Gooseberry Island

by Steven Manchester

  “I’ve been writing my mother about you for weeks, Lindsey,” he interrupted.

  “That’s exactly what she said. Believe me, I didn’t have a problem getting together with her, but I was worried about what she would think of me.”

  “And?” he asked.

  “We hit it off very well.”

  “I knew you guys would.”

  “We’ve made a pact to share any information we get about you,” she added.

  “Not everything, I hope?” he teased.

  “Well, not the good stuff of course,” she said, giggling.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Back in the present, David smiled and began to tally his own options, once his twelve-month tour was wrapped up.

  I decided long ago that the military life suits me fine, he thought. While others complained about the early wake-up calls, along with the work that followed, he was content with all of it. “You probably just signed ’cause you wanted to wear shoes,” they’d joke, but David only laughed.

  You have no idea, he thought. His desire to join the service had gnawed at him since his first walk down Sesame Street. It was a yearning that had always needed to be fulfilled. If not for me, then to prove my father wrong. Either way, I needed to do it.

  But Lindsey’s not in the military with me, he thought, challenging his earlier convictions. She’s home on Gooseberry Island.

  The friendships made in the Army were forged from sharing hard times with others. David cherished the camaraderie created by those experiences. There were three squares a day, a warm bunk and few choices that needed to be made. The Army would even decide when a man should relieve himself. Besides breakfast, dinner and supper, David’s favorite time was mail call. Mom, Craig and Aunt Jeanne would write, keeping him up on everything that he wasn’t missing on Gooseberry Island. Occasionally, even Captain Eli’s chicken scratch showed up in the pile. David responded to each one.

  But I’d rather be sitting beside Lindsey, talking with her—instead of looking at her on a computer screen, or hearing her voice through a telephone receiver.

  On top of that, the Army can be a lonely life with too much drinking, he thought. From the foxholes he’d dug, there were few opportunities to see the world his recruiter had promised. Worst of all, he was also required to dive from a perfectly good airplane once a month to maintain his jump status. Still, I feel blessed I joined because when you get right down to it, the military isn’t for people who can’t do better—it’s for those who won’t settle for less. It offered the greatest gift in life—a sense of purpose. This was most obvious every time the Fourth Ranger Battalion marched. In no other walk of life did sixty, a hundred, even a thousand soldiers simultaneously step in sync—each devoted to the same cause, each serving something larger than themselves. David couldn’t imagine a finer job than to awaken every morning to defend a country. Above all else, military service provided meaning to young men and women who still believed in duty, honor and courage.

  But something’s changed, he thought, and smiled. Lindsey. He felt closest to her at night when he looked into the sky, the North Star shining brightly. It’s like she’s right here with me, he thought, but still far enough away to be safe. He felt a strange comfort knowing that they still shared the same constellations to gaze into. On the nights that were overcast—the stars blocked out by gray hovering clouds—he actually felt alone. Strange, he thought.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  When David awoke from his daydream, he thought, But Lindsey’s home onGooseberry Island, where I should be. Shaking his head, he quickly pushed the thought out of his mind and focused on the present. But for now, I need to get my head back in the game, he told himself, and checked that his loaded weapon’s selector switch was still on safe.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Upon returning to camp from Kabul-land, David hurried to the afternoon mail call. The Supply Sergeant picked up the final package and called out, “McClain.”

  David quickly approached the grumpy man and claimed the stained cardboard box. The heavy package—half crushed from its long trip—was addressed to Sergeant David McClain in black Sharpie.

  As David walked back to the formation, he immediately detected a sweet flowery scent. It’s the same perfume Lindsey wore that night on the bench, he thought, and remembered her promise of a “love letter.” He went to one knee and tore the cardboard package open.

  Sifting through the snacks and books and other surprises, David located a white envelope, marked, Handsome. Smiling, he brought the envelope up to his nose and inhaled deeply a few times. Wow, he thought and opened it.

