The Traiteur's Ring

by Jeffrey Wilson

  She’s a link to things I don’t understand, but that feel so familiar.

  Ben wondered if that familiarity was because of his strange past or because of the strong ties he felt to the villagers. That tie, he suspected, was just a manifestation of the burning guilt his whole team shared in an unspoken way. Whatever – he decided he would do what he could (though he had no idea what that would be) to make sure the survivors, and especially the little girl, were all taken care of.

  The medical spaces filled a hanger that was in much better condition than the one converted into a barracks for the Navy SEALs and Army Special Forces Operators. Roughly square, they had actually brought in Sea Bees to build hard walls to separate the mini-recovery area from a small operating room and an even smaller X-ray room. The recovery area held twelve cots arranged in two rows and above each the Sea Bees had constructed crossbeams to support monitors, IV poles, needed supplies, and equipment. At the end of the rows were four sets of two saw horses where stretchers could rest for the initial management of bad trauma patients. So far, they had not had to use any of that advanced surgical capability on this deployment, thank God.

  What struck Ben, however, was that all of the cots were empty.

  Where are my people?

  “Hey,” he hollered out to the young Army medic across the large open room. His voice sounded harsher than he intended, but he continued on without pause anyway. “Where the hell are our villagers? Where’s the little girl?”

  The medic looked up, confused at first. Then, his voice seemed to register understanding.

  “Oh,” he said. “You mean the natives?”

  Natives?

  He wasn’t sure why that irritated him so bad, but the word pissed him off for sure.

  “They’re not —‘natives’ – they’re human beings, dickhead. They’re also the only survivors of a whole village of peaceful people slaughtered by a bunch of AQ assholes, and they watched everyone they knew and loved hacked to death, raped, and mutilated. Now where the fuck are they?”

  Ben realized his voice had reached a feverous pitch he had never intended and felt his face flush. The young medic seemed unsure what to do, and for a minute Ben thought he might bolt for the door. Then, he took a long, shaky breath and held out an arm as Ben approached.

  “Take it easy, sir,” he said, though as Ben was an enlisted SEAL, the “sir” was completely inappropriate. “I didn’t mean nothing, okay? Anyway, I’m not sure where they went. Doc Gilliam said he was getting them some place more comfortable is all. Just hold on a minute, and I’ll find out where they went, okay”

  With that, he nearly sprinted out the door at the end of the recovery area, and Ben felt bad that he had over reacted. A few minutes later, the Army surgeon came in the same door, although the medic remained conspicuously absent.

  “Whaddya say, man,” the surgeon said and stretched out a hand. Ben shook it. “You hangin’ in there?”

  “Sure,” Ben said, now really embarrassed. “Just looking for our survivors, sir.”

  “Of course,” the surgeon said. “I wanted them somewhere more comfortable and private,” he said. “Come with me.”

  Ben followed the digital cammie-clad doctor out the back door. Behind the hangar was a wooden squaw hut constructed by the Sea Bees. On the thin wooden door someone had wood-burned a medical caduceus with a lightning bolt and a sword through it and a Green Beret on top – the symbol of Special Forces Medical. Next to it were burned the names of the three Army officers who used the building as their quarters and office. Ben realized the Colonel and his two partners (an anesthesiologist and an ER doc) had given up their quarters to the survivors from the village.

  “Where are you guys, stayin’, sir?” Ben asked.

  “We tossed some cots into the OR for now,” the Colonel said. “No big deal. We’re hoping not to use that room anyway, right?”

  “Right,” Ben agreed. He felt touched the three men had given up their little bit of comfort in the shithole they all lived in for the survivors. “That was pretty right on, sir.”

  The surgeon waved a dismissive hand and seemed embarrassed. “No biggie.”

  The surgeon tapped lightly on the door and, then, cracked it open a little. “Hello?” he hollered in. “You guys got a visitor.” He looked back at Ben and shrugged. “They don’t speak English,” he said, stating the blatantly obvious.

  Ben nodded and walked in.

