Marine

by Shiralyn J. Lee

  Iggy angled away from her, narrowing his eyes, and producing a fake smile. “Hey, I’m not asking anything.”

  Heat radiated in Tabatha’s cheeks, as if her insecurities had nowhere to hide, and showed themselves by emphasizing the pink blush crossing her face. She suppressed her smile, knowing that if the network was informed about her sexuality, not only would she lose her job, but the many people she represented would go unheard, and their situations could possibly worsen if the world had no indication that it was even happening. A lot rode on her alone, and she wasn’t about to let the people down.

  •••

  Entering the veterinary clinic through a wooden swing door, Gray was greeted by Paige, who always seemed to show she had a soft spot for her. Gray knew she was straight, so just went along with the flirtatious mannerism they shared.

  Stepping out from behind the counter, Paige greeted her with a friendly handshake, then crouched on one knee, cupped Zabba’s face in her hand, and said, “And how’s my handsome guy today?”

  Zabba looked at her with his big, brown, watery eyes, flattened his ears, then stretched. He was comfortable around her, as she spoke with a soft warming tone to him.

  Paige stood and gave a polite single nod at the two people standing behind Gray.

  “Oh, this is Tabatha Steel and Luke Burrows; they’re following me around—”

  “Yes, I’ve heard. A few of the guys were talking about it. Nice to meet you,” she said, then turned around and spoke over her shoulder as she headed toward a door. “It’s the dog you found, that you’ve come to see, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. We just wanted to see if he was okay.”

  Luke held the camera close to his face as he and Tabatha followed silently behind and entered a room where large, empty cages lined one wall, and on the other side, the Labrador dog sat on a fleece blanket. He shivered, and lowered his head, not making any eye contact when the group of people approached him.

  “He’s showing signs of PTSD. We don’t know exactly what happened to him in the time he was missing, but we can speculate that it wasn’t pleasurable,” Paige informed them.

  Gray looked down at Zabba and while patting the top of his head, she told him to sit. Moving slowly toward the Labrador, she held her hands out and spoke with a gentle tone, using comforting words. “It’s okay, buddy, you’re safe.” The dog cowered and whimpered, and then stood, holding its tail between its legs. “I won’t hurt you, I promise,” she whispered.

  “His name’s Mint. I checked out his ID tattoo. And, unfortunately, it was reported his handler was killed on patrol,” Paige informed her.

  Understanding how frightened Mint was, Gray placed her hands carefully on the floor, then, using slow movements, sat down, and crossed her legs. She lowered her head, and looked down at her lap while speaking soft, affectionate words. “I lost my best friend too, so I know you’re missing yours. But I have a new best friend now, his name is Zabba. You’re going to be okay, Mint, it’s just going to take time for you, that’s all.” Being mindful not to use sudden movements, she turned her head and looked up at Paige. Tears pooled in her eyes as a weight of sadness swept over her—the torment of grief could never be taken away, but to show kindness and patience would hopefully root out the hurt and confusion.

  While Luke continued to film, Tabatha couldn’t help but let out a quick sigh, immediately slapping her hand over her mouth when she realized it would have been picked up by the microphone.

  Folding her arms across her chest, Paige said in a low tone, “Humans tend to forget that animals have feelings and can grieve just like we do. If he’s unable to recover mentally, then he’ll be adopted by a loving family. I already know that the family of the Marine who handled him have asked if they can take Mint. I think it would benefit them, as a connection to their son, and Mint would fit in well.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he will,” Gray answered, satisfied there was a good chance that he wouldn’t be passed on to another Marine and continue to work.

  Chapter Nine

  An F22 fighter plane flew over the base at low level, the air pressure waves creating a thunderous aerodynamic roar in its wake. Then two more fighters flew over, the swoosh arising in the airflow as they passed and disappeared into the cloud-filled sky.

  The unit checked over their operational gear, and were handed their ammunition.