  There were only a few paragraphs, but the letter contained enough to sustain him through two wars.

  Dear David,

  Thank you so much for your recent calls. The sound of your voice completely melts me. Trust that I feel everything you do. I want to be with you more than anything in this world and to share everything with you. I’ve had lots of trouble not getting lost in my daydreams of us.

  I’m ready for you and wish you were here right now. Please try to believe in us the way I do because I believe with all my heart. I can’t wait to kiss you again.

  I’ll be thinking of you tonight and every night after.

  Life is better than good.

  Love,

  Lindsey

  Love Lindsey? he pondered and got lost for a few moments in the possible meaning. He hurried off to the privacy of his bunk where he could read—and smell—his love letter without being razzed.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Saturday morning found David’s ranger team on just another ordinary foot patrol. With Lindsey’s love letter in one cargo pocket and his father’s note in the other, David walked right flank in the middle of the staggered patrol, thinking about his brothers and their service.

  Fourth Ranger Battalion isn’t just a band of tough guys. It’s a battalion of trained soldiers, which is much more dangerous. Unlike the ragged Taliban, we have dominant firepower as well as superior training and leadership.

  Being here is justified—all of it, he thought. We have a duty, a mission that we’ve been trained for and sworn to carry out—defending democracy. He nodded. As soldiers, we don’t have the luxury to question politics. We don’t see things the way civilians do. Our world is black and white, and any shade of gray can prove fatal. Words like honor and duty and brotherhood are our lifeblood, not just catch phrases. He looked down the line at his brothers and smiled. We depend on each other completely, like a well-oiled machine with every part working in sync, the whole so much greater than each individual part.

  It was a selfless purpose they served, with a need to have faith in God and a belief that good could and would defeat evil. These were men who stood up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves—against the world’s most vicious bullies. Young and naïve, they faced paralyzing fear requiring extraordinary courage—heroes born in the moment out of the love for their fellow soldiers—hell-bent to take a stand and fight.

  We understand that the ultimate sacrifice may be asked at any time, David thought, though we’d much rather our enemy be the one to make that sacrifice.

  Their only requests from home were prayers and gratitude. Home, David thought; it was now a distant place that was safely kept in the heart but better stricken from the mind. Family now means those who wear the same uniform.

  It’s kill or be killed over here, he thought, not a real difficult game to understand—although the mind was challenged and often sabotaged by the most basic fight-or-flight instincts. And being labeled a coward, especially in one’s own mind, was a fate worse than death. I’d accept anything but that, David thought.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Nodding proudly, David returned to the present and the dangerous task at hand. As usual, the boys were smoking and joking.

  “You want a cigarette, G.I.?” Max asked Big Al, who was walking the position right behind David.

  Gooseberry Island, David instantly thought. I really miss Lin
dsey.

  “Thanks anyway,” Al said, “but I just quit. It was killing my marathon times.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Aren’t you ever serious?” Lieutenant Menker asked.

  Big Al nodded. “I used to be, until my dad told me to dance like no one was watching.” He grinned. “I tried it at the mall a few months ago, and they asked me to leave. I’m not sure…”

  There was a loud bang, high above the laughter. David spun to see a cloud of dirt and dust where Big Al had just stood. David did a double-take. Al was lying on the ground, his right leg severed clean above the knee. David sprinted toward the man, sliding on his knees to attend to his friend.

  Half the patrol immediately established a perimeter—a quartering party to provide security on all sides—in case this was an ambush. In that brief time, Al had already removed his belt and begun to apply a tourniquet to his own leg. Still trying to process the grisly scene, David looked into Al’s eyes. They were distant, in shock, and struggling to focus on the painful task at hand. Al moaned, but never uttered a word. David looked at his friend’s other leg: it was a heap of raw hamburger, with splinters of white bone protruding from his bloodied pants. David applied a tourniquet to Al’s second leg, while Max administered a field IV. Billy Brodeur called in a medivac. “We need it now!” he screamed.

