by B. R. Miller
“Here!” Amille yelled over the noise of the engine. “Put these on!”
He handed a pair of dog tags to me then a pair to Skinner. I looked down at mine and read the name: Christopher Bradley.
“Who’s Christopher Bradley?” I ask.
“You are during our stay here!”
“Where’s here?” Skinner asks.
“We’re currently landing in a remote American military base deep inside Afghanistan!”
Skinner looks at me and lets out a big smile. This couldn’t be too bad actually. We’ve never been to a military base before. I look out the window and see a group of guys starting a game of basketball, carelessly as if they had no fear of anything getting them. How nice that would be, to be able to go outside without having to look over your shoulder constantly, always being on edge.
We slowly descend and when we hit the ground, a loud thump rattles the whole helicopter. Amille quickly opens the cabin door and jumps out, gun drawn. Fletcher’s right behind him, securing the area. Even in a remote American military base they’re securing the area. Amille gives the O.K. signal and we hop out of the helicopter. Immediately we’re met with a wall of heat. That surprises all of us because it was barely eight o’clock in the morning and the temperature was easily in the upper nineties.
I quickly head towards a camo tent to avoid the wind and sand from getting in my face. There, a man in his mid-forties approaches us, all dressed in desert camouflage. He had a stern look upon his face, a “don’t mess with me” look, which told a thousand stories. He’s seen things. He’s been in some serious situations and come out on top. For some reason, I trusted this man.
“You must be Tristan,” the man said, extending his hand in a friendly greeting.
I shook his hand and nodded. “This is my partner, Skinner.”
“Welcome to Fort Boot. My name is General Thomas.”
Amille and the others finally catch up to us and lower their weapons as they approach.
“General Thomas, my names Amille and these are my colleagues, Fletcher and Cooly.”
“Welcome to Fort Boot,” he repeated. “Now while here, your identity must remain a secret. I take it that you’ve received the dog tags I sent for you?”
We nod. I suddenly realize that soldiers were slowly crowding around, obviously wondering who we, the new visitors, were. I nod to a couple who wave back then turn my attention back to General Thomas.
~*~
It would be three days before I woke up and when I did, I wish I hadn’t. I was in a hospital room with my mom by my bedside, her head hung low either in prayer or deep thought.
“Mom?” I asked.
“Tristan! You’re awake!” She quickly hugged me and gave me a big kiss on the cheek.
I couldn’t help but let out a smile.
“What happened?” I asked, not knowing what they told my family.
“Honey, you came down with a bad case of pneumonia.”
Right. Pneumonia. And they believed it? David. Where’s David?
“Mom,” I began nervously, “where’s David?”
My mom hung her head again for about a minute and didn’t say a word. When she did bring her head up to make eye contact with me, she had tears rolling down her face.
“I’m so sorry, pumpkin. His cancer came back and they…they did all they could for him.”
I looked off into the distance as if searching for an answer, an answer that was not there. David…gone?
“When?” was all I was able to utter.
“Three days ago,” my mother tearfully responded. “You had a seizure and they had to rush you to the hospital. A few hours later…a few hours later David just collapsed.”
Sounded legitimate enough. I’d believe it. But David? Gone?
“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said as she ran her fingers along my brow line.
All I wanted to do was cry and scream at the top of my lungs but nothing escaped. I just sat there, motionless, taking in all that was around me. Could this be real? Could any of this actually be happening? I closed my eyes as a lonely tear manages to escape and roll down the side of my cheek. My mother must have noticed because it was then that she brought me in for a long, deep hug. At that very moment, I needed that. Someone to hold me, embrace me, tell me it’s going to be alright. As my mother held me, I began to sob. It all began to settle in. Our mission failed. Heins was still out on the loose and David was gone; never coming back.
I took a deep breath and for the first time noticed the rain splashing against the window.
