The Traiteur's Ring

by Jeffrey Wilson

  The bleeding from Reed’s shredded leg had slowed to a trickle and he wrapped a battle dressing around it. Then, he popped a Syrette of morphine into his friend’s exposed hip.

  You see now the power in you and why our people need you.

  Ben ignored the voice and together with Chris lifted Reed in the stretcher and moved towards the courtyard and the sound of the Blackhawk helicopter beating the air into submission.

  Chapter 10

  The burning in his leg had subsided a lot, and Reed found he could relax a little now. Mostly he thought it was because Ben didn’t look that worried – at least not about him. His friend seemed lost and far away, but when he came back to the world and looked at him or joked with him, Reed saw nothing that made him think his friend was worried. He felt relief that Ben rode with him in the helicopter.

  Reed ran over the strange dream in his head again. The concussion from the grenade blast must have knocked him out for a while. He remembered Chris looking down at him, terrified, and he remembered Ben leaning over him. But so much of what followed seemed a mix of reality and the strange dream that he found it impossible to tell which was which.

  “You okay?” Ben’s voiced pulled him from his weird thoughts. Must be the dope he’d given him for the pain.

  “Yeah,” he said, but his voice sounded gravelly, and his throat hurt. “My throat is dry. Can I get water?”

  “Sure,” Ben said, leaned over him, and stretched the mouthpiece from his camel back to Reed’s lips. Reed took a long pull on the warm, rubber-tasting water, but it felt nothing but good on his throat. “Sorry about your kit, dude,” Ben said. “Had to cut it away back there. The guys will get all your shit and bring it back.”

  “No worries,” he said. His kit was the last thing he cared about right now. That crazy dream – he had felt certain he would die in only moments back there. He remembered feeling he couldn’t pull any air into his lungs and the nauseating, powerful coppery taste of blood in the back of his throat.

  “Am I gonna have to have an operation?” he asked and felt a little bit like a kid, but he didn’t care. He hated medical shit. It skeeved him out. The thought of going to sleep and having doctors do stuff to him frankly terrified him.

  “Nothing big,” Ben promised. “They may want to give you some happy juice to clean your leg up, but looks like no broken bones or anything. Just tore up some skin and muscle.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Reed grimaced.

  Thank God Ben is here or I’d be scared and crying like a baby.

  In his dream, he felt like he had almost died, but then Ben saved him. Not with medicine and stuff, though. It seemed more like Ben had, well, sort of gone inside him somehow. Like he went inside him and took out the badness. Not fixed it – took it out somehow. He remembered pain and, then, the sense that his chest filled with light and heat. Then the badness disappeared, and he could breathe again. The not being able to breathe – that had been the worst part of the dream. When it went away, he knew he would be okay.

  Reed realized his head had begun to feel swimmy. The morphine – he was sure it had to be that. Didn’t really feel bad, though. No sir – kind of nice, in fact. He turned his head and looked past the Air Force medic who sat back on a canvas bench. Outside the helicopter, the horizon had just a hint of purple, a little light in the blackness that heralded the dawn. The color reminded him of something, but he couldn’t quite grab it. A bluish light somewhere?

  “Everybody get off the ‘X’?” he asked Ben.

  “Sounded like it,” Ben answered, pulling the silver thermal blanket up around his shoulders.

  “Good,” he said. It was always good when they got off target before it got light. He looked up at his friend again and remembered the sight of him wading through the little house, blazing away like a madman from some low-rent action movie. “Dude, you were like crazy shit back there. You just smoked everyone.” He didn’t mean to bring it up, but the morphine just let the words tumble out of his mouth.

  “Yeah,” Ben said, and his eyes flashed with a glow or something that gave him a chill. “I’m glad it’s all over,” Ben said and put a hand on Reed’s shoulder.