  “Inbound in five mikes,” the radio announced, the garbled message barely understood through the heavy static.

  David finished the tourniquet and placed his hand on Al’s shoulder. “Relax, brother. The flyboys are on their way.”

  Al nodded, but he’d already lost a lot of blood. His face had turned ashen.

  David quickly assessed the scene of the crime. It didn’t take a whole lot of investigative skills to put the puzzle together.

  It was an improvised explosive device that three rangers had stepped on, myself included, David thought, his short hair standing on end. But we’re all smaller than Big Al, so we didn’t have enough body weight to trigger the pressure plate. David looked back at Al, who had just slipped into unconsciousness. Looks like Big Al tripped enough explosives to rip apart a Humvee.

  David then gave more thought about stepping on the IED. I almost broke my word to Craig, he thought, and all those promises to Lindsey. He felt lightheaded.

  The buzz of an incoming chopper could be heard in the distance. Lieutenant Menker popped a canister of green smoke and threw it just outside their perimeter, indicating a secure landing zone. Max had grabbed the radio from Billy and was talking to the flying medics, providing vitals. “He needs more fluids,” Max reported. “He’s lost a ton of blood.”

  The shadows of the chopper blades cutting across the sun danced on the dirt road, whining loudly and kicking up a tornado of dust. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion at that point. It’s like we’re in a movie, David thought.

  The Blackhawk chopper, with a .50 caliber machine gunner hanging out of the side door, touched down. Two medics ran a green litter out to Al, where he was carefully but quickly loaded—the old IV swapped out for a new one. Four men, David included, lifted the heavy litter and ran it back to the chopper, trying to duck as they went.

  David felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked back. It was the patrol leader, Kevin Menker, screaming into his ear. “Go with him, McClain, and report back to us ASAP!”

  David nodded.

  “And make sure you keep talking to him.”

  David nodded again and jumped into the helicopter. He took a knee beside Al and grabbed the man’s massive hand.

  As the chopper took to the air, it kicked up another hurricane of debris—bending the ranger patrol at their waists and making them shield their eyes. Fifty feet off the deck, David watched as the patrol was on their way again, with nasty Billy Brodeur leading the way. But now they’re pissed, David thought. And someone’s going to pay dearly for this.

  The chopper banked sideways and picked up speed. Even though there was no way Al could have ever heard him over the deafening blades, David talked to his friend, doing all he could to comfort Al’s subconscious. “Hang in there, brother. They’re going to patch you up good and get you home to that beautiful family of yours.” Al’s gruesome wounds were already emitting the most ungodly smells.

  David gagged and looked back out the door for some air. Wow, he thought, surprised at this new perspective of the disappearing world below. This place is beautiful.

  He looked back at Big Al and squeezed the giant’s hand. “You keep fighting, ranger. There’s a little guy waiting for you back home.” He then looked down at the raw meat that was once his friend’s legs and shook his head. Maybe Top was right, he thought. Maybe we should have watched what we wished for.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Just as soon as his schedule allowed for it, David visited Big Al in the evac hospital.

  When he entered the sanitized room, Al was lying beneath a white sheet that was pulled tightly over his large body, clearly revealing that he would never walk again on the legs God had given him.

  “My boy, Jack, thinks I’m a superhero…out here fighting all the bad guys,” Al explained, his eyes filling. “So when I called home yesterday, I told him that I had good news and bad news.”

  David sat on the edge of his friend’s bed, waiting for the payoff.

  “I told him that I lost my legs in a fight…”

  “Oh man,” David moaned, picturing the young boy getting the devastating news. He fought off the emotion that threatened to embarrass them both.

  “…but that the Army was making me legs just like Optimus Prime.”

  David swallowed hard. He nodded but didn’t dare respond.

