Primary Target

by Jack Mars

  “Excuse me?” Luke said.

  The man smiled, but there was no humor in it.

  “Why… are… you… here?” he said again. He said it slowly this time, as if talking to a small child, or an imbecile.

  Luke looked around at the men. This was group therapy for war veterans.

  It was a fair question. Luke didn’t belong here. These guys were wrecked. Physically disabled. Traumatized.

  A few of them didn’t seem like they were ever coming back. The guy named Chambers was probably the worst. He had lost an arm and both his legs. His face was disfigured. The left half was covered by bandages, a large metal plate protruding from under there, stabilizing what was left of the facial bones on that side. He had lost his left eye, and they hadn’t replaced it yet. At some point, after they finished rebuilding his orbital socket, they were going to give him a nice new fake eye.

  Chambers had been riding in a Humvee that ran over an IED in Iraq. The device was a surprise innovation—a shaped charge that penetrated straight up through the undercarriage of the vehicle, and then straight through Chambers, taking him apart from the bottom up. The military was retrofitting the old Humvees with heavy underside armor, and redesigning the new ones, to guard against these sorts of attacks in the future. But that wasn’t going to help Chambers.

  Luke didn’t like to look at Chambers.

  “Why are you here?” the leader said yet again.

  Luke shrugged. “I don’t know, Riggs. Why are you here?”

  “I’m trying to help men get their lives back,” Riggs said. He said it without missing a beat. Either it was a canned answer he kept for when people confronted him, or he actually believed it. “How about you?”

  Luke said nothing, but everyone was staring at him now. He rarely said anything in this group. He would just as soon not attend. He didn’t think it was helping him. Truth be told, he thought the whole thing was a waste of time.

  “Are you afraid?” Riggs said. “Is that why you’re here?”

  “Riggs, if you think that, then you don’t know me very well.”

  “Ah,” Riggs said, and raised his meaty hands just a bit. “Now we’re getting somewhere. You’re a hardcase. We know that already. So do it. Step up. Tell us all about Sergeant First Class Luke Stone of the United States Army Special Forces. Delta, am I right? Neck deep in the shit, right? One of the guys who went on that botched mission to kill the Al Qaeda guy, the guy who supposedly did the USS Sarasota bombing?”

  “Riggs, I wouldn’t know anything about any mission like that. A mission like that would be classified information, which would mean that if either of us knew anything about it, we wouldn’t be at liberty…”

  Riggs smiled and made a spinning wheel motion with his hand. “To discuss such a high-level and crucial targeted assassination that never existed in the first place. Yeah, yeah, yeah. We all know the talk. We’ve heard it before. Believe me, Stone, you’re not that important. Every man in this group has seen combat. Every man in this group is intimately aware of the—”

  “What kind of combat have you seen, Riggs?” Luke said. “You were in the Navy. On a destroyer. In the middle of the ocean. You’ve been riding a desk in this hospital for the past fifteen years.”

  “This isn’t about me, Stone. It’s about you. You’re in a VA hospital, in the psych ward. Right? I’m not in the psych ward. You are. I work in the psych ward, and you live there. But you’re not committed. You’re voluntary. You can walk out of here any time you want. Right in the middle of this session, if you like. Fort Bragg is five or six miles from here. All your old buddies are over there, waiting for you. Don’t you want to get back together with them? They’re waiting for you, man. Rock and roll. There’s always another classified FUBAR mission to go on.”

  Luke said nothing. He just stared at Riggs. The man was out of his mind. He was the crazy one. He wasn’t even slowing down.

  “Stone, I see you Delta guys come through here from time to time. You never have a scratch on you. You guys are like, supernatural. The bullets always miss you somehow. But you’re freaked out. You’re burnt out. You’ve seen too much. You’ve killed too many people. You’ve got their blood all over you. It’s invisible, but it’s there.”

  Riggs nodded to himself.

