Gooseberry Island

by Steven Manchester

  “And we’re just getting started,” Jenna added.

  Twenty minutes later, three more monsters swam alongside the boat. “These are minke whales,” Jenna explained. “At a maximum of thirty feet, the minke is the smallest of the grooved whales. There are northern and southern minkes. The northern minke can be distinguished by a broad white stripe on its flipper that does not appear in the southern breed.”

  “Which are these?” Christine asked.

  “These are our northern friends coming by to say hello.”

  Some of the kids on the boat waved at the threesome. Suddenly, two more appeared and then another five. We’re in the middle of a herd, Lindsey thought.

  Caught up in the moment and forgetting themselves, Courtney and Christine started waving until the first whale headed in a different direction, leading the rest away from the boat. Lindsey saw this and laughed.

  After an hour of scanning the water, someone yelled out that they’d spotted something off the port side. Jenna hurried over and surveyed the scene. “Those are Atlantic white-sided dolphins, also known as jumpers. They’re sometimes found in herds that can number into the hundreds. They’re cautious around boats and won’t swim in bow waves.”

  One of them leaped from the water and was followed by another. And then they went under and were gone.

  “These two look like stragglers,” Jenna said. “They feed on squid and fish, and it’s believed that dolphins can communicate with each other by making sounds like barks, groans, chirps, and whistles. They also communicate by means of body posture and by slapping their flukes on the water’s surface.”

  Lindsey inhaled deeply and looked around. She exhaled in a purr, feeling such peace among all the natural beauty that surrounded them. It’s so amazing, she thought, I really have to share this with David when he gets home.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  I have to pee, David thought, still lying on the rooftop and looking through the cross hairs of a sniper scope. He slowly placed his arm beneath his prone chest and checked his wristwatch. Two hours ’til dark. He pulled his arm back out and placed it back on his rifle. You don’t have to pee that bad, he lied to himself. And worse case, just go in place. He smiled. I’m guessing that Nate’s already pissed himself a few times anyway.

  It took real discipline to suspend all movement and noise—even heavy breathing. For those who smoked, they couldn’t. For those who snored, they couldn’t sleep—or it could spell death.

  It was human nature for people to take even the smallest things for granted, and David and Nate quickly learned that deprivation was the greatest teacher of appreciation. Three hots and a cot had been replaced by vacuum-sealed dehydrated meals and seated cat naps. Squatting now took the place of sitting comfortably on a toilet, followed by waste retrieval in a Ziploc bag. There could be no evidence of their presence left behind—none.

  For David, a sweet kiss and warm hug were replaced by daydreams and a longing for Lindsey, until he could no longer afford the bittersweet luxury while carrying out their mission.

  When the scan became subconscious—like driving a car home without knowing how you got there—David’s thoughts could safely drift to home, all the way back to Lindsey. I wonder what’s she’s doing right now, he wondered. Rooftops, no movement. Southwest corner, no one. I bet she’s at the beach, looking up at the stars and thinking of me. Southeast corner, no one. And then David allowed his mind a brief glimpse of a happier time in a much safer place.

  David and Lindsey sat on their bench, watching as the moonlight illuminated the amazing canvas before them. While the waves kept rhythm to the pulse of life, the night sky was filled with a million stars keeping watch over all of it.

  Lindsey lay with her head on his shoulder, the two of them gazing up in quiet reflection.

  “Are you afraid, David?” Lindsey asked out of the blue.

  He nodded. “I am,” he admitted. “Every time I look at you for too long, I’m scared that I’ll never remember what life was like before I met you.”

  “Good answer,” she said, playfully slapping his arm. “What I meant was, are you afraid of going over there to Afghanistan?” She locked onto his eyes.

  He never hesitated. “Absolutely not,” he said confidently.

  “Not even a little?” she asked, surprised.

  He shook his head. “Long ago, I made a habit of not fearing what I don’t know,” he explained. “And as a soldier, fear is your worst enemy. My job is to focus on the task at hand, the mission, and trust that my training and the men I serve with will get me to the other side of whatever I have to face.”

