Sam flicked off his night vision goggles and blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust and decided that Merrick was going to answer his fucking question. "You don't strike me as the type for all that mystical woo-woo stuff."
"It's not. She guards us. Lets us know when the enemy are coming. She's always around. I credit her for helping me get every day closer to home." Merrick pulled out a packet of MRE crackers and tore the package open. The plastic crinkled loudly in the silence. "So tell me, Sam Brown. What would you do to go home? Would you listen to a stray dog if it meant the difference between life and death?"
Sam rubbed his eyes with one hand, the other resting on the butt of his weapon. The cool steel penetrated his gloves, seeking his skin. "Kind of a pointless conversation, isn't it?"
"It's never pointless to have something you're living for." Merrick turned to look at him, his face bathed in the pale green light from the radio display. "What are you living for, Sam Brown?"
Sam thought for a long moment about simply closing his eyes and drifting to sleep for a few minutes, ignoring the question. If he did, he'd mark himself a coward for running from something as innocuous as a question about going home.
He could answer that without selling his soul to the devil, right?
The problem was, he didn't want to get to know Merrick. He didn't want to swap stories of home or of sad-faced women crying when they told them they loved them. He didn't want common ground with the sharp-faced platoon sergeant who looked like he was one bad explosion away from committing the next Haditha.
He closed his eyes. "I want to go home and try to be a good man," he said softly.
"You're not a good man over here?" Merrick's voice held a mocking lightness that belied the heaviness of his question.
"You've been here long enough. You tell me if it's possible to go to war and stay a good man." The question annoyed him. He was too tired to wax philosophical about the war, even if he was the one who'd answered the question in the first place. He could have just said his future wife and child, but for some perverse reason, he wanted to hide them from Merrick.
Despite having spent the last few hours with Merrick, Sam's apprehension remained. An edginess to the man's movements made Sam uneasy. The man’s eyes had a shadow Sam didn't trust.
Merrick was shifty. That's what it was. The man rarely sat still. Even when he wasn't moving, Sam could practically see the gears in motion. Strategizing. Plotting. Scheming. Asking questions that made Sam think of home. Questions that drew thoughts up out of the dark place where he kept those thoughts safe and clean, untainted by the war. He didn't want to think of home, or of Faith, or of their baby on the way.
He needed to focus on this war, this mission, this moment.
"What do I think?" Merrick parroted. "I think good men go to war and rarely ever return."
His words sounded ominous. A portent of doom, if Sam believed in those.
"When are we leaving?" Sam asked for the third time.
"The longer we sit here, the more I realize that they really have forgotten us," Merrick said. His voice held no bullshit, just resignation. "Either that or shit is really fucking bad back on the base."
"We'd talked about waiting until darkness. It's dark now."
"And there's quiet in the city."
Sam scrubbed his hand over his face, not liking that response one bit. "This means any movement will attract attention."
"From an angry group of Iraqis who are tired of having their neighborhood blown all to hell every time the American’s decide to go hunting for bad guys." Merrick sounded like a man who'd just been told he was going to die.
"We've got two courses of action," Sam said. "We stay, we could get hit. We try to make it back to base, we could get hit."
Merrick's gaze fell on him. Sam felt exposed. Vulnerable. "This position is already fortified."
Sam rubbed his hand across his jaw and popped his neck until it cracked. "Okay, then."
"Look, whatever is going on back at the base will be cleaned up by dawn. They'll get themselves unfucked and then figure out we're out here." Merrick's voice took on a calming tone that instantly grated on Sam's last nerve.
"You're remarkably calm for being in the middle of a clusterfuck."
"When you've done the things I've done this year, waiting until morning isn't that big a deal." Merrick started to head for the door. He stopped and patted Sam's shoulder. "A year is a long time to spend on a walk through hell."
"I know. This isn't my first rodeo."
Merrick offered a thin smile. "Then you should already know the way this ends."
16
The explosion happened without warning. It could have been at the end of the block or right outside. The whoompf of the blast followed the flash and knocked the air from Sam's lungs. The explosion sent the dust around Sam flaring into the air and sprinkling down like fresh snow.