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. In the center of the room, the survivors had arranged blankets and sheets pulled from the nearby beds and they sat together cross legged in the nest-like pile. Ben’s little girl sat between the outstretched legs of the young woman who he remembered had lost her own child before he had been able to kill her rapist.

  Too little, too late.

  The little girl reached up at him.

  “Gah, deh, eh,” she said and looked for all the world like she thought her babble meant something. To Ben it sounded no different than any baby chatter he had ever heard, a thought that made him feel a little more normal.

  “Hey there, sweetie.” His voice conveyed the choked up smile that also spread across his face. His eyes felt suddenly wet, and he felt very little like the steely-eyed killer he was paid to be.

  “DAH!” the girl announced and grabbed the middle of his face. She cooed, and Ben laughed.

  “You have fans,” the Colonel said. His voice sounded surprised.

  “Yeah, well she and I bonded at the village and on the way in. I guess I became the mama duck for this little duckling.” He nuzzled her neck with his nose.

  “I don’t mean her,” the surgeon said.

  “Huh?” Ben turned to look at the doctor to figure out what the hell he was talking about and, then, followed the Army officer’s gaze.

  The adult villagers had all shifted to their knees, the old woman clearly with some difficulty. Their arms were all outstretched and raised, their palms up towards the ceiling. Their heads were bowed forward, but four sets of dark eyes stared at him, wide-eyed, from under wrinkled brows.

  “What the hell?” Ben whispered.

  The large, middle-aged man made a noise that sounded like a word wrapped in a cough. The eight eyes closed tightly, and together they began a melodic chant. Ben stood and stared at them for a moment, the little girl in his arms clinging to his neck.

  “They do this every time you come in here?” Ben asked the surgeon without looking back. He felt unable to pull his eyes away from the four villagers on the floor.

  “We haven’t disturbed them all that much,” the Colonel said. “But they have always been quiet and, I don’t know – stoic, maybe.” He stepped forward next to Ben. “I’ve never seen them do this before.”

  “Da, da, Bad eh,” the little girl said and grabbed Ben’s ear hard enough to hurt a little. He barely felt it as he watched the strange scene in front of him. The man and three women continued to chant in unison, eyes closed and arms up and out. Then, the man’s head snapped up, and his eyes popped open. Ben felt himself startle a little. The man smiled at him and dropped his arms as the women continued their chant. Ben tried to smile back.

  The man stood up with surprising grace and fluidity, and in a blink he stood toe-to-toe with Ben who shifted uncomfortably despite the man’s disarming smile. The man pulled Ben’s right hand free from beneath the little girl, and he had to shift her weight into his left arm to keep from dropping her. Then, the man bent over at the waist and pulled Ben’s hand to his face. The bare-chested villager stared for a moment at the ring on Ben’s middle finger which sparkled back at him with a bright golden shine that nearly glowed. Then, he pressed his lips to the ring.

  Ben stepped back in surprise when the man suddenly stood bolt upright, his face turned up to the ceiling.

  “Ganada day not tai!” he shouted, and the three women popped to their feet, suddenly chattering and smiling, surrounded Ben, and each pulled at his arms and shirt. He held the girl close, not sure wh
at else to do.

  “Wow,” the surgeon said from behind him. “They seem to like you, huh?’

  “Yeah,” Ben said. He felt a little dizzy, and his right hand tingled with pins and needles, but not at all like when your hand falls asleep from lying on it funny. More like little bolts of electricity shooting up from where he had perhaps inadvertently put his middle finger in a wall socket. He felt claustrophobic as the four adult villagers chattered, laughed, and pawed at his arms and body. He stepped backwards towards the door but the four moved with him. For a moment he felt a little like he couldn’t take a breath.

  “Stop,” he hollered out louder than he intended.

  In unison, the villagers dropped to their knees, the old woman with a muted grunt. Their eyes dropped to the floor, their arms again outstretched and palms up. The large man made a grunting sound, and they again began a soft and melodic chant.

