The Heart of War: Book Seven of the What's Left of My World Series

by C. A. Rudolph

  Jade flitted her eyes toward him momentarily, only to resume her stare through the window.

  Ken yawned again, this time forgoing concealment. “Okay, Jade, enough of this. Just spill it.”

  “Spill what?”

  “Whatever the hell this is—whatever’s bugging you. I’ve had about all I can take of your more-distant-than-usual side. Why the hell are you even awake right now? It’s got to be close to 0300.”

  “Closer to 0330.”

  “I stand corrected.” He sighed. “Since we’re both up, let’s make the most of our time together. Edify me. You haven’t been the same since the other day.”

  “I don’t think anyone here has been the same since the other day. Why should I be any different?”

  “I could name a few reasons,” said Ken, shrugging. “You’re alive, for starters. You got Alan’s kid to the doctor in the nick of time, spared me from FUBARing my leg more than it already is, and you didn’t lose anyone.”

  “I didn’t?”

  “No, you didn’t. I’m not saying it wasn’t a tragedy; it was. But you’re not related to nor did you serve with any of the boys who got dead, and you hardly know any of the people living here. Yet you’re sitting here, staring out the window, swigging coffee at zero-dark-stupid, looking like you just got extracted from a MASCAL and found out your grandmother died.”

  Jade rotated slowly to face him, leaned back, and lifted her mug to her lips, taking a long pull from it. She didn’t say anything.

  Ken gestured to the mug. “The breakfast of champions. Any more where that came from? Seeing as how rack ops have concluded for me, might as well pour on the stimulants and make it official.”

  Jade set the mug down, an impugning look befalling her, and slid it across the table into Ken’s waiting hand.

  The anomaly of cold ceramic was instantly detectable. Brows together, Ken bypassed his lips and brought the mug to his nose, where the robust odor of whiskey stung his sinuses like a ballpeen hammer to his funny bone. He winced and recoiled. “Jesus God. Okay, there’s no denying it anymore. You come clean with me, and you do it right now.”

  Her eyes folding closed a second, Jade pointed to the mug. “Give that back first.”

  “No,” he said, pulling it closer and out of her reach. “First we talk.”

  “Ken…”

  “No, Jade. Why should I?”

  “Because I asked you to.”

  “No, you didn’t either. You told me. Telling isn’t asking.”

  “Ken,” Jade growled, “give it back.”

  “No. No, I won’t.”

  “Don’t make me take it from you, fam.”

  “Do it, then. Because it looks like you’ve had enou—”

  Jade shot up from her chair, whisper shouting, “Hand it the fuck over!” shifting so rapidly that it didn’t seem possible in her present state.

  Ken went a shade of pale, the sudden gruffness in her tone giving him a shudder. He cautiously returned the mug to its rightful owner. “Damn, okay…I’m sorry. Calm the hell down.”

  Mug retrieved, Jade eyeballed him, sliding back into her chair. “That was a reaction, not an overreaction,” she garbled, then sighed. “Then again, maybe it was, I don’t know. It’s probably not a good idea to fuck with me right now.”

  “I can see that, but I wasn’t fucking with you,” Ken said humbly. “Admittedly, I’m not the best at empathizing or conveying concern. Never really had a lot of practice. In the Corps, it was easier, cut and dry. When a boot was skating, being a broke-dick, or showing his ass, he was unkindly instructed to liberate his cranium from his coal shoot, resume fire, and unfuck himself. Being back on the block is different, more complicated. There’s a shit ton of pesky factors to remember and deal with; personalities, attitudes, and…moods; no on-off switch for trials and ’tribs. Guess you can’t teach an old devil dog new tricks.”

  Jade snorted gently, almost inaudibly, and brought the mug to her lips again. “Have you ever been stricken with that notorious line, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’?”

  “Not in recent times.”

  She exhaled a brief chuckle from her nose. “Put a mark on your calendar for today, then.”

  Ken leaned over the table, interlacing his fingers. “Okay, done. And since we’ve cleared that up, what’s this about?”

  “What’s what about?”

