Fighting Absolution

by Kate McCarthy

  It wasn’t as simple as filling out a document and completing a transfer. The SAS wanted only the best. Soldiers with mental, moral, and physical stamina. I wasn’t sure of my mental or moral fibre at that point, but I could handle the physical.

  Selection was three full weeks of torture. They treated us like convicts, depriving us of food, sleep, and dignity. We trekked for days through mountainous terrain while delirious. Half dropped out from injuries alone.

  I reached my breaking point towards the end. Jamie was the sole reason I made it through. She was the kind of girl who never gave up, and damned if I wouldn’t either.

  I began my eighteen-month employment training back home in Western Australia, at Campbell Barracks in Swanbourne. It was there I met Jake Tanner and Ryan Kendall. Jake lived off base, but Ryan had the room next door to mine. They were close, having grown up together. They would finish each other’s sentences and laugh at inside jokes that left you clueless.

  “So are you guys together or what?” I ribbed, leaning up against the door frame of Ryan’s room as they sat at a small table, playing cards. “You don’t need to hide it. The walls here are thin.” I rapped at the drywall with my knuckles to emphasise my point and gave them a wink. “I hear everything.”

  “Dude.” Jake just laughed and showed me the back of his hand, pointing to a faint scar along the meaty part of his palm. “Blood brothers.”

  “Wow.” My brows rose slowly. “Cool. You’re like a really small … gang. I didn’t realise people actually still did that.”

  Ryan snorted. “Christ, Brooks. We were kids.”

  Jake shot Ryan a look of mock sadness. “What are you saying? It means nothing to you now because you’re all grown up and stuff?”

  Ryan looked between the both of us. “You’re both as bad as the other.” He set his lousy hand—I know because I peeked—facedown on the table. “You know what I think?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “I think you’re jealous.” Ryan reached across and snagged something from the bench beside him. A small dagger. He stood and waved it in my direction. “You want to join us?”

  “You get any closer with that thing, and I’ll use it to cut your balls off. You girls can keep your little gang.”

  “Sleep with one eye open, Brooks,” Ryan called out when I walked off to report for duty.

  I responded with the middle finger, and their laughter trailed out behind me.

  We became friends after that, but it took weeks and a massive bar brawl before they truly accepted me.

  It was Friday night and the day had kicked my ass, literally, because I took to the boxing ring that afternoon against Jake and came out a stupefied loser. I thought I had the edge. I was bigger. Stronger too, because I lifted heavier in the gym. I figured I’d go easy on him, but his affable personality lulled me into a false sense of security. When it came to training, Jake morphed into a goddamn ninja, blindsiding me with his jack-be-nimble athleticism. He came at me with his pretty blond hair and dazzling white teeth, and sucker punched me right into the ropes. I saw stars.

  I also lost against him in the rifle range for a third time that month. Jake had the eyes of a bat and the type of preternatural calm you felt in the eye of a hurricane. The dude was Captain freaking America.

  Loser paid drinks, so there I was at the heaving high-end bar, emptying my wallet on expensive craft beers because Jake claimed it was all he drank. All lies I discovered later when I found cheap shit lager stocked in the fridge at the cottage where he lived.

  The problem with the fancy brews was the alcohol content. It was off the charts. I was shit-faced. We all were. But we weren’t falling off our chairs and barfing on our shoes shit-faced. We were just loud and jolly. Letting off steam. Two women sat at the table beside ours, reviving themselves with an after-work wine. They were pretty, garbed in office attire, and didn’t seem bothered by our noise. I’d been throwing flirty eye-contact at the brunette for the past half hour and getting good reception, though the blonde was just as hot. I literally had no preference. Tall or short, slim or lush and curvy. Come one, come all, basically. It wasn’t about notches on the bedpost. I just loved women. Their soft skin. The sweet, feminine scent. The silky hair and smooth legs.

  Fuck, I could feel myself getting hard thinking about everything they had to offer. I would have happily settled down with one, but I must have had ‘player’ tattooed across my forehead because they never lingered the next morning. No one wanted an army trooper. We weren’t considered a ‘stable choice.’

