The Distance Between Dreams

by Sherry L. Brown

  “What do you mean? My father?” I question the admiral he’s referring to.

  Broussard reaches out and holds my elbow steering me a little further away from the video game onslaught.

  “Listen, Ryan. When you…” He pauses and takes a deep breath and places his thumb and forefinger at the bridge of his nose.

  “When I found out the CIA had you...those orders were direct from SOCOM.”

  SHIT. FUCK. SHIT. My brain begins churning a million different thoughts. I feel betrayed by my own country in a way. I mean I kind of knew it had to be an inside job, but now I fully make all the connections- thank you brain-focusing caffeine. Emotions are spinning in my head, but the top one is a shame that my commander pulled strings by calling my “Daddy” to get me out of situation that I should have -not just survived but thrived- under.

  “What the fuck, Broussard?”

  The understanding in eyes tells me he didn’t like it anymore then I did. His at first soft look switches in an instant to his pissed off commander stare.

  “Just call your father and tell him you’re ok, Ryan. That’s an order.”

  He spins on his heels and bangs out the door. I dial Dad on the SAT and take a deep breath while it rings.

  “Everly? You ok?”

  “Not even a hello, Dad?”

  “Broussard tells me you got a little banged up, but just superficial bruises.”

  Jesus. Broussard and my father discussing me. It does weird things to my chest to think he cared enough to tell my father how I was.

  “Yea, it’s nothing, Dad.”

  That’s all he is getting. I would not elaborate in case he thinks this is the reason he should enforce the part of our agreement that said I would leave the SEALs if I got injured.

  “Ok, Everly. Make sure you watch your six. And make sure you follow Broussard’s orders. He’s one of the best SEALs I know.”

  “Yes sir.”

  I hang up without much else. I am oddly bereft that Broussard and my father seem to have some type of relationship. Had they met before? Or had they forged a connection in what I could only think had to be a couple phone calls?

  I couldn’t seem to get anything other than hate stares from Broussard- and here’s my dad all chummy with him.

  Broussard

  When a woman wears your clothes, it’s a base sign that she belongs to you. In the middle of the night, the significance of putting the sweater on Ryan was lost on me.

  But in the light of day, she’s still wearing it, and like a punch to the gut I want to pull her in my arms and declare her mine. It’s fucking disgusting how much I want this warrior woman. I’ve seen her come alive on training missions, go all in with no holes barred- and I’ve admired it. But a vulnerable, soft Ryan? It stirs my instincts and has me going all cave-man, thinking I can lay claim to her as a man. I hit the weights hard, pushing myself to fatigue, and forgetting about how silky and warm her skin is at night.

  22

  Ryan

  A week and half later and I get my first D.A. or direct assault. Nothing too treacherous as the Chief debriefs us. It’s an assist evacuation of a communal home that is being used as a combo women’s shelter/orphanage. We load up in the Humvees and crawl through town - convoy style. I’m on point to help calm the situation as a female presence. That’s exactly how the Chief phrased it, “Female presence.” I don’t take offense, a mission is a mission. One of the interpreters is female too.

  The building is a Frankenstein mishmash of townhouse like proportions. Clearing the first floor is relatively easy; we load up two single moms with five children between them easy peasy into the transport van.

  Moving to the second story, we clear two other families with only minimal fuss. I’ve moved on to the second to last family that’s being transported, where Sanja, the interpreter, is with the government facilitator explaining the situation. There seems to be some discussion/argument over where they are going and what has been promised to them when they get there. After five minutes- during which I’ve been subtly sweeping the living room. The situation seems to be escalating instead of diffusing. The baby in the back room begins to wail louder than a banshee.

  Chief Broussard steps past the women in the living room arguing and heads towards me.

  “Grab the baby, Ryan. See if you can get it calmed down while I try to hurry this train along.”

  I roll my eyes at the command, knowing he probably only did it because I’m a woman. I just give him a, “Yes sir.”