  “Yeah,” Reed agreed. His eyes caught the ring on Ben’s hand, the one from Christy, and it seemed a little like it glowed slightly, a bluish glow in the dark helicopter. His mind flashed suddenly to Ben leaning over him, his hand stretched out just above his chest. His friend’s eyes were closed, and his lips moved as he mumbled something strange – like in French or something. The hand, though – the ring pulsed with an orange light, and his hand sparkled with white light. Underneath he saw a bluish, purple glow – like the dawn outside. Tongues of fire-like light shot out from the finger tips.

  Crazy fucking dream.

  Reed closed his eyes. He felt safe with Ben’s hand on his shoulder. Safe and well.

  He drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  Ben opened his eyes when he felt the nose of the helicopter pull up slightly and looked out the doorway. Below him he saw the task force camp rise up towards them – only the second time he had seen it from the air in daylight. He realized he must have slept the entire flight back from the Navy Amphibious Assault ship where they left Reed, only a dozen or so miles off the African coast. The surgeon there, a man only his age it seemed, had promised to take good care of him, but wanted to watch his leg wounds for a few days. He had confirmed what Ben suspected – that although his skin and some muscle looked pretty shredded, there seemed to be no deeper injuries to bone, nerves, or blood vessels. The doc had predicted a full-function recovery. Ben had shifted nervously when they had pulled the battle dressings from Reed’s chest to reveal nothing but healthy skin underneath. Ben had just shrugged to the curious looks and said nothing.

  The Blackhawk settled gently onto the tarmac with a swirl of dust in the morning sun, and Ben felt his heart rate increase a little. He really didn’t look forward to talking to Chris. He knew he had crossed a pretty serious line at the target house. Chris would keep it in the team, but Ben worried more about losing his team’s trust than getting in trouble from some higher authority.

  As the rotors wound down with a whiny sigh, Ben pulled his pack toward him by a strap, flung it up onto his back, and pulled his rifle back behind his hip. Then, he heaved himself up off the canvas bench and stepped out of the helicopter. He realized he felt completely and utterly exhausted all of the sudden. He could easily drop onto the cracked cement and curl up to sleep right beside the helicopter. He felt a heavy slap on the back.

  “Need anything from me?” the Air Force para-rescue jumper asked.

  “Nah, I’m good,” he said with a smile. “Thanks for everything, dude.”

  “Shit, I didn’t do nothing but ride with you,” the young medic laughed. “I should thank you for the free meal on the ship. You Squids eat like fucking kings.”

  Ben laughed back at the age-old rivalry banter and waved as the man shouldered his own gear and headed towards the clinic, likely to restock a few items from his kit. Ben realized he should restock his kit right away, too.

  Not that I’m putting off talking to the boss or anything.

  He kept his own stock of medical supplies back in the “box,” so he headed towards the barracks. He stopped at the cage where he and Reed kept their gear and stripped off his combat load, unloaded his rifle and pistol, and dropped his radio into a charger that already held a row of radios from the rest of his team.

  “Reed doing okay?”

  Ben turned to Chris and summoned a big smile. He actually felt pretty glad to see his boss and teammate – the inevitable conversation they would have aside.

  “He’s great,” he said. “Surgeon on the ship says he can come back in a couple of days.”

  Chris’ forehead wrinkled in confusion, though his eyes filled only with relief. “You kiddin’? Coupla’ days to get back from that chest wound? Christ, dude, I was terrified he’d die on the flight over.”
>
  Ben summoned his best sheepish look. “Yeah, well, about that,” he began. “Turns out he didn’t really have a chest wound….” He had a lot more rehearsed but Chris interrupted him.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Ben?” he asked. “He had a huge friggin’ hole in his back. I saw it. I watched you put a dressing on it.”

  “Hey, I thought I saw it, too, boss,” Ben said. “Looked to me like he blew a hole in his back.” He took a big breath and dove into the cold water of his lie. “Turns out that a bunch of blood and bits of skin and stuff were stuck to his back from his leg wound. Looked like a hole, and I just covered it up, I guess, without taking a careful enough look. When we looked at it on the ship and cleaned it off, there was nothing there – not a scratch.”

  “Ben are you just screwing with me or something?” Chris looked genuinely distressed.