  “Okay, gear up,” Blake told the squad, as they were about to run a patrol out. “I’ve just received news there was a secret operation twenty klicks out to the north. They eliminated a Taliban safe haven, but not having a true count of individuals involved in that particular location, it is thought insurgent fighters have made their way to the local villages and are blending in. You need situation awareness when talking with these people. They may know something, but they’ll never come forward with information. Anyone who doesn’t look as if they’ve done a hard day’s work in a field, consider to be a person of interest.”

  With permission from the Colonel, who had taken quite a lot of persuasion from the news network station to grant them rare access, Tabatha and Luke were going out with the unit, and had been geared up with protective glasses, outer tactical vests, and helmets fitted with cameras. Just those few items weighed heavy on their bodies, as they weren’t used to wearing such extreme clothing.

  Gray was geared up in protective body armor, helmet with headset, load carrying vest for ammo, first aid kit, water carriers, and the bane of every Marines existence, the rucksack. The basics alone included optics, flashlights, night vision and radio equipment, and batteries for each electronic device.

  Tabatha turned to her left, and spying a Star Bangled Banner draped over a wall of sandbags, with signatures and messages written by many Marines, she walked over to it, and made sure to capture all of the names on her camera. It was a touching moment, as some of the signatures belonged to Marines who would never make it home again. Messages relayed in words that touched her heart…

  For my America, and for the world. Sergeant John Malone.

  If I cannot help my fellow American’s, then who will? Lance Corporal Mark Daugherty.

  For the freedom of the people. Lance Corporal James Bergman.

  If anyone can save us, we can, I’m glad to be a part of that. Corporal Jessica Wyatt.

  I love my America, I love my wife, and I love my children. I’m a small stone in a large lake, but it takes thousands of stones to protect the water, as it takes thousands of brothers to protect their loved ones. Private First Class Christina Marie Elliot.

  We are brothers in a foreign country, and we will be brothers in a common country. Gunnery Sergeant Joseph Pearson.

  Tabatha reached out and touched the banner, running her fingers over the stars, then over the signed messages, while she released an appreciative sigh, her thoughts on her own family and friends back home. Although distance could be measured by miles, her family still felt close to her heart. Her mother had protested loudly against her reporting from countries like Afghanistan, and when she had got the job as a war reporter, it just emphasized the righteousness she was trying to make. Her brother and sister had voiced their opinions, both toward the negative side of her going, but in the end, it wasn’t their lives being put under the microscope, and even with their disapprovals, she still went ahead and took the job, as it was a sense of her destiny.

  “Steel, you ready to go?” Gray called out to her.

  Tabatha straightened up and ran the edge of her hand beneath her eye to wipe away a tear about to trickle. “Yes, I’m ready to go,” she answered with an unhurried response.

  Iggy gave Gray a playful swat on her shoulder, and said, “Are you two—?”

  “No, we’re not,” Gray quickly snapped under her breath. She checked over her shoulder to make sure their conversation couldn’t be overheard. “There’s nothing going on, okay?”

  Lightly taking hold of her arm, Iggy spoke in a tentative tone, “Hey, I’m on your side. You just need to be focused out there
, and if you’re wrapped up in some silly affair, it’s going to affect every one of us, do you get that?” Yanking her arm free from his hold, her voice wavered as her frustration quickly mounted.

  “I’m always fucking focused, Iggy. That’s my job. I’m informed my father passed away by way of a cold, handwritten letter, did that affect my job? Did I break down and ball my fucking eyes out? Did I cause anyone here to be placed in a dangerous situation? So, ask yourself, Iggy, can you handle the same shit that I handle, because for me, I’ve had to work harder at proving myself as a Marine? It’s only been in recent years that women are being treated equally, if that’s the right word to use, because I don’t always see that. I’ve put up with so much bullshit, and yet, I’ve never let you or anyone else down, so don’t fucking patronize me, okay!”

  “I’m sorry,” he replied with a firm tone, giving the impression he wasn’t entirely happy with her response.