  I spin on the hand woven rug and enter the backroom. It’s really the size of a walk-in closet, but at the far wall, a baby blue crib, its color a bright splash against the white wall. The baby has kicked off the blanket, it’s cotton softness spilling out the crib slats and trailing on the floor.

  I do a quick scan, but nothing more as I hustle over to the crib, feeling the urgency to get to the baby and quiet it down making me move fast. I only realize something is wrong when my right boot heel lands on something...different from the rest of the floor. It’s enough to make me pause. Feel the sweat trickle down my breasts.

  I take a deep breath.

  “Sshh...little baby…”

  He hesitates mid-cry when he sees me. Dark hair, red round face still scrunched up, deciding if he should continue to cry. No need to panic yet. Right?

  I lightly speak into my com, “Chief, need your assistance ASAP.”

  I keep my tone light, but hope he doesn’t take too long.

  A few moments pass and I keep up a stream of nonsensical words to keep the baby quiet. He’s -while not happy- curious enough about me to be entertained.

  I soon hear steps behind me.

  “Chief.” I put my hand up behind me in a stop signal and look over my shoulder.

  He immediately halts inside the door.

  “Step lightly, sir. Need you to take this baby.”

  “Ryan? Why can’t you just bring the baby out?”

  “...sir…” I don’t really know how to finish the sentence.

  He’s soon behind me without any sound.

  “Shit! Not so close!”

  I don’t want him to go if for some reason reaching in for the baby detonates this thing. For all I know it could be pressure sensitive or time. Limit casualties is what I’ve got to do.

  In my peripheral vision I see him take a step back.

  I take a deep breath and reach into the crib hooking the baby under the armpits. Freaking kid is heavier than a sack of concrete.

  I don’t even take the chance of cradling him to me to offer comfort, I just twist my upper body back, arms outstretched with the baby.

  Broussard takes him and gives him the comfort I couldn’t. His eyes shine green and full of concern, in the glimpse I get before turning back forward.

  “Stay sharp, Ryan. Calling in EOD now.”

  I take a deep breath and start to count; a relaxation and calming method. I stare at the white plaster wall. Make the count to five hundred, notice a little nail hole that hasn’t been filled back in. Time slows down to an excruciating crawl. Finally EOD arrives as a fourth droplet of sweat glides down my back and absorbs into my waistband. They send in the mars rover- at least that’s what I call their remote control robot. I can feel the crowd behind the door, tense, as the rover’s little zzzrrts and zzzats move it this way and to investigate what’s beneath my foot.

  Broussard is in my ear over the com: “All...right...Ryan...looks like we got a semi standard pressure bomb here.”

  A few seconds tick by that feel like hours. Every muscle in my body is tensed. As if I just spring off fast enough I could beat this thing. I give a deep sigh and try to relax my shoulders.

  “Ryan. Lieutenant Jenkins is coming in. Standby.”

  The robot backs out and I feel a body come in behind me ever so softly; he kneels down beside my foot. I don’t even move my head to look at what he is doing but I feel him softly brushing dirt away.

  A few moments pass where I have completely z
oned out.

  “Ok, what we got is a standard pressure bomb in the wall with line detonator under Ryan’s foot here. Bring her a flak jacket. Ryan, we’ll get that on you and then I’ll cut the detonation line before we diffuse the bomb so that you can get out of here.”

  I risk moving my eyes down to where Jenkins is. He’s older, round face, clear eyes behind his safety-goggles.

  Fucking middle-aged softie. Probably has a pack of kids at home.

  “No. Give me the cutters, and tell me which line to cut- I’ll do it when you’re clear.”

  “Ryan…” He looks down at where he has completely uncovered the wires leading to the wall.

  “Don’t argue with me on this. I’m already at risk.”

  I’m interrupted by a voice over in my earpiece. “Ryan, let EOD do their fucking jobs.” It’s a weird echo, as Broussard’s voice also carries from just beyond the door behind me.

  “Excuse me, Master Chief. I have to respectfully disagree. I am doing it. We already know the score. Hand me the cutters, Jenkins, and show me where. Then clear the fucking area.”