  “This,” Ken began, sighing, gesturing to Jade and her dilemma. “I’ve known you for a good while now, and it’s a rare opportunity to see you off-center. You’re tough as nails, one of the fiercest multipurpose human bipods with tits I’ve ever had the honor of working with.”

  “What?” Jade reacted, spitting a minute portion of whiskey back into her mug.

  “I’m serious. Your mental and physical discipline is astounding; dare I say superhuman sometimes. And you’re goddamn scary good at practically everything you put your hands on. But you are the worst, the epitome of suck, atrociously fucking horrible at one key thing.” Ken’s brows elevated. “You can’t hide your inner feelings for shit.”

  Jade forced an infantile smirk. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  “Something’s going on in that pretty head of yours, that much is obvious. And I know you’re not much for talking about things, but maybe you should this time. Maybe it’s something about what happened the other day, or maybe it isn’t, but I can tell it’s eating you up inside. It has you awake and equipped at 0330 with an M4 locked and loaded, sipping bourbon from a coffee mug like someone’s crusty aunt who just fell off the wagon…and you’re so much better than that.”

  Jade harrumphed and looked away.

  “I’ve seen you in rough spots before, but I’ve also watched you rip groups of Chuck Norris wannabes apart with your bare hands and yank a shotgun muzzle to your forehead and taunt the lunatic holding it to pull the trigger. You’re a fearless warrior barbarian like me. And warriors hurt sometimes, but they also lean on each other when they need to. So if you do, lean on me, please.”

  Jade went to finish her drink, seeming dead set against it at first, only to push the mug away, gawk at it, and give in. “Do you know what it’s like to have remnants of your past flat-out refuse to stay there? Days you’ve lived through, people you’ve passed by, events you survived, problems you’ve overcome…or thought you had, that for some reason just keep coming back to fucking haunt you?”

  Ken’s brows drew together. “I…don’t know. But I also don’t have the slightest clue what you mean.”

  “This is me…leaning on you,” she slurred, “endeavoring to provide you with answers…the only way I know how. So either sit there, shut the fuck up, and listen to what I have to say, or leave me the hell alone and go…snore yourself back to sleep.”

  Ken spread his hands apart and leaned back, holding them upright. “Okay, Jade. I’m sorry. I’ll cease blathering. Recommence leaning, please.”

  Jade sighed, exhaling through a set of troubled, tightened lips. “Sometimes I think it’s just me…and this happens to no one else but me, like a curse, like something I was born with or granted because of something I did, and God deems for some twisted fucking reason I deserve it. It’s been like this for me my whole life; trying to suppress my past and all the fucked-up shit I have no motivation to rehash, remember, recall or relive. I’ve lived through it all already once before; there’s no logical reason to have to do it again. But some things keep coming back, and for the life of me, I don’t know why. I haven’t lived a bad life, overall; I mean, I’ve done plenty I regret—passionately regret. But I’ve confessed everything since. Repentance is the first step on the path of redemption, and I’ve done everything I know to make things right.” A pause. “I’ve…hurt a lot of people, Ken.”

  “Me too,” Ken said, a disclosing nod accompanying the admission. “I’d be lying if I said otherwise. You’re not alone, you know.”

  “I know I’m not alone…but you’re a jarhead,” Jade spat, “and prior to that, a card-carrying member of
working-class America who entered boot camp an unassuming sack of civilian shit; labeled a shitbag faggot pussy by your DIs, or worse. You couldn’t use the head, blink or find your dick without being told, were forbidden to reference yourself with the ‘I’ pronoun for thirteen weeks of degradation. But you emerged from there reconstructed as a Marine, an initiated, inculcated, fully impregnated…killer of everything.”

  “I guess that’s one way of putting it,” muttered Ken.

