by J. F. Smith
“So, you’ve just been sticking your finger up your ass all day? Is that what you’ve been doing?”
Matt glanced briefly over at Mope, giving him a split-second plea for help. Mope gave him a quick nod, trying to encourage Matt to give it back to Petey.
Fine, thought Matt. What the hell did he have to lose?
“What? You sound like you don’t like the idea of that,” said Matt, issuing the challenge.
“Hell, pink…” started Petey.
Matt interrupted him, “You think that’s nasty?”
“Damn nasty…”
“You think that’s offensive?”
“Hell, yeah,” agreed Petey.
“And yet, you just had to steal the towel that had been riding up my ass crack so you could huff it all afternoon. Was it ripe enough for you? Huh? You gonna sleep with it under your pillow tonight?”
Baya busted out laughing, as well as a few of the Marines sitting closest to them in the crowded chow hall. Desantos barely grinned, and didn’t seem to find it quite as funny as Baya did.
Petey scowled at the chuckling Marines and said, “Don’t you punks ever mind your own goddamn business?” but they just kept laughing to themselves as they ate.
Petey started to get up out of his chair and the two Marines stopped laughing very suddenly and looked everywhere other than at Petey.
Petey said, “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” and sat back down.
Petey looked back at Matt and nodded at him as a smirk started to spread across his face. Matt finally relaxed a tiny bit. He stole a quick glance at Mope, who gave him an impressed nod of approval.
Matt didn’t leave well enough alone, though. He reached back to scratch his ass casually a few times with everyone at the table watching. He held his finger out to Petey and said, “You want a fresh round, Petey? If you like the towel, you’ll love this!”
Petey said through his widening grin, despite the new round of laughs from Baya and the Marines sitting close by, “Okay, I see how it’s going to be. You’re on, Fingers Goodend!” Even Matt had to admit he hadn’t heard that one before and smiled back.
With the ice fully broken at this point, Matt decided he had something he needed to say while all four of them were there, seated around him.
He got very serious and said, “So, all the PMS’ing I did at you guys earlier today aside, I really should say thanks.”
He looked at each of them, but they gave him a chance to say what he had to say, even Petey. “You never expect to have to tell people ‘thanks for saving my life’, and… and you sure as hell don’t expect it to have been under the circumstances that you saved mine. When you guys found me, I was so scared and the thirst had gotten so bad, I wanted to die. I wanted them to come in and shoot me in the head to end it. I had lost hope at that point and was ready for it to be done with.” Matt paused a moment before continuing, “What you guys did for me was unimaginable. Every day of my life from now on is something that you guys gave me, and I’ll take that with me. I’m sitting here trying… to… trying to figure out how to say it in a way that measures up to what you guys did for me. And I honestly don’t know how. I don’t know that the words even exist, you know? As pathetic as it is, all I know to say is thanks. Thank you. Thank you for saving my life when I thought it was already over.”
Matt looked down at the table and the enormity of it hit him like a softball bat. What he said was true, in that room he had lost hope and fully expected to die. Wanted to die. And these people that he was sitting with and having dinner with, men that he probably wasn’t even supposed to know existed, had busted into a building with armed kidnappers and pulled him from the empty room that was to be his coffin. Matt’s lips turned down, frowning in an effort to hold back the sheer emotion of it, and losing the battle.
The table was silent, even amidst the general noise of the rest of the chow hall. And then, without warning, Petey asked hopefully, “Sooooo… does this mean you’re going to give us all blowjobs?”
And relief washed over Matt. God bless that asshole, he thought. It was exactly what he needed to break the emotion and not start crying like a baby at a table full of Navy SEALs.
With barely a missed beat, Matt looked up at Petey and said, matter-of-factly, “Sure, but I’ve got my standards. It’s gotta be bigger than a squirrel’s dick, Petey, and I’m willing to bet good money that leaves you out of the running.”
From that point on, Matt was much more relaxed, and the conversation was much lighter.
