by Trent Reedy
Oh God, I prayed. Please help me get out of this one. This stuff isn’t cool anymore. I just want to —
Something smacked into my mask and my weapon went off. Through the cracked plastic of my mask’s eyepieces, I saw the flash out of the end of my barrel.
“Hold your fire!” someone shouted.
“Oh shit,” I said. How had that happened? Someone threw a rock and hit me and I was surprised. Must have accidentally —
Another gunshot went off. Wasn’t me. A third shot.
“Who the hell is shooting!?” Sergeant Kemp yelled from somewhere.
Our formation had stopped now. A rock hit me in the chest. Screams came from the crowd. The cracked lenses in my mask blurred my vision. When I closed my left eye, I could barely see around the white cracks in the right lens. I started to pull my mask up, but someone grabbed my wrist.
“Keep that mask on, Private,” said Sergeant Kemp. “You don’t want —”
Another shot.
“The protestors got guns!” Sergeant Meyers called out. “Shoot ’em! Aim for the ones with guns!”
“No! No! No!” Sergeant Kemp pushed Luchen’s barrel down. I didn’t even try to shoot, but went down on one knee.
Protestors scrambled to get away. Another Guardsman, far enough away to be from one of the other Guard units, raised his M4 and fired. One, two, three rounds. Blood sprayed from some guy’s neck, his head snapped back like a yo-yo, and his Broncos hat went flying. Another round sliced through a man’s chest and cut into the belly of the woman behind him. Both dropped. Another guy’s hip shattered as he was hit. He screamed as he fell, his leg at a wrong angle. I hoped it was just the way my lenses messed up my vision.
Another soldier fired. I couldn’t tell who. One, two. Three, four. Four more people fell as they ran. Screaming people trampled a teenage girl in their rush to escape. A bullet cracked through a storefront window behind us to our right. Someone inside screamed. Some dumbass reporter kept shouting at the cameraman who was filming him and the shooting.
The Black Hawk finally silenced its loudspeaker and flew away. The capitol square was mostly empty now. Except … Out where the protest had been, there was blood. There were bodies.
“Let’s go! Let’s get some field dressings on these wounds,” Sergeant Kemp yelled. “Casualty treatment. Move it!” He ran forward and I followed. Some of the other guys might have been with us. I think Lieutenant McFee stayed in the intersection, sort of waiting there on his knees.
We reached the first person on the ground. “I can’t see shit. I’m taking this thing off!” I said.
Sergeant Kemp grabbed my mask and held it on my face. “Private! Private, listen to me. There are cameras all over the place — TV news crews, comms. You do not want them to see you. Keep your mask on. Keep your armor vest on to hide your name tape. You do not want to be identified. Got it?”
I nodded. Sergeant Kemp went to his knees next to the body on the ground. He put his ear over the person’s mouth. Then he rose up and put his fingers to the neck. He shook his head and ran off.
But I stayed. It was the redheaded college girl from before. The angry girl who had been so beautiful and alive. But now her tank top was ripped down the side, and meat and bone stuck out from below her left breast. Her blood spread out in a pool beneath her. Her mouth was open like it had been when she was shouting at the protest. Like she was screaming at me now.
But she was silent, and the breath was gone from her. She’d never shout … or speak or laugh, ever again. Her lifeless eyes were open and the way her head was tilted … she was … staring right at me.
I dropped to my knees, holding my weapon across my stomach. Her sticky blood was still a little warm as it soaked through the knees of my pants. I gagged once and then puked, hot and sour-sweet. It filled the bottom of my mask. Burned up in my nose. I had to pull the thing off my chin to let the vomit run out on my chest. Then I put it back on and tried not to barf again with the taste and smell filling the air I was breathing.
I wished I’d never been called up for this mission. Wished I’d never enlisted. I wanted to get up and walk away. Go and never look back. But I couldn’t move. This girl wouldn’t let me.
She looked at me like she knew. She was dead because of me. I’d fired the one shot that spooked everybody else. I might as well have killed her myself.
