“Nah, I don’t think that’s the problem, Chief.”
My jaw tightens while I wait for him to elaborate.
“Shit’s just tough for her sometimes. Fuck – it’s tough for all of us, but she’s got a target on her back the size of Texas.” He says.
I turn from him and look out the rolled back door of the tent. The slightest breeze ruffles the ties holding the canvas back. I guess shit’s just getting to Ryan.
“I have zero sympathy. She may have not known what exactly she was signing up for, but she knew. Deep down she knew this isn’t a cake walk.”
I leave T with that.
27
Ryan
We are on our third day of the mission. I’m climbing a goat trail behind Broussard, my pack weighing my shoulders down and making my steps heavier than normal. The sun is beating down ferociously, and I am eager for it to dip lower in the sky to grant the cool reprieve that is night. We are surrounded by brown rocky landscape interrupted only by scrub brush and short bushes. A brown valley is below us, and all I see ahead are brown mountains and outcroppings. I pause and unscrew the cap from the water flask on my hip. I raise it to my lips and take a sip of the sweet cool water. A sudden whizz and plunk into the dirt between Broussard and spikes my adrenaline hard.
“TAKE COVER!” I yell as fall to the ground. I bring my rifle up to my shoulder and shimmy up the incline on my back. About twenty feet up I reach the only cover on this side of the mountain, a large boulder. I throw myself behind it and meet Broussard there. He is relaying coordinates.
“Team Four, just received fire at 145-006AG3, over.” He clicks off his comm and says, “Glad you could make it, Ryan.”
“I never miss a party, sir.” He turns and peeks back over the rock. I give a looksee to my right. I see the tip of Hanzo’s boot peeking out the bottom of a gully thirty or so feet down the trail. Meaty must be with him even though I can’t see him.
“Sound off,” Broussard orders into our shared comms.
The team all comes in with their statuses- all ok. Another pot shot hits the dirt between our rock and Meaty and Hanzo’s location.
“They’re just letting us know their here. For some reason they either can’t see us or aim like shit.”
I agree with Broussard. We are silent for a few moments. He sits back down beside me, no longer on high alert after a few minutes go by without another shot. I try not to notice that our shoulders and hips are rubbing against each other- the necessity of taking cover behind such a small boulder.
“You see where those shots come from, Ryan?”
“No sir.”
“Neither did I.”
We are quiet a few minutes more waiting for another shot. Nothing happens.
“What do you think, Ryan?”
I am flattered that he is asking my opinion. “I think we either get a fix on their location or wait ‘em out.”
He peeks back over the rock. I get to my knees and do the same. Nothing to be seen on the opposite hill, just dirt, rocks and bushes. Wherever these fuckers are they are hiding good. Broussard sits back down behind the rock. I do the same.
“All right, ladies. Get comfortable. We are going to wait till dark to get a move on.”
I settle in a bit more. The silence between Broussard and I is comfortable. About twenty minutes goes by before another errant shot is heard.
“Everybody good?” Broussard asks over the line.
A sequence of affirmatives echoes in my earpiece.
“Seems like we’ll be here a while.”
“Yea, Chief.”
“You ever talk in complete paragraphs, Ryan?”
“Yes sir.” My ironic statement slips out before I have a minute to sensor. I do usually talk a fair amount- around teammates I’m comfortable with. But around Chief Broussard my tongue and brain seem to get mixed up and I keep silent for fear of saying something I might regret later on. It’s also my defense mechanism for denying the attraction I feel toward him.
We are both looking to the rock above us. An hour goes by. I have to shift my weight and move my position a bit because my butt cheek and foot are both asleep. It causes me to lean into Broussard a bit. I can feel the heat of his arm through the sleeve of my fatigues.
“Should be dark in about forty-five minutes.” He says.
“Yes sir.” is my response.
“Get your night vision goggles ready. We are going to wait about twenty minutes after dark to move.”
“Yes sir.”