To Matt’s surprise, the guys showed a lot of curiosity, asking Matt about what he was doing in Syria, his volunteer work with Doctors Without Borders, and his job back in Richmond. They also wanted to know if he had a boyfriend or not (a “butt buddy” as Petey insisted on putting it), how long he and Brian had been together, and how they met. Then they found out he played softball and Petey had to give him a hard time about being on a gay softball team. He wanted to know where they managed to find dildos big enough to use as softball bats, but then reflected, “Never mind, if there’s anybody that could sniff out a dildo that big, it’d have to be you, Glitterballs.”
Matt, for his part, asked them if they had families, but none of them did. Neither did they really have steady girlfriends. Desantos mentioned that what they did for a living made relationships a little difficult since they travelled a lot and couldn’t say much about what they were doing. Actually, Petey said he did have a “steady girlfriend” and then explained it was a “steady stream of girlfriends, a different one every time he got drunk and horny.”
He found out from them that the four of them formed what was called a fire team, which was a part of a platoon of SEALs, which was in turn part of SEAL Team 8.
Matt learned that Petey was Peter Tuttle and was from the small town of Parsons, Tennessee (which the others referred to as Possums, Tennessee). Matt was surprised at this and had assumed he was from Colorado since he had heard them call him that several times. Desantos pointed out they called him that just because “Colorado” meant “the color red”. Petey had been in the Navy three years prior to trying out to become a SEAL and was therefore the only one with Navy experience prior to making it into Special Forces.
Skander Baya was from New Jersey and his parents were both Tunisians that had moved to the US and gotten their citizenship even before he was born. But his background meant that, in addition to English, he could also speak French and Arabic fairly well. Granted, he admitted with a grin, it was Arabic with a New Jersey accent, but Arabic nonetheless.
Antonio Desantos was born in Mesa, Arizona, but had grown up in San Diego, California since his family moved there when he was four. He had also gotten a degree in structural engineering from the University of California in San Diego, and then pissed his family off by becoming a SEAL instead of doing something with it. Tony found this pretty funny because his degree came in pretty handy sometimes with the demolition work they sometimes got called on to do.
As the dinner progressed, Matt noticed that Mope seemed to hang out of the conversation. And even with the joking that went on, Mope rarely smiled. Matt started to wonder if he was doing the wrong things with the other guys and it was bothering Mope, so he started to hold back some. Mope had been really good to him, and he didn’t want to do anything that would piss him off or upset him. It puzzled Matt since he felt like he had actually gotten on a decent footing with them. Even Colorado.
When they had finally finished eating, Petey grabbed his tray and said, “Alright, gentlemen, and lady, I need to go see if I can figure out why that sight is sticking on my M4. It’s been driving me nuts.”
Mope stood up with him and asked, “Which one?”
“The Trijicon.”
Mope said, “I’ll come help with it. Matt, I’ll find you in the morning, ok?”
Matt agreed, and as Petey and Mope left, Baya turned to Matt and asked “I don’t suppose you ever play any video games, do you?”
Matt said that, actually, h
e did, and told Baya about the game system setup he had at home. They talked about which games they each had for a moment before Desantos stood up to head out, too, and said, “I’m going to go make a phone call back home and check email.”
Baya asked Matt, “So, you up for a game or two?”
“Absolutely!” said Matt. “There’s nothing else for me to do here.”
The put their trays away and Matt followed Baya off through the ship.
As they walked, Matt asked, “So, uh, Skander, if your parents are from Tunisia, does that mean you’re Muslim?”
“Yeah, well, not hardcore, though. And just call me Baya… everybody else does. I grew up about as Muslim as you probably grew up Christian. We didn’t even keep halal, except in a few rare instances. We weren’t really ever very observant about Ramadan, either, but we did usually celebrate Eid when it was over. So, all the fun parts and none of the tough stuff.”