  “Jesus,” Ben breathed and stepped around the women behind him to get away and closer to the door. He looked down at the ring, which as he watched shifted from the gold of a moment ago to a deep purple. As it did, the little electric shocks disappeared. He tightened his grip on the little girl. His eyes glued to the strange chanting people in front of him, he stepped with a heel onto the Colonel’s foot and nearly stumbled. “Shit,…sorry.”

  “No problem,” the surgeon replied, his voice hollow. “Did you do something miraculous at that village?”

  “No,” Ben answered as images of the little girl’s injuries and healing, the old man’s voice in his head, and the horrible pictures of the rape and torture of the village flashed on the screen of his mind. “I barely did anything, and what we did do was too damn late for most of them.”

  You are a Seer; you will know what to do.

  But he didn’t. He had no clue what he could do other than get these survivors, the end of their people, somewhere safe. What would happen to them then, he had no idea.

  Ben looked into the big, dark eyes of the beautiful little girl he held, and she smiled at him and leaned into him. What would happen to her? With a lot of luck she could maybe have a long life working food service at a camp in Djibouti. Nice fucking life that would be, huh?

  He kissed her gently on the cheek and, then, touched one of the women gently on the shoulder. She looked up at him with a face full of awe, her mouth open.

  “Please,” he said and leaned down to hand the child to her. The woman took the girl and smiled at him with a nod. Ben wiped tears from his cheek. “I’m so sorry,” he said, but knew she didn’t understand.

  With great effort he turned to the doctor, who watched him with unmasked concern.

  “You sure you’re, okay?” he asked

  “Yeah,” Ben answered. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He felt the silent stares on him as he pushed through the door, but didn’t turn around, even when the cough-like grunt announced the chanting should continue.

  Chapter 7

  The heat and humidity made Ben wish they had run before breakfast, but he stretched his stride out anyway and enjoyed the feel of his body cowboying up to his demands. The grueling pace melted away much of his stress and anxiety. As he ran, with Reed puffing along beside him, he went over the encounter with the survivors in his head. He realized that, as usual, he had over reacted to the unusual behavior. His own strange past, full of its myth of magic and mystery, often made him side his view towards the occult when things were even a little out of the mainstream. Not exactly superstitious, he knew himself well enough to admit that, given a choice, he usually leaned towards the supernatural explanation. Only later would his left brain succumb to the logic of the right and show him the often obvious, and boring, scientific explanation.

  As they started up a gentle dirt slope back toward their barracks, Ben picked up the pace and fell in beside Auger who pounded the ground into submission with his large legs, smiling a pain-free smile.

  “You the man, Ben,” he grinned. “My leg feels great – even my hip.”

  Ben smiled back and pulled a pace ahead of him, just a stride behind Lash, who he decided he would sprint past at the very end.

  In this case, the obvious explanation for the behavior of the survivors required very little logic or smarts. He and his team had come into their primitive village where terrible men did horrible things to them and in only a few minutes, using tools that would mystify them, had completely destroyed their tormentors. Ben had saved a little girl and one of the women personally.

  No real mystery how these simple folks might show awe and deference to us. They would have responded the same had Chris or Lash or any of us come in.

  And, what about the man kissing the ring?

  Respect for their lost elder and spiritual leader, that’s all. No mystery there.

  Ben lengthened his stride and closed on Lash as they started the last quarter mile to the finish.

  “Comin’ up on your six, Lash,” Auger called out.

  Lash glanced over his shoulder and grinned. Then, he broke into a full sprint.

  “Nuh-uh, doc,” he hollered as he pulled ahead.

  Ben kicked in his own sprint and held the distance but couldn’t close it. Lash was an animal.

  A moment later they walked in circles together and waited for their teammates to join them one by one, Reed pulling up last.

  “One day,” Ben grinned at Lash.

  “Maybe,” Lash said. “If I lose a leg or something.”

  Ben laughed.

  He felt so much better. The run had cleared his head and set things right around him again. He looked at the ring on his hand which held a calm orange tint. Ben pulled the mouthpiece from his camel back to his lips and took a long draw of warm water. He swallowed some and, then, swished and spit the rest into the dirt.