  Whatever. I was a catch. The brunette seemed to agree. She was flicking her long hair so much it almost whipped her friend in the face. Some egotistical ponce seemed to like it and approached their table. He had the bearing of a thug, but he was dolled up like a total dude. The cologne wafted from his person in thick clouds, making my eyes water. Ryan literally gagged.

  “Can I buy you both another wine?”

  The blonde was polite. “We’re good, thanks.”

  He ignored her reply and clicked his fingers for a server. “I’ll get a bottle for the table.”

  The girls shared an eye roll, but they didn’t verbally decline the offer. He took a seat. “What’s your plan for the evening, ladies?”

  The three of us openly watched the exchange, tossing back our beers as we waited for the crash and burn.

  “Just a quiet one,” the brunette replied. “We were actually planning on leaving soon.”

  “You can’t leave now.” He planted a hand on her thigh—and, dude, there was a line between flirting and being a creep, and he crossed it the moment he got dressed in his navy button-down with … what the fuck were those? I squinted. Flamingos on his shirt. What a winner. Nothing said ‘I’m manly enough to throw you down and fuck you senseless’ like a bunch of pink birds with stick legs, sinister red eyes, and giant black beaks. “I just got here,” he added, as if the party was just getting started.

  He ordered a bottle, and two more friends joined him, one of them having to drag a chair to the table. Introductions were made while the hand on the brunette’s thigh slid higher and then inward.

  I saw the moment Jake clocked the move because his eyes narrowed. The woman flinched, clearly uncomfortable. Flamingo didn’t seem to care. He shifted his chair closer and dived his hand right inside her skirt.

  The brunette gasped and hissed something in his face. I didn’t catch the words. I was already setting my beer on the table, ready to stand and flex some muscle, but Jake was already on the move.

  “I believe these ladies are ready to leave,” he said to the table in a tone that dared anyone to disagree.

  Flamingo lifted his meaty chin, taking the challenge. “Who are you? Their bodyguard?”

  I stepped up beside him and folded my arms, trying not to sway as I swallowed a hiccup. “He’s your worst nightmare.”

  Flamingo’s laugh tore through the room, and Ryan snorted so hard behind me he began to choke. “That was lame,” he coughed.

  The brunette pulled herself free, her blond friend already grabbing both their bags. They shot grateful looks our way before skirting around their table and disappearing into the night.

  “That was some bullshit,” Flamingo spat in our direction, taking our measure. “Dumbass army cunts. So busy taking it up the ass you wouldn’t know how to fuck a woman if you tried.”

  “Oh hell no.” Ryan grabbed his drink and stood abruptly. I don’t think he realised how shit-faced he was because he staggered, clipping his foot on Jake’s chair. The amber liquid in his glass flew forward in an arc, drenching part of Flamingo’s shirt. It also flooded the lap of his thug friend beside him, who charged from his chair, flicking out a knife before anyone could blink.

  I kicked out my leg, making impact with his fist before he got a full swipe at Ryan’s gut. The knife flew from his hand, nicking him in the process. He howled and came at me.

  I was still smarting from my loss to Jake, so my fist slammed into his gut extr
a hard. I watched him go down with a wheezy exhale. Flamingo took offence and clipped me in the jaw. Jake lunged, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into our own table. I felt the entire bar rattle and shake when he crashed to the floor in a pile of snapped timber and wasted beer.

  Broken glass crunched beneath boots when his friends came back for more. I seized one by the throat and took a powerful swing. The bone-cracking blow sent his head snapping sideways, and he crumpled when I let go. Flamingo grabbed me from behind in a chokehold, growling with rage.

  “Stop creeping on women in bars, you sleazy sonofabitch,” I wheezed, seizing his arm and tossing him over my shoulder. He crashed into another table. “Newsflash. It’s called sexual assault.”

  He rose on his hands and knees, gasping. “I barely touched her.”