“That’s getting really fucking annoying, Ryan.”
I stay quiet not wanting to piss him off any more.
“Seriously, what the fuck Ryan? Why aren’t you home baking cookies for the PTA or some shit?”
I’m taken aback by his question. It came out of left field. I look into his eyes. They’re green and sparking in the afternoon light. I look away into the rocky terrain before me. I see, not the rocks and dirt, but I see David’s grave. I blink to dispell the image. I am not sharing that with Broussard.
“I’m not cut out for baking fucking cookies, Master Chief.”
He huffs out a breath and says quietly, “Don’t I know it.”
That’s the end of our conversation until another shot echoes of the rock walls. It’s a bit closer. I take position behind the rock again. I scan the hill across from us. There! A shadow moving between two outcroppings.
“Master Chief. I have visual at ten o’clock, approximately fifty yards from the big boulder.”
Broussard is beside me holding the binoculars up to his face.
“You got a shot?”
“Not yet.”
We wait a few moments, and that fucker pops out from the hole he was in and starts a scuttle to a big rock- he’s holding a RPG and has a rifle slung over his back.
I squeeze my trigger and he drops. Solid chest shot. I keep him in sight through the rifle scope. He’s not moving.
“I think that’s a confirmed kill, Ryan.”
“Ten-four, Master Chief.” I keep scanning the terrain. I don’t know if this was a lone wolf operator or he has friends. Thirty minutes goes by without further shots or tangos coming out. The sun is almost gone completely below the horizon, so I sit back down behind the boulder to get my night vision goggles from out of my pack.
“You ever think about sniper school, Ryan?”
I pull the wrapper from a granola bar and take a bite while contemplating his question.
“Honestly sir, it’s just an honor to be on the Team. I never thought past making it here.”
“Well maybe once this tour is over, I’ll recommend you.”
28
We our in our last month of deployment. Our team has been working systematically with the marines to clear sections of the city, blasting out pockets of insurgents. In the early morning hours, we muster up before heading out into our transports.
As I’m checking my ammo, loading a couple extra clips into my side pockets, Broussard’s voice comes in through my headset.
“Ryan, Don’t forget, your backing up B team on the clearing.”
I look up to see him climbing into his Humvee, watching me across the expanse of dirt parking lot. Ever since the bomb incident as I call it, he always seems to go to extra effort to stress the orders to me- like he thinks I might disobey. A, “Ten-four Master chief,” is all I reply. I can follow orders just as well as the next guy. I climb in the transport nearest me.
We are split into four groups of four for clearing an industrial complex designated critical infrastructure (meaning we can’t just blow it to pieces with any insurgents that may be inside it). Meaty is our point man, then Centennial, T-Rex and finally me.
The insert is flawless, and I run behind my team, gun at the ready. We reach the back half of the building that is our section to clear, and enter. It is a fairly small space, industrial, with metal walls, grate steps, and near darkness- only lit by the red emergency lighting spaced evenly down the corridor. So, somebody found out
we were coming and activated the emergency lights. Good to know we won’t be unexpected.
I follow T’s back, doing sweeps left, right and behind us. We clear three offices and two store rooms, before going down to the next level, where some type of machinery is housed.
Once there, I file in behind my team, Meaty and Cent are already through the far door and into the next section of the machine room. Just as T’s back disappears into the same space, a displacement of light or air alerts me to a presence behind me. Before I can spin and check it out, a sharp pain explodes in my right shoulder- driven in by the weight of a man now on my back. I spin quickly and bring my gun up between us, pulling the trigger while looking into the grimy face of a man with vicious intent in his eyes. He seems as startled as me when he pulls back and places his hand against his stomach and the wound there. He takes a step towards me and I put my rifle up to my shoulder and hit him with another shot in the chest. He goes down this time. The gunshots are muffled pops thanks the to silencer on the end of my rifle.
Death is ugly and raw and quick.
