"It's her daughter,” Mike says. “She says the gunfire came from the field. That there’s a man shot in the street, too.” He points to the neighborhood as I set the girl on top of the blanket and check her pulse. Nothing. I grab a pressure dressing from my med-pack and hold it tightly against the wound as our other Humvees pull up behind us, parking side by side. I lift the girl using the blanket and lay her back down between the vehicles. Our platoon medic, Specialist Benedict, races from the back seat of one of the Humvees and meets me by the girl’s side. The other doors begin to open.
"Stay the fuck in the vehicle! We're taking fire! Let your gunners hold up a defensive position while Benedict works." Mike guides the woman to Benedict and they both kneel down beside us. The woman is hysterical now, rocking back and forth. Her screams cause the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. "Benedict, I need you to see what you can do here. I'm going to take our Humvee to that field to find these motherfuckers."
"Roger that, Sarge!" He quickly goes to work, though for just the briefest of moments, his eyes say exactly what I already know—this girl is gone.
I motion for each gunner to point their weapons in opposite directions, and then I head toward my own vehicle. Mike starts to do the same, but I put a hand up to stop him. "Stay with them! Talk her down," I say, climbing into the vehicle and pointing in the direction of the field. "Thomas, go! As fast as you fucking can!"
He pulls out slowly at first, mindful of the three kneeling behind us, but once the coast is clear, he puts the pedal to the floor. The engine roars as the Humvee picks up speed, tearing toward the field. We get about a mile down the road when we see a man leap from behind a large boulder, throwing his sniper rifle down and taking off in the opposite direction. As we come up beside the boulder, two more men throw down sniper rifles and ammunition, pick up AK-47s and take off .
The first man is about a hundred yards away when Navas rips off a string of shots from his machine gun. They tear through the man's back, putting a hole straight through his stomach. He grips both hands at the open wound as he falls to his knees, finally settling face-first in the sand. Navas then directs his machine gun toward the second man and he fires. The rounds don't hit the man but tear into the ground just behind him. The insurgent throws his AK-47 to the ground and then himself, putting his hands behind his head. The third man sees this but continues running. He turns and fires rounds at Navas, forcing him down into the safety of the vehicle. More rounds come in, one after the other, preventing Navas from resuming his post and firing back.
"Navas, stay down, I've got this one." I open my door and exit, and with the Humvee between the fleeing insurgent and myself, I rest the barrel of my rifle on the hood. I position the red crosshairs on his head as he turns to fire again, and then I gently squeeze the trigger. The round erupts from my barrel and rips a hole through his head, taking off a piece of his skull. Blood spurts from the wound as he crumples to the ground.
I race to the other insurgent, who remains facedown on the ground, and I quickly zip-tie his hands together. Navas scrambles back in the turret to pull security while I snatch the insurgent up by his arms and drag him back to the Humvee. I throw him into the back seat carelessly, then I walk to the boulder they used for cover and find a small cache of weapons to include sniper rifles, AK-47s, a rocket-propelled grenade launcher, and several cases of ammunition. One by one, I place them in the back compartment of the Humvee.
When I’m all done, I return to the vehicle. The insurgent is angrily speaking Arabic to Thomas, who just as angrily ignores him.
“Shut the fuck up!” I scream at him, though he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. He looks defiantly at me then spits in my direction, missing me by an inch, and continues rattling off shit I don’t know or care to know.
“I said shut the fuck up, motherfucker!” I repeat with fire burning in my eyes. I want to kill him … I want to rip the soul from his body, but we need him. We need a live body for the detention facility. He continues talking, but this time I say nothing. I leave the driver’s side of the vehicle and swing open the back door, charging in and punching him squarely in the face. He topples over, and I grab him by his arm and yank him back to a seated position. He wipes his bloody nose on his shirt and continues eyeballing me. I punch him again, and then again, until he finally averts his eyes to the Humvee floor.
The anger swells in me like a storm as I think of that little girl, her mother now in utter despair. I take one more hard shot at him and feel his jaw crack beneath my knuckles. He wails loudly and I notice Thomas flinching.