  She looked back into the night sky, thinking about what he’d just said, and then nodded. “Good,” she whispered. “That makes me feel better.”

  “Good,” he repeated, grinning.

  And then Lindsey’s smile passed much too quickly from his mind. Out of the corner of his eye, David spotted movement on a rooftop adjacent to their location, one story higher. While focusing on their frontal scan, David and Nate had nearly been caught and didn’t even realize it.

  Oh shit, David thought, and threw a pebble at Nathan to get his attention.

  Nate looked his way. David slowly pointed at the Afghan local on the next rooftop. Nate low-crawled to David’s position, where they covered themselves in the thick black tarp they’d brought along for such a situation, camouflaging their position.

  Within seconds, David began to sweat profusely, while his breathing quickened. I’m cooking in my own juices, he thought, but realized that he needed to remain calm if they were going to survive in the heavy boiler bag. Survival depends on a man’s ability to control panic, David told himself. A thinking man has a better chance of living another day.

  He could feel Nate lying next to him, trying to calm his own breathing. David recited the Rangers Creed in his head, followed by several “Our Fathers.”

  Remember your training, David told himself. Revert back to your training…

  After conquering dangerous obstacle courses, twelve-mile foot marches, night and day land-navigation tests and combat water-survival training, which literally taught each man what it felt like to drown, David’s company completed Phase One of Ranger School. Through attrition, their numbers had been nearly cut in half. Taking one hour to get haircuts and purchase any sundry items needed, they were off to the mountains. David enjoyed the uncomfortable rest the flight provided. He welcomed Phase Two and told his friends, “Follow me boys!” Minutes later, they were jumping into the smallest, most rugged drop zone David had ever seen. Many claimed Phase Two was the most difficult. Sergeant David McClain was the first to land. For three more torturous weeks, with even less sleep, each ranger candidate gauged his capabilities, as well as his limitations. Both day and night, they completed combat missions. As one day blurred into the next, David and his comrades completed Phase Two of Ranger School and found themselves on a plane heading to Florida. There were still seventeen days to go and, as each of them had been told from the beginning, “those who flunk out of Phase Three will have to return to day one.” With that threat in mind, David envisioned his greatest fear. From a picture-perfect sky, they assaulted the Sunshine State. By this point, the class of ranger recruits had dwindled to fewer than one half of the number that began the training. Those that remained had reached far beyond their nerves and were now functioning off sheer conviction. Seemingly the most practical of all exercises, they engaged a well-trained, sophisticated enemy. Food was conveniently made more scarce, and the most primitive instincts of survival were brought into play. David hated the grubs, but he ate them. They were the best source of protein, and he desperately needed the energy. No sooner would the recruits close their eyes than the enemy would reappear through sniper fire, keeping them awake and moving. On the final day of his tour, David discovered one of his men had been taken captive. Leading his small unit on a daring rescue mission, they eventually got pinned down by heavy smal-arms fire. They were courageously continuing to fight
toward their objective when David heard a click. It was the distinct metallic click of an M16 A1 rifle. He looked up. It was one of the instructors sitting in a tree, apparently out of ammunition. David shouldered his weapon, took the man directly in his sights and squeezed off a blank. The man jumped from the tree and approached the young team leader. “You would risk all your men for the life of one?” he asked. David was delirious with exhaustion but responded by quoting his favorite lines of the Ranger Creed. “Energetically, I will meet the enemies of my country. I shall defeat them on the battlefield for I am better trained and will fight with all my might. Surrender is not a ranger word. I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my country.” The man smiled wide, reached into his pocket and offered David and his brothers each a cigarette. Taking a seat on a moss-covered stump, he took two deep drags and looked up. “Good job, ranger,” he said. David lit his own cigarette and cried. They all cried. “We made it,” David said. “We’re Airborne Rangers.” The graduation lasted no more than an hour, and though families congratulated their sons, husbands and brothers with hugs, David stood alone once again. It didn’t matter. The Rangers are my family now, he thought. Nobody back home could ever understand what I’ve gone through anyway. There’s no way they could.