  Security pushed through the crowd, but they had no clue how to calm the escalating situation. Punches were being thrown. Innocent bystanders got caught in the melee and joined in. The knife made a return, slicing through the cotton of my favourite shirt. “You’re gonna pay for that,” I growled at Flamingo’s buddy.

  I lunged and someone swiped my feet out from beneath me. I hit the ground, my head clipping the leg of a broken chair and tearing skin. Blood leached down my forehead and into my eye as the knife-wielder made to plunge his weapon in Ryan’s back.

  I kicked out at his knee. He crashed sideways, losing his weapon in the fall as Ryan turned, realising his near miss. I made a grab for it, kicking it away. It skittered across the booze-soaked floor, landing in a dark corner beneath a booth by the wall.

  The wail of distant sirens pealed through the air. People scattered, leaving behind a warzone of splintered glass and smashed furniture.

  Ryan reached out a hand. I took it and he launched me from the sticky floor. We both staggered a little as a big booming laugh busted from his chest. He slapped me on the back, quoting the movie Babe. “That’ll do, Pig. That’ll do.”

  I was inducted into their little girl gang after that, the brawl seeming to cement my place. But six months later I was still trying to best Jake at the rifle range. I was sure I had him that particular day. It was late in the afternoon, the sun behind us and no breeze to speak of. I shot up from my prone position on the ground, kicking up dust as I did the running man on the spot. Victory was finally mine.

  “Maybe you should check the targets before you go celebrating, hotshot,” Jake suggested.

  “No need. Today’s my lucky day. Drinks on you tonight.”

  Except the joke was on me. When our targets were returned, Jake had pipped me by one shot. One single lousy little shot. “Fucking golden boy,” I muttered, crumpling the sheet in my fist.

  “The only time you’d ever beat me is if I were dead,” he said with a laugh, his face covered in dirt and the late sun creating a halo around his blond head.

  Jesus fucking Christ. I rip myself free of the memories to find my eyes pricking with heat and Jamie standing on the tarmac in front of me saying something I missed completely. “What?”

  She cocks her head. “You were staring off into the distance. Are you okay?”

  I want to say I’m fine, but that would be an injustice to Jake—as if he weren’t important in my life. “No.”

  Jamie puts a hand on my forearm and squeezes. She’s making the effort to forgive—or at least trying to—and I’m grateful. I want our friendship back. I’m not gonna lie. I need it right now.

  “It hurts to see you hurting.”

  “Then I’ll stop,” I quip, trying for a light-hearted tone.

  “I’m sorry.” She gives me another squeeze before letting go. “I know Jake was like a brother to you.”

  “It hasn’t sunk in yet. I keep turning around to tell him something funny and he’s not there.” I tug inside my pocket, pulling out a bit of paper. I hand it to Jamie and she looks at it. It has my email and phone number. “I know it’s selfish to ask, but would you—”

  “I’ll try.” She pockets the scrap of information. “I’m not really great at communication, Brooks.”

  “It feels better not to talk. To anyone. About anything.”

  “Okay.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sitting here, not talking to you. Trying to see if it feels better.”

  “You’re better at it than you think.” The plane starts up. I pick my bag up in my left hand and cup her face with my right, tracing my fingers across the soft skin of her cheek before I let go, raising my voice to be heard over the engines. “Will you still come back to WA for your leave?”

  She hesitates. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Come.” I start walking backwards, hating to leave her here, especially with Jake gone. I know she doesn’t need me. She has Wood. My replacement. I’m not jealous. Not even a little bit. Okay, maybe I am. But he seems like a stand-up guy. Maybe not as great as me. But he’ll do, I guess. “We can hang out. No fence this time.”

  “About the fence.” She scrunches her nose. “I kinda burned it to the ground.”

  I stop. “Ummm what?”

  “I’ll tell you about it some time.”

  “Over drinks. My shout.”

  Jamie nods. “In that case, I only drink from the top shelf.”

  Typical. Like Jake and his damn craft beer. I resume walking backwards. “Can I just ask you one thing?”

  The wind picks up and blows hair across her face. She tugs it free and shrugs her response.

