by Tony Lavely
Willie leaned forward and smiled. “And me?”
“Says the ladies’ man. You should always know where I’m headed, so you can pick up the pieces. Besides, I don’t want to leave Shalin the only one responsible for Amy and her… so-called plans. She deserves better than that.”
Shalin laughed. “Who does?”
“You know what I mean!”
Beckie guessed she understood Willie’s expression: brows furrowed over his eyes, corners of his lips pulled down. His words confirmed her understanding, “I know your mind’s made up, but I wonder if you should be making that kind of trip so soon.”
“You’re not going to call me a girl again?”
“I wasn’t, but you are. One that the team loves, each of us in our own screwy way. And women aren’t well respected where Sam and his guys are.”
“A couple of Sam’s ‘guys’ are just as much tits and ass as I am.”
“More, if I remember,” Shalin said with a smirk.
“Thanks, Shalin. You’re right. But I could pad myself out, and let my hair get dirty; pass for a guy for as long as I’d be there. But I won’t. I’m not hiding who I am. That’s not the message I want to send.”
“What I wanted to say… We’ve lost Kevin and Ian. Guys we all loved. I don’t want you at risk.”
“I don’t either. I’ll be careful. But our job, the team’s job, that’s not exactly risk free, is it? It’s not fair to the others for their boss to hang here on the beach. The person sends them out on these jobs.”
“Okay.” He exchanged a look with Shalin that Beckie interpreted as “I tried,” so she felt some surprise when he continued, “Last thing to think about, then, and I’ll keep quiet. It’s only been a couple weeks since the… the memorial.”
“No, Willie…” Beckie looked at her phone. “It’s been twenty-two days, eleven hours and… thirty-five minutes since Ian died. Shalin knows the helplessness as well as I do. Sitting around doesn’t help at all. I’m not over it, not at all, but I’m getting better. I can cope. Maybe that’s all I can do, but I can do that. Getting out to see the guys, both male and female, that I’m responsible for, that I may have to bury the same way we did Kevin and Ian, I don’t think that’s too much to do.
“If you’re thinking…” She sat up and gave him the most serious gaze she could muster. “I’m not looking for a way to die. You’ll understand that later on, but believe me, I’m gonna cover my butt with everything we’ve got.” When he nodded, she stood and went to him. With a hug, she kissed him. “Thanks, Willie. I knew I made the right choice when I asked you to help me. Every day you prove it.”
Details done, plans made, Beckie waited for Millie.
In two days, dressed in her desert camos with brown pull-over shirt and combat boots, she was assisting the cargo handlers as the supplies and gear were unloaded. Patrice had planned an early arrival, so while the sun was out and the dust was blowing in the steady breeze, the temperature was no more than warm, probably seventy-two. And her sweat evaporated before she noticed it. Arid, this nondescript airfield in eastern Turkey.
Sam had made long-term arrangements with the government for landing privileges—as long as they did not engage with any Turkish forces—and he and Ian had been scrupulous about keeping the agreement. Beckie had added courtesy shipments for Red Crescent; Sam had reported the gesture was well-received and Beckie made sure at least one pallet of food, medicine and relief supplies was on the manifest. While Beckie helped load the box truck headed to Sam’s base, Millie arranged the transport of the Red Crescent supplies.
Beckie was working alongside Ben, a younger team member she’d met probably seven or eight months ago when he left the Seals and joined Sam and Ian. Stacy and her partner, the Chief, were packing a dirty white Toyota pickup.
Ben told her that she’d ride with him; Millie would ride with the Chief and Stacy in the pickup.
The pair were interesting. Stacy had Beckie’s Minnesota accent, but from the northern part of the state. At her community college, the Army recruiter had made a compelling argument which, coupled with a ticket to Fort Sill—warmer and away from Minnesota—led her to sign for four years. She’d been disappointed with the limits placed on her as a female, and didn’t reenlist.