My team is back circling me, looking for any more threats. Meaty takes the tango’s pulse and shakes his head. My shoulder is now screaming, the adrenaline wearing down but I hear Broussard’s voice in my ear over the comm, “ Report Ryan. NOW.”
“Sir, one tango down. I’m good.” My voice sounds a little shaky even to me. Another pump of adrenaline floods my system and I start to shake. Shock maybe?
I look up from the ghastly blood pooling around the body and meet T-Rex’s gaze. Only he’s looking directly over my right shoulder, as he says, “Shit Ry.” Then speaks into his comm, “We need a medic.”
I immediately cut in. “I don’t need a fucking medic. Let’s finish this.”
Broussard is on the line, “What the fuck is going on down there? Give me a status.”
I reach up with my left hand and touch the hilt of a knife protruding out of my shoulder. Fuck. It went in perfectly between the seam of my Kevlar vest at the top and back of my shoulder.
“It’s good. I’m fine,” I tell T-Rex and Meaty. I don’t even turn my head to look at it, knowing if I do the panic might have me passing out. I got shaky legs, but I just need a minute to get more oxygen to my brain. I take deep breaths.
They both give me looks like I’m nuts.
Broussard breaks impatiently through the line, “I said give me a fucking status.”
Meaty makes the decision. “Sir, we are in the southwest machine room. And now clear. Coming topside.”
The other three teams chime in with their positions and status. Everything is just about wrapped up, the building clear and I fall in to go topside- this time T is behind me bringing up the rear.
Climbing the steps to get out the machine room, I’m seeing black stars dance in my vision and I start to feel the trickle of blood down my right side soaking my shirt. I experimentally try to lift my arm and only succeed in nearly passing out. I take a few more deep breaths. I’m still walking so that’s a plus.
When we get to the top, activity is everywhere. A helo has landed in the dirt courtyard, it’s blades whooping slowly. All the insurgents are restrained and sitting in a line awaiting pick up, while other team members are guarding them and organizing extraction. The element of surprise was on our side.
“T,” I turn to him before we cross to where Broussard is standing, talking on the comm. “You got to pull it out. I won’t be able to get the leverage.”
“Just wait for Hanzo, girly.”
“Fuck no. I can’t wait for Hanzo. I need it out now. Don’t you see? I’ll be out if this is bad. I got to fix this…”
Broussard
As I send in the last confirmation to base of our successful mission, I see Ryan and T-Rex arguing about twenty five yards from me- Meaty and Cent standing by with their dicks in their hands. I’m fucking pissed about whatever went down with them and jog over there to give them new orders, and put a band aid on whatever boo-boo Ryan’s got.
I’m about fifteen feet away when I see Ryan reach up and pull a bloody knife from her shoulder, then go down to her knees. It plays out in slow-mo from my point of view. T catches her and gently lays her on the deck. My stomach drops. I’m by her side and she’s flat passed out, face as white as a ghost. “What the fuck, Lockwood?” I use T-Rex’s real name as I start triage. “Hanzo!” I bark. And from somewhere he joins us, and we quickly get Ryan field dressed and on the helo.
As we chopper back to our FOB, I watch the medics set up an IV drip and cut away her Kevlar, her uniform. Taking her blood pressure, heart rate and relaying it back to their team on standby. I’m near sick to my stomach watching as her face, so usually full of fire and spirit, is still with grayness. Here’s what I’ve been waiting for all along. A reason to have Ryan off the team. It doesn’t feel satisfying or right. I just feel empty and like someone snatched away my prize.
Ryan
I’m shipped to a hospital in Germany for surgery and rehab. It takes three months to fix the torn tendons and ligaments in my shoulder and make it back stateside. Once there, it only takes a week for the honorable discharge to come through and my exit paperwork to be completed. It’s signed by my commander, Master Chief Eric J. Broussard.
PART III
Soup Sandwich
29
Our hands bump as we reach for the same shot glass.
I move my hand one shot glass over and look up into Broussard’s hazel eyes.
