Short Stories

by Lanyon, Josh

  It could mean he had been captured.

  Or killed.

  But Vic wasn’t going to accept that until he had proof. He turned to jog back to the clearing but the pilot, Cheyney, appeared at the top of the open ramp. She called after him, “Captain Black! We can’t hang around here any longer.”

  Vic threw back, “We’re not leaving without Kennedy, so simmer down.”

  “I’ll simmer you down, Stoney,” Cheyney snapped. “Any minute one of these ragheads is going to show up with an RPG and punch a hole in my bird. We’re taking off.”

  Vic thought fast.

  “Fair enough. Leave me here. I’ll meet you at the bottom of the mountain.”

  She made a sound that in another woman might have been considered a squeak. “Leave you here? Are you out of your goddamned mind? This mountainside is going to be crawling with hostiles within the hour.”

  “Someone needs to wait here for Kennedy.”

  “Look, Stoney, I don’t like it either, but —”

  “If he’s here, I’ll find him.”

  “Stoney. What are you — you know as well as I do that he’s — that there’s a good chance he’s been captured or killed. The live feed isn’t picking up any activity.”

  “No way.”

  “No way? What do you mean, no way? Stoney, no way can I leave you here. I’ve got my orders too, you know? And even if I didn’t —”

  He couldn’t hear this. He liked her. They’d had some good times together, but… no. He said, “Katie, give me three hours. I’ll head for the valley below. It’s a natural landing zone. You can pick me up there at…0500.”

  “That’s getting way too close to sunrise.”

  “We’ll still have a little margin.”

  She was shaking her head.

  “Listen, if Kennedy’s still alive we can’t fly out of here and leave him on this rock with hundreds of insurgents closing in on him.”

  “And what if he’s not still alive? Stoney — Vic — no one is writing off Kennedy. But there are other ways to handle this.”

  “If al Qaeda finds him before we do, they’ll execute him. You know that.”

  “I know that. I also know…” Her voice trailed. “You’re out of your goddamned mind.”

  “Three hours. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “It’s not that simple. We’ve got another storm front moving in fast. Snow is on the way. We’re losing our window.”

  “Then you better not be late.”

  She was motionless for a long moment, a dark shadow against the blinking lights and movement within the chopper.

  “I must be out of my mind. How the hell am I supposed to explain —?”

  But she was talking to herself.

  * * * * *

  Eleven years ago, 1345, Bancroft Hall, U.S. Naval Academy, Annapolis, Maryland

  “So when were you going to tell me?”

  The one look at Sean’s face he’d risked had hurt too much, so Vic was staring out the window of their dorm in Bancroft Hall, staring over the summer-green tops of trees. It made it worse because Sean was trying so hard not to show anything — after all those times Vic had warned him his face gave too much away. “I’m telling you now.”

  “Now.” Sean’s voice was flat. “Okay. You’re telling me now. We’re…how many weeks from graduation? And you tell me now you’re thinking about the Rangers?”

  “If I can get in.”

  Sean jumped up from the bed and began to circle the room. “You’re going to cross commission to the fucking army? Your family’s been navy since your great-great-great crawled out of the ooze. And you’re suddenly talking about becoming an Army Ranger? You did notice we’re in fucking Annapolis, right?”

  Vic turned then. “What do you want from me?”

  Sean gaped at him. “What do I want? Well, Black, I guess I wanted what we’ve been talking about for three years. You and me in the marines together —”

  “You jackass,” Vic yelled. He got his voice under control with an effort. “And how did you think that was going to work, Kennedy? It’s not even like we were going to be in the same unit. What the hell were you thinking? We were going to go steady? We were going get married?”

  “What the hell was I thinking?”

  “We’re career military. We can’t just…we’re not the kind of guys who…”

  “Come out?”

  Vic stopped cold. After a silence that seemed as deep and raw as the Mariana Trench, he said carefully, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  Sean just stared back at him with those clear, light eyes.

