good for you, Captain. I would’ve got in there myself, but you must’ve been waiting at the ready for her, huh?”

  “Something like that.” I brush him off. The last thing I want to do is get into the nitty-gritty of how I fucked big tits Tiffany over there in the back of a U.S. military vehicle. I don’t need rumors like that following me around.

  "Whatever, you two have no idea what you’re missing by chasing all that tail all the time. Someday, if you’re lucky, you guys will find someone. I'm telling you, when you find a girl like my Nadine, it puts all this in perspective. I never thought anything would be more important to me than the army, but now I've got my son and my woman. It just changes man, you'll see. You'll meet someone who'll throw you off your game and make you forget all about this," Thompson sweeps his arm across the dusty landscape.

  "Ha! Wanna put some money down on that one?" I shake my head; I can't even imagine a world where anything means more to me than the military. It's just the way I'm built. "Nah, you can have your domestic bliss, Thompson. I've got all I need with the army."

  "Hey, Captain!" Cooper Sanders trots over to us, dust billowing around his feet as he takes each step. "We've got the shots we needed now. Thanks for being so patient with us." He smiles and his eyes crinkle into a spider web of fine lines. However, no other wrinkles form on his face. For a man with a full head of silver hair, his face is suspiciously free from aging.

  "All right, form up!" I stand up straighter and call out to my platoon. Our group is forty strong, plus the CNB crew adding another eight. The men stop gaggling around and line up. They know that our break is over.

  "We've got one more Shura to do, then we'll be calling it a day. I know it's been a long one. I know you're tired and hungry and your body just wants your bunk, but let's end this on a good note, boys!" I call out, and watch my guys straighten up and shake off the oppressive heat and dirt to focus on our next job. You can always count on a soldier to put the job first. I would trust each and every one of my boys with my life.

  No question.

  6

  Mack

  2012

  Cooper and his crew are up front with me as we put our boots to the ground and head down to the last stop of the day. The little village of Gumbad is only about fifteen minutes up the road. Fifteen minutes can feel like five hours when you've been out in the sand since dawn, but I know my platoon will suck it up and finish strong. Just like they always do.

  "You know, Captain Forrester, I keep hearing about what your guys plan to do in three weeks. But I don't know what you're going to do when you get back to the United States." Behind Cooper, his camera man is recording us. There are no offline chats when you've got a news anchor shadowing you. Every thought, every movement, every facial expression is bound to be recorded, edited and used in their show.

  The dust puffs around our boots and billows up to my knees. On dry days like these, I'm always reminded of pigpen from Charlie Brown. That kid must've done some time on the ground over here. Cause I'm pretty sure that when you get back from a deployment the dirt just hovers around you for life. Your own cloud of misery and filth, following you from the desert to your grave.

  "When I get back? Well, after I soak all this dirt out of my pores, I'm planning on doing a cross-country tour on my bike." My heartbeat slows and my skin almost feels cool as I imagine the wind in my hair as I speed down the open freeway.

  "Bike?" Cooper drags me back from my mental excursion to reality. "What kind of bike?" He watches me closely, too closely. His blue eyes analyzing my face almost as much as the unblinking eye of the camera.

  "A Harley Davidson Fat Boy Lo." I answer simply. I blink, and for a split second, I imagine that the ruck sack digging into my back is the protective metal plates in my leather jacket. That the gritty path beneath my combat boots is the crunch of asphalt under my tires. I scan the barren road we're walking down and the glittering beige sandbox stretched out before me brings me back to the present.

  "Harley? You want to end a fifteen-month tour by crossing the United States on your motorcycle?" Cooper tilts his head and his lips curl up into a half-cocked smile. I'm not sure if he's impressed or if he's laughing at me. Either way, I don't care.

  "Yes, sir. I've been riding for over ten years now. I've taken a lot of small trips here and there, but I’ve never done a coast-to-coast ride. That's gonna change when I get back."

  "Don't you want to spend some R & R on a beach or something? Maybe spend a few weeks at an all-inclusive resort? And, you know, relax a little?" He keeps pace with me without ever removing his piercing stare from my face. It's not like I've been going easy on him either, this whole week Cooper has been keeping up with us like a pro. The guy lugging the camera on his shoulder, capturing our “intimate chat” impresses me even more.