  “We had a Delta guy come through here back in oh-three, about your age, insisted he was fine. He had just come back from a top secret mission in Afghanistan. It was a slaughterhouse. Of course it was. But he didn’t need all this talk. Sound like anybody we know? When he left here, he went home, killed his wife, his three-year-old daughter, and then put a bullet in his own brain.”

  A pause drew out between Luke and Riggs. None of the other men said a word. The guy was a button pusher. For some reason, he saw that as his job. It was important that Luke stay cool and not let Riggs get under his skin. But Luke didn’t like this kind of thing. He felt a surge building inside him. Riggs was moving into dangerous territory.

  “Is that what you’re scared of?” Riggs said. “You’re worried you’re gonna go home and blow your wife’s brains all over the—”

  Luke was up from his chair and across the space between him and Riggs in less than a second. Before he knew what had happened, he had grabbed Riggs, kicked his chair out from under him, and thrown him to the floor like a rag doll. Riggs’s head banged off the stone tile.

  Luke crouched over him and reared back his fist.

  Riggs’s eyes were wide, and for a split second fear flashed across his face. Then his calm demeanor returned.

  “That’s what I like to see,” he said. “A little enthusiasm.”

  Luke took a deep breath and let his fist relax. He looked around at the other men. None of them had made a move. They just stared dispassionately as if a patient attacking his therapist was a normal part of their day.

  No. That wasn’t it. They stared like they didn’t care what happened, like they were beyond caring.

  “I know what you’re trying to do,” Luke said.

  “I’m trying to break you out of your shell, Stone. And it looks like it’s finally starting to work.”

  * * *

  “I don’t want you here,” Martinez said.

  Luke sat in a wooden chair next to Martinez’s bed. The chair was surprisingly uncomfortable, as if it had been designed to discourage loitering.

  Luke was doing the thing he had avoided for weeks—he was visiting Martinez. The man was in a different building of the hospital, yes. But it was all of a twelve-minute walk from Luke’s own room. Luke hadn’t been able to face that walk until now.

  Martinez was on a long road, a road that he seemed to have no interest in traveling. His legs had been shredded, and could not be saved. One was gone at his pelvis, one below the knee. He still had the use of his arms, but he was paralyzed from just below his ribcage down.

  Before Luke came in here, a nurse whispered to him that Martinez spent most of his time crying. He also spent a lot of time sleeping—he was on a heavy dose of sedatives.

  “I just came to say goodbye,” Luke said.

  Martinez had been staring out the window at the bright day. Now he turned to look at Luke. His face was fine. He had always been a handsome guy, and he still was. God, or the Devil, or whoever was in charge of these things, had spared the man his face.

  “Hello and goodbye, right? Good for you, Stone. You’re all in one piece, you gonna walk right out of here, probably get a promotion, some kind of citation. Never see another minute of combat because you were in the psych ward. Ride a desk, make more money, send other guys in. Good for you, man.”

  Luke sat quietly. He folded one leg over the other. He didn’t say a word.

  “Murphy stopped by here a couple of weeks ago, did you know that? I asked if he was going to see you, but he said no. He didn’t want to see you. Stone? Stone’s a suck-up to the brass. Why should he see Stone? Murphy said he’s gonna ride the freight trains across the country, like a hobo. That’s his plan. You know what I
think? I think he’s gonna shoot himself in the head.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened,” Luke said.

  But Martinez wasn’t listening.

  “How’s your wife, man? Pregnancy coming along good? Little Luke junior on the way? That’s real nice, Stone. I’m happy for you.”

  “Robby, did I do something to you?” Luke said.

  Tears began to stream down Martinez’s face. He pounded the bed with his fists. “Look at me, man! I have no legs! I’m gonna be pissing and shitting in a bag the rest of my life, okay? I can’t walk. I’m never gonna walk. I can’t…”

  He shook his head. “I can’t…”

  Now Martinez began to weep.

