All for You

by Jessica Scott

  “Do you ever think Wisniak wakes up in the morning and goes ‘man, I am a fucking sissy’?” Foster asked, fidgeting.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Reza asked when Foster couldn’t sit still.

  “I was up all night drinking Red Bulls and playing Call of Duty.”

  “Oh. Lay off the energy drinks, man. You look like a meth addict.” He sighed heavily, scrubbing his hands over his face, wishing he wasn’t familiar with what meth could do to someone’s life. “Anyway, I’m sure something like that goes through Wisniak’s head every time he falls out of a squad level run.” Reza wondered, though. What if he was wrong? An uncomfortable feeling settled around his shoulders, pressing down like a soaked wool blanket. “Man, why can’t we get him out sooner?”

  “Beats the shit out of me,” Foster said. “Personally, I wish he would just go AWOL.”

  “Bite your tongue. Do you know how much paperwork that is?” He didn’t want the damn kid to go AWOL. He just wanted him out of the army.

  “Yeah, but then he’s gone and we don’t have to chase him down every time he doesn’t get his own way.” Foster leaned forward. “Do you realize this is the fifth time he’s been to the R&R Center this month? And he’s never pulled staff duty as long as I’ve been here.”

  “He pulled it once when we first got back. Then he started having all these appointments.” Reza thought about all the times he’d had to change the duty roster to accommodate the Wisniaks while guys like Foster were left holding the bag. All the guys who couldn’t keep their shit together and pull twenty-four hour duty.

  It burned that so many couldn’t pull their own weight. That they depended on others to do the basic things that kept the army running.

  “You ever think about some of the shit we did downrange, Sarn’t Ike?” Foster’s question came out of a long lull of silence that had hung between them.

  “Sure. Who doesn’t.”

  Foster rubbed the bottle against his temple. “Sometimes I think being downrange is better than being home.”

  “Don’t say that. At least at home, you’re not getting shot at.”

  Foster coughed and the sound that came out of him sounded suspiciously like “bullshit.” “Whatever. I know you think about it.”

  “’Course I think about it. I think about all of them.” Far too often. Sometimes he could still hear their voices in his head.

  Foster spit into the bottle, his gaze distant and unfocused. “Yeah, well, the war sucks. I want to go back and blow something up.” He looked up at Reza. “I know that like half of them are your cousins and all but I really fucking hate Iraq.”

  Reza flipped him off. “My mom was Iranian, shithead. Not every brown guy from the Middle East is an Arab.”

  Foster grinned and things settled back to the normal they both knew. “Yeah, well, Iraq still sucks. Anyway. What’s on the honey-do list for today?”

  “Head down to the clinic and see if you can’t find out who the review board person is in charge of Sloban and Wisniak.” He handed Foster the last known location of the missing packets and hoped that Foster could smooth talk one of the civilians down there into helping him out. “And they need to finish their processing over at the Copeland Center before their board files are complete.” Reza closed down his computer and stood up.

  His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Emily.

  “Sarn’t Ike.”

  “Reza?” Emily sighed and he heard the distress in her voice.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I need someone from the chain of command down here immediately.”

  He turned away from Foster, lowering his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “Can you come to my office?”

  “Emily, am I the right person for this? If there’s something that needs to be reported, you need to go through the right channels.”

  “I don’t know what the right channels are, Reza.” She sighed hard. “I need your help.” A whispered plea.

  One he couldn’t turn down.

  * * *

  Emily stood the moment Reza walked into her office and closed the door behind him.

  She didn’t expect him to cross that small space. Or to put his hands on her shoulders.

  Or to see the worry in the dark lines beneath his eyes. “What’s wrong?” His voice was flat, calm, but laced with unspoken worry.

  “I’m fine.” A single palm on his chest, her fingers pressing over his heart. “I have a situation that I don’t know how to handle.”

  He took a step back and her skin protested the lack of warmth from his closeness.