The insurgent’s will is completely broken. He’s now obedient, his face bloodied and swollen. I pull him toward me, close enough that our nostrils nearly touch, and I jerk his chin so that his eyes meet mine. In this moment, I’ve nearly lost all control. I am standing on the edge of a cliff and the wind is picking up.
“I will fucking destroy you. Do you understand me?” I raise my fist again and he cowers back into the seat.
“Navas, come down here real quick,” I say. He removes himself from the turret strap and joins me outside the vehicle. He looks at me, wide-eyed and nervous, as if he knows what’s to come. I pull in close to his ear. “This isn’t good, man.”
“I know,” he whispers.
“Fucking rules of engagement. If the higher-ups see you shot that fucker in the back with no weapon, we’re fucked.” My mind races to come up with a plan as I do my best to stifle my concern.
“What do you think we should do?” His voice cracks, and the look in his eyes lets me know immediately that his children are on his mind—and the fact that he could get five to seven years of hard time at Fort Leavenworth. Tears well in his eyes.
I think for a moment, peering off toward the other Humvees, which are merely specks in the distance. I then look out the other direction to a large palm grove, the biggest of the lot, located just a few hundred feet away and dense with foliage.
“We are far enough that they can’t see us. You radio in and tell them we found two insurgents with a sniper rifle and small arsenal. We exchanged fire, killed one of them, and the other one surrendered after a scuffle. Have them call it up to headquarters and get a disposal team down here.” I take a second to look into Navas’s eyes to ensure he understands. “I’m going to take care of the other body.”
“Fight Song” – Rachel Platten
“SO, YOU GIRLS GOT ANY big plans this weekend?”
“Nope.” Shoving the last of the leftovers in the refrigerator, I shut the door and then pause. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had actual plans aside from hanging out with Wyatt. “When do I ever have plans?” Pulling out a chair at the table, I plop down and take a drink of my water.
Maggie turns her inquisitive gaze to Bailey, who is currently shoveling a bite of brownie into her mouth. Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, she looks at us sheepishly. “No plans,” she mumbles.
Swallowing her bite, her gaze locks on mine. She looks a little nervous, almost hesitant, and I offer her a small smile, my eyes as open and inviting as I can get them. Because I’m truly glad she accepted my invitation to come here tonight. Her eyes flash with an unknown emotion and a tentative smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
Bailey had been avoiding me, and rightfully so, and I ended up having to play hardball to get her to sit down and talk to me. I knew I had been wrong so I wasn’t above a little bit of groveling, even though the thought of apologizing nearly killed me. It’s difficult to swallow your own pride, but I knew it had to be done. So I showed up at Mom’s early one morning, like most other mornings, only this time I had already taken care of the horses and I was waiting inside when Bailey crawled out of bed.
Her steps had faltered when she walked into the kitchen to find me sitting at the table with Mama, eating a bowl of cereal. I could see it in her eyes, the urge to flee, and I knew that it was now or never, so I did the only thing I could think of doing. Flinging myself from the chair, I rushed t
o my sister, wrapped her in my arms and apologized for being such a bitch. But more than that, I begged her to forgive me and promised that I was going to make things right. I knew that we weren’t going to just snap back into place, and I knew I was going to have to work at earning her trust and friendship back, but it was a start. We talked for two hours that morning before I finally had to leave for work, but by the time I left, I really think she had a better understanding of what I had been going through after Dad died—and vice versa.
“You know what you guys need?” My mouth waters when Maggie snaps off a bite of her licorice, my eyes following the delicious red rope as she waves it in the air.
“A piece of that,” I answer, trying to snatch the yummy goodness from her hand. Bailey laughs heartily and Maggie bats me away playfully before pulling an extra piece out of the bag and handing it to me.
“You’re an addict.”
“I am.” I nod in agreement then bite off a chunk of my cherry-flavored kryptonite.
“You girls need a night out on the town.”