  “I didn’t do it,” Luke said. His voice sounded small and weak, like a child’s voice.

  “Yes! You did it! You did this. It was you. It was your mission. We were your guys. Now we’re dead. All but you.”

  Luke shook his head. “No. It was Heath’s mission. I was just—”

  “You bastard! You were just following orders. But you could have said no.”

  Luke said nothing. Martinez breathed deeply.

  “I told you to kill me.” He gritted his teeth. “I told you… to… kill… me. Now look at this… this mess. You were the one.” He shook his head. “You could have done it. Nobody would know.”

  Luke stared at him. “I couldn’t kill you. You’re my friend.”

  “Don’t say that!” Martinez said. “I’m not your friend.”

  He turned his head to face the wall. “Get out of my room.”

  “Robby…”

  “How many men you killed, Stone? How many, huh? A hundred? Two hundred?”

  Luke spoke barely above a whisper. He answered honestly. “I don’t know. I stopped counting.”

  “You couldn’t kill one man as a favor? A favor to your so-called friend?”

  Luke didn’t speak. Such a thing had never occurred to him before. Kill his own man? But he realized now that it was possible.

  For a split second, he was back on that hillside on that cold morning. He saw Martinez sprawled on his back, crying. Luke walked over to him. There was no ammo left. All Luke had was the twisted bayonet in his hand. He crouched down next to Martinez, the bayonet protruding from his fist like a spike. He reached up with it, above Martinez’s heart, and…

  “I don’t want you here,” Martinez said now. “I want you out of my room. Get out, okay, Stone? Get out right now.”

  Suddenly, Martinez started screaming. He took the nurse call button from his bedside and began ramming it with his thumb.

  “I want you out! Get out! Out!”

  Luke stood. He raised his hands. “Okay, Robby. Okay.”

  “OUT!”

  Luke headed for the door.

  “I hope you die, Stone. I hope your baby dies.”

  Then Luke was out in the hall. Two nurses were coming toward him, walking but moving fast.

  “Is he okay?” the first one said.

  “Did you hear me, Stone? I hope your…”

  But Luke had already covered his ears and was running down the hall. He ran through the building, sprinting now, gasping for air. He saw the EXIT sign, turned toward it, and burst through the double doors. Then he was running across the grounds along a concrete pathway. Here and there, people turned to look, but Luke kept running. He ran until his lungs began to burn.

  A man was coming the other way. The man was older, but broad and strong. He walked upright with military bearing, but wore blue jeans and a leather jacket. Luke was almost on top of him before he realized he knew him.

  “Luke,” the man said. “Where you running to, son?”

  Luke stopped. He bent over and put his hands on his knees. His breath came in harsh rasps. He fought for big lungfuls.

  “Don,” he said. “Oh man, Don. I’m out of shape.”

  He stood up. He reached out to shake Don Morris’s hand, but Don pulled him into a bear hug instead. It felt… Luke didn’t have words for it. Don was like a father to him. Feelings surged. It felt safe. It felt like a relief. It felt like for so long, he had been holding so many things inside of him, things Don knew intuitively, without having to be told. Being hugged by Don Morris felt like being home.

  After a long moment, they parted.

  “What are you doing here?” Luke said.

  He imagined Don was down from Washington to meet with the brass at Fort Bragg, but Don dispelled that notion in just a few words.

  “I came to get you,” he said.

  * * *

  “It’s a good deal,” Don said. “The best you’re going to get.”

  They were driving through the tree-lined cobblestone streets of downtown Fayetteville in a nondescript rental sedan. Don was at the wheel, Luke in the passenger seat. People sat in open air coffee shops and restaurants along the sidewalks. It was a military city—a lot of the people who were out and about were upright and fit.

  But in addition to being healthy, they also looked happy. At this moment, Luke couldn’t imagine what that felt like.

  “Tell me again,” he said.