  "No offense, sir. But, what kind of an idiot would I have to be to want to spend time on a sandy beach after spending over a year here? If I never see a beach again, I'll die happy I think."

  Cooper laughs, a little pink creeps up into his cheeks as he shakes his head from side to side. "Yeah, I guess that wasn't the best example," he looks over his shoulder to his camera man sheepishly. He's only thrown off for
a second though before he's back to his poker face, staring into my soul.

  "Fair enough, I can understand why you wouldn't want to spend time on a beach then," he continues, "but what I mean is, don't you just want some time to relax? Don't you need a little time to decompress after all this?" Cooper is back on his game.

  The wind suddenly picks up and whips some sand at my face. I squint and keep my head down, watching my boots navigate through the filthy fog of dust as I wait for it to pass. I remember when we first got over here and these dust ups would feel like razors against my cheeks, but now my skin is like a leatherback turtle. And my shell is just as hard to crack.

  Once the swirling dirt settles back down, I scan the horizon. The village of Gumbad is in sight now. The little clay houses punctuating the vast expanse of nothingness. The day is almost done. One more X on the calendar. One day closer to home.

  "Well, sir, I think relaxing and decompressing look different to everyone. Most of my guys are gonna go home after this and spend time with their loved ones, or binge watch the tv shows they've missed over the past year, and that's what they need to do. It's what they deserve to do after all this."

  As we keep trudging forward I can see a handful of young boys kicking a soccer ball in bare feet. One of the boys points to my platoon and picks the ball up, tucking it under his arm. His friends stop and watch as we approach, cupping their hands over their eyes like makeshift sunglasses.

  "To me, there's nothing more peaceful than when I watch the sunset as I drive over the horizon on my bike. The calm that washes over me, well, no amount of Netflix can give me that. It's just who I am, I guess." I shrug.

  Cooper looks satisfied with himself. Maybe I gave him some good footage, I don't know. His focus turns to the village a few yards away and his camera man adjusts his shot accordingly.

  The boys suddenly run back toward the houses and elderly village men shuffle out to greet us in their place.

  "Willoby! Move up!" I yell over my shoulder. "Company, halt!" The forty pairs of boots crack to a stop like a clap of thunder. Willoby is by my side, ready to translate for me as I disengage from the platoon to make introductions.

  Stepping forward, with my arm extended, I try to look friendly and relax my face as my eyes scan the village behind them. A large group of children are running around, excited by our presence. The ladies are huddled together by a wash basin, whispering to each other and eyeing us suspiciously.

  I shake the hand of the man in front, noting his long white beard and deep wrinkles before my eyes settle on his. Willoby introduces me and the elder welcomes us to Gumbad. It's the same routine we've been doing all day. It's the same for every Shura. Right out of the manual and PowerPoint presentations we're given. Just like everything in the military, there's protocol to follow.

  I give the command to move my company forward and we make our way closer to the huts. The children run around my men like they're trying to herd them together, circling them excitedly. After posting four men as lookouts, we sit together on the ground. We take off our helmets, laying them in front of our crossed legs, and lay our rifles down as a show of good faith. Again, protocol. Regulations. Orders. There's a disciplined and planned way to do everything in the army.

  Cooper sits in the dirt next to me, he stays quiet as Willoby chats with the elders. His camera crew focus on the talk, I can't imagine they'll use much of this footage. It can't be very interesting tv to watch a translator and old man make small talk in another language.

  My eyes wander over to the women and children standing off to our left. The women whisper to each other, looking over at us nervously. This isn't new. Having a group of armed men around them and their kids would be enough to make any mother anxious.

  "Can you ask him how old he is? And how many wars he's lived through?" Cooper asks my translator.

  As he asks the questions, I notice the women begin to gather the children into a group as they move them away from us. My head snaps as I quickly look around us. Suddenly, the village is deserted except for the men sitting with us. Checking back on the group of women, they have picked up the pace, scurrying now to put distance between them and us.

  The boy who held the soccer ball under his arm as we approached looks back at us as one of the women yanks his arm. My gut twists and the blood rushes in my ears as I jump to my feet. "Troops! Grab your weapons!"

  The words barely escape my lips when one of the village men jumps up, pulling an ax from under his robe and runs at Corporal Thompson. I snatch up my gun and hastily snap on my helmet as I watch the man raise his arm and split Thompson’s head open with a thud. The sound of the ax sinking into my young Corporal’s brain sounds too faint to be real. Too far off, and too quiet to account for all the blood pouring out of the young Corporal and into the dirt.