~*~
I look around. Three…no, four guys are waving their arms at me. The heat from the intense sun is making it hard to focus. I can barely understand what each person was shouting above all the noise. That’s when I see him; an open man. I quickly pass the basketball to him before retaking my spot on the court. I’m paired up with another young man who looks to be about eighteen, fresh out of high school. My team has the ball as we all scramble across the dirt court, kicking up a dust storm. I run over to the edge of the court, just past the three point line, and manage to lose the young man covering me. I yell for the ball and soon it comes soaring across the court towards me. I catch it and plant my feet. Quickly gazing up at the hoop, I take aim and then take the shot. The ball soars through the air in slow motion and hits the back board before teetering on the edge of the rim. I focus and bring a hand up and with a simple flick of my wrist the ball sinks into the basket, winning the game.
Cheers and yells of frustration fill the air. I throw my hands in the air in celebration as Skinner walks over to me with a displeased look on his face.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you did,” he whispers to me as he walks right on by before letting out a crooked smile. “Cheater.”
“Don’t be a poor sport about it,” I say, following him off the court and into some shade.
Skinner opens up a cooler and grabs two juice pouches and tosses one to me. “You need to be more careful.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, struggling to get the straw in the stupid pouch.
Skinner grabs my juice pouch. “You know what I mean. You can’t go around using your abilities out in the open like that. They’ll start asking questions and that’s the last thing we need is some Jarhead snooping around.” He stabs my straw through the juice pouch then hands it back to me.
“Oh relax,” I begin after taking a nice, long, refreshing drink. “We’re fine, no one even noticed. Besides, as long as Amille doesn’t find out we’re all good.”
“Doesn’t find out what?” Amille says walking up to us with two soldiers on each side of him.
Skinner just stares at me. Thanks, Skinz, leaving me hang to dry.
“Oh nothing,” I lie. “Who are they?”
“Boys these are two Navy Seals and they have a very important mission that they have asked our assistance on.”
I look at Skinner who has hangs his head, knowing what this means. “I don’t suppose we have much of a choice in this, do we?”
Amille smiles, “Afraid not. Come on, we need to brief you.”
Amille turns and walks back from where he came, followed by the two Navy Seals. Skinner and I exchange glances.
“Looks like vacation’s over,” I say as Skinner nods and lets out a frustrated laugh.
We get up and begin walking towards Amille, re-entering the drastic heat, still sucking down the juice pouches.
“What do you think the mission is?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Skinner replies. “But if the fricken Navy Seals need our help it must be serious.”
We follow Amille through the camp to a large, wooden shack that looks like it was just put up in a matter of minutes. Once we enter, our opinion doesn’t change much. A few rows of folding chairs and a projector are all that’s to be found besides about a dozen Navy Seals. I suddenly feel really inferior in a room with these guys. Amille guides us to two seats in the back and soon the others take their seats. Then
General Thomas enters and everyone stands up but Skinner and I so we quickly try to blend in and stand up only to be told to take our seats.
“Men, we have a rare opportunity to take out a Taliban leader that’s killed twelve Marines in the past week. His name is Al Shad Ramir and he is very hard to gather intel on but what we have gathered is that tomorrow at approximately thirteen hundred hours he will be meeting with about four other Taliban leaders. We know where this meeting will take place and we only expect there to be around a dozen men with them. Marley will fill you in on the details of your mission. Have a good day.”
With that, General Thomas briskly walked out of the room as if he was late for another meeting. A man sitting in the front row dressed in camouflage gear stands up and begins addressing the room.
“Alright,” he begins sternly, “listen up. We’re going to go in with a four man crew and those two agents.”
With that he points his finger right at Skinner and I and everyone in the room turns and looks at us. They all have the same expression as if Marley was joking.
“I will be leading the crew and Rooter, Jones, and Beacher you will also be joining me.”
The man known as Jones speaks up, “Sir, how come we’re bringing along these two kids? They’re just going to be a liability and slow us down!”