The waitress moves on with the tray full of shots down the bar. I hold the whiskey in my hands, studying the honey liquid, ignoring the solid warm man next to me, crowding my space.
T’s wife takes the stage. Not literally, but she does step up on top of an industrial strength bucket with the help of one of the guys.
The murmurings of the crowd quiet down, giving her the floor.
She balances with her right hand and holds her left aloft with a shot glass. Despite her red rimmed eyes that are shimmering in the low light of the bar, she clears her throat and begins with a clear voice.
“This is for T. Our brother, my husband, our protector. We love you.”
She throws her shot back and we all follow suit.
The whiskey burns a warm path down my throat. Smooth, but probably because I had had two others before this one.
In the interlude, a quiet mournful song kicks on over the speakers, and some of the talk picks back up.
I place my empty shot glass on the bar, and the bartender picks up the empties with efficient dexterity, then adeptly begins lining up another round.
I watch the shellacked wood bar in front of me. But my mind’s elsewhere, seeing T-Rex’s face laughing in my memories.
Feet gripping the sand, the wetness, more compact, harder than any concrete, pounding, pounding my feet on it. I hear T’s labored breathing behind me. See five of the team up ahead of me… maybe slowly pulling away. I turn and start running backwards.
“C’mon T- you ugly mother fucker!”
My outburst most likely spurred by a runner’s high- I would take advantage of it while it lasted.
I feel T behind me, closer, then drawing even. I kick my legs harder, unable to suck down enough oxygen for my renewed breath, but still keep pumping my legs, sucking air when I can. Soon we are passing Hanzo.
Then Butters.
Maybe a mile and half left. A quarter of that up the sand dunes, to the real concrete, perhaps the hardest part.
There’s two body-shaped figures in front of us now. The front two nowhere to be seen. I’m good being middle of the pack. I’m good middle of the pack. I repeat it in time to my foot falls. Soon T is falling behind me, but I keep up my pace. Before I know it, I’m back at the parking lot, Broussard, Evans and Meaty already there.
T comes in a minute and half behind me with Hanzo. I’ve got my breath now, and in my endorphin induced state I run up to him and start slapping his shoulders.
“You sexy mother fucker! You large piece of shit
! Who’s the man?!?! Who’s the man?”
He grabs my upper arms, stopping my slaps. Throwing me over his shoulder and then swinging me down in some type of funny dance move.
“Damn. Kid!. Damn.” He sets me on my feet, and I meet his high five, and then his low five.
“Ryan.”
Broussard’s voice brings me solidly back to now. The scarred wood bar before me, the funeral of a good man behind me.
“Yea?”
I look up from my empty shot glass. Into his eyes. Anger has my hands curling around the glass.
“Can I talk to you a minute?”
“Yea.”
I slide off the stool and follow him, the crowd now thinner, into the hallway leading back to the restrooms. He motions for me to proceed him down the hall.
I walk past him and stop just past the restrooms. It is private enough.
This man - with the achingly handsome face that gives my stomach butterflies- I hate him. With one swipe of his signature he utterly destroyed my life- erased all the hard work I had done, to nothing. And now, our friend, our teammate, our brother, suffered the worst fate. A shortened life.
I’m not saying my presence on the team could have changed the outcome. Hell, I could have died instead of T. I should have died instead of T. I have nothing, need nothing, am nothing.
But this man has robbed me of any chances. This man now short-pacing in front of me. One hand on his hip, the other sliding through his hair. The crispness of his uniform, reminding me of so much. My failures most of all.
He stops in front of me. Arms crossed, legs braced. Head cocked to one side as he stares at my face.
I have to look away- although I hate him and the decisions he’s made, I see pain in his eyes. And I am not ready to forgive him.
“I’m Sorry, Ryan. God, I’m so sorry. I know how close you and T were.”
I don’t want to acknowledge his anguish. I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Yea, aren’t we all?”
The Distance Between Dreams Page 10