  Unsure whether the Afghan was still on the other rooftop—and whether Nate had nodded off—David lay completely still, allowing his mind to travel to another place—to Gooseberry Island, where Lindsey was still waiting for him.

  The moon sat directly above Gooseberry Island, illuminating a hypnotic tide, while the salty winds sang in the elephant grass. David inhaled deeply—feeling a wave of serenity roll through his entire body. He looked to his left, and that sense of peace was joined by excitement. “It’s so beautiful here,” Lindsey said. And so are you, he thought, nodding. “It’s my favorite place in the whole world,” he said. She looked at him, making his heart skip a beat. “Mine too,” she said. After a moment, she pointed toward the old stone lighthouse. “Look at that,” she said. It took everything he had to peel his eyes away from Lindsey and redirect his attention to the tall gray beacon. “They say old Ruth has saved quite a few souls from these waters.” Lindsey smiled. “She must be a strong woman to live such a solitary life.” He half-shrugged and teased, “I guess I wouldn’t mind living there.” “By yourself?” she asked, surprised. He nodded. “Why not? There’d be no one around to bother me.” He struggled to conceal his grin, thinking, Though I wouldn’t mind you visiting me.

  “Can you imagine spending that much time alone?” she asked. “It must change a person.”

  “I guess it might,” he agreed and thought about it for a moment, “depending on where your head’s at.”

  Lindsey shrugged. “You’re probably right. I’ve been around lots of people and still felt alone.”

  David looked into her eyes and felt his heart flutter again. “I think you have to feel comfortable being alone with yourself before you can feel comfortable being yourself with others.”

  Oh Lindsey, David thought, to hell with being alone. When he emerged from the daydream, he was lying in a puddle of sweat—both his and Nate’s. He slowed his breathing again and listened carefully. Nothing. Then, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, he slowly peeked out. Nothing was more painstaking than trying to camouflage movement. The man on the adjacent rooftop was gone. Amen. David squirmed out from under the hefty tarp and reached for his canteen, where he emptied it in two long gulps. The hot wind felt like an air conditioner, waking Nathan from his slumber as well.

  Close call, David thought, still not sure how they didn’t get spotted. While Nate slithered back to his position, David returned to his rifle, hoping that they hadn’t missed their target during the episode.

  Rooftops, no movement. Her windows, nothing. Southwest corner, no one. Street is clear. Southeast corner, no one. And then it dawned on him. Or maybe we did get caught and they’re on their way?

  He looked over at Nate, who was now looking back at the chalked door behind them.

  Suddenly, there was movement three hundred yards out on the street below. Unusual, David thought. It was a teenage boy, maybe fourteen, carrying a burlap bag and quickly making his way home before dark. Never seen him before, David thought and smiled. Back home, he’d be looking forward to getting his driver’s permit and dreaming about his first date.

  In a flash, a man—a Taliban fighter—jumped out of the shadows and grabbed the boy’s arm, pulling him to the street and spilling the contents of his sack. As the teenager yelled for help, another Taliban soldier emerged from the darkness. The boy screamed louder, but not a single soul came to his aid.

  David watched as both Taliban fighters began interrogating the boy. They might be looking for us, David thought. The teenage boy shook his head a few times. Loud yells quickly turned to open hand slaps. The boy fell to the street, where both fighters pounced on him to inflict a vicious, inhumane beating.

  While listening to the thud of boots smashing into the boy’s skull, David took a deep breath to control his anger while using his thumb to take his rifle off safe. He placed his finger into the trigger guard, sighted in the first aggressor’s head and broke radio silence. “Papa Bear,” he whispered, pressing the microphone into his neck. “This is Gray Ghost. I’ve got a young boy at my ten o’clock being beaten to death by two Taliban. I’ve got the shot. Requesting green light. Over.”

  The boy’s shrills were ear-piercing. Still, no one on the ground came to his aid.