  “Jack loves the Transformers, so he was real excited to hear it. ‘Really, Dad?’ he kept saying. ‘Just like Optimus? That’s soooo cool!’”

  David placed his hand on Al’s arm. “You’re one of the best men I know,” he managed, though it sounded like he pushed it past a mouthful of cotton candy.

  Big Al smiled and then looked out the window, giving them both a break before they broke down and cried.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  A half hour later, David walked out of the hospital, where he stepped off into the shadows and allowed himself to cry. He was willing to do anything to push off the elephant that was lying on his chest.

  Eventually composing himself, he pulled his father’s tattered note out of his pants cargo pocket and read it. Shaking his head, he crumpled up the note and threw it into the wind. What bullshit! he thought. He then felt for Lindsey’s letter in his other pocket. Still there, he thought, and left it right where it was safe.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Nearly a week passed before David dared to log onto Skype again. Lindsey was already connected—as she must have been each night since their last cyber date—waiting patiently. Her eyes lit up when she saw him. “Hey stranger, everything okay? I’ve been really worried. It’s been almost a week since…”

  “I’m sorry,” he said sadly.

  Her excitement faded, replaced by serious concern. “How’s work been?” she asked gently.

  He hesitated. “Okay, I guess. Same old stuff.” It was less than convincing, and they both knew it.

  “David, what happened?” she asked, looking like she was ready to cry.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Really, I’m fine.” But his voice was as distant as his mind. “Everything okay with you?” he asked, trying to deflect and avoid sharing any details of their recent missions.

  She sighed. “Fine,” she said. “But if you need to talk about anything then…”

  “Lindsey, honestly, I’m fine,” he repeated, this time much more confidently. “It’s been a stressful week, that’s all.”

  “You sure?” she asked.

  “I’m sure.” He paused, forcing a smile. “Let’s talk about us. I’ve really missed us.”

  Her excitement returned, and she smiled. “I have to admit, sometimes sharing the little bits and pieces of each other…a phone call ever
y few days and the stolen moments over a computer screen…can be tough. I keep imagining a real fairy tale for you and me.” The pitch in her voice rose. “…that you would throw everything you need into a duffel bag and come to me, sweep me off my feet and promise me that we’ll be okay, forever. Although I know you can’t just yet, a girl can dream right?”

  “A boy can dream too,” he said, trying hard to appear just as excited.

  “Oh David,” she said, “I can’t wait for you to lean across the table at a crowded restaurant and plant a big, wet kiss on me.” She stopped and grinned. “Don’t you wish I was there with you right now?” she asked.

  “Absolutely not!” he snapped. “I’d never want you here, Lindsey.” He took a deep breath and softened his voice. “Anywhere but here,” he whispered. “I’d want to be with you anywhere but here.”

  “Are you sure everything’s okay?” she asked. “Remember, you said you’d never lie to me.”

  True, he thought, but I never said I’d share this nightmare with you. He tried to clear his throat but could feel the elephant climbing back onto his chest. “Like I said, I just had a few tough days and I’m really tired.”

  “Should I let you go?” she asked.

  “Do you mind?” he asked, bringing a surprised look to her face.

  There was a pause. “Of course not. When can we talk again?”

  “Soon,” he promised, discreetly trying to calm his breathing.

  “Do you still like me, David McClain?” she whispered.

  “I more than like you, Lindsey Wood. I love you,” he said. “But listen, I gotta run. We’ll talk soon.” And then the PC screen went black.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Lindsey sat staring at the blank monitor. I love you too, she thought, but felt really confused over the strange exchange. After a moment, she shook her head. Something happened, she concluded, something bad.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Girls’ Night Out, also known as the Thursday Night Club, had evolved from a book club into a movie club and then into poker night—dealer’s choice. Regardless of the night’s events, dinner was always pot luck, washed down by bottles and bottles of inexpensive wine. We should just be honest with ourselves and call it The Wine Club, Lindsey thought. But no one cared for the negative stereotype.