Marley crosses his arms behind his back and replies, “I’m sure that once we’re out in the field, you will find these two have rather…” Marley searches for the right words, “useful skills.”
I turn and look at Skinner who nervously returns an unwavering glare. We both then turn and look at Amille, who’s paying close attention to what Marley is saying. I have a bad feeling about this and I can tell that Skinner does too. It’s just that some time fear can get the better of us and other times, well, other times it defines us. It is in those moments of definition that our character is truly tested.
We finish the briefing and everyone slowly begins to stand up and talk about the mission amongst themselves. As we walk out, Amille walks up behind us. At first, nothing was said, then Amille broke the awkward silence.
“I want you boys on your best game tomorrow.”
Skinner and I both stop in our tracks and look at Amille. “But Amille,” I ask knowing the answer, “aren’t you coming with us?”
Amille lets out a sigh. “No, no I’m not. Unfortunately the General won’t allow us to come with. So you’re going in alone.”
Skinner quickly jerks his head around and looks at me. I continue to stare at Amille in disbelief despite the razor like daggers that Skinner’s giving me. Words try to come out of my mouth but nothing escapes. This is the first that we’ve been away from Amille, Fletcher and Cooly in two years! What if something goes wrong and we need a way out? What if the Raves show up?
“I’ll be in the control room monitoring your progress the whole time,” Amille reassures us as he sets a hand on each of our shoulders. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Me and the boys will be here waiting for you when you return and if something does go wrong, we’ll be out there faster than a heartbeat.”
He smiles at us then slowly takes his hands off of our shoulders. I turn around and hang my head as we walk back to our barracks.
That night, not much was said. I lay in my bed staring up at the ceiling, convincing myself that this bad feeling I’m having about this mission will pass. I don’t run from missions that scare me but something about this one isn’t settling well with me. The “what if’s” are out weighing the “what wills” and that uncertainty creates a fear that sinks deep into my bones.
Then it happened. For the first time in months, my family popped into my head. It is because of them that I am over here, fighting, staying alive. Their safety means more to me than my own and thus the reason I had to leave. The Raves were catching onto me and learning about Skinner and myself; our interest, our patterns, our families. If anything ever happened to them, I would be beyond heartbroken. Although there faces were blurry, their image brings back a drive that I need. A drive that will get me through this.
And then I think about my family, my real family, the biological ones. For some reason that had to give me up and I may never know why. But I’m thankful for the family I was given. I remember who I presume to be my father walking me down a hospital corridor, holding my hand. We enter into a room with an examination bed in it and a chair. He lifts my four year old self up onto the table with my legs dangling over the side. I start crying. I knew what was going on. My father reached into his pocket and produced a red stress ball. He held it up in the air then dropped it and caught it with his other hand right before it was going to hit the ground. I smiled. He did it again and again it got a smile out of me. The third time he did it, the ball slowed down midair and rested gently in his hand. He brought his hands up to my cheeks and smiled, a tear swelling up in his eye.
“You’re going to do great things, Tristan,” He said, kissing my forehead.
I lay in bed dwelling on that memory. The coolness from the desert night creeps into the barracks as I pull up a blanket. I can do this. This mission is obtainable. Positive thoughts will produce positive outcomes. I can do this.
Chapter Six
The white noise from the helicopter drowned out my thoughts as we soared through sweltering desert heat. Our landing zone was quickly approaching. I look at Skinner who obviously didn’t get enough sleep last night as he was slipping in out of consciousness. For the first time in two years, we were away from Amille, Fletcher and Cooly. For the first time in two years, I truly felt alone. The stale red light that illuminated the helicopter cabin suddenly turned green and it was time to go. A soldier opened the bay door and a rush of wind kissed my skin, bringing a sense of realization that this mission was a go. A rope was dropped and one by one Rooter, Jones and Beecher shimmied down the rope followed by Skinner. I stood at the bay door with my hands around the rope taking one last breath in. I look back at the empty bay and hesitate. This is my last chance to turn around. The rope burns a little as I slide down it, my feet firmly making contact with the coarse earth.