Matt was curious, but didn’t want to offend Baya, either. He finally decided to ask. “Is it hard? Being Muslim and doing what you do? I’m assuming those guys that had kidnapped me were Muslim.”
Baya shook his head, “Not really. Most of that extremist stuff I don’t consider to be really true to Islam at all. These people are just extremists and use Islam as an excuse for their own crazy agendas. I’m sure you’d feel the same way about Christian extremists killing random Muslim people in Richmond.”
“Is it hard being Muslim in the US military? Do you get treated differently?”
Baya stopped for a minute and looked at Matt. “Yeah, well that’s the heart of it. It can be tough. So many people in the military want to lump me in with the extremists, and it starts right when they first see me. It’s pretty discouraging. But usually, once they get to know me and see what I’m really like, they see we’re really on the same side. I’ve just got to work that much harder to earn people’s trust, though. BUD/S training was tough because I was really an outsider there. But by the time I got through it, I had bonded with the other guys pretty well. Coming into SEAL Team 8 raised eyebrows again some, but once they got to know me, they trusted me as much as anyone. Now that I’m settled in, it’s not an issue any more. Desantos was probably the toughest one to overcome. He’s pretty down and dirty Catholic, and it took a while for him to get past me being Muslim, but even he was willing to move past it. And being a SEAL earns me a lot of immediate respect from the rest of the Navy and the Marines.”
He added, “It’s probably a lot like for the gays in the military. They assume the worst about them so quickly, but once they get to know them a little bit, they see it’s a bunch of bullshit – being a good or bad soldier has nothing to do with being gay or straight. Of course, I can’t be thrown out of the Navy for being Muslim, but a gay guy can get booted even if he’s done nothing but be a good soldier. So anyway, I’ve got plenty of reason to not apply stupid prejudices against other people.”
Matt said, “Yeah, I’m having a hard time deciding if Petey really means what he says or is just joking around.”
Baya said, “Shit, I’ve had Petey call me raghead and Sheik Abdullah so many times I’ve lost count. By the way, Matt, you held up well against Petey at dinner. He’s going to like you. And that’s the thing with Petey. He only rides rough on the people he actually likes. And as long as you can hold your own, he’ll like you that much more. In the end, he’s just having fun. Petey can be pretty scary to people that don’t know him, but he’s a good guy. You’ll see. You keep giving it back to him and you’ll wind up wishing he didn’t like you.”
Matt decided that he liked Baya very much.
Matt changed the subject and asked where they had a video game system set up. Baya said that the ready room they were borrowing for the mission had a game system set up in it, but that Petey was the only one that really liked to play against him.
When they got to the ready room being used by the SEALs, Baya started getting the game system ready and Matt looked around a little. The room looked like it was normally set up with a few rows of comfortable, high-backed seats, like there were presentations given in there, but these seats had been pushed around some to clear out a space in the middle with the seats facing in. Along one of the walls behind the seats, he spotted five or six large duffel bags piled up. In addition to the large flatscreen monitor that Baya was switching over to show the game system, there were a lot of checklists on the walls with acronyms that Matt didn’t understand, whiteboards with notes, helicopter diagrams, plus some cabinets along the back wall. Taped over one of the boards, though, was a large satellite map.
Just as he was about to get a closer look at the map, Baya said, “You know, Matt, thanks for what you said at dinner earlier.”
Matt looked over at Baya, not quite following what he was saying.
“Some of the things we do are pretty tough, and it’s not often that we get to really help someone like we did you, aside from other soldiers, I mean. And when we do, we rarely get to actually meet or talk to the people afterwards. Usually, after a mission like this, we would have been gone immediately and we’re not even supposed to see or talk to the people we helped. But there’s something still going on here. We’re waiting for further instructions, which is really unusual. And this time, we get to actually get to know the person we helped. It’s kinda nice, you know, to hear someone say the things you said.”
Matt nodded thoughtfully and pointed at the map. He asked Baya, “Is this your map?”