  Ben and the other four SEALs walked slowly around the tin hangar and stretched out their muscles as they cooled down. Auger slapped Ben on the back.

  “Way to go, Ben,” he said.

  “I didn’t catch him,” Ben said looking ruefully at Lash.

  “Who gives a shit about that?” Auger said. “I’m talking about my leg, bro. You need to keep some of that smelly ass paste available all the time, okay?”

  “Sure,” Ben said. He noticed Auger showed not even the slightest hint of a limp. “Wanna head to the box to look at that thing again?”

  “Let’s do it after I hit some weights, okay?” Auger asked.

  “Nah,” Ben said. “Let’s do it now, dude. It’ll need to be cleaned up from your run and, anyway, I want to call home before it gets too much later.”

  Ben knew it would be nearly midnight at home already, but even though he had a brief call only a couple of hours ago, he desperately wanted to hear Christy’s voice.

  “Alright,” Auger said with a six-year-old pout in his voice. He followed Ben into the barracks.

  “The box” was a room the size of a very small walk-in closet where Ben kept his medical gear and a short treatment table where he would hook up electrical stimulation and heating units to treat his fellow SEALs for the aches and pains that came with their hard life. He also had a small, compact X-ray unit that sent images to a lap top computer. The entire X-Ray unit sat just outside the box in the main room of the barracks, completely unshielded by lead. OSHA would have them all locked up, but as far as he knew they didn’t make site visits to bum-fuck Africa for safety violations. And, anyway he had only snapped a few pictures since they had been here, and the unit was a good ten feet from the nearest bunk.

  Auger hopped effortlessly up onto the treatment table, and Ben turned sideways to be able to fit between the table and the wall.

  “Let’s see,” he said and began to unwind the gauze dressing that covered the bullet hole above Auger’s left knee.

  “No problem,” Auger said.

  As he peeled away the last layer of gauze, Ben’s eyes widened. Above Auger’s knee – where he remembered the ragged bullet hole from yesterday – he saw only a small pink discolorat
ion, soft and almost imperceptible. No cut, no hole – nothing. Ben pressed his fingers over the spot.

  “Feel that?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Auger said. “But it doesn’t hurt or anything,” he said and turned his leg slightly so he could see. “Hey,” he said. “Where’s the cut?”

  Ben shook his head and pursed his lips. “No cut,” he said absently. He had seen lots of strange things during his fifteen years with Gammy in the Louisiana bayou, but certainly nothing stranger than this.

  “Jesus, Ben,” Auger said. “You need to patent that paste shit and sell it, dude. We could retire to an island somewhere, open a dive shop, and live a life of style.” Auger leaned back on the table.

  “Why the hell would I take you with me?” Ben asked as he pressed his finger deep into the tissues behind Auger’s knee. “That doesn’t hurt?” he asked. He pressed even harder in the area where he thought the bullet fragment should have ended up.

  “Nope,” Auger answered.

  What the hell?

  “Let’s just get an X-ray to make sure we didn’t leave something in there,” Ben said.

  “Sure,” Auger said and hopped off the table.

  Ben positioned his teammate against the wall outside the box and turned him slightly before positioning the X-ray plate at the level of his knee. He turned on the lap top which sat on a small desk made out of boxes, opened the radiology program, and plugged the cable from the X-ray plate into the USB port. After a moment the screen announced it was ready, and Ben aimed the X-ray cone at Auger’s knee and pressed a button while telling him to “stay still.” Then, he sat down in front of the lap top, vaguely aware of Auger leaning in over his shoulder. The image slowly constructed itself on the screen in sections.

  “That my knee?” Auger asked.

  “Yeah,” Ben said absently as he stared at the image. The bones looked pristine, but more importantly, there was no bullet fragment. In fact, he saw not even a hint of the little hazy “dust trail” of tiny fragments that always followed a bullet into the soft tissues. Nothing. Nada.