Chapter 19
Grace stood by and watched helplessly as the confrontation unfolded between her sister and the man she was learning to love.
Once Lauren had moved on, having found an