by Chris Hechtl
Bumper didn't hesitate as he led Boomer to truck. “IED?” Boomer asked softly. The dog shook his head once. “Okay, then lead on ….” Boomer could see the driver in the mirror; the truck driver seemed nervous. His partner in the passenger seat didn't look at all happy to see the approaching marine and dog either.
“Something wrong?” the driver asked when the marine got within earshot of the truck. Boomer was taking his time. He wasn't sure what was up, but he trusted his partner's instincts. The driver gulped when Boomer did a quick visual search.
“What's your business in this area?” Boomer asked through the translator software.
“Just picking up a delivery,” the driver said, looking around. He was trying to seem relaxed, but Boomer could tell from his helmet sensors that the guy's respiration and heart beat were through the roof.
“Really? What business?” Boomer asked as the marines in the area went on alert. They all took a sudden interest in his direction. “It takes two of you to make a delivery?” Boomer asked. His sensors couldn't scan through the door or side panels of the beat-up dusty truck.
A second pair of marines arrived on the scene and took the passenger side. One moved to the rear of the vehicle.
The passenger panicked, yammering something and then fired. He shot the marine on his side of the vehicle through the door. Boomer scrambled for his gun, thumbing off the safety and lifting it just as he was shot through the door as well. The round was a heavy one; it hammered into his vest and threw him back on his ass. His MP-5Zs slapped his stomach and flew out of his hand as he went down hard. The strap for the rifle cut into his neck but kept it from flying away into the street.
Boomer faded in and out of consciousness as incredible pain tore at his chest. It was an effort just to breathe as he tried to roll and bring his weapon up.
When the shots were fired, men around the area swung into action to kill the intruding marines.
Boomer was shocked to see his comrades go down. He managed to refocus in time to see Bumper holding a weapon, Boomer's sidearm. Bumper fired once, then checked the area before he set the safety and then set the pistol down. Then he went to check the marines.
"Well, I'll be a son of a gun," Boomer mumbled as his hands moved on their own to rip velcro off his harness in order to stuff and spray dressing into his wounds. He got the front taken care of but passed out before he could do anything about the back.
---
April 15, 2200
Boomer woke sometime later in a navy hospital. To his relief he could wiggle all his fingers and toes. He hurt. The vest was designed to take on a lot of weapons, but armor piercing was just that for a reason. Still, it had caught a lot of the damned thing and probably spared his life. Well, that and the spray dressing Boomer had gotten into the wound.
He was confused by the events and said so to the nurse. She shook her head. “They've got it all on the helmet cameras.”
“Yeah, okay,” Boomer said, not sure what to make of that just as a pair of NCIS agents came in. Both were in BDUs so that meant they were still near the hot zone, most likely in the base. They didn't even bother with making introductions; they quickly interviewed him.
“It was Bumper. He alerted on them. I was following his lead. The driver gave himself away. Did the others ….”
“You are the only survivor.”
“Fuck me. Wait, Bumper?” Boomer sat up suddenly. The nurse pushed him back down gently but firmly.
“He's fine,” she murmured. She looked out the window meaningfully just as Boomer heard a familiar bark. “See?” she said, nodding to the window.
He snorted then turned his attention to the NCIS pair. “Why are you interviewing me anyway? Is this a formality? Don't you have our sensors and helmet cams?”
“No, we um, don't,” the lead agent said clearly uncomfortable.
“Deleted?” Boomer asked, eying him.
“How did you know?”
“A lucky guess. I think you are in above your pay grade. Let me guess, you were instructed on where to focus the investigation?”
“Yes. How they got so close is a big one.”
“And I take it I'm not in the need-to-know?” The agent just shook his head. The other smiled slightly though. “Right,” Boomer drawled. “Well, as I said, they smelled fishy. Deliveries are in the back, not on the main street. But I didn't do much, just got my ass shot,” he said.
“Your weapon was what was used to kill the hit team. So you are getting credit for catch,” the junior agent said. The senior agent scowled. “That's what we've heard.”