The Chief, his name was White Feather, but Sam had taken one look at the craggy line of his nose, the smooth copper skin of his face, the determination in his eyes and his tightly pulled back hair, not to mention—though Beckie remembered Sam always did—the fringed leather shirt and pants he’d worn for his first meeting in Fort Lauderdale and with no further comment, welcomed him and called him the Chief. He was one of the Lakota People, and had grown up in North Dakota. After high school, he’d seen the same dearth of prospects that Stacy had faced and joined the Navy. He’d volunteered for SEAL training, and made it through, though for reasons he wouldn’t discuss except with Sam, he’d left after six years instead of re-uping.
Stacy had met Sam two months after the Chief; once she’d been brought in, she was assigned to him for mentoring. They’d paired together since. While neither Beckie nor Ian had inquired, the sense they’d both had was that there was no intimacy between them beyond that of two soldiers sharing a tent, a deployment or a task. Beckie was happy the two of them were here; the Chief had an uncanny sense with computers, and Stacy made it possible to communicate with him.
Like Beckie, all three of them wore desert camo, though Ben and Stacy had opted for green shirts. Millie’s brown top had a Red Cross armband to signal her status. Stacy’s shirt wasn’t loose enough to disguise her figure, but no one but Beckie seemed to notice. That’s the way it oughta be!
From the airfield, the vehicles with Sam’s supplies made their way toward the Syrian border. Beckie hadn’t thought too much about this part of the trip until Ben smiled apologetically and tied a black silk handkerchief over her eyes while Stacy did Millie’s. “Don’t worry,” Ben said to Beckie, “Sam made sure I’d bring a clean one for you. It’s ta protect us in case you’re captured an interrogated.”
“It’s okay. Shouldn’t be for the whole trip, right? Just far enough to disconnect the points?”
“Yeah. ‘Bout forty-five minutes, an hour. Ready then?” He checked the blindfold.
First Millie, then Sam had told her about this minor detail. Sam offered her the chance to see everything, but she remembered the bathtub in London and knew she’d not stand any prolonged interrogation, especially with the baby to think of. It was bad enough putting herself at risk anyway, but… she had to do it. She’d thought about telling him to forget the blindfold and just keep her from being captured, but she knew the risk there: if she couldn’t be saved, she’d be dead. Blindfold: uncomfortable, but they won’t put a bullet in my head to save me… Dead is better than giving up the team. She shuddered. Or having my head hacked off on video!
The cab of the thirty or more year-old Mercedes Unimog 404 used to have doors; now, the dust blew through with reckless abandon. They’d gotten everything loaded and the blindfold on in the early afternoon before the temperature really started climbing. Beckie sat quiet for a few minutes, but the black of the blindfold wore on her.
“Ben, sorry to say I’ve forgotten a lot of what you said when you came aboard. Keep me from loosing it; tell me again, please.”
“Hav’ta say, Ms Jamse, I’m happy ta think the boss doesn’t have a reason ta know more about me, but… what do you wanta know?”
“Start with basic stuff. Not so far back as ‘I was born,’ but before Sam and Ian.”
“Easy. Born an raised in Mississippi, by the river where my daddy worked loading and unloading barges. Hard work, not much chance ta improve his lot. I watched him and listened ta him and my ma, and not the guys around. I worked my ass off in high school and took my diploma over ta the Armed Forces Recruiting Center. They signed me in; I volunteered for the SEAL program, an did my eight. When I came out, college didn’t look so interesting after Sam found me through mutual friend
s an here I am. Back in the Middle East.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. No more questions, I promise.”
“It’s okay; you’re the boss.”
Not quite the way I wanted to end that, but… what do I say now?
She couldn’t think of anything useful, so remained quiet. The temperature had risen while they drove. Still no sweat, she thought, rubbing her forehead above the silk. The air, dry as it was, reminded her of Arizona a little. The odor was dust, except when they must have passed a refuse pile; that was a more familiar if less welcome scent. Sometimes the scent was Ben, when the wind blew just right; he needed a shower.
“So, I lied, Ben. How big a camp where you are now?”
“It’s pretty small. The stuff in the back’ll ‘bout fill it up. Tomorrow, after you and Sam decide what we’ll do, we’ll probably move it west. Sam’s been talking… Well, I’ll let him tell you. He’d shoot me otherwise, an rightly so.”
