Dead Shot

by Erik Schubach

  I tapped my coms. “Valkyrie One, give me a count on the east side midpoint.”

  She replied smoothly, “Contact in four, three, two...” I didn't hear the 'one' as I saw a shadow move across the window and I rapid fired. The sound of crashing glass, screaming children, and my gunshots drowning out her voice.

  I limped to the window and looked down. One dead and the other was down but reaching for his rifle. I aimed, closed my eyes, and squeezed the trigger once.

  I was slapping my ear as I limped toward the front door. “South entrance, speak to me Valkyrie One.” I could hear a chopper rapidly approaching. It sounded like heaven, but I wasn't in the clear yet.

  She was on. “I suggest you stand clear of the door, they are taking firing positions.” I looked back at the children and made an ushering movement with my hand toward the west wall and they all huddled in over toward the corner.

  When the enemy started shooting, it seemed like they fired forever before the hellfire spray of bullets tearing through the door. Chewing it to kindling over my men on the floor, dwindled down to sporadic fire. I grinned, they were almost out of ammo and the chopper sounded close. I stepped to the center to quickly peek out the opening when the firing stopped.

  I saw movement and Valkyrie One was online, “Armadillo One, be advised, one hostile approaching schoolhouse.”

  I tapped my coms. “Roger that.” I stumbled for some odd reason and my vision blurred. I shook my head and took a deep breath and took careful aim. A man pushed through the splintered remains of the door and he stood stock still when he saw me. The click and silence of an empty magazine filled the air as my heart almost stopped. I was out of ammo.

  The muzzle of his rifle started to raise toward me and I dropped the M4 and dove to the floor in a roll, snagging my ka-bar from my leg sheath and flicked it at the man. He fired a single shot as the blade buried almost to the hilt into his chest. I stared at the hole in the plank floor just two feet to my left as his body fell. I swallowed and staggered.

  Then the most beautiful sound I could imagine came to my ears, the sound of a chain gun firing and the whump whump whump of helicopter blades slicing through the air. I panicked for a moment and looked back at the children... but they were ok. I heard Valkyrie One in my ear. “Armadillo One, the Calvary has arrived.”

  I limped over to my men and started pulling wood splinters off of them, Larousse and Jones were still breathing. I wanted to cry and to laugh all at once. Men burst into the schoolhouse and they took quick stock of everything in the room then lowered their weapons and I choked out, “My men. They need a medic!”

  The man grabbed my arm as I swayed. He looked down at my leg. “You're hit.”

  I followed his gaze down to my bloody leg, it looked like an awful lot of blood was soaking my uniform. I mumbled, “Huh, isn't that the damnedest thing?” My vision tunneled then faded to black. I'd like to say it was a peaceful blackness being unconscious, but I dreamed of the faces of each of the men I had killed that day and it made me feel so small. With thirty shots, I had robbed twelve men of their lives.

  That was the first time I ever heard the voice of an angel, Valkyrie One, but certainly not the last. It was also the first of the dumbass Purple Heart medals the Army insisted on giving me. A man died under my command. Jenkins was my responsibility and they gave me a fucking medal for getting him killed. How backward is that? I doubt that gave his widow and kids any comfort at all. I keep all the medals and commendations they give me with my underwear in my dufflebag.

  Chapter 4 – Leave

  I woke up in a cold sweat, my hand on my leg where my ka-bar usually rests. I took three deep breaths, counting to ten, then looked around. My men were in their racks, good.

  I checked the time, zero five hundred, my body knew it like clockwork. I took one last deep breath and started to gear up for my morning PT. They always teased me about it, but keeping in top shape is the only way I can keep up with some of the men as I get older. I'd use the bag shower to cool down afterward before I'm officially back on duty.

  Once I was geared up I dropped and did one hundred push-ups and sit-ups. Ripper groaned at the noise I was making and rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head. I grinned and hoped he had a raging hangover for abandoning his team for a piece of tail.