“Great, another piece of ribbon. Joy,” Boomer muttered, looking away. “Anything else?” he asked after a long moment.
“No, we're done here. If we have any follow-up questions, we'll contact you.”
“Right,” Boomer drawled.
When they left he used the bed's controls to elevate it enough to look outside. Breathing was a bitch. He had some busted ribs, but he had to look. When he did he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief.
He looked outside to see Bumper standing there across the street. The dog cocked his head, barked, then turned and sniffed the general's hummer. He got around to the rear tire, and then took a wiz on it. Boomer snorted and cracked a smile. "That's my boy," he murmured in amused approval.
The hummer's driver came out, saw what the dog was doing, and then threw her hands up in the air in disgust. Boomer snorted as dog trotted off, tail curled and wagging.
---
Convinced something screwy had happened, but unsure if he had hallucinated the entire thing, Boomer let some of that show to the therapist who came around for his mandatory evaluation. Every instance of combat, especially when a marine had been wounded or died, required one.
Boomer hated it. But he hated missing out on his buddy's funerals even more. Their bodies had already been shipped home. That hurt.
The psych therapist sent to evaluate him insisted he must have dreamed it up. “Sometimes we act and don't realize it. It's all muscle memory. You did well. I don't understand how you think the dog did though ….”
“Um …,” Boomer frowned. He realized he was on shaky ground.
“Possible transference?” the therapist murmured, making notes on his tablet.
“No, no, like you said, I probably dreamed part of it. It is a bit hazy; I mean, I was in a hell of a lot of pain. Still am when I move,” he said, making a show of touching his bandaged ribs. The meds modern medicine had available allowed the bones to be knitted back together quickly. But the body still remembered the major insult to itself and continued to protest.
“Hmmm …”
Boomer was desperate because he didn't want to go to a psych ward for further eval. He suddenly worried about being labeled as PTSD and given a desk or worse, drummed out of the corps.
“No nightmares? Even with your past fire fights?”
“No. I haven't dreamed much about them in years, Doc,” Boomer stated. He spread his hands apart. “This one happened pretty damned fast. It's all a blur.”
“I see,” the therapist said, putting his stylus away. He tucked the tablet under his arm and then patted the marine on the arm. “Well, you get some rest. If you have any more problems or dreams, let me know.”
“I will, Doc.”
“And I won't take that at face value,” the therapist said, shaking his head. “So get a couple beers in you when you are cleared medically and then dump it to your buddies.”
“Those that are left,” Boomer said darkly.
“Yes. Any issues there?”
Again Boomer spread his hands. “Doc, I barely knew them. They were okay. Shaker was a bit of a loud mouth. Nitro …,” he grimaced.
“Anything?” the therapist asked, searching his face.
“I didn't see them go down. Not exactly.” He remembered a flash of a body falling on the other side of the truck. “They were both good marines.”
“That they were.”
---
The moment he was out of the hospital Tom “Boomer” Aspin was rewarded with a promotion to sergeant and awarded for his heroism with another purple heart. He was annoyed that the dog didn't get one and said so to Jamey. Not that Jamey or anyone else was willing to listen.
The general called a ceremony to pin the medal on his chest Sunday, the day Boomer had planned to rest, you know, like the doctor ordered and all. Since they were in an active war zone, everyone was in BDUs so that was a minor relief. Still it was fucking hot; too hot to be standing out in the sun on a Sunday Boomer griped internally.
“I'm serious,” he said in an aside to the sergeant major. Apparently he'd decided to personally ride herd on Boomer to keep him in line, even going so far as to showing up to escort the marine to the parade ground for the ceremony, then staying locked on his flank through the whole damned thing. “Bumper deserves the real credit here. Why this chicken shit is necessary ….”
"He's just a dumb mutt. Give him a milk bone, and he'll be just as happy. Hell, more so."