Beckie chuckled at Ben’s rich southern accent as well as the obvious warning.
“But we do have latrines an one shower. Not a lot a water for that, though.” The note of longing in his voice surprised her. She wanted to lift the edge of the silk and watch him, but decided that was just voyeuristic, and unnecessary, too.
“Short on fresh water, then? I guess that makes sense. It’s the best part of a desert, this area.”
“Yeah. Got plenty for drinking and cooking, but showers really are a luxury.” She wondered if he had mind-reading talent, the way he fixated on the shower.
“I guess I’ll survive til I leave. Need more practice at different, anyway.”
“We got plenty a that, I guess! Though, some a the stories we hear…”
“Stories? What about?”
The innocence of her question was obvious as soon as Ben began to stammer, and she quickly cut him off. “Never mind. If I lived it, I don’t need to hear about it.”
“Well, I don’ know for sure, but… they said you did, so maybe.”
“Okay. If you have a specific question these ‘stories’ have raised, once we take the blindfold off, I’ll answer if I can.”
“That’s right nice of you. They said that in the stories, too.” He slowed the truck and stopped. Behind them, she heard the Jeep come to a stop also. “We can do it here.” His hands were rough, sliding under the blindfold to lift it over her head. “There. Beautiful Syria.”
It didn’t look all that different from Arizona. Less green, and there didn’t seem to be any of the stunted trees she remembered Jean-Luc flying over. But the dirt and the sand, that looked pretty much the same. Rock formations rose from the sand just as they had there, but in this view, none quite as large as those.
She said so to Ben. “Pretty much like Arizona.”
“Don’ know, never been there. If it’s like this, no need ta go.”
“Well, the small part I saw. Maybe the rest is different.”
“Not here. Except where they irrigate. Or near the river. Gets nice an green there.” He waved out the window, jammed the gear shift up hard and started moving. “One a the stories… if you really don’ mind…”
She slid around on the plastic seat to face him. “If I do, I’ll tell you. I’m not shy. By the way, let’s keep this between us.” She giggled, not having any idea what the “stories” could consist of, though she had her fears. “No reason to clarify the myth for everyone. And nothing about Ian and me.”
He nodded. “Okay. Though the first one…”
“You can ask; just remember, I can reach your head with my boot.”
“I guess you can. I’ll keep it in mind. They said Mr. Jamse rescued you after—”
“Ian rescued me several times. My own doing. Next.”
“Were you a stripper… in London?”
“I was, for three or four days.”
She watched with amusement as his eyes flickered toward her. Trying to guess what I’d look like on stage? “Mostly, I was different from the other girls, which I hear is always a big seller.”
“I guess. Hard ta imagine… my… my boss doing that.”
“You do what needs to be done, right? So does everyone on the team. I wasn’t alone…” The idea hit her. “I hope the stories made it clear that I had cover…” whether I knew it or not, “… all the time. That you can share if anyone has the wrong idea.” She tipped her head sideways, gave herself a questioning expression. “Wouldn’t you do that if needed?”
“Geeze, Ms Jamse, I don’ know if I could.”
“Well, think on it. I may go out looking for a contract that needs a male stripper.”
His laugh wasn’t as hearty as some of the earlier ones. “You don have ta go ta that trouble, Ms Jamse. Please.”
“Okay. I won’t look for one. But if one comes up, I’ll remember to talk to you.” She almost reached over to pat his arm, but decided the cab was so wide that doing so might send the wrong message. She wasn’t in the market for him to prove his virility. “Any other questions? About stories?”
“One I guess. Did you see Abby Rochambeau when… when she…”
“When she took the bullet?” He nodded, gaze fixed on the road ahead. The sand and rock track ahead, anyway. “I was there, but… that was one of the times Ian saved me, so I didn’t see her actually fall. Just before and just—” Her voice choked, the recollection segued into Ian’s head lying on her lap in the South African Police Services helicopter and she broke down, folded up on herself.