—• High and outside. Ball two. Two and one is the count… . It may be worth pointing out that this season the Mariners have only been able to make a comeback three times whenever they have trailed in the •—
—• This is a CBS Special News Report. From the CBS newsroom, here’s Simon Pentler.”
“Tragedy has apparently struck tonight in downtown Boise, Idaho, where a number of shots were fired outside the state capitol building, the site of an ongoing and increasingly violent demonstration. National Guard troops dispatched by Idaho governor James Montaine to augment the state police are alleged to have fired into the crowd of protestors, with some reports indicating that as many as sixty or seventy gunshots were fired. Now, we do not have any official word on the number of casualties, but some raw video shot by a CBS aerial camera drone would seem to confirm soldiers have fired their weapons, and we should perhaps prepare for terrible news from Boise. Taking you now to that video •—
—• another video angle sent to us via the CNN Citizen Reporter app. We should warn you the footage you’re about to see is very graphic and may not be suitable for sensitive or younger viewers, but it reminds one less of a police action and more of an all-out battle, with •—
—• word yet on whether any arrests have been made, Tom. Everything here on the ground is still very chaotic. I’m standing about a block away from the heart of the riot. As you can see, the situation behind me is one of total panic and devastation. Moments ago, hundreds of shots rang out. Then my camera crew and I were nearly trampled as the protestors rushed to escape the •—
—• No word yet from Governor Montaine or the president, but certainly we can expect a response from authorities very soon. We will continue to bring you updates as they come in. Until then, we’re going to go to Dr. Timothy Hemand of Princeton University, an expert in crisis situation management. He’s studied these types of mass shootings and has served as an advisor on numerous panels, including •—
Sometime later I felt hands on my arms. Kemp, maybe. Sparrow too. They stood me up and led me away with the rest of the squad.
Somehow we found ourselves alone in a windowless boardroom somewhere in the basement of the capitol. The room was dimly lit and empty except for a long wooden table surrounded by cushioned swivel chairs. The walls were stark white and blank except for a row of framed photographs. Military guys. Some generals. A colonel. They were the Idaho Army National Guard chain of command photos. There was a set like this in the 476th armory, showing who was in command all the way up to the governor and the president. I stared at them, not able to look at my squad.
Officers came in and confiscated our gas masks, weapons, and comms. Then they left us alone again. After a while, most of the guys sat down.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Sergeant Kemp said. I jumped and spun around to see the sergeant slap his hands down on the table. His face was bright red and there was sweat on his brow, even though it was cold in the air-conditioning.
I shook my head. “Sergeant, I didn’t —”
Kemp waved his hand as though brushing my comment aside. He leaned over the table toward Meyers. “Why the hell did you fire?”
Meyers’s face twisted into a kind of snarl as he stood up. “You talking to me, Sergeant Kemp?”
“Damned right I am!” Kemp pushed himself away from the table and paced the room.
“Well, you better check that attitude right now, Sergeant Kemp, because —”
“What are you going to do? Court-martial me?” Kemp threw his hands up. “We’re probably already headed to prison for that colossal screwup out there!”
&nb
sp; Meyers circled the table in four long, fast strides. “We didn’t do anything wrong!”
Kemp ran at Meyers and grabbed him by his uniform coat. “Why’d’ya shoot!?”
“There were shooters in the crowd. Self-defense!” Meyers shoved Kemp back.
“Bullshit!” Kemp drew back his fist.
“Luchen!” I dove for Sergeant Kemp, caught his arm, and pulled him clear. Luchen knocked his chair over as he rushed for Meyers, dropping his shoulder into Meyers’s gut and doing his best to push the big staff sergeant back.
“Let him go,” Kemp said. He threw his elbow into my stomach to break away. He held up his fists for a fight, but the other guys had rushed between them both now. Everybody except Lieutenant McFee.
“You shouldn’t have fired,” Sergeant Kemp growled.