  Vic said — making it just as plain and to the point as he could — “Maybe it’s different for you. You got in here on an appointment and there’s only your aunt to think about. My grandfather was an admiral in the Second World War. My dad — my whole family — is expecting me to live up to —” The look on Sean’s face stopped him. Vic said roughly, “I don’t mean that, Sean.”

  Sean was smiling now, and that fierce white curve of his mouth was far worse than the hurt that had twisted his face a moment before. “Why not? It’s the truth. It’s what you think. I’m glad you said it. It makes it —”

  Vic grabbed his shoulders, pressing his mouth to Sean’s stopping him from saying it. He didn’t want to hurt Sean. That was the last thing he’d ever want. He’d have given his soul to take it all back, to erase the last half hour, to change the future. But regardless of what he said or didn’t say, this was the way it had to be. There wasn’t any other way for them. He’d always known it, and he’d told himself that Sean did too. That despite what Sean said, what they’d both said, Sean knew the truth as well as Vic did. But maybe Vic had been seeing what he wanted to see because Sean…had always had that stubborn, irrational streak of idealism. Or stupidity.

  Sean tore free and got on the other side of the room. He was shaking — and so, Vic was surprised to note, was he.

  “Listen,” Vic said, keeping his voice low. “This isn’t anything to do with how I-I feel—”

  Sean yanked off the class ring he wore. Vic’s ring, , because they had secretly exchanged their class rings as Second Class Midshipmen. He hurled it with vicious accuracy at Vic. The heavy ring hit Vic squarely on the bridge of his nose and bounced away.

  * * * * *

  Present day, 0240, Somewhere in the Aram Mountain Range, Kunar Province, Afghanistan

  Vic was already a hundred meters down the steep, rocky slope when he saw the Chinook wheeling away like a great black bird. It silhouetted briefly against the enormous red moon and then was gone.

  The mortar crew continued to take petulant shots at it until it had vanished, the sound echoing off the stone walls, and then rolling away into a silence as absolute as the grave.

  Vic reached for a handhold and something skittered away from his hand.

  Cautiously, and very quietly, half-walking, half-sliding he got down the steep hillside until he reached a trail of sorts. He kept his eyes peeled because Sean Kennedy was somewhere on this mountain and Vic was going to find him if it was the last thing he did.

  Sean was smart and savvy and stubborn. No one knew better than Vic how stubborn Sean Kennedy was — if eleven years of radio silence were anything to go by. Sean wouldn’t give up. He’d keep fighting to get to the LZ.

  If he was able.

  And so Vic continued down a ledge that would have given a mountain goat pause for thought.

  There was a clack of stone on stone, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the stillness of the night. Vic froze. The sound came from about twenty meters in front of him. Someone scrabbling up the cliffside. He reached for his combat knife. If this was a fight, it needed to be a quiet one or he was liable to have all of al Qaeda down on him. And if it wasn’t a fight…his heart thudded hard in a hopeful mixture of adrenaline and anticipation.

  Silent and deadly, he sprinted forward, and as he watched, two dirt grimed hands — one wrapped in a blood-stained handkerchief — g
roped blindly along the edge of the cliff.

  Vic was ready, ready for the worst and hoping for the best as the man hauled himself, panting, over the lip of the trail and dragged himself to his feet, swaying as he tried not to put weight on his right foot. Vic saw the sweat-dark hair, the stained headband, and the gaunt, bearded face.

  “Sean,” he said in a voice that sounded nothing like his own.

  Sean Kennedy’s head snapped up and he nearly stepped backward off the mountainside. Vic lunged for him, caught his arm and towed him forward. For an instant they were in each other’s arms, clutching tight, and then they were apart, standing on what felt like the edge of the world, teetering, off-balance physically and emotionally.

  “Stoney?” Sean said at last. “Is that you?”

  “Yeah.” Vic was grinning like a fool. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Jee-zus. It is you.” Sean closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them and peered owlishly into Vic’s face. “You’re the cavalry?”

  “You were expecting the navy?”