  •••

  A convoy of six tactical vehicles drove out of the base, with Iggy driving vehicle number one, a Husky, scanning the road ahead with a ground penetrating radar system. Gray sat in the front passenger seat in vehicle two with Zabba, and Blake drove, with Tabatha and Luke seated behind them.

  “Let’s rock ‘n’ roll,” Iggy said over the radio.

  “Move out,” Blake replied.

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay,” Tabatha asked, as the truck drove over rocks, causing her to sway from one side of her seat to the other.

  Gray shifted in her seat to get a better look at her interviewer. “Yeah, sure. What do you want to know?”

  “What do you expect to find on the road today?”

  “A landscape plagued with IEDs, Taliban fighters hiding out in mud wall buildings, where there’s abundant areas to hide out and shoot from. Losing a brother is one of the hardest things to accept, so we maintain a constant watch out for loosened dirt, clumps of grass, garbage, even an abandoned car. There’s nothing they won’t use, so we have to be prepared for the unexpected.”

  “Have the military made any difference being here?”

  “I’d say definitely. The coalition force presence consists of hundreds of Marines. When we travel through the village streets, men sit on wooden benches, and the stares they give us can be quite evil, and we always get a feeling they know things they’re not telling us, so there’s still a lot of critical work to do. Marines are effectively providing safety for the people in the area.”

  “It must get overwhelming at times, how do you cope, especially with family being so far away?”

  “You have to train yourself to hold your emotions in. We’re not living in a world where words can make things right, it’s actions that count, and we have to act fast to keep the Taliban fighters from doing everything they can to make sure we don’t find their IEDs. Those things can tear a truck in half.”

  There were blast holes still in the road, a reminder of the dangers of a war-torn country.

  A beat-up white car, abandoned in the middle of the road, caused the convoy to grind to a halt. The unit was suspicious, and sent a bomb disposal robot to examine the car closely. Controlled by Sanderson in vehicle three, he could see what the robot saw through cameras set up on the outer casing.

  Blake radioed Sanderson, “Check the back window, then the side.”

  Sanderson operated the robot to check all around the vehicle, but found no evidence of anything in the way of a bomb inside.

  The surrounding terrain of sand-covered hills was a haven for Taliban fighters to hide and attack from without being seen. Blake and Gray checked both sides of the terrain through the windows to see if they were being set up in an ambush, which would be a likely outcome.

  Digging her fingernails into the sides of her seat, her breath trembling, Tabatha asked, “Is everything okay?”

  Beads of sweat trickled down Luke’s face, as he remembered just days ago the ordeal they’d found themselves in. “We’re in safe company,” he whispered to himself.

  Maintaining a watchful eye on the hills, Blake gave the order to send the Husky to lead the way through, driving along the side of the road, but as the order was given out, a dull rumble sounded behind their truck and Blake immediately looked in the mirrors to catch sight of what it was. “An IED has just exploded.”

  “I’ve got a position on a sniper on the hilltop,” Sanderson informed them over the radio.

  “Where, what position?” Blake asked looking at the top of the hill.

  “Chief, we just took a hit from an AK,” Sanderson informed him.

  “Go to infra-red and Mike the mother fucker!” Blake ordered.

  “Be advised, direct hit, direct hit,” Bobby radioed from vehicle four.

  “We have eyes on the target,” Sanderson reported.

  “Take ‘em out!” Blake ordered.

  Gray spotted a second cell of fighters firing from a hill to their East, and acting immediately, she informed Blake they were being pinned down, then told Zabba to stay down. “Sir?”

  Blake radioed for everyone in the convoy to take position behind the wall and engage with the enemy.

  “What about us, what do we do?” Tabatha asked.

  “Get down behind the wall,” Blake told her.

  Tabatha and Luke left the truck and crouched down behind the wall, clutching to each other’s tense bodies as bullets zinged over their heads.

  Lined along the wall, Marines fired their SAWs, hundreds of rounds were spent in seconds, but even against their heavy artillery, the insurgents kept firing from both cell groups.

  “RPG inbound, cover,” Gray yelled, then ducked down next to Tabatha. She didn’t have time to ask if she was okay, even though she knew the pair of them were scared to death.