  “Why didn’t you ask your supervisor?”

  “Because this involves an officer.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Your commander.”

  She thrust a sheet of plain white paper at him. “Read it. Then tell me what to do.”

  He scanned the handwritten notes quickly, then read it again. His jaw tightened as he read more slowly the second time and heat crawled up his neck. By the time he looked up at her, he radiated pure fury. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I wish I was. It explains why Wisniak won’t pull duty and why he’s having such a hard time any time he’s around Captain Marshall and some of his minions.”

  “Emily, he’s alleging he was hazed at the duty desk by Song and Peters, and Marshall knows?”

  “It happens,” she said quietly. “The army isn’t immune to hazing.”

  “I know that,” he snapped. “Marshall might be an asshole but he wouldn’t ignore something like this.”

  “So you think Wisniak made all this up?”

  Reza read the paper again. “Damn it,” he whispered. “You need to call the cops.”

  “I don’t have to alert the chain of command?”

  He shook his head and handed her back the paper. “Not in this case. They’ll find out soon enough. Call the cops. Make the investigation official.” He swallowed hard. “It’ll keep it from getting buried that way.”

  Emily’s hands shook as she picked up the phone and dialed the MPs. Her voice wavered as she reported the information she had to the special investigator. The entire time, Reza stood big and steady in her office. He was furious. That much was obvious but she couldn’t figure out why.

  She wanted to know. Wanted badly to ask. But she didn’t. Instead, she finished the report and hung up the phone. “The special agent will be by as soon as he can. Sadly, this is the fourth hazing incident reported on post this week.”

  Reza released a sharp breath and some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. He crossed the small space, resting his hands on her shoulders. She needed the comfort of his touch.

  “What happens now?” she whispered.

  “Now I go brief the sergeant major and get Wisniak moved someplace where he’ll be safe.”

  She frowned and he caught her. “What?”

  “I didn’t think he mattered to you,” she whispered.

  He lowered his hands and looked away for a long moment. “Maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong.” He met her gaze. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Reza.” He stopped near the door, his head bowed, his hand on the knob. “Do you believe him?”

  “What I believe isn’t important.”

  He closed the door behind him, leaving Emily alone with the feeling that she’d done something horribly, horribly wrong.

  * * *

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Sarn’t Major, I would normally love to screw with you but not about something like this.”

  Reza stood at parade rest in Sergeant Major Giles’s office, afraid to move and set the old man’s PTSD off. Normally, Reza would have taken something like this to the battalion command sergeant major but in this case, whereas it involved the battalion commander’s top company commander, Reza had skipped a level of command.

  Plus, he trusted Giles. He might be a cranky old bastard but Giles had honor where there were few honorable men left. Generally, the higher one went
in command, the more honor was merely preached instead of lived. It simply wasn’t possible to maintain one’s values. Not if one wanted to be successful, anyway.

  “All right, Ike, if you say this is legit, I’ll let the boss know. It’s coming through the cops?”

  “Yeah, Sarn’t Major. I was there when the doc called the police.”

  Giles chomped on his cigar, and Reza felt like a hamster cornered by a hungry cat. “You were there?”

  “Wisniak is in my company. The doc asked what she should do. I told her to call the cops and let the police sort it out.”

  The cigar twitched and Reza braced for the explosion. “I’ll let the boss know.”

  Reza snapped to the position of attention and went to leave. “Sarn’t Major, Wisniak needs to be transferred out. He’s made an allegation against members of this unit. There may be reprisals against him.”

  “No one is moving until we figure out if this is a legitimate complaint or not.” Giles swore and threw his cigar down. He picked up the phone and damn near stabbed it with the amount of force he used to dial. “It’s Giles. I need you to give me a room in your barracks. And it needs to be kept quiet.” Pause. “Roger that.”

  Giles jotted down a phone number. “Call Sikes and get Wisniak moved across post. Don’t tell anyone where he is.”