Meyers backed away from the guys, holding his arms out from his sides as though he was so stacked that he couldn’t put them down. He made a big show of breathing real loud through his nose and staring at Kemp. The quiet settled. “We took fire from armed protestors in the crowd. I called Lieutenant McFee for instructions. He ordered us to fire.”
“That is not what happened!” Kemp said.
“Yes it is!” Meyers stepped up to the lieutenant. “LT?” McFee did not look up. Meyers grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “LT! You told us to fire, right? You gave the order. Tell him.”
“I don’t care what he says,” Sergeant Kemp said. “That is not what happened!”
“Listen to me, you dumb sons of bitches!” Meyers shouted. “It doesn’t matter what really happened out there. Okay? I don’t know what really happened. Neither do you.” He pointed at one of the generals on the wall, at the picture of Governor Montaine. “But these guys are going to want to know. They’re going to bust in here any second and we better have an answer for them.”
Was he talking about cooking up a story? A cover-up? When people were dead? How did I get stuck in the middle of something like this? I couldn’t let them lie for me. Dad always used to say that a man should never lie to avoid responsibility for the wrong he’s done.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” I said quietly.
Specialist Stein sat back in his chair. Everyone but me sat down too. “They did have guns,” said Stein. “I swear to God there was more than one guy shooting at us from the crowd. That’s why —” He swallowed. “That’s why I fired. Shooting at them.”
“I’ll tell you what happened,” I said louder.
Kemp glared at Stein. “There was no way that —”
“I shot first!” I shouted. “I got nailed in the middle of my mask by a rock and I … I don’t know … I jerked the trigger or something. The weapon fired. It’s my fault.”
Sergeant Kemp slouched in his seat. He put his face in his hands. “It’s okay, Wright. It might have happened to anyone.”
“Yeah,” said PFC Nelson. “But the Army gets real pissed about accidental discharge.”
“Yeah,” Meyers said. He looked hard at Kemp. “One of the guys in your team —”
“In your squad!” Kemp said.
“In my squad,” Meyers agreed, speaking calmly. “In the lieutenant’s platoon. We’re all in this. And we better figure out what we’re going to say because when they start asking —”
Sergeant Ribbon sprang to his feet. “Atten-tion!”
We all stood up and snapped to attention as an officer in a dark blue Army service dress uniform opened the door. He stood for a moment in the shadows at the end of the room. I couldn’t see him all that well, because at the position of attention I couldn’t move my head, but out of the corner of my eye I could tell he wore a ton of ribbons on his chest. He took three even steps forward until he stood in the glow cast by the lights over the table.
“At ease,” said the officer. We all shifted so that we stood with our feet shoulder width apart and our hands behind our backs. Now that I was allowed to move my head, I saw he was a short man, broad in the chest, with his little remaining gray hair buzzed short to Army regulations. “I’m Brigadier General McNabb, Commander, Idaho Army National Guard.” The general looked at each of us in turn. “You soldiers can relax. Have a seat.”
We all sat down. General McNabb remained standing. “We’ve secured your weapons and counted the rounds. Eight rounds are missing from this squad’s initial load, one from one rifle, three from another, and four rounds from a third. Now I want to know what happened out there.”
All of us except for the lieutenant exchanged nervous glances around the table. Sergeant Kemp stood up. “Sir, I respectfully request that I be allowed to speak with an attorney before —”
“You don’t need a lawyer, Sergeant. No charges have been filed. I’m trying to find out what happened.”
“Nevertheless, sir, I think that under the circumstances —”
“This isn’t open to negotiation, Sergeant! This isn’t a happy, peaceful civilian world. There are twelve people dead out there. Nine more have injuries from gunshots, including two of my soldiers. I am ordering all of you to tell me what the hell happened!”
Silence fell on the room. Twelve people dead. Twenty-one people had been shot. My mouth felt watery, my stomach cold and hollow. I put my hands to my face for a moment until I smelled the blood. The redheaded girl’s blood was still caked in my fingernails, still sticking my pants to my knees.