  "Shit!" I pull my gun into my shoulder and squeeze the trigger, dropping the man.

  BOOM! Dirt explodes into a mushroom cloud around us. Fuck! Did someone set off a bomb? Was that an IED? Christ. I can barely make out the silhouettes of my men scrambling to position. Shots are being fired in the dusty haze.

  My eyes finally adjust to the filth falling from the sky and focus on Cooper Sanders. He's just standing, staring into the chaos as gunfire explodes around him. Damn it! He's not even wearing his fucking helmet! What the hell is he doing? Suddenly a green egg drops to his feet, he doesn't move, he’s still just staring. Like he's waiting for a little birdie to pop out instead of being frozen to the spot as a grenade is about to blast at his feet.

  I look over to his right, and Armstrong is lying on his belly, desperately fighting to fix a jam on his rifle. A jam means no bullets. No bullets mean death.

  I've got to do something! I run to Cooper, throwing him to the side and kick the grenade like it's the soccer ball we saw the boys playing with earlier. As the edge of my boot catches the casing, I can feel it fly away. Then a blast of hot air surrounds my leg as the grenade explodes. I'm lifted through the air like a pillow being tossed around at a teen girl's slumber party before my back thuds into the dirt and I roll another ten feet. My ears squeal the horrific siren song of war; my eardrums must be fucked.

  I manage to push myself up onto my elbows and look at the scene unfolding in front of me like some kind of Scorsese wet dream. Blood and fragments of skin and bone are painting the beige ground a deep maroon as my men continue to fight off the ambush. My leg feels like someone is pouring hot water down it, when I look down my eyes confirm what my mind and body already knew: it's gone.

  There's no time for that right now! Another explosion sends dirt flying everywhere and I flip over onto my stomach and use my good leg and my elbows to drag me back over to Cooper. He hasn't moved from where I threw him, I'm not sure if he's dead, but I know he's unarmed. The sand grates against my exposed skin and the feeling of hot water running over my leg continues. Somehow, I crawl to Cooper. He's not dead. Maybe injured. Definitely in shock. But not dead.

  "Fuck! What the hell is happening!" he screams. I guess I can hear after all; the blast must've just phased me. I lay over him like a sandbag and raise my rifle. Pop! Pop! Pop! I squeeze the trigger, aiming for the center of mass, or the heart as civilians say. Another man from the village drops to the dirt.

  I can hear the whirling rotor blades of a Blackhawk overhead. Thank you, Jesus. Keeping Cooper still beneath me, I raise my rifle, scanning for another fighter to come into view. However, I don't see any through the heavy fog of sand.

  "Captain! Captain! We've got to take you out!" I twist my head over my shoulder to see 3 medics with a stretcher running up behind me.

  "I'm not going anywhere without my men!"

  "Captain, you're bleeding out. If we don't get you out of here you're gonna die," the young medic yells in my ear as he pulls my shoulders. I feel several hands on me as I'm lifted from Cooper. Lifted from the ground and put on the stretcher.

  "How many did we lose? Did we get them all?" I yell.

  "Don't worry about that ri
ght now, you'll be debriefed later. Right now we need to get you back to the base."

  I wince as they strap me to the board. Looking down over my body, I see my skin hanging from just below my knee in long flaps. Blood spreads over the stretcher in the place where my limb should be. My leg is gone. It's gone. For the first time, my mind has a chance to process the thought.

  I'm carried to the Blackhawk and maneuvered inside. I close my eyes as one of the medics begins tying off a tourniquet to slow the bleeding.

  Gone.

  I don't know how many of my men are dead, but I know I've lost some. My men are gone. My friends. My brothers. Dead.

  As the wraps are tied down tight around my leg, I can feel us lifting up in the Helo. I used to love helicopter rides. The thrill of soaring through the air, usually to be dropped somewhere exciting and new. I close my eyes and try to slow my breathing. I need to calm down.

  I need to ….

  Lauren!

  Her soft brown eyes and glowing almond skin race through my mind. I can smell fresh lilacs, her perfume. I can taste her gloss on my lips. I swear, I can feel her holding my hand as I’m lifted to the medical center.

  I need her.

  End of Sample

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