The silence that followed the blast lasted for an eternity, ringing in Sam's ears and blocking out all sound.
"Everyone okay?"
He was sure he’d spoken. He’d felt his lips move. Lewis lifted his head from his arms. His mouth moved.
Sam heard nothing. It felt like there was cotton stuffed in his ears, a thick, fluffy feeling that made his head feel full.
He gripped the outside of his ear and wiggled. Sound rushed back, crashing over him in a cascade of noise.
"Is everyone okay?"
Lewis gave him a quick thumbs-up before heading out to check the perimeter. Attacks usually followed a blast like that.
But once Sam finished checking the guys on the roof and no attack had begun, a deep unease settled in his gut.
"Is this normal?" Sam asked Merrick. He kicked at the wreckage of the coffee pot.
Merrick's gaze dropped to Sam's foot. "What?"
"Blasts with no follow-on attack?"
Merrick pulled his helmet off and started fiddling with his helmet light. "Depends. Blast like that probably shouldn’t have been wasted. But they've been getting more erratic. Trying to screw up the guys looking for patterns, you know?"
Sam crouched down, scrubbing his hand over his face. A high-pitched squeal rang in his ears. "They're that complex?"
"Sometimes. Depends.”
Sam rubbed his ear. "Any luck on the radio?"
Merrick shook his head. "Nothing but static."
"We've still got five hours until dawn."
"Yep. Gonna be a bad night, if that blast is any indicator."
"You think they're hitting the base?"
"They'd be stupid not to, especially since where that earlier blast hit the base, too."
Sam leaned back against the wall. "Fuck. I just want to go home," he muttered.
He sensed a subtle shift. Something in the air, something in the way Merrick stood.
"You've got a lot waiting for you?" Despite asking the question, Merrick's words were certain.
"Yeah." It must have been the bone-crushing fatigue that had burned away Sam's defenses.
"How pregnant is your fiancée?"
"A little over four months." Wistfulness, completely out of place, flushed over Sam's skin. "She got pregnant right before I left this time. We think it was my last night in the States."
"No chance it could be someone else's?"
Merrick's words slapped at him, clawing at the fear every soldier faced when he kissed his girl good-bye and headed off to war. Sam didn't open his eyes. "No. Faith doesn't cheat."
"You sound so sure." Merrick's voice picked at the wound he’d just inflicted.
"Are you trying to fuck with me right now?" Sam asked, keeping his voice mild.
"Just asking a question."
Sam finally opened his eyes and looked at Merrick. Shadows sliced across the other man's sharp features. His eyes were pitiless black holes in his face. "What's your point?"
"What would you do to know with absolute certainty that you could go home to her?"
Sam pushed to his feet, irrational anger dr
iving him away from the man in the shadows. "I'm not playing fucking games, Merrick."
"It's not a game, Sam. What we put out into the world is what we make happen."
The use of Sam's first name paused the anger inside him. Only for a moment and then it resumed. "I'm not doing this. I'm going to go check on my guys."
Merrick shifted, kicking his feet up on the blown-out window frame. He pulled a toothpick from a pack and stuck it between his teeth. "Suit yourself." He looked out over the city cast in shadows and obsidian darkness.
Sam hesitated. "What game are you playing?"
"You spend fifteen months over here. Getting blown up day after day. You start spending a lot of time thinking about home. What you'll do after that first kiss. After that first hour, that first day." Merrick turned his head slowly back toward Sam. His eyes glinted in the shadows, reflecting a light that Sam couldn't see. "What would you do? To go home, right now, and place your hand on her belly? Feel that baby move. What's that worth to you?"
Sam closed his eyes. The fingers of his right hand twitched, remembering the feel of that small bump. He looked up, remembering how she'd smiled and looked down at him, running her hand through his hair as he kissed her belly. "Anything," Sam whispered. "I'd give anything to be home with her right now."