  Behind the truck a loud explosion went off, the earth trembled, and dirt kicked up like a volcanic display, sending rocks and shrapnel in all directions.

  “Get some mortars out there, Bobby, get the fuck on it,” Blake yelled.

  Gray resumed her position and opened fire with her M249, the linked rounds fed through, creating a heavy volume of fire, and ejecting brass and links at her feet.

  The ambush had been well planned, and bullets whipped across from three hundred meters out.

  Gray pointed to the cell on the hillside and yelled, “That cell’s elevated so they can shoot down on our position.”

  The firefight intensified, with approximately twenty to thirty insurgents firing at the Marines, and not giving up. And because the enemy were relentless, Blake called in reinforcements for an airstrike attack.

  Within minutes, two Apache choppers flew over the ground unit, their jet powered engines creating a low, thumping drone.

  The Marines maintained their engagement, while Blake controlled what was happening in the air, and giving them the locations, the two Apache choppers zoned in on the direction the fire was coming from—a cave in the hillside. The Apache’s engaged the cave with rockets, providing direct accurate close air support for the ground troops, and neutralizing the fighters. The ground rumbled where the rockets hit their targets, and gray ball of smoke plumed high into the air.

  “Whoa,” Gray yelled, thankful they’d hit their target. Her heart beat fast, as though she knew every second was a second closer to the chance of being shot. One thing she’d taught herself, was to dehumanize the enemy; that way, when they engaged in firefights, she had no problem with killing them.

  Although one of the cells had been taken out, the firefight wasn’t over, as there was still the other cell of insurgents firing at the convoy.

  Blake positioned himself between Gray and Iggy, and joined in the firefight. “Get those mother-fuckers,” he yelled.

  The violent sound of shots being fired filled the air with a sense of do or die. Marines shouted back and forth where the targets were, and then silence fell, as the incoming shots halted.

  Blake checked for battle damage assessment to get eyes on the guys they’d killed, by searching th
e grounds through his binoculars. “I don’t see movement.” It was then, he slowly lowered the binoculars and turned his head to his left. Iggy was no longer standing at his side. As he registered what had happened, he dropped down, and immediately yelled for a medic.

  Gray turned to see why Blake was crouching and yelling for help, and it was as though she was seeing everything in slow motion. His words seemed to trail in the air, his eyes wide and glassy as he looked over his shoulder right at her. For a fraction of a second, she hesitated. Then it dawned on her, Iggy had been shot. Beneath her feet, the dry earth suddenly felt as though it was a mass of jello—her mind swirled, and her breathing became shallow.

  “For fuck sake, Gray, I need a medic,” Blake screamed at her.

  Gray snapped out of her moment and turned to her right, “Medic, I need a medic, get a fucking medic now!” She staggered and dropped to her knees, drawing in a sharp breath as she looked Iggy over. His head hung low, his arms dropped to his sides and his hands motionless on the ground. “Iggy, can you hear me? Iggy?”

  They’d always been there for each other, had had each other’s backs when needed, bantered, joked, argued. To Gray, he was like her blood brother.

  Blake placed his hand on her arm and closing his eyes, he shook his head slowly. “He’s gone, Gray.”

  Gray’s words took flight in the form of a loud cry, “No!”

  Chapter Ten

  In front of the draped Star Spangled banner, Corporal Jerome ‘Iggy’ Theobald’s boots had been placed together, with his rifle thrust into the platform they sat on, his dog tags hanging, and his helmet resting on the butt, forming a battle cross for a dead Marine.

  It was the final time his name was called out in roll call, as a tribute to identify their dead comrade. Marines stood uniformly in silence, saluting, as Amazing Grace was played on the bagpipes. When it ended, the Marines placed their hands behind their backs, stood with their feet parted, and, at Iggy’s request not so long ago, they hummed The Sound of Silence. Emotional pain showed in their eyes, torturing them with jagged thoughts of their own, each needing to hold a loved one, and hoping for a purpose to educate such an unruly country.