Baya glanced at it as he walked over to where Matt was standing. He said, “Yeah. You probably don’t even know where you were the whole time you were being held, do you?”
Matt got quiet. It was true. He had no idea where he had been. He whispered, “No, I don’t.”
Baya showed Matt on the map a canal that went from the Mediterranean Sea inland along the south edge of Latakia. He explained that this is where they took their boat. Then he pointed to a compound of buildings in a less dense area, about a half a mile off the canal.
Baya said, “There. The building you were in was there.”
Matt was more than a little fascinated with seeing this. It was probably only a few miles from Tishreen University where he had been staying.
“I don’t remember leaving. I passed out just as we got out of the building,” he said. “How did you get me to the boat?”
Baya shrugged and said, “Same way we got Stillman’s body to the boat. We carried you. Well, Desantos carried Stillman.”
Matt remembered now. “Petey mentioned this. I guess I wasn’t really listening. It was a guy named Travis, he said.”
A voice behind them said, “Any of us would have done it, Peaches.”
They turned and Matt saw Mope and Petey coming in the door. Petey had another duffel bag in one hand, a small rifle in the other, and a larger, much more frightening rifle with some kind of complicated scope system on it across his chest. Mope was carrying a smaller bag and another one of the small rifles. Matt wasn’t used to seeing people walk around armed to the teeth like this.
It had been Petey that made the comment while walking in. And Matt was on the verge of being impressed with Petey’s newfound sincerity, until Petey added sarcastically, “Or, at least I would have if I had thought I might get my knob polished in return.”
Petey started setting up in a few of the seats to work on their weapons while Mope put the duffel bags with the others.
Mope reassured Matt, “Any of us would have done it, Matt.”
Matt asked, “So, wait… who’s Travis, then?”
Baya laughed, “That’s Mope!”
“A half mile? How did he carry me a half mile?” he asked. Matt was incredulous at the thought. He repeated the question to Mope, who was locking up one of the duffel bags in the cabinets in the back of the room, “How did you carry me a half mile?”
Baya seemed almost amused by Matt’s questions. “On his back. Desantos already had Stillman. Mope’s probably got more endurance than me or Petey, so he carried
you while Petey and me leapfrogged in case we ran into hostiles on the way back to the CRRC.”
Matt had that odd feeling again, like he didn’t deserve what these guys put themselves through to save him. He had to repeat the statement to himself to try and make it really sink in. “Mope carried me a half mile on his back?”
Mope looked over from the duffel bags and repeated, “Any of us would have done it, Matt.”
“C’mon, Matt! None of us would have left you there!” said Baya, almost casually, like Matt was being astonished that someone held a door open for him.
Matt stood there, starting to fully understand the extent to which these guys had gone to get him to safety, and what Mope had said earlier in the day up on Vulture’s Row came back and haunted him. His doubts about Mope’s message and motivation earlier seemed like a horrible, shallow betrayal of the man. He was determined to not let those kinds of paranoid doubts cloud his mind again.
And he never would have imagined having the other thought that started to creep into his mind at that moment. And in fact, he had been dead set against it earlier that day. But the thought was there, nonetheless; if there was going to be another part to this mission, and if there was anything at all Matt could do to help these guys, he’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t. Not after what they had done for him, and then made it sound like it was nothing.
Baya flopped down in one of the seats in front of the flatscreen and said, “Now get your ass over here so I can kick it from here to Saudi Arabia.”
While Mope and Petey worked on the scope on one of the rifles, Matt and Baya played the video game for a while. It turned out they were pretty well matched against each other as the car racing game they were playing was one of Matt’s favorites. Brian always disliked how much time Matt spent playing video games, but he hadn’t been able to shake him of the habit.
When they got tired of that game, Baya went to look for another one of his favorites, and started digging around in one of the duffel bags lying around the ready room. Petey came over to where Baya was and started digging around with him. Mope continued trying to get the scope unstuck from Petey’s rifle and cussed at it.