Bailey and I both answer at the same time, only her answer is an enthusiastic “Yes!” and mine is a very firm “No!” They both turn to look at me.
“Why not? It would be fun.” Bailey nods in agreement to what Maggie says, but I just shake my head.
“I’ve been so tired lately, I can barely make it through work these days.” The evil twins give me a pointed look. “I know, I know. I’ve already started cutting back my hours. No more extra shifts.”
“I’m glad,” Bailey says softly. “You really had me worried there for a while.”
“I told you I’ve been working on things and I meant it.” She watches me inquisitively and then nods before popping another bite of brownie in her mouth. It was much easier convincing Mom that I was trying to turn things around than Bailey, and I make a mental note to try and do a few extra things to strengthen her belief in me.
“So—” My phone vibrates, skidding across the table, and Maggie stops talking, picks it up and flips it open.
“Hey!” Reaching across the table, I yank it from her hand. The sight of his name on my screen causes me to clench my teeth in frustration, and I let out a loud huff as I type out a quick response.
“Who is it?” Bailey asks, looking at me curiously. When I lock eyes with Maggie, I know instantly that she saw who it was from.
“Wyatt.” Flipping my phone shut, I toss it on the table and bite off another chunk of my licorice.
“How is Wyatt?” Bailey asks. Oh shit. She doesn’t know that we broke up. I give Maggie a ‘help me here’ look and she widens her eyes in a ‘what do you want me to do’ look. Bailey’s gaze slowly travels between the two of us. “I’m missing something here. What am I missing?”
I already know that this won’t go over well. Bailey has always been a big fan of Wyatt. “We, uh …”
“They broke up.”
“What?” Bailey gasps at Maggie’s declaration. “What do you mean you broke up?” she asks, her head whipping in my direction. “What happened? He left you, didn’t he?” Shaking her head in disbelief, Bailey pushes away from the table.
“She left him,” Maggie states nonchalantly, shrugging when I glare at her.
“You broke up with him? Why on earth would you do that? You guys have been together forever.”
“I don’t love him.” It really is that simple.
“You—you don’t love him?” Bailey’s head rears back as though I just slapped her. “How can you not love him? You don’t just fall out of love with someone, Katie.”
“Okaaaay,” Maggie drawls. “I think it’s time for me to go.” Excusing herself from the table, she shrugs on her coat, grabs her purse and then bends down, whispering a quick ‘good luck’ in my ear before walking out. All the while, Bailey continues to stare at me in shock.
“What do you want me to say? I’ve felt this way for a while, and I refuse to apologize for doing what I need to do to be happy.”
“But I thought you were working on things. How is this working on things?” Disappointment flashes across Bailey’s face. “I can’t believe this.”
“You don’t have to believe it.” As much as I want Bailey’s support on this, I know I’m not going to get it. She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest, and frustration bubbles up inside of me. “It doesn’t concern you, Bailey. You don’t have to understand it; you don’t even have to like it.”
My skin prickles with annoyance as Bailey leaves her spot at the table and follows Maggie’s lead of shrugging on her coat and grabbing her purse. I’m not going to beg her to stay. As much as I don’t want her to leave right now, and as much as I do want to fix things between us, I refuse to let her opinion on this matter sway me at all. I know I did the right thing. “Bailey—”
With a heavy sigh, she twists around to look at me. “I don’t understand this, Katie. I don’t understand you. Wyatt is a good man, and he doesn’t deserve this.”
“He is a good man, but I did what’s best for me, Bay. That’s what I need you to understand.”
“Whatever.”
Her dismissal pisses me off, and I shove up from the chair and follow her toward the door. She reaches for the handle, and in a last ditch effort to keep her from leaving, I grab her arm. “Quit being so stubborn and let’s talk about this.”
“Pot meet kettle,” she mumbles before opening up the door, slipping through it and shutting it softly behind her. I walk numbly to the couch, dropping down with a big sigh then burying my face in my hands. What the fuck just happened?