  “Why did you join the army?” I shout to be heard.

  “I was trying to find myself, just like you.”

  “And did you?”

  “No.” She hugs her arms around her middle. “Did you?”

  “No.”

  Someone yells at me from behind to get a move on. I raise my arm in a brief, casual salute. “Bye, Jamie.”

  Jamie returns it. “See you later, Kyle.”

  She’s my last image before the ramp of the plane rises up and closes us inside. A lone soldier walking across the tarmac, shoulders straight as she holds all the hurt inside and goes to do her job.

  19

  KYLE

  With my ass planted in bed and my back smushed into my pillows, I slide my MacBook onto my lap, anticipation in my gut. Jamie has sent me an email. I don’t know what it is about mail, whether it be electronic or paper, it just feels good to get something personal. To know someone out there thinks you matter enough to tell you about their day.

  Brooks,

  It’s really dusty here today. Like extra dusty.

  Murphy

  What in the actual fuck was that? It’s like I blinked and missed it. I jab my finger on the page-down button, but it scrolls to nowhere.

  Not really great at communication? The girl sucked ass. She had at least opened the lines though, I guess.

  Murphy,

  I think you really over-sold yourself about being defective in the communication department. I’d classify that email as hitting rock bottom on the first attempt. The plus side is that the only way to go from here is up.

  Just pretend you’re talking to me from the other side of the fence. You remember the fence, right? The one you allegedly burned to the ground … Please tell me you’re coming back to WA after decompression. I’m eager for the story. I need a good laugh.

  I’m sure you’re in need of one too, so here’s a story for you, courtesy of my second deployment to Afghanistan.

  Once upon a time, there was a handsome, heroic young soldier on a quest— Just kidding. I was actually in the shithole bathroom on base, innocently brushing my teeth, when Ryan barged in. He was wielding an electric toothbrush. Not his, and I knew because his was an Iron Man toothbrush. I’d bought it for him myself. I’d bought one Avenger toothbrush for each member of our team (mine was Thor if you were wondering … for obvious reasons). Anyway, he switched it on and proceeded to scrub under the rim of the toilet with the bristles as if I wasn’t even there.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I as
ked.

  “Hazing the new guy,” he said with a grin.

  “Dude, you know he could get seriously ill from the bacteria in that toilet.”

  His reply was quick and to the point. “You didn’t.”

  Can you believe I didn’t actually punch him? I gagged and threw my Thor toothbrush in the bin, rinsing my mouth until my jaw ached. It wasn’t the same brush I was using when I started my first deployment with the treacherous asshole (clearly) but I felt it paid to be cautious. I had to spend the rest of my deployment using a crappy, generic brush that did my teeth no justice at all.

  The motto of my story, Little Warrior, is trust no one (except me obvs). Also, protect your toothbrush as if it’s your very own child and everyone around you is a homicidal kidnapper.

  Your (wise and wonderful) friend,

  Brooks

  There’s no mention of Jake in the email. It feels wrong to avoid any talk about him, but the pain is too raw. His funeral is tomorrow and my heart is heavy. My dress uniform is dry-cleaned and hanging in my closet. A stark reminder of what’s to come.

  Jake will be buried with full military honours at Karrakatta ceremony. The service won’t be televised, but it’s going to be videoed for those that can’t attend. There’s a helluva lot of people wanting to pay their respects—the Prime Minister, the Minister for Defence, the Defence Force Chief, the Chief of Army, and hundreds of soldiers, family, and friends. Jake was loved, and he’s missed from our team like an amputated limb that keeps giving phantom pains.

  Brooks,

  I see your healthy ego managed to double in size over the years.

  On another note, your story made me throw up a little in my mouth. Ryan is evil. I like him. I hope he continues to bust your chops on the regular.

  It’s still dusty here.

  Murphy

  PS What toothbrush did you give Jake? I’m betting it was Captain America.

  I tug off my army hat and seat myself on the edge of my bed, the funeral over. Ryan steps into my room. I glance up before resuming my solid stare at the floor, elbows on my knees.