  Then I stepped out into the already warming day. I put forty pounds of rocks into my rucksack and started jogging around the camp perimeter, inside the fences. It was a half mile around the perimeter and I usually did eight circuits. A couple other men, and a female soldier from the UK, Burns I think her name was; nice butt by the way; joined in before long.

  I was on my sixth lap when Chief Danes came walking out to meet me. He called out, “Meyers.” He motioned for me to join him. I saluted and stood at attention as I panted and tried to slow my breathing. “Yes sir?”

  He made a dismissive gesture and I came to rest. His face may as well have been made of stone, I couldn't read it but there was something in his eyes that made me hesitate. He took a quick breath and exhaled. “Get cleaned up, CO wants to see you in fifteen.”

  I nodded and then he turned and walked off. The CO? What did old man Tanner want with me? We didn't have another scouting mission for another five days. Captain Randall Tanner of the British Army was in charge of this particular United Nations duty station. Besides mission briefings, I think the man had said maybe a total of two words to me since I was assigned here five years back to form the Bugbats.

  He was about a thousand years old in military terms. So maybe fifty-five or so in civilian years. With a balding white buzzcut and far too many large teeth to fit a normal human's mouth. But he had more experience in battle than any man or woman here and he had a commanding presence. You just had to respect the man.

  I hit the shower, which was a five gallon bag of water with a pull chain, suspended by a board attached to a tent post. I washed the previous night and my morning sweat off quickly. I had years ago stopped feeling self-conscious showering in plain view of the other soldiers.

  My fingers traced my various scars then I put on my underwear and went to the barracks and dressed quickly. I double timed it to the camp HQ near the generators. It was the only building that was built on site. It housed the modest sized meeting room that doubled as the CO's office. A small room in the back housed his personal quarters. The structure was constructed of prefabricated wood framed panels.

  I paused at the door and raised a hand. I took a calming breath and knocked lightly. “Enter.” Tanner's deep British accent rang out and I removed my cover and stepped through the door. He and the Chief were standing in front of his desk. Shit, what had I done now? Had the Bugbats gotten into some mischief last night?

  I stepped up to them then stood at attention and saluted. They both saluted back. Captain Tanner had the same stone expression on his face as the Chief. His steel grey eyes held something I didn't recognize. The CO said in a quieter tone than I was used to from the man. “At ease soldier. Have a seat.” He sat on the edge of his big desk, I reached back and grabbed a folding chair from the conference table behind me and sat.

  He held up some papers in his hand and took a deep breath and gave them to me but didn't let go. He locked eyes with me, “We received a message from stateside an hour ago.” Wait I knew the look in their eyes now, it was sorrow. Stateside? Oh God, Nana? I pulled the papers from him and started looking at them as he continued. “You father passed away suddenly last night. A blood clot in his leg broke loose and caused a massive stroke.”

  My blood was rushing in my ears and I felt faint. He wasn't making any sense, dad was the strongest man I knew. Strong as an ox and healthy as one too. This was a mistake. Why was it so hard to breathe? I looked at the papers that said the same thing as the CO. I was breathing in quick shallow breaths.

  I felt like I wasn't in the room, just observing it from above as Chief Warrant Officer Danes was talking some nonsense about emergency leave and two weeks. I looked up at hi
m blankly and almost wheezed out, “I don't take leave.”

  It was true. In eighteen years, I didn't use my leave unless an SO forced the issue, even then I'd usually stay on base and relax. Brass was always on me about it. I had voluntarily used maybe three days total on occasions dad was near a duty station and I couldn't get liberty. Why was I thinking about this when...

  The SO growled at me, snapping me out of my haze, “Goddamn it Meyers. You're going and that's a goddamn order!”

  I took three deep breaths, counted to ten, and wondered why I wasn't breaking down. Had being a soldier for so long poisoned me? Was I so callous now that I didn't have feelings anymore? I looked up and met his eyes, there was pain in them. I just nodded once and he said, “Your paperwork is all there. There's a supply transport, at the airstrip outside of Fada, heading up to Europe at ten hundred hours be on it soldier. Dismissed!”