  “Ha.” Unexpectedly, Sean’s legs gave and he half-sat, half fell onto the ribbon of goat track, head dropping back with exhaustion.

  Vic knelt beside him. “How bad are you hurt?” He patted Sean down — any excuse to touch him, if he was honest. To reassure himself that it really was Sean, that he really was alive. All the times he’d dreamed of this moment — none of the dreams had come anywhere near this terrifying reality.

  Sean’s shoulders had broadened and his body was the hard body of a man. Beneath Vic’s searching hands — and the battered body armor — Sean was all bone and muscle. His face was much older…a thousand years older, and something inside Vic grieved for that. The last time he’d seen Sean he’d been a lanky kid with hair the color of autumn and eyes younger than spring.

  Eyes still shut, wincing beneath Vic’s exploration, Sean said, “It’s all relative. Was that my taxi I saw flying away a little while ago?”

  “Just taking her for a spin around the block.”

  “I hope it’s a short block.”

  Vic found where a bullet had grazed Sean’s shoulder, a crease along his upper arm, another nick along his side where he’d been hit beneath the edge of his vest. An assortment of cuts and scrapes and bruises. Nothing vital had been hit and the blood was drying, crusting. It was as though al Qaeda had been chipping bits and pieces out of him for days. “Christ, how many times have you been shot?”

  Sean opened his eyes, frowning into Vic’s face as though he was having trouble focusing. “How far are we from the top?”

  “About two hundred meters. But we’re headed down.”

  “I don’t think we want to head down. I’ve got Taliban fighters on my tail.” He sounded remarkably calm about it.

  Vic let go of him abruptly, pulled his binoculars from around his neck and threw himself down at the edge of the mountain, scanning the dark slopes below.

  Nothing moved.

  Not a flicker of motion.

  “Are you sure?” he threw softly over his shoulder. Not that it was a mistake Sean was liable to make.

  Sean said nothing.

  “Sean?”

  When he still didn’t answer, Vic glanced around and saw that he was sleeping. He turned the binoculars back on the mountainside beneath them.

  Nothing.

  But that didn’t mean they weren’t out there.

  He crawled back to Sean, hesitating for an instant at the sight of that strained and weary face in repose. He rested his hand on Sean’s shoulder and instantly caught the gleam of Sean’s eyes.

  “We got to move.”

  Sean said, “I thought I dreamed you up.”

  “You dream about me a lot?”

  Sean’s laugh was stifled but it was his old laugh, and Vic’s heart seemed to swell.

  “Not anymore. I got bigger boogeymen to worry about than you these days.”

  Yeah, wasn’t that the truth. Vic took the slam absently, already recalculating. “Can you walk?”

  “I got myself this far didn’t I?” And Sean began to gather himself, pushing upright, though accepting Vic’s help to stand.

  “What’s the matter with your leg?”

  “Sprained my ankle like the goddamned heroine in a monster movie.”

  It was just getting better by the moment.

  “Well, we can’t go up. I don’t think anyone knows I’m on the mountain, but they’re going to be wondering what that chopper was doing here. We can’t risk landing topside again, but Grizzly 01 is going to meet us in the valley at oh five hundred.”

  Sean pulled away slightly to examine Vic’s face. “You’ve got a chopper going to touch down in the valley?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re not kidding?”

  “You know me better than that.”

  Sean was shaking his head in disbelief. “What time is it?”

  “We’ve got two and a half hours to get down there.”

  “Too bad you couldn’t have come up with this plan before I climbed up here.”

  “Sorry. Your line was busy.”

  “Is this pilot in love with you or something?”

  “Isn’t everybody?” Vic wrapped an arm around Sean’s waist. “Put your arm over my shoulders. Can you make it like this?”

  “I can try.” Sean added grimly, “But if I can’t I don’t want you wasting time up here with a chopper crew waiting in that valley for you.”

  They moved slowly down the trail, Sean half hopping, trying not to lean too heavily on Vic.