That lasted only until the truck swerved, bouncing her off the door frame as Ben pulled off the track and stopped. She pulled herself together before he reached for her, but the look on his face, eyes wide, nostrils open, his mouth gasping. Fuck! That I didn’t need to share with him!
“Sorry about that, Ben. Really.” She took a deep breath. “I saw Abby after she went down.”
His mouth was still opening and closing, like a fish, Beckie thought, then decided that was cruel, since she’d brought it on. He recovered from whatever the shock was, seeing her breakdown, or the fact that she’d sat up again, or about Abby, she didn’t know.
“No, I’m sorry, Ms Jamse. There was no need for me ta put you through that again. Are… are you okay, now?”
“I am, and thanks.” She turned back in the seat to look at him again. “Let’s be clear on this. I expect you to report to Sam, but if I hear this from any other source, I will know where to look. Okay?”
The “Yes, Ma’m,” was so quick Beckie again wondered about his ability to read her mind.
The rest of the ride was filled with the complaints of the truck, but no conversation. Beckie wondered briefly if Ben’s question about Abby had been completed, or there was more to it, but chose not to broach the subject with him. I don’t want to think about it, either.
At the camp, five tents in the sand against a small cave in an almost smaller cliff, Ben led her to find Sam, then disappeared, though she heard him rounding up others for the unloading.
“Sam! Glad to see you in the garden spot of Syria.”
“Welcome to my hellhole, Mrs. Jamse. Nice of you to visit; the tea is just brewing. The good china’s still packed, I’m afraid…”
“Good job,” Beckie said with a laugh. “Thanks for making me comfortable here.” She waved toward Ben, now visible moving crates. “That’s a really nice guy, Sam. I didn’t remember that about him when we interviewed him.”
“Oh, damn! That means you’re thinking about taking him away. And he’s one of the good ones, too.”
“I probably will talk to him later on, when his contract’s up, or closer. So don’t get him killed, okay?”
“Injured, would that be okay? Joke! Joke!” he hollered in response to her glare.
“Careful, that brought you some looks from your guys.”
“As long as it wasn’t Daesh, the Taliban, or al-Qaeda, or whatever they call themselves today. So, come into my humble abode, soon to be yours for the duration—”
“I brought a tent; i
t’s in my pack.”
“Good, we’ll need that later on. But here, you use this one.”
His tone suggested that she not carry this discussion further; she nodded. As she did, Sam went to the door and called, “Ben, bring Mrs. Jamse’s packs along when you get to it.”
“Packs, Sam? Who the fuck trained me? Do you remember? ‘No one gets their pack carried for them, not even a gurl!’”
The singular thump outside the tent backed her words; Sam just laughed as she went outside and carried her forty-five pound pack into the tent. “Yeah, it’s so light ‘cause of all the frilly underthings us gurls wear, and it’s so heavy ‘cause we bring so many of ‘em.”
By now they were both laughing and Ben stuck his head into the opening. “You two okay, Cap?”
“We’re fine, Ben.” Sam said between gasps. “Just talking about sending you home so you recognize laughter again.”
“You don’ need ta do that, Cap. I’m okay.” Sam laughed again at the reproachful note in Ben’s voice.
“He is good, Sam. Take care of him at least as well as your others.”
“Always do, Mrs. Jamse, always will.”
“And please. Beckie.”
“Okay. Don’t want to get too ‘familiar’ with the boss.”
Beckie snorted. “Shoulda thought of that the last sparring session we had, then. I swear, I needed the body armor to protect against you!”
“But no one’s taken you down in a fight since, have they?”
After a few more minutes of small talk, Beckie decided to get down to business. “Take me through the plan. Ben backed off before saying anymore than west, otherwise you’d shoot him. We agreed you’d be justified.”
He nodded, a smile playing on his whole face. “That’s good. Even a pretty girl doesn’t turn his head. Maybe you’re right, Beckie, he is a keeper. Anyway… West is actually south of west. We’re not quite three hundred klicks from Homs, where the station and the group that Ian and I dealt with before his untimely demise… Sorry, shouldn’t be joking about your loss. Sorry.”