  “Hey, look, bro, I feel like a complete asshole, but I put a dressing on nothing but blood and dirt. His chest is fine. His leg’s a little dicked up, but they fixed it, and he’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  That’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.

  “Not a scratch,” Chris said to the wall. Then, he looked up at Ben, and his face lit up. “Well that’s great news, right?”

  “Right,” Ben replied.

  Chris slapped both of his shoulders in obvious relief. Hell, maybe the good news would soften things for their next conversation.

  “Why don’t you get your gear squared away, grab a shower, and then you and I can grab a bite to eat, okay?” Chris still looked happy, but Ben knew how serious the conversation would likely be. “Need to talk with you about a couple of things.”

  Yeah, I guess to hell you do.

  “Sure,” Ben felt a knot in his stomach like when you heard you had an appointment to talk to the vice principal after school.

  “Meet me at the TOC, and we’ll walk over to grab some chow.”

  “Okay, boss.”

  Chris clapped him on the back again. “Man, I can’t believe Reed’s okay. I’ll go tell the guys.”

  With that he strode off and left Ben alone with his guilt.

  He finished storing his gear, restocked his medical bag and grabbed more ammo to refill his one depleted magazine for his rifle, then squared away his weapons. He didn’t obsess too much about the upcoming conversation, but he did dance around memories of what had happened with Reed – each time taking a short look in his mind and then scampering away from the thoughts like a puppy afraid of his own shadow. Towel in hand, he headed out for the shower trailer, careful to move quietly in the dark barracks so as to not disturb the sleeping warriors around him.

  Vampires. We really are like vampires.

  “Hey, dude,” a whispered voice called. “Is it true Reed’s okay?”

  Ben looked over to see Lash, who peered out from around the poncho liner that hung from the ceiling around his bunk.

  “Yeah,” Ben said, hoping not to get into any details. “Doc says he’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  “Shit hot,” Lash said. “Ben, you are the fuckin’ man.” The camouflage cloth fell back into place, and Ben stood there a moment, not really feeling like the fuckin’ man. Then he headed out towards the showers.

  He kept it short, as required to conserve water, but the heat (and the extra minute or two) melted away the knots in his muscles. The tension in his brain seemed to unkink a little, too. Now he stood outside the TOC in the harsh sunlight (harsh to a vampire like himself) and took a deep breath. Just as he reached for the door it swung open, and Chris walked out.

  “Oh, hey, dude,” Chris said. “Just looking for you. Change in plans – chow will have to wait, at least for you. We got a minute or two, and then I need you to do the medical screen on our crow.”

  Ben shifted uncomfortably at the thought. It seemed strange that he should do the medical exam on the only one from the target house he hadn’t smoked.

  “Why me?” he asked, and immediately regretted the tone towards his officer and boss.

  “Penance,” Chris said simply, not nearly as bothered by Ben’s insolence. “You feelin’ okay?”

  Ben sighed.

  Hell, no I don’t feel okay. I feel like I’m sleepwalking through a nightmare based loosely on an M. Night Shyamalan movie.

  “Sure,” he answered. He actually did feel fine physically. In fact, he felt a lot better mentally than he had a half an hour ago. Not just the shower or the catharsis of his killing spree at the target – he believed he had let go of a lot of other confusing shit this morning.

  Focus on letting it all go, and maybe you can have your life back.

  Chris put his arm around Ben’s shoulders and walked him away from the TOC.

  “Look, bro,” he said as they walked, his voice low but intense. “What happened at the target is unsat – no question about it.”

  Ben opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What the hell was there to say? It was unsatisfactory. He had killed everything he saw when they had orders to take crows off the target for intelligence purposes.

  “No excuse, boss,” he said and felt his throat tighten.

  Chris stopped and faced him.