  “I think our best bet is the north face,” Vic said. “It’ll be a tougher climb but whoever is tracking you won’t be looking for you over there.”

  “They won’t be looking for me coming back down at all.”

  “We’ll have to double back around to the LZ, and we’ll lose some time there….” Vic was still calculating odds. “How much ammo do you have left?”

  “Maybe 50 rounds.”

  SEALs typically carried 4000 rounds. Vic nodded, accepting this, not commenting on the battle that Sean had waged to get this far. “If we’re lucky we’ll lift out without a firefight.”

  They traveled along the narrow trail, having to stop at one point to go single file down a ledge that was like a knife edge. It would have been tricky in the daylight. It was harrowing in the dark. Vic kept one hand clutched on Sean’s arm terrified that Sean would slip or misstep. Having finally found him again, no way was he losing him.

  They finally made it across the ridge and Sean slid down. “I’ve got to rest.”

  Blood loss, shock, exhaustion. Yeah, he’d earned a rest. Unfortunately, they didn’t have that kind of time.

  “Take five,” Vic said, although it was going to have to be more like take three. He squatted as Sean slid down the frosty rock face and leaned back. A couple of snow flakes drifted down.

  Fuck.

  Vic stretched his arm out. “Here, let’s conserve body heat.”

  Sean gave a laugh that was mostly a snort, but he leaned into Vic. Vic folded his arms tight around him. He had always dreamed of this meeting as a new beginning. It was feeling more and more like an ending.

  “I lost my entire team,” Sean said suddenly, the words vibrating against Vic’s chest.

  Vic nodded, not trusting himself to words.

  “We had a direct action. Take out Akhtar Shah Omar. Limited time on target.”

  Not recon then. Assassination. He’d wondered if it was something more like that. He thought of the boy he’d known at Annapolis. His eyes prickled. And how insane was that when he wasn’t exactly teaching Sunday School himself. And anyone who knew him would be laughing their asses off. So much for the Stone Man.

  There was a long pause and he wondered if Sean had fallen asleep again; he was breathing long, steady breaths — and then Vic realized that he was struggling with emotion.

  “What happened?” he whispered against Sean’s cold ear. Tempting to kiss him, but…no. No. He’d lost
that right a long time ago.

  “We got walked on.”

  Walked on. Compromised on a mission. He let his ears brush the chilled shell of Sean’s ear. “It happens.”

  Sean said muffledly, “It does. And we all knew what we needed to do. But…it was this little girl. This little goatherd girl. And I couldn’t do it, Vic.”

  “Couldn’t do what?”

  Sean looked up, his eyes looked wide and so clear they looked almost silver in the paling light. “It was my call and I said we had to let her go.”

  Vic said calmly, “Hey, what was the option there? You’ve got to follow the Rules of Engagement. She wasn’t Taliban. She wasn’t al Qaeda.”

  “No, she was fucking Heidi. And I let her go and she ran straight to the mujahadeen militia.” He turned away and wiped at his eyes with his forearm. “And my men ended up dead.”

  For a few seconds Vic couldn’t say anything. Finally, he said unemotionally, “Sometimes they’re on our side. How’d you end up with the Taliban chasing you?”

  “We had to fall back once the mujahadeen showed up. Basic move and shoot maneuver. Pitched battles aren’t our thing.”

  No. SEALs were not main force units. SEALs worked best as shock troops. Stun the target with maximum violence, accomplish the most destruction with minimal effort, and then fade away in the confusion.

  “We were okay, but naturally it made a little noise. The Taliban noticed and decided to join the party. We lost Bobby right away. Voss was our communications guy. He got hit trying to radio for help. They shot him a couple of times, but he stayed on the high ground trying to make comms. Salvio and I went to drag him back and Salvio got hit in the head. He died in my arms.”

  “Close your eyes and sleep for a couple minutes.”

  “No time.”

  But when Vic tugged him back, Sean leaned into him and closed his eyes. His breath was warm against Vic’s throat, his hair brushed softly against Vic’s chin.