  Reza stuffed the paperwork in his pocket and turned to leave. “Roger, Sarn’t Major.”

  “Ike?”

  He stopped at the door.

  “Next time, give me a heads-up before you tell someone to call the damn cops.” His voice was laced with disappointment. Shame crawled up Reza’s spine.

  Shame that he hadn’t trusted his sergeant major in the first place. Shame that the leaders Reza was supposed to advise and support were weak. Were bullies.

  That he was one of them.

  That he’d failed to protect the weakest among them.

  He had no response to the sergeant major’s silent admonition.

  But the urge to drink ramped back up, twisting in his guts. Demanding that he do something to squelch the hunger in his soul for just one drink.

  Chapter Ten

  Reza had headed back to the R&R Center to pick up Wisniak, only to find out the kid had left without being seen. He headed back to the barracks, dialing Wisniak’s cell phone repeatedly. It went straight to voice mail every time.

  A sense of urgency rose up and threatened to choke him. Damn it, he had to keep the kid safe until the investigators could talk to him and verify his story.

  And if Marshall was letting some of the guys haze members of the company…

  It was going to take everything he had not to deal with that in his own special way.

  Unable to shake the feeling that Wisniak was dangerously on edge, Reza swung into the barracks, praying that the kid was in his room.

  The door was unlocked. Wisniak was there by himself, staring aimlessly at his computer. He looked up at Reza and blinked several times before he realized he was supposed to stand up.

  He pushed shakily to his feet and attempted to go to parade rest.

  Reza approached carefully. Rested a hand on Wisniak’s shoulder and was shamed when the kid flinched away.

  “What are you on?” Reza asked softly, keeping his voice level.

  Wisniak’s face blanched, followed by a deep red flush that started at his neck and moved up toward his hair. “Um. Welbutrin. And Xanax. I took an Ambien at midnight.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I think.”

  “You shouldn’t be here right now,” Reza said. “We’re going to pack up some of your stuff and take you to another barracks.” His gut was screaming that the kid had taken the wrong meds.

  Wisniak blinked again, his throat working just as slowly. “Sarn’t Song said if I left my room, he’d have me court-martialed.” His words were slow. Dull.

  “Song doesn’t get a vote,” Reza said. He gripped Wisniak’s shoulder tightly. “You did the right thing today,” he said quietly. “But I’m worried you’re not doing okay. Are you sure you’ve only taken what you’re prescribed?”

  Reza had seen too many troopers nearly OD on the toxic mix of meds the docs frequently prescribed. Warnings went off in his head.

  The young sergeant’s eyes filled as his face flushed deeper red. He lifted his chin and tried valiantly to keep it from wavering. “I’m fine, Sarn’t Ike.”

  Reza clenched his jaw to keep the frustration pounding through him from overwhelming the scared soldier in front of him.

  Something bad had happened to Wisniak. Something that had scarred him beyond repair. He’d heavily medicated himself just to survive whatever it was.

  Reza knew the tendency all too well.

  “I need to see what medications you took, okay?” He held up his hand when Wisniak’s eyes widened. “You’re not in any trouble. But you’re not acting right. I’ve got a doctor friend of mine who I just want to check with and make sure you haven’t taken too much of anything.” He kept his voice gentle, his words calm.

  The stillness stretched for an eternity and then Wisniak shook his head. “You’re just going to tell Captain Marshall I took too much.”

  “I won’t. I swear I won’t. I need to check, though, or I’m going to take you to the emergency room.” Wisniak needed to know that Reza was serious.

  Another long moment and finally Wisniak nodded.

  Wisniak lined up half a dozen pill bottles and Reza picked up the phone.

  “Captain Lindberg.”

  “Emily, it’s Reza.” He paused, his next words nearly impossible to get out. “I need your help.”