  “However,” he said. “You are an exemplary operator and member of this team. The last few days have screwed with all of us, and I know the massacre at the village hit you particularly hard for whatever reason.” Chris paused and watched him a moment, and Ben thought maybe he expected him to provide the reason. Since he had no friggin’ idea he just stayed quiet and held his officer’s gaze. “Anyway,” Chris continued, “we’ll keep this in the team. Consider this a counseling session, and get your shit together if you haven’t already. Fire discipline is what separates us from them.”

  That hurt, and Ben felt a knot squeeze tighter in his chest.

  “I know, boss,” he said. He wanted to say more but didn’t know what.

  “Shake it off, and let’s get back to work,” Chris said ending the discussion. “Keep it to yourself until I brief it later, but I just got word we’re out of here in a couple of days, so hang tough until then.”

  “Couple of days?” Ben said. “I thought we had three weeks left.”

  “Yeah, well the task force commander thinks the hit last night really cut into the bad guys, and he’s leaving Charlie platoon, Delta, and the Rangers here to finish their rotation. Guess we’re not needed anymore, so home we go.”

  Home. Home to Christy. Home away from this shithole and the memories of the night in the village. He felt a huge grin on his face, and his cheeks felt hot. This would sure as hell make the conversation with Christy easier in a little while. He would tell her in their own little code – perfected over many deployments – that he would be home soon.

  “Head over to the pokey and document your medical exam for the spooks so they can do their interrogation, okay?” Chris ordered. “Then, we can put this whole fucked up thing behind us.”

  Chris slapped him hard between the shoulder blades and headed off the other way.

  “Thanks, bro,” Ben called after him.

  The SEAL officer responded with a simple wave over his shoulder without looking back.

  * * *

  Ben leaned back against the small wooden table in the tiny room and tried to figure out why he felt anxious. Hell, he wasn’t the one blindfolded and led around by flex cuffs. The thin, middle-aged man that shuffled across the dirt floor, led by the two soldiers on “pokey detail” actually smelled like fear, and Ben was glad for that. So why did he feel anxious?

  Just get his vitals, do a quick history through the interpreter, and give him a once over. With any luck this will be the last asshole I have to see before we head home to the beach.

  The soldiers guided the man gently into the metal folding chair and pulled off his blindfold. . He looked around anxiously, but Ben could see he struggled to still appear tough and unafraid.

  Shocked to be treated like a human being, no doubt.

  Ben h
ad seen it a hundred times. The prisoners expected to be brutalized like they would do to their own prisoners and didn’t know how to react when they were treated humanely.

  Not that you deserve it, you fuck, but no one here will break your knees and carve your tongue out like you did to that poor boy from the village.

  He felt a flash of rage flush his cheeks, and he shooed it away. The interpreter came in and nodded. He gave Ben a thumbs-up and smiled, and Ben noted that he still wore the Def Lepard world tour T-shirt that Lash had given him. He had worn that damn shirt every day for nearly a month.

  Ben pulled a standard medical form toward him from the table and copied the numerical code off a card handed to him by one of the guards into the space marked “name.” There was a flash as a Polaroid picture was taken of the prisoner (which made him jump in surprise), and Ben stapled it to the top of the form.

  “Does he have any medical problems? Has he had any surgeries? Does he take any medications?” Ben said to the ‘terp.

  The interpreter babbled at the man who growled back an answer in a harsh whisper.

  “He say dat God be take him to paradise, but all you be dey devils, and one day he piss on you dead bodies.”

  Ben sighed. Same old shit.

  “Ask him again.”

  The interpreter did and chuckled at the response. “He say you mother be wit a dirty goat, Ben.”

  Ben smiled and shook his head. He took his pen and under medical history on the form, he wrote “subject unresponsive to questions, but appears well.” Then, he heard a whispered voice – not in English but somehow he heard it like English.

  If I grab his pencil, I can stab him in the throat before the others kill me. My reward in paradise would be great for taking this devil with me.

  Ben looked up and saw the hatred-filled eyes staring hard at him, but no one else moved or seemed disturbed by the words. He looked around to see if someone else had come in.

  “Did you say something?” he asked the ‘terp.

  “I say he say you mother…”