Merrick shifted so quickly Sam almost missed it. One minute his feet were kicked up on the windowsill, the next Merrick stood right in his face. His teeth gleamed white in the shadows. "Are you sure? Because ‘anything’ encompasses a whole lot of options. Especially in combat."
"No shit."
"You ever think about what ‘anything’ entails, Sam? Really think about what you would do?"
Sam looked away, down toward the remains of the coffee pot and the radio that offered nothing but static. The men around them were silent. Almost specters. They might as well have been alone. "No." The lie was cold on his tongue.
"Do you always lie to yourself?"
"Fuck off, Merrick." Sam turned to go.
"The Memorial Day attack."
Sam's breath lodged in his throat. "What do you know about that?" he whispered.
"More than you think." Merrick smiled. "You could have sacrificed yourself to save your men. Instead, that little girl died so that you could live.” Sam froze, his hand on the doorframe. Ice slithered over his skin. "Two of your boys went home in flag-draped coffins despite everything." A scuff of boot on the floor. Merrick's words whispered over the back of Sam's neck. "How does that feel, young Sam Brown?"
Sam whirled and slammed Merrick against the wall. "How do you know about that?" There was no force in his words. Only shame.
Merrick smiled, holding both hands up. "Small war. Rumors get around."
"That's not how it went down."
"Really?"
"No." Sam turned away, needing to put distance between himself and Merrick before he did something else he regretted. It had been an accident. He hadn’t meant to shoot her.
She wasn’t supposed to be there, goddamn it.
"Then the war has done its worst to you?" Merrick asked.
"I've done enough," Sam whispered, his voice ragged.
"Really? What would you really do to go home to Faith? If shooting that kid would guarantee you a trip home, would you do it?"
Sam cocked his fist back. Paused. Then shoved Merrick away.
"Your game of ‘what if’ sucks. Stay the hell away from me."
* * *
Sam climbed the stairs to the radio room. The truck below rumbled in the darkness. He was making the major put a guy in the truck and start that son of a bitch on a timer. He wasn't going to lose another truck. Not again.
He was going to have his face ripped off by Captain Lehr if—when—they made it back to base. Sam wasn't going to hesitate to name the major and his shitbag soldiers as the cause of the damage. He had no reason to hide the truth.
He walked into the radio room and saw Lewis screwing with the radio. Lewis glanced up at Sam as he walked in and shot him a quick thumbs-up.
Hope soared inside him and prickled across his skin as Lewis spoke into the black hand mic.
"Roger that, Hellhound Main. Tracking link up location."
Sam kicked the kid curled in the corner, where his face was resting on the shattered remains of the coffee pot. He blinked and looked up slowly, his eyes fogged with sleep. "Huh?"
"Get up. We're going home," Sam said.
The kid's eyes got wide as realization dawned. He scrambled to his feet. He slung his weapon over his shoulder and started tossing things into the deformed silver bullet. His feet were scuffs on the stairs.
Sam watched him go then turned back to Lewis. "I've never seen anyone move so fast in my—"
A pop pierced the silence. The crack of a rifle retort off the dusty alley walls. Sam froze.
Lewis' eyes widened. A dark pool formed beneath his left arm where he was still holding the hand mic. It fell from his hand as Lewis dropped to his knees.
"Lewis!"
The world exploded in fire and violence, but it all sounded very far away as Sam crawled through the dust toward Lewis. He ripped open Lewis’ body armor, looking for the source of the blood.
Lewis tried to talk, but his words gurgled in his throat. A fine red mist spread across his lips.
"Don't talk," Sam said. His fingers searched Lewis' ribs and found a tiny entrance wound beneath his right armpit. Blood gushed from the exit wound beneath his left. Sam ripped the first aid kit open and screamed for help as he tried to apply pressure to stop the bleeding. He held the plastic from the pressure dressing over the larger of the wounds.
Lewis' eyes rolled back in his head. He coughed, trying to breathe. Sam heard only fluid where there should have been air.
"Stay with me, buddy. Lewis, open your eyes, goddamn it." He pressed his knee and a second plastic wrap to the entrance wound.