  I stood and awkwardly saluted and walked out of HQ toward the barracks, it didn't even feel like my feet were hitting the ground, I was just numb. I didn't feel anything at all. My hearing was deadened and it felt like the world was closing in on me. Nothing made sense anymore. I quickly grabbed my duffle, stuffed a couple things that were sitting out and then stood and hesitated. I reached over and grabbed the garment bag hanging on the rope that I used to dry my socks, that was slung above my rack.

  I looked around at my still sleeping Bugbats and then trudged off toward the motor pool. The small voice of a frightened child cracking through my psyche, “Daddy?”

  ***

  I don't remember much about the ride in the C-17 cargo transport up to the Ramstein Airbase in Germany. I called back home to the only person left in my family now, I didn't know what to do. “Nana? I'm heading home, I'll call when I know my flight number.”

  She seemed so far away in my haze, telling me to be safe and that she loved me. I murmured, “Love you too,” as I hung up. Then I had to rush back out to another C-17 that was heading to DC. I hoped I could catch transport heading to the west coast as a Space-A after that, or I'd have to fly civilian.

  Nana was my grandmother on my mother's side. Possibly the sweetest person God saw fit to place on this planet. I don't remember Mom, I was too young when cancer took her. Dad made sure to keep Nana in my life, some nonsense about him not knowin' how to teach me to be a woman, but I know he loved her too. He did a damn fine job of raisin' me.

  We lived in Vancouver, Washington, and Nana lived in Seattle so it was an easy drive most weekends to visit her when we weren't out traveling the world with Dad's Wild West Extravaganza.

  A couple years back, Dad had moved up to the Seattle area so he could help her out at her little eatery called the Pike, at Pike Place Market. She was starting to get up there in years and things were beginning to get a little harder for her but she refused to retire. I smiled at that, it must be in the genes.

  I couldn't sleep at all over the Atlantic. I munched on a granola bar from my pocket and accepted a bottle of water from one of the crew. My mind drifted back to my recovery after Operation SandBadger at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany.

  I was confined to the hospital for two weeks then ordered to take some leave to recuperate. So I took some leave but just remained on base back down in Africa. But the day after I was flown to Landstuhl, and debriefed, I heard that Jenkins wife, Teresa had arrived to fly back to the States with Jerry's body.

  I fought with a corpsman to let me out of the damn bed. I tracked her down. I had talked to her a time or two over video conference when Jerry would talk to her while on base. One thing she did was make me promise to take care of him in the field. I failed her. I had got him killed and my entire team shot up.

  I heard the docs saying that if Larousse survived he'd be getting a medical discharge, there was no way he'd ever be able to return to service. I didn't know about Jones, he was sent to an Australian medical ship in the Red Sea.

  I had made my way to administration, clanking on the crutches, when I saw her signing some papers at a window. I stopped not knowing what to say or do, so I turned and went to leave like a coward when she looked up.

  She put a hand over her mouth and her eyes welled up with tears and the woman ran up and hugged me. I got her husband killed an she had hugged me. I said the only thing I could think of. I had choked out, “I'm sorry.”

  She shook her head and said, “He'd be glad you survived. He loved you. Something about being tough as nails with the spit to back it up. Whatever in the hell that means. He looked up to you.”

  I couldn't say anything, the lump in my throat was too big. I finally rasped out, “He was a good man. A brave man.” She nodded at me when the goddamn corpsman showed up with a couple orderlies and pulled me off to my bed.

  When I was finally assigned a new team almost a year later, I chose the Bugbats as our fire team callsign to honor Jenkins. I found out later that Jones was reassigned to logistics in the states. A desk job, that was a goddamn shame, he was a good soldier.

  I've run twelve successful missions since then and each one we always seemed to win the coin toss and the voice of Valkyrie One provided aerial surveillance and tactical coverage. Again, I don't believe it was a coincidence, when big brass sees something that works, they tend not to break it up. So Valkyrie One is sort of the honorary Bugbat Five of our team.