I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to throw up again.
The door opened at the end of the room, but I didn’t move or look to see who it was. Luchen grabbed my arm and pulled me up.
Governor Montaine approached the table, wearing a blue suit and tie with a white shirt. His graying brown hair was sticking up funny. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a small plastic ashtray. He placed the cigarette in his mouth, flicked the lighter, and lit up, holding out the pack toward our squad. “Smoke?”
I would have loved a cigarette right about then, but nobody else was taking, so I kept my mouth shut.
“It’s a government building, sir,” said Sergeant Kemp.
The man removed his jacket. “That it is. I’m Governor James Montaine.” He hung his coat on the chair, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie. “Sometimes I think we can bend stupid little rules, especially on nights like tonight. Relax. Please sit down.”
We took our seats. The governor flicked a little ash into the ashtray. He pulled another long drag on his cigarette. “I’m not going to lie to you boys. I’m all about straight talk in my campaigns, and believe it or not, I believe in straight talk. And the simple fact is that we are in a world of shit. I have phone calls from everyone all the way to the Pentagon. That guy in the White House will probably be calling soon enough. The press is going crazy, naming this the Battle of Boise. Everybody wants to know what really happened. Why don’t you start by telling me?”
Sergeant Meyers stood up at attention. “Sir, our squad was ordered to go downtown to hold position near the riot. The protestors were out of control, sir.”
“I know that, Sergeant. That’s why I called in the National Guard in the first place. Why did you start shooting?”
I saw Meyers’s eyes dart my way for a second. “Sir, there were armed civilians among the protestors. We took fire. At that point Lieutenant McFee gave the order to shoot those protestors who had guns.”
McFee sat up in his seat and opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but then stopped. The governor looked his way for a moment as if waiting for him. When he stayed silent, the governor raised an eyebrow and took a drag on his cigarette. The cherry flared brightly. After a moment he let the smoke roll out. “You’re telling me that some of the protestors had guns? You say they shot at you?”
“Yes, sir,” said Sergeant Meyers.
This was all wrong. Meyers was trying to pass it all off on the lieutenant. I couldn’t let that happen.
The general cleared his throat. “Why am I only hearing from NCOs? Lieutenant Mc
Fee, is this true? Did you give the order to fire?”
The lieutenant’s eyes were wide open.
“Pull yourself together, Lieutenant,” said the general.
McFee licked his lips and swallowed. “Sir, there were a lot of people. Um … protestors. Okay. I’m not … I mean, I don’t —”
I stood up. “Sir, I fired the first shot.”
Everything was quiet. I remembered the feel of the little recoil in my M4. The surprise. How bad I wanted that bullet back.
“What did you say, Private?” the general said.
I thought I saw Sergeant Meyers shake his head a little as if telling me to shut up, but I’d gone this far. I had to tell him now. “Sir, someone in the crowd threw a rock. It hit me in the face. In the gas mask. The shock of it.” My eyes were stinging. No. I couldn’t cry. Not here. I wiped my eyes. “I don’t know. I was surprised. My fingers jerked. I accidentally fired my weapon. I don’t know if I hit … anyone. My lenses in my mask were cracked and I could hardly see. I’m so sorry.”
Governor Montaine sighed. “How old are you?” He sounded different now. Sad.
“Seventeen, sir.”
“Seventeen? You still in high school?” the governor asked.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“And how old are you, Lieutenant?”
“Twenty … twenty-three, sir.”
The governor snuffed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Why do I have kids doing missions like this, General?” He spoke slowly and quietly.
If General McNabb noticed the anger in the governor’s voice, he didn’t show it. “Sir, most of the Idaho Army National Guard is deployed to Iran. Our forces here are limited. You asked for enough troops to effectively assist the state police. Young soldiers like this PFC would never deploy without having completed their training for their military occupation specialties, but to accomplish the mission, I was forced to resort to activating almost all of our remaining soldiers, certainly all who had completed basic training and were slotted to a combat unit.”