  I’ll take the first one out, David thought, and by the time the second animal watches his buddy hit the deck, he’ll be on his way to Allah too…right behind him.

  “Negative,” Command responded.

  “I say again, they’re killing the boy,” David whispered. “Over.”

  By this time, the teenager had been beaten so badly he’d quit fighting back.

  “Read you, Lima Charlie,” Command replied. “I say again, stand down. Will dispatch ground troops to that location. Do not compromise your position.” There was a snowy pause. “How copy? Over.”

  David’s oath as a soldier was in direct conflict with his innate decency as a human being, his heart and mind locked in mortal combat. His mind raced, searching for an option that would allow him to save the boy while still fulfilling his duty and successfully carrying out their mission. There was Option A—take out both Taliban and save the boy, while causing the mission to fail immediately, in turn, placing countless American soldiers and marines at fatal risk; or Option B—stick to the mission and forfeit the boy, along with a piece of his own soul. There was no Option C.

  “Received,” David hissed, choosing Option B, before looking sideways to Nate.

  The laughter of both Taliban soldiers drifted up to their rooftop.

  Nate slowly shook his head. From the look in his eyes, he was obviously experiencing the same rage and helplessness.

  With tears streaming down his chapped cheeks—like the good soldier he’d been trained to be—David shifted his scope and scanned the building before him. He wished with everything inside him that he could silence the boy’s desperate pleas, as the teenager continued to beg for his life in his foreign tongue.

  Rooftops, no movement. Her windows, nothing. Southwest corner, no one. As David scanned his grid to acquire his one and only target, he skipped over the gruesome scene on the street below.

  This pathetic distraction, however, did nothing to mask the boy’s terrified howls for help. David’s stomach flipped a few times, sending a wave of acid up his esophagus, burning a path straight to the back of his constricted throat. Breathe….breathe…he told himself, fighting off the urge to vomit.

  The abuse only took three minutes but lasted an eternity. The boy’s shrieks were suddenly quieted to mournful sobs. David drummed up enough courage to place his scope back on the teenager. His attackers were gone, but the damage they’d inflicted was evident. The b
oy was covered in blood—his face already purple and swollen—and rolled into the fetal position, lying completely motionless.

  They killed him, David thought. They beat him to death. Tears streamed faster down David’s face. I’m so sorry, he told the boy in his mind. Please forgive me.

  As an old Afghan man emerged from one of the houses and pulled the bloodied body off the street, David returned to his scan, his eyes blurred with stinging tears. Rooftops, no movement. Her windows, nothing. Southwest corner, no one.Southeast corner, no one. He felt like he was breathing through a crimped straw.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  By early Sunday morning, the tier-one target never presented itself, and the mission was aborted.

  “Gray Ghost,” David heard in his ear piece, “this is Papa Bear. Abort mission.”

  David pressed the microphone on his neck. “Say again, Papa Bear?”

  “Abort mission, Gray Ghost.” There was static, followed by another squelch. “Battalion confirmed that our intel was bad.”

  “Received,” David hissed, and looked over at Nate—who was already shaking his head. “We’ll bug out at dark.”

  I could have saved that poor kid, David thought, the real war now waged within his heart and mind. His eyes filled with tears. I could have saved him. The reality of it poured into his soul like ten tons of concrete, and the same heart that allowed him to stand up and fight also made him cry—quietly.

  For another sixteen hours, David lay on the rooftop in the prone position like a wounded slug, watching the world through the limited viewpoint of a sniper’s scope. It was way too much time for his thoughts not to wander into the darkness. Whenever Lindsey’s pretty face appeared in his mind’s eye, he pushed it out of his head as fast as it appeared. Mostly, he just tried to keep breathing without passing out.

  Once it got dark, David looked up at the constellations and saw the North Star shining brightly. Sorry Lindsey, he thought, but there’s no place for you in this hell hole.

  Slowly and with each movement being completely deliberate, David and Nate packed up and slithered out the same way they’d slithered in—undetected.