I quickly scan the area for any signs of life and danger. Nothing. Skinner has his hands firmly planted on the ground and I know that he is searching the area for others as well. When he opens his tense eyes, he looks at me and gives me a slight nod. Rooter shoots me a questioning glare and I nod to him, assuring him that it is clear. One by one we stood up and made our way down the side of the coarse, rocky mountain. First Rooter, followed by Beecher, then Skinner, myself and Jones brought up the rear.
Navy Seals are the best in the world but the only thing that bothered me was how much they relied on their weapons. Yes, people like Skinner and myself do not need weapons but when you are out of ammo, what are you going to do in a fire fight? Intuition kicks in followed by self-preservation. The desire to survive, to live to see another day, trumps all other motives.
Rooter hurries us down the mountain side and soon he holds up fist and everyone freezes. He scans the area then calls for Beecher, Skinner and myself to come up to where he was. Slowly and ever so quietly, I attempt to make my way down the mountain side without knocking any rocks or boulders loose. A large chunk of granite slips out from underneath my foot and begins to make its treacherous journey downwards. I freeze. Maybe if I don’t move no one will notice. Rooter jerks his head around and shoots me the most evil of glares. His gaze pierced right through me, deep inside me, stirring up uncomfortable feelings. I mouth an apology then ever so slowly thrust my hands towards the ground. My ascension was slow and deliberate. My arms slowly move behind me and I begin to move forward, hovering three, maybe four, feet off the ground. I don’t know why I didn’t think of doing this earlier. Would have made things a lot easier.
I gracefully plant my feet on the ground right next to Rooter as Beecher and Skinner approach. We all took a knee and waited for Rooter to talk.
“You,” Rooter whispered as he pointed at Skinner, “can you tell me if there is
anyone else besides the five of us on this mountain?”
Skinner nods then places each hand on the ground. He closes his eyes for a brief moment as he lets his abilities to their thing. I look at Rooter who had an impatient look plastered across his face.
“Just the five of us,” Skinner said.
Rooter turned to his attention to me next.
“Can you do your thing and tell me how far we are from the village?”
I nod then stand up and take a step back. Like I’ve done a million times in the past, I thrust my arms towards the ground and I’m instantly airborne. But this time I let the energy continue to flow down my arms and out my hands sending me higher and higher. As my altitude increased, I noticed a valley straight ahead and a tree covered mountain across the way. I continued to soar, higher and higher, until I could see over the next mountain and down into its valley. There, nestled like a story book town, was the village where Al Shad Ramir and his men were supposedly going to have a meeting. I begin my descent and for the first since I ascended, I noticed how high I actually was. Skinner and the guys looked like tiny dots but they grew bigger and bigger until they reached normal size again when I elegantly touched down.
“Just over that ridge,” I whispered to Rooter. “The village is just over that far ridge.”
“Excellent,” Rooter began. “Beecher, radio in that we made it check point Alpha. Radio silence until we reach the village.”
We all nod then Beecher radios in our location. Rooter begins to make his way down the mountain side and one by one we follow him, not making a sound. The next few hours were silent ones as we trekked through rocks, sand, dirt, trees and bushes until we were on the far side of the ridge, looking down upon the peaceful village. Rooter instructs Beecher to call in that we made it to our destination and after that, we split up and hid in the bushes until it was time for Ramir to make his appearance.
I lay under a berry bush of some kind and wonder if the berries were edible. They look so tasty and juicy. I pick a few and roll them around in my hand, debating on whether or not to eat them. I bring them up to my mouth and am ready to pop them in when a firm hand grabs mine. I follow the hand up the arm which led to Skinner. He slowly shook his head then pointed at something on the ground. There, right at the base of the berry bush, was a dead bird.