"He prefers steak actually,” Boomer replied. Bumper looked up, licked his chops, and then went back to watching the show.
“I'll put him in for one,” the sergeant said dryly.
“Hell Jamey, give me a beer and I'd do the same thing. I don't need any more ribbons," Boomer growled softly as the general droned on and on.
"Shut up and let them pin the damn pretty piece of ribbon on you," the sergeant major growled out of the side of his mouth.
“So, I've got to get smashed and in a bar fight to get rid of this thing?” Boomer asked, twitching his shoulder to show the extra chevron.
“Don't you dare. Macky's being rotated home, so are you for liberty. He's going to a new unit. When you get back, you'll be taking over the outfit. So smile and soldier, Marine.”
“Ooh Rah,” Boomer murmured.
---
Boomer watched the news with the other marines. He was curious if the attack had made the news. Anne shook her head when he asked. “Yeah, for about a minute. It's all space shit; we're forgotten,” she said.
“It figures,” a new marine said in disgust. “You heard the shit about the ships? Sabotage?”
“It's been going on for a while dumbshit,” Anne said, giving the noob a dirty look. “I knew a guy involved in the program. It's legit.”
“Sucks.”
“Yeah.”
“And yet they sent more ships out. Are they terminally stupid or what?”
“To boldly go where no man has gone before? I don't know,” Boomer said. He moved carefully, one hand on his right side hovering protectively over his ribs. “I don't know. I think it's cool to see new worlds and stuff. Not for the faint of heart though.”
“True,” Anne said, eying him. “So, you taking Macky's place?”
“When I get back from liberty, or so they said.”
“He really put in for a transfer?”
“I don't know if he did or someone else did. Losing a couple marines sucks.”
“Yeah. To absent companions,” Anne said roughly. She wiped at her eyes.
“To absent companions,” Boomer murmured.
---
May 2200
Since he was still recovering, Boomer was sent home on liberty. He took Bumper with him since he didn't know what else to do with him. He endured the usual hugs and kisses as they met him at the airport. His parents were concerned about his injuries, but he waved it off as he grabbed his seabag.
“Who's this?” his mother asked.
“I told you about him. This is my partner, Bumper,” Boomer said, indicating the Chow. He'd been glad he'd flown military all the way in. No bullshit about having the dog locked up in a kennel in baggage to worry about.
His family teased him about the dog's name. “Did it come from Bambi?” his sister asked, rubbing Bumper's ears and neck. She endured a lick from the dog for her trouble.
“Not that I know of,” Boomer replied. “He's hardly a rabbit! Besides, it was Thumper not Bumper," he said with a shake of his head. That earned a laugh from the group.
“Bumper saved my life, more than once,” Boomer said quietly.
The group quieted and eyed the dog. Slowly his mother sank to her knees and hugged the dog. “Then he's doubly welcome in our family,” she said to him. The dog leaned into the hug and even wrapped one front leg around the woman. The girls awed in approval.
When it quieted down later on back at the ranch, he explained the name to his partner. “You can look it up on the net.” He saw the dog blink at him. He snorted. “Don't give me that shit, wondermutt; I know you will.” He sighed as the dog snuffled and then snorted. “I wouldn't mind rabbit for dinner though, tasty,” Boomer said wistfully.
Just before dinner he let Bumper out to pee. He wasn't sure if the dog would do it or just sniff around. He watched the dog run into a field, stop, look around then sniff like his life depended on it.
“What's he got?” his sister asked.
“I don't know. Gopher?” He felt his sister tuck herself against his left side and wrap her arms around his hips. He ruffled her hair and leaned against the porch beam as Bumper followed the dirt road to the fence line then along it.
“He's got something going. There are hares in that area I think,” Kannis said pointing.
“There are?” Boomer asked in surprise. He looked down at his sister just as a hare in the brush was spooked. It jumped then raced for its life. The dog cut it off from going into the field, so it had only one place to go. It scrambled into the street. Hot on the cotton tail, Bumper didn't see the semitruck until it was too late. They heard the screech of brakes, but the truck obscured the view.