  “Ryan, you don’t have to prove you have the biggest balls.” It’s spoken so quietly over the line, so quietly I don’t hear the echo from where he is speaking beyond the doorway.

  There’s really no comeback to that. I’m not trying to prove anything. I just know the score, and I’m not sacrificing middle-aged Jenkins, EOD expert and probable father of three.

  “Jenkins,” I say clearly, “the wire cutters, please.”

  Jenkins shows me where to cut, I have to move my head to get a good look- but other then that I keep absolutely still. My glute is starting quiver.

  “Jenkins clear!” comes a yell from beyond the doorway.

  I bend slowly at my knees going straight down, not moving my footprint. The wire cutters are in my right hand, hovering over the exposed wires.

  “Anytime Ryan.” Comes Broussard’s voice over the line.

  “Give me a fucking second.” I grind back at him. I’m just a little fucking tense right now. I try not to imagine being blasted into a thousand pieces.

  The wire cutters are spring loaded, so I just slip the open nose over the wire Jenkins showed me. I squeeze my fist and the wire is cleanly cut. My stomach jumps in relief, but I know that’s not all there is. I straighten and speak into the comm,“Wire cut. Stepping off now.”

  I lift my right boot straight off the ground and then behind me. Silence. I take a deep breath and calmly walk all the way back. At the doorway, there’s a crowd with Jenkins at the front. He claps me on the shoulder. “Balls of steel, Ryan. Balls of steel.” He turns back to his EOD team as they again are now setting up the rover to go in and retrieve and detonate the IED.

  I smack his shoulder back. “Thanks man. I owe you a beer.”

  Broussard is right behind him- looking pissed off with barely contained rage, I see his jaw muscles tensing.

  “Fall in, Ryan.”

  He gives me his back, and I follow out to our transport.

  T-Rex is there and everyone can read that the Chief is not happy, so the ride back to base is pretty quiet. For my part, my brain can’t comprehend that someone would put a bomb in a baby’s room. Damn, that’s some fucked up shit.

  BROUSSARD

  I felt like my foot was on that bomb, not Ryan’s. As I stare into her electric eyes, I can feel my arms aching to take hold of her and shake some damn sense into the stubborn brain of hers. Damn. She just couldn’t let the bomb guys do their fucking jobs.

  Feelings are bubbling in my gut: anger, pride, and overwhelming joy. How could she not follow my orders? I hate it, am miffed that she would so willingly risk her life, and step up to the plate to save others. I’d seen glimpses of her depths before, her commitment to the team, but never to this length. All of my emotions are threatening to come out of my throat and make a fool of myself in front of everyone.

  I stomp them down hard. Compartmentalize.

  23

  It’s been three and half months of hot boring time. Mostly, we do a lot of security escorts and patrols while waiting around for orders. So when a joint task force meeting is called, I’m excited for the potential for something different. Sitting in the “classroom” listening to our XO and the other SOCOM commanders brief us on the mission, our targets and intel reconnaissance, I’m perfectly focused. There’s nothing to distract, being in a room with no windows and only various information posted on the walls. T-Rex is beside me, making notes in his notebook; his own focus intense. The room is filled with other spec ops personnel and officers- everyone involved in this DA. We’ll be attempting to take over a large square block of buildings that the jihadist have been using as a temporary base of sorts. While the Air Force will target the main five story structure on one side, we are to secure the street behind it working with a team of Marines to clear the buildings. Fun stuff.

  After an hour of information gathering, we are released to get ready. I stand up, and head to the exit at the back of the room behind my team. Passing by the few men still lingering, a sudden hand grabs my right ass cheek.

  Instinct kicks in and I’ve got that hand in my grip, spun the body it was attached to in front of me and slammed the offender’s face into the closest wall nice and easy like.

  It’s some asshole pilot that made a comment at the beginning of the briefing about feminists in combat. It wasn’t nice. I ignored it then, but now I realize he’s a sexist asshole with a chip on his shoulder.