  The sudden jarring and sound of wheels hitting tarmac broke me out of my musings. It was daylight outside, I checked my watch and added six hours to the time difference, Zero Eight Thirty. I spent twenty-five minutes trying to score an A-Space. Everything military was full up so I resigned myself to heading to Dulles International Airport to catch a civilian flight.

  I signed up for a nonstop standby to SeaTac and called Nana to let her know I'd be wheels down in just over six hours. I freshened up a little in the airport restroom and bought an egg-salad sandwich and a bottle of water from a vending machine and waited for the boarding call as I ate.

  I lucked out and was able to score a standby seat. I numbly stared out the window keeping Dad out of my thoughts and nodded off. I've come to dislike sleeping lately because they are always there, the faces of all of the men I have killed. Guaranteeing my place beside Satan one day.

  I awoke in a cold sweat reaching for the ka-bar that wasn't there, with a flight attendant shaking me gently. “Ma'am the plane has landed.”

  I brought my breathing back under control and gave her a polite smile and nod and she moved along. I pulled my garment bag from the overhead as I saw the last passenger exiting. I took one last calming breath and headed out and to baggage claim.

  I snagged my duffle as it moved past and slung it over my shoulder and was about to head out to the taxis when a familiar voice behind me said, “Kenz?”

  I turned and looked down at my Nana. Damn she looked old now. I felt guilty for not visiting. I dropped my bags and bent down and scooped her up off her feet in a hug. I stood there like that holding her, making sure she was real, not knowing what to say so I just said in a shaky voice, “Hi Nana.”

  When I set her down and let her go, she held both my hands and looked me up and down. She released one hand, reached up to stroke it over my shaved head, and smiled that same warm smile that I swear to God is reserved for me. She said, “You look good. Strong.”

  I just nodded and she tilted her head toward the door. “Come on, let's get you home baby.”

  I followed her out to the parking structure and out to an SUV with a woman, whom I didn't know, waiting in the driver's seat. She was sort of breathtaking with one startling blue eye and one green with wavy chestnut hair. Maybe a year or two older than me. Nana introduced her as Crystal McKay, she was giving us a ride since my grandma didn't have a license anymore.

  When we arrived at Nana Zatta's house, another SUV was waiting, with another woman in the driver's seat. Crystal jumped out with us and offered her hand to me I shook it and she said with a firmness of purpose in her voice, “Thank you for your service. I'm sorry for the r
eason for your visit.” She locked eyes with me and I could see her genuine sincerity. Then she handed me her car keys. “Use my car as long as you need, leave it with Mrs. Z when you are done and we'll come get it.”

  Then before I could say a word in protest, she hopped into the passenger seat of the other SUV and they pulled away from the house. I turned around and stared at the familiar little Bavarian style house. There were so many good memories here.

  I hugged Nana again and followed her into the house. We spent some time catching up and avoiding the reason I had finally come home. Until it was inevitable and we started discussing funeral arrangements. It was all so surreal. I still couldn't accept that Dad wasn't here anymore.

  I knew he wanted cremation. He was retired US Army Reserve so we decided on the internment of his remains at the VA Tahoma National Cemetery down in Kent. I called his lawyer who was the executor of his will before it got too late in the afternoon and set up a meeting for the next day.

  Then my eyes widened at a sudden thought and I looked at Nana. “Starfire?”

  She smiled. “Your girl is fine, Crystal has some of her friends from Valentine's looking after all the horses.” I exhaled in relief and kicked myself for showing more emotion over a goddamn horse than the death of my father.

  It was my junior year, I had been begging Dad for a horse of my own. I rode his Strider for years, he was a good horse but he was just one of the horses from the show and he was getting older and slower. He always said it wasn't in the budget. But one day had me go out to muck the stalls. In the empty stall at the end, I found a beautiful Paint filly. With a star of white across her face.

  Starfire was my best friend through my junior and senior year... and smart. She learned all the tricks for the show fast. It was the best gift my father had ever given me. He didn't give me a horse, he gave me a friend. I still remember the amazed look on his face... no, in his eyes, as he watched me with her.