  “It’s the truth, though, is it not?” Jade slurred. “The truth remains that Marines kill; killing is their mission, the nature of the branch rationalized into a single key word. And that makes it your nature, Ken. Your job was and remains killing enemy combatants by whatever means necessary—a gun, a knife, your hands, culinary utensils, or some kid’s sandbox toys. That’s what grunts do.” She hesitated, looking away. “I wasn’t programmed like that. I’m not a grunt, never been to Parris Island or Lejeune. It’s different for me. But I’ve killed, too…I’ve…murdered people. Once living, breathing, animated things with heartbeats. And I did so purposely with no equivocations, all in the name of doing my job. It was what I was supposed to do, you know? I was obligated. It was my duty to push the blade, wrench the neck, or pull the trigger. I acted as a subordinate then…right or wrong wasn’t meant to qualify or quantify…it was never supposed to compute—it was never supposed to matter, but it does now. Looking back, I made the final decisions. The choices were mine…I took those lives. And maybe…that’s why.”

  “Maybe that’s why…” Ken prompted her to continue.

  “Why I’m fucked. Cursed…anathematized to relive my past,” Jade said contritely. “Maybe that’s my penance…and maybe my penance lives with me so long as I live.” She paused a long while, fiddling with her drink, fighting the notion to refill it. “Remember that big, beautiful, Victorian cathedral at Camp Hill just below Valerie’s house? I went to confession there, for the first time in years—decades, probably. It wasn’t by any means authentic; the church was empty…no priest or anything. But it felt right just being there, you know? I asked for forgiveness for everything I’ve done in the best way I knew how, but after all this, I don’t think it was good enough. And maybe God needs more from me…and this is His way of telling me.”

  “Jade,” Ken began softly, “you’re saying a lot, but I’m becoming really concerned with what you’re not saying.”

  “Did I ever tell you about me and Lauren?”

  Ken shook his head, his expression contorting a little at the sudden deviation in topic.

  “I think she likes me.” A flush crept across Jade’s cheeks. “She didn’t at first, no doubt about it. But we’ve gotten closer since then, and I think we’re friends now. But she could also be my nemesis.”

  Ken’s head tilted, a yawn beginning to form, but he willed it away. “Now this I got to hear.”

  “And hear you shall,” Jade chanted, minding the volume of her voice. “She pulled me aside for an inquisition of sorts the day we got here. She wanted to know a lot of things, mostly about Alan and what happened to him, and something about me. I was the outsider; some strange woman who brought her dad home to her…and her mother. My lips were busted up pretty good thanks to that DHS prick…she asked about my face, and I told her what happened to us. And something…came to life inside her; ignited, like a fire. She told me a few things…evidently Homeland has made a few attempts at sowing their seeds of control here. Of course, no substantiation of their involvement exists, but Lauren knows it’s them. And I think I do, too. Especially now.”

  “Why, Jade? Why do you think that?”

  “Who else could it be? You were there; you saw the hardware and how they flaunted it. Who else has access to ordnance capable of this kind of damage? What other entity remains functional and adept at perpetrating an attack like the one we just saw?” A pause. “And how do I absolve myself of being a plausible motive for the swift increase of hostility towards these people?”

  Ken perked up. “Wait—what was that?”

  Jade gripped her mug tightly with both hands, her eyes welling up. “What’s happening here, to the people in this valley…takes guile, Ken. It’s pure treachery, hatred laced with a particular bitterness and venom. A vindictiveness I happen to know…from past experience. And that makes me ultimately responsible…accountable.”

  “Jade.” Ken reached for her hands. “Tell me what you mean by that.”

  “Don’t!” She pulled away violently. “Fucking touch me.”

  “Is this the alcohol talking?” Ken quipped, “because the more you psychobabble, the more it sounds like you’re intentionally omitting a crucial piece of information. If you have carnal knowledge of this or what might’ve caused it, even if it’s just a hunch, you need to check your pride at the door and come clean.”

  “I don’t own any pride,” she began. “I can try explaining this to you, but it’s a big jumble right now…I’m far from certainty and way off from establishing a basis, cause and effect, endgame, what, or rather who is to blame, yadda fuckin’ yadda. I wasn’t ready for a tell-all.”

  “Maybe we should put the drink away, hit the rack, and try again tomorrow. You’re exhausted, sad, drunk, and—”

  “And a hundred percent on point,” Jade interrupted, resigning the mug for her M4. She brought it close, checked the safety, dropped the magazine, and extracted the chambered round into the air, catching it between the index and middle fingers of her left hand while staring Ken directly in the eyes.