Boomer was already running down the dirt path bellowing for Bumper before the truck stopped rolling.
The driver's door swung open. “I'm sorry; he came out of nowhere. I didn't see him,” the trucker said, clearly apologetic.
Boomer rounded the corner of the rig as his sister and family came running up behind him. He sank to his knees as he found Bumper crushed under the front passenger wheel. The dog had been dragged under the truck.
“Oh my God,” his sister murmured, turning away.
“Get a medic! Someone call a medic,” Boomer said, moving to the dog's whimpering side. “He's still alive!” he said, cradling the dog's head. He felt the raspy tongue come out to touch his hand. “Don't you die on me!” he snarled, fighting the tears.
“Get me … damn it, do something!” Boomer snarled. He felt something on his hand and looked down. The dog slipped his hand paw into his and then squeezed gently. The human was amazed to see the dog had a thumb and stubby fingers. The grip immediately faded though. He saw the light in his partner's eyes fade; his breathing stopped. “No, no,” he whispered, hugging the bloody dog to his chest and rocking him.
It was a senseless stupid death he thought. He was tore up, and cried.
The Trucker shook his head. "It's just a dumb mutt," he muttered. When Boomer looked up with death in his face, he paled and retreated fast.
“I'm sorry, Son,” Boomer heard. He looked up to see his dad gripping his shoulder. “Really I am.”
“Stupid. So stupid. He survived fire fights, bombs, only to die …,” Boomer sighed. “I've got to call in,” he said heavily. “Do me a favor.”
“Anything,” his father said gruffly.
“Keep that stupid son of a bitch away from me or I'll kill him,” Boomer said, letting the dog go. He stood. His father eyed him, and then nodded soberly.
---
Boomer reported in to his unit with a heavy voice. The sergeant major heard the defeat in his voice, it was leaden, full of despair. It shocked the normally unflappable marine. “I don't know what to do, Jamey,” Boomer said, damn near in tears.
“I'll send a contact team,” the sergeant major said. “No, damn it, he's Lagroose. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity duck.” He sighed heavily, brea
thing for a moment as he got his thoughts in order then cleared his throat. “I'll get on it. Just hang in there, Boomer,” he said, trying to pitch as much soothing comfort as he could to the man.
Boomer sat there on the porch for an hour until an air van arrived. A quartet of Lagroose techs and investigators climbed out. They swarmed to the shrouded body, dismissing the local deputy.
Boomer watched them take the body. He sat there, head in his hands as he overheard them talk about a necropsy. “He's an alpha line, version 1.01 actually, one of the first,” the nearest tech said.
“Why is he here? With a civilian?”
“He requested it. He apparently wanted to serve like his grandfather, Wizard. And the guy is military, marine. He can handle OPSEC.”
“Oh. His file says his intelligence level was above primate … why did they let him go groundside though? Aren't the dogs and cats supposed to stay upstairs?”
“Not all. General Murtough knows a bit about them. The smart dogs have been used for decades in off-the-book stuff.” The tech shook his head as Boomer looked over to him. “They didn't want them to go stale in a lab or foster home. He wanted to serve; he was needed. He knew the risks. He wanted to meet this guy. I don't think he thought this would happen though.”
“No.”
“Besides, it came down from on high to treat them as people, not lab rats. So, we treat them as people. Even when they do stupid things like this.
“Damn. What a hassle.”
“He reported in weekly. He was assimilating well, though …,” he shrugged.
“Why this? Suicide do you think?”
That made Boomer rear up in rage. “Suicide? Bullshit! He didn't! He was chasing a damn rabbit! It was an accident. A stupid accident!” Boomer snarled, waving a hand as he entered the conversation. He was clearly fuming so the two men clammed up.
“It's my fault. Damn it … he was doing it for me. I talked about eating rabbit so he … he …,” he choked up and started clenching his fists in rage as the techs backed hastily away.