  “You go out at the rank of Master Sergeant. Honorable discharge, effective at the end of this calendar year, though you can go on indefinite leave as early as this afternoon. The new pay goes into effect immediately, and carries on until discharge. Your service record is intact, and your wartime veteran’s pension and all other benefits are in place.”

  It sounded like a good deal. But Luke hadn’t considered leaving the Army until this minute. The entire time he was in the hospital, he had been hoping to rejoin his unit. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, Don had been negotiating an exit for him.

  “And if I want to stay in?” he said.

  Don shrugged. “You’ve been in the hospital for nearly a month. The records I’ve seen suggest you’ve made little or no progress in therapy, and are considered an uncooperative patient.”

  He sighed. “They’re not going to take you back, Luke. They think you’re damaged goods. If you refuse the package I just described, they plan to send you out with an involuntary psychiatric discharge at your current rank and pay, with a diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the sort of prospects faced by men with a discharge under those circumstances.”

  Luke supposed that none of this was a very big surprise, but it was still painful to hear. He knew the deal. The Army didn’t even formally acknowledge the existence of Delta Force. The mission was classified—it never happened. So it wasn’t as if he hoped to receive a medal during a public ceremony. In Delta, you didn’t do it for the glory.

  Even so, while he expected to be ignored, he didn’t expect to be thrown on the scrap heap. He had given a lot of himself to the Army, and they were ready to dump him after one bad mission. True, the mission was more than bad. It was a disaster, a debacle, but that wasn’t his fault.

  “They’re kicking me out either way,” he said. “I can go quietly or I can go kicking and screaming.”

  “That’s right,” Don said.

  Luke sighed heavily. He watched the old town roll past. They passed out of the historic district and into a more modern roadway with strip malls. They came to the end of a long block and Don turned left into a Burger King parking lot.

  Civilian life was coming, whether Luke liked it or not. It was a world he had left fourteen years before. He had never expected to see it again. What went on in that world?

  He watched an overweight young couple waddle toward the door of the restaurant.

  “What am I going to do?” Luke said. “After the end of this year? What kind of civilian job can I possibly get?”

  “That’s easy,” Don said. “You’re going to come work for me.”

  Luke looked at him.

  Don pulled into a spot near the back. There were no other cars here. “The Special Response Team is ready to go. While you’ve been lying in bed and examining your navel, I’ve been wrestling with bureaucrats and drawing u
p paperwork. I’ve got funding cemented in place, at least through the end of the year. I’ve got a small headquarters in the Virginia suburbs, not far from the CIA. They’re stenciling the letters on the door as we speak. I’ve got the ear of the FBI director. And I spoke on the phone—briefly, I might add—with the President of the United States.”

  Don turned off the car and looked at Luke.

  “I’m ready to hire my first agent. You’re it.”

  He gestured with his head at a large sign near the front of the parking lot. Luke glanced where Don indicated. Just beneath the Burger King logo was a series of black letters on a white background. Taken together, the letters spelled out a bleak message.

  Now Hiring. Inquire Within.

  “If you don’t want to join me, I’ll bet there are plenty of other opportunities out there for you.”

  Luke shook his head. Then he laughed.

  “This has been a strange day,” he said.

  Don nodded. “Well, it’s about to get even stranger. Here’s another surprise. This one’s a gift. I didn’t want to give it to you at the hospital because hospitals are awful places. Especially VA hospitals.”

  Standing in front of the car was a beautiful young woman with long brown hair. She looked in at Luke, tears in her eyes. She wore a light jacket, open to reveal a mommy shirt. The woman was very pregnant.

  With Luke’s son.

  It took Luke a split second to recognize her—something he would never reveal to anyone, not even under pain of torture. His mind hadn’t been working right these past weeks, and she was out of place in this wasteland of a parking lot. He didn’t expect to see her here. Her presence was unreal, otherworldly.

  Rebecca.

  “Oh my God,” Luke said.