Lewis gripped his calf. Then his grip went limp.
Sam lowered his head to Lewis’ mouth. The war raged around them but Sam heard nothing, felt nothing. Focused only on Lewis. He slammed his fist into Lewis’ still chest.
And then the rage came.
* * *
Sam scurried across his position on the roof. The gunner was dead; someone from Merrick's squad, a kid he didn't know and didn't take time to mourn. He focused on getting the big gun firing again, sending steel on target. Below him, shadows ran in the darkness. Sam flicked on his optics and looked to identify friend from foe.
One by one, he picked off the enemy, keeping them from approaching the undermanned fighting position halfway down the alley.
"Jinx! Get down there to Hale!" he shouted from the roof.
Sam kept firing, talking with one of the heavy weapons from a lower floor.
"Well, how's this for a morning wake-up call?" Merrick asked, slamming into the sandbags next to him.
A whistle flew by Sam's head and he ducked instinctively. The building reported to have been full of kids before sunset exploded. Bits of concrete rained down on them and a piece skidded between his body armor and his neck. He swatted at it as the concrete rain continued. As soon as it stopped, he lifted his head and started firing again.
Merrick leaned over the edge of the building with his optics. "Well now, this is truly fucked," he said.
Sam glanced at him on a pause from firing. "That's not helping."
Merrick's eyes were wide from the flashes of light from the weapons fire. "Who said I'm here to help?"
"You could start shooting at something," Sam snapped, focusing his attention on the advancing forces down the alley. "I've pulled our security in closer to us. We've got three down and five wounded. I think that fat fucking major got a paper cut, but he's applying pressure like it needs a tourniquet." He looked over at Merrick. "We need to consolidate the — fuck!"
Hot lead skittered down his neck. His flesh bubbled beneath the shell casing. He tried to slap it away, but the casing was melted to his flesh. Grinding his teeth, he yanked
it free. Skin peeled off with it and the exposed meat protested the kiss of hot, dirty air on the open wound.
"Fuck fuck fuck." Sam started shooting again. "Are you going to do any fucking thing?"
"Seven dead, Sam." Merrick's smile was blank. Empty. "How bad do you want to go home?"
The war fell away in that moment. Sam squeezed the trigger of his weapon but felt nothing. Heard nothing. The concrete in front of Sam's face exploded between them, but neither of them moved. "What are you talking about?"
"You said you'd do anything to go home." Merrick tipped his chin.
"Now isn't really the fucking—" Sam ducked as a piece of concrete flew by his head—"time!"
"It's never a good time," Merrick said.
"Fuck this, man. I'm pulling our guys in the rest of the way. You can sit here if you want."
Merrick blocked him from leaving. It was only then that Sam noticed the blood on Merrick's uniform. The whites of his eyes seemed too stark against his skin.
"You want to go home to your baby girl?" Merrick asked. His voice was soft, eerily soft. And yet, Sam heard him perfectly.
"Baby girl?" Sam whispered. A thousand emotions swelled inside him, picturing Faith holding a tiny bundle of little girl. A miniature version of Faith. Safe. Secure. "How do you know that?"
Merrick smiled and held out his hand. "I'll take away all the fear, Sam. All the sadness. You can go home to your precious Faith." His hand was skeletal in the shadows. It gleamed like bone.
Sam looked back up at Merrick. "We need to get off the roof before we get blown up," Sam said, grasping at reality in the fog.
"Just take my hand. I'll make sure you get home." Merrick lifted his hand just a little bit. "It's a small price. After all, you did promise anything."
The building exploded beneath them, the concussion from the blast throwing them off their feet.
Sam shook off the haze from the explosion. Merrick stood over him, holding out his hand.
Thinking he had to have been losing his mind, he gripped the other man's hand.
And went back to war.
* * *
The sniper had only been the beginning. The enemy had funneled down the street. Where there had once been a crew-served weapon was now an area manned by only a couple of dudes with smaller caliber M4s.
The Long Night Page 14