The loud buzz of my phone vibrating from the other room grabs my attention, so I walk in and pick it up to find yet another text from Wyatt. It took about a week after our breakup before his texts came rolling in. It started with ‘I’m sorry for the way I acted’ and slowly progressed to ‘Please don’t do this, we can make this work’ and ‘I love you so much.’ Despite my numerous replies that nothing has changed and I still feel the same way, he just won’t give up.
Forgoing a reply—because it wouldn’t do any good—I decide to call it a night. I make quick work of getting ready for bed while this evening’s events play out in my head. Crawling into bed, I grab my laptop off the nightstand and power it up, deciding to quickly check my email before catching up on some much needed sleep.
I recline against my pillows, watching as my Dell slowly brings itself to life. Opening up the browser, I log into my email. The hourglass flips over and back several times on the blank screen, and I stretch my arms over my head with a big yawn. When my email finally loads, my entire body goes still—except for my heart … I’m pretty sure it’s trying to launch itself out of my chest.
A grin plays at my mouth, and I lean forward to make sure my tired eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. I’m staring at an email from Devin. Oh my God, I’m staring at an email from Devin! Excitement bubbles up inside of me, and I wipe my sweaty palms on my comforter before taking a deep breath and opening the message.
To: Katie Devora
From: Sergeant Devin U. Clay
Subject: Thank God for email
Katie,
I am so happy that I can email you now. It makes things much easier knowing I don’t have to wait three weeks for a response. So, thank you for that! I spent the better part of a twelve-hour mission today reading your letter and deciding how to respond. I’m still not sure the best way to start, so I’m going to go with my heart.
It kills me—fucking kills me—to know that I hurt you the way I did. But I want you to know something … I want your forgiveness. I need it, Katie, and I’ll work my ass off for it. And you will forgive me. It might take time and a whole lot of groveling on my part, but it will happen. One of these days when the time is right, when I think that you’re ready—when we’re ready—I’ll share with you all of the reasons behind me leaving. But now is not the time. For now, I simply want to prove to you that you can trust me, that I’m here for you, and that I’ll never hurt you like th
at again.
Thank you for putting your anger away and responding, especially in your time of grief. You won’t ever fully understand what that means to me. God, Katie, I can’t stop thinking about you, your dad, your whole damn family. I hate that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most, because you know I would’ve been there in a heartbeat. But I’m here for you now. I’m sure you’ve already gone through several different stages and emotions, but I want you to know you can come to me.
Speaking of emotions, I truly believe that the feelings you’re having in reaction to your father’s death are normal. All the amazing times Jax and I had together: going through Basic, graduating together, making Sergeant, drunken nights in small German towns … they aren’t what I see when I close my eyes. I only see him lying there in my arms completely lifeless, eyes closed, body limp. I think some of it has to do with not getting to say goodbye, and a lot of it has to do with wishing it was us who died and not them. I’d give anything to switch places with Jax, as I’m sure you would with your father. They call it “survivor’s guilt,” and they say it’s a bitch to get over.
Of course, that’s assuming it’s something you can actually “get over.” I don’t see it ever going away. I’m devastated that I lost him, but truthfully, I still feel him around me all the time. I think he’s watching over me, or maybe I’m just fooling myself.
You asked me how I do it … the answer is easy. I don’t. I see him when I close my eyes. He’s in my dreams, my nightmares … he’s always there. I can’t help but think that maybe we just need time, you and me. Maybe, in time, our memories won’t haunt us quite as badly. Maybe, in time, we’ll be able to process it easier. Or maybe that’s just hopeful wishing.
You are right, though (I bet you enjoy hearing that, don’t you?). I can’t let this stop me from doing my job—from getting these men home safe. It’s a burden I accepted when taking on this rank, and it’s one I take very seriously. But being in this position means much of what I feel must be restrained. I can’t let them know I’m hurting and that I’m weak. Sometimes the pressure of it all feels like it’s going to suffocate me. And other times, I feel like I’m right where I belong.
A Lover's Lament Page 14