  He read off the list of medications, not telling her that Wisniak was the soldier in question. She’d alert the cavalry and at this point, Reza wasn’t sure he could protect Wisniak from whatever vengeance Captain Marshall had in mind.

  “He needs to be checked out at the hospital.” She paused. “Don’t risk it.”

  Reza glanced at Wisniak, whose eyes were dull and looked like they were going in and out of focus. He took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  “What’s going on?” Concern echoed across the distance between them.

  “I can’t tell you right now.” Silence greeted his honest answer. “I’ll call you later?”

  “Okay.” An act of trust.

  One he did not deserve.

  * * *

  He didn’t make it back to his office. He’d meant to. Instead, he detoured out to Engineer Lake, needing time to put everything to rights in his own head.

  He dialed Foster. “I need you to pull Wisniak’s duty.”

  “Oh, come on, Sarn’t Ike. That’s bullshit.”

  “Foster, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t important.” Wisniak was sleeping in his undisclosed barracks room. The ER doc had checked him out and said he just needed to sleep.

  For once, it felt like Reza had dodged a bullet.

  “Fuck me, Sarn’t Ike. I haven’t had a day off in a month.” Foster had been running around with Ike after the delinquent members of his company. Bailing guys out of jail, picking them up before they went to jail.

  Reza knew the pressure was building but he didn’t trust anyone else right now. “Look, I know. I’ll give you Friday off. Monday, too, if you don’t bitch about this too much.”

  “Fine.” Foster spit the word into the phone. “But you owe me.”

  Reza hung up, irritated by Foster’s attitude. Foster didn’t know about Wisniak’s allegations and Reza couldn’t tell him. He wanted badly to bring Foster up to speed but he couldn’t. Maybe he could ask Teague if Marshall had any skeletons in the closet.

  Reza turned the truck and backed into the trail. He pulled the flask from his glove box then dropped the tailgate. He sat for a long moment, watching the breeze stir small white caps in the man-made lake as he wrestled with the temptation to drink.

  He twisted the cap off slowly, then twisted it back on. On. Off. Like his fingers belonged to someone else. Wisniak had accused Marshall of i
gnoring his complaints about being harassed. He knew that Song and Pete were assholes but he didn’t think that they were running around hazing people into the unit.

  He didn’t want to believe that Marshall would have allowed this. He was a dickhead but to ignore threats of harm? Maybe it was just a prank that had gotten out of hand. Marshall was fond of breaking in the new soldiers. Ensuring they had loyalty to the team first.

  The MPs were going to talk to Wisniak tomorrow. And then all hell was going to break loose in the company. Marshall was going to be questioned and he was likely to completely lose his shit. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

  The ugly truth settled around Reza’s heart. He twisted the lid again. On. Off. It would be so easy to chase away the cold stone in his heart with a shot from the flask. No one was going to believe Wisniak.

  That was the only thing that made sense. The stone was back, pressing on his chest.

  “Fuck!” He slammed his fist into the truck bed. The brilliant starburst of pain exploded up Reza’s arm.

  “There are generally better-accepted ways of managing your anger.”

  He whipped around, surprised to see Emily standing there, chest heaving. She’d been running for a long time, judging by the sweat soaking her t-shirt. Her hair clung to her face.

  “Are you managing yours?” he asked. He set the flask down on the tailgate. She didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to be drinking. And he hadn’t yet.

  Still, guilt crawled up his spine because if she hadn’t have shown up, he likely would have been halfway through the flask.

  God, but he missed the comfortable numbness sometimes.

  “Better than you are, apparently.” She motioned her head toward the truck. “Can I sit?”

  He swallowed and nodded. He slid over and made room for her on the tailgate of his F-150. “You’re a long way from post.”

  “I told you I liked to run out here.”

  “How far is it from your office?”

  “Six miles round trip.” Her breathing was slowing rapidly. “You okay?” she sat close enough that their upper arms touched. The heat from her body radiated through his uniform jacket.

  “Sure.”