  I hate fuckers like this. I pull his hand up higher where it is twisted behind his back. He squawks in response. I hear scuffling behind me and know T has my back.

  The culprit is panting against the wall holding in anymore exclamations of pain.

  I lean in real close to his ear and whisper, “Keep your hands to yourself flyboy, you understand?”’

  He shuffles his feet and tries to push me off, make me let go, but I have an excellent pin on him, and I just pull up on his hand giving him a little more pain to let him know who has the upper hand- literally. The quiet of the room behind me alerts me to the fact that our little drama has now commandeered center stage.

  “RYAN! CROSS! Break it up!” comes a commanding bark from somewhere over my shoulder.

  I release the schmuck’s arm and step back.

  As expected, T is behind me, as well as Meaty and Butters.

  The schmuck is cradling his hand while a few of his friends glare at me from beside him.

  An Air Force officer walks between our two parties, his face the color of a tomato, with a vein pulsing in his forehead.

  “WHAT the FUCK is going on HERE?!?!”

  I keep my mouth shut and hope he realizes the scene speaks for itself. One woman trained in combat, a roomful of guys - one with a new (hopefully) broken wrist. Maybe things are a little bit cloudy for him, because he turns from Cross and gives me a glaring look.

  “Broussard! Handle up on your team! I don’t want to see their ugly faces until we are ready to lock and load.” He barks the order without looking away from me.

  Broussard walks from the front of the room, past our little group to the door and holds it open for us. His eyes are drilling me, but I keep my head up and my shoulders straight as we file out one by one with T-Rex leading the way.

  Following T-Rex’s back I count backwards from one hundred, hoping to chase my anger away. I can still feel that asshole’s hand on my butt and I feel like I need ten gallons of germ-x and a two week scalding hot shower to get rid of the gross violated feeling.

  “Ryan! Follow me!”

  I can’t ignore the direct order, so I just keep counting as I follow Broussard’s back to a small side office, where he closes the door behind us.

  He takes up his standard arms-crossed-over-chest stance in front of me- eyes studying my face in trepidation. I can’t really read how mad he is but his wide legged stance and crossed arms give me a pretty good idea.

  “Tell me, Ryan. What the fuck was that?”r />
  How to put this without further pissing him off? I guess he hadn’t seen the butt-grab.

  Before I can began, he’s already launched into his next sentence.

  “You’re supposed to be on your best god damn behavior. You are representing the team and more importantly, me, in briefings like that. And you can’t fucking play nice?”

  “Sir. If I may?”

  The look on his face says I should probably just shut up.

  I do.

  “Your pulling graveyard guard duty for the next two weeks, Ryan.”

  Guard duty was the suckiest assignment. Sitting above one of the gate entrances to the FOB, and we usually rotated graveyard shift. Looks like I was the lucky one.

  “Anything to say for yourself? No? Good. Your lucky I don’t pull you off this op.”

  “Yes. Sir.”

  “You’re dismissed.”

  I escape the close confines of the office quickly. Trying to think of anything other than the pissed of commander I just left behind.

  Fucking flyboy. Groped me and I was the one pulling guard duty for two weeks. I really hope I sprained his wrist good.

  Broussard

  No wonder women and men don’t mix well in the military. What the fuck had Ryan been thinking? I follow her out of the office, but take a detour to the men’s restroom before heading back to the briefing room our team is using. I am seeing red. Embarrassed that an Air Force Captain had to reprimand one of my team. And, let’s be honest. Ryan already attracts enough scrutiny, I don’t need her actions making further difficulties. Our team is under the fucking magnifying glass all the time, because she’s one of us. I rinse my hands at the sink and pull a paper towel off the roll to dry my hands. T-Rex enters the head and takes a stance at the pisser.

  He doesn’t look at me, but says, “You know, Chief, that cocksucker grabbed her ass.”

  My stomach drops at his words. It makes total sense now why the scuffle happened. And Ryan’s look of consternation when I wouldn’t let her get a word in edgewise.