  Ken leaned back in his chair. “I’m not denying that, nor would I ever. I’ve just never heard you talk like this before, and I’ve never felt the need to worry about you, but I’m beginning to feel like I should. Help me out a little. Should I worry?”

  “Maybe.” Jade gently set her rifle down and glided her fingers over it, her lips drawing a grim line. “These are my demons; I’ve lived with them a long time. I’ll suffer them and overcome them somehow.” She turned up her mug, finishing off the remainder of her drink, then wiped her lips, looking as though she was beginning to fade off.

  “Hey, don’t go dark on me,” Ken pled. “We’re on the verge of a breakthrough, here.”

  “Sorry…I wasn’t this tired a minute ago.”

  “How drunk are you?”

  Jade stretched her eyes and looked to the ceiling. “Lots.”

  “You’re going to feel awful when the sun comes up.”

  “I already feel awful,” lamented Jade, with trembling lips. She spun her empty mug around on the table with her fingers.

  Ken rolled his eyes and smirked. “We should talk more about this when you’re sober and…ready. Right now though, you should consider shutting down. Just my advice; you can take it or leave it.”

  Jade smiled at him and rose. “I think I’ll take it.” She rounded the table and draped herself over him, kissing him sloppily on the cheek. “Thank you, fam. I never knew you were such a good listener. My cup runneth over.”

  Ken grimaced, pulling away from the raunch of distilled rye emanating from Jade’s mouth. “Don’t mention it, bourbon breath. Rinse out some of that nasty before you crash.”

  She turned and pranced unsteadily off. “Not a chance. It might help me fall asleep.”

  Chapter 32

  Private Will Sharp stood sentry at the vacant bridge marking the valley’s northern barricade, feet away from where three fellow infantrymen had taken their last breaths mere days ago. Overrun with exhaustion, he paced with his head on an erratic swivel while taking periodic snapshots of the road and the sky above with eyes he could barely keep open.

  Three full days had passed since the incident, and there had yet to be any signs of a follow-up attack, but that wasn’t a clear-cut indication that the threat was over. From the evidence obtained thus far, it had been concluded that an unmanned aerial vehicle armed with air-to-ground missiles had been utilized to surgically destroy four targets: Will’s current post, the muster of heavy machinery and fuel storage t
anks at the former Perry residence, the unit’s forward operating base situated within St. James Church, and the Russells’ shed, where Neo had assembled the unit’s communications outpost. The targets could have been selected for any number of tactical rationales, or for no other reason than to inflict harm and psychological damage.

  Predator and Reaper UAVs made their approaches from cruising altitudes above twenty thousand feet, making them not only silent but virtually invisible, and the missiles with which they could be outfitted travelled well above supersonic velocities. If another attack was imminent, it would come with next to zero forewarning, same as before. Apart from wishing for overcast skies, which severely inhibited the functionality of most UAVs, all Will could do was stay alert and watch for objects in the sky, doing so with a view partially obstructed by nearby rocky peaks and towering trees, some in the early stages of sprouting leaves.

  He pried open the last pack of cigarettes Lauren had given him, finding that only one remained, and as he took hold of it, he considered her thoughtfully. The last of the burials had taken place yesterday. Will had attended a brief military interment over which Fred Mason had overseen for each of the eight men killed in action. Will had remained only long enough to pay his respects before returning to his post. Condensed services were also had for John Boyce, his father Norman, and Kristen Perry at an independent location where they had been laid to rest. Will wondered if Lauren had been in attendance and what had become of her afterward, then made a mental note to check on her at some point today, if he could stay awake and find the time.

  The subunit deployed in Trout Run Valley was in shambles. Eight men had been killed. Neo was critically injured. Richie had taken two men with him on a precarious errand to Rocket Center to track down Dave Graham, brief him on what had happened, and acquire support. Personnel numbers had been cut by more than half, and duties had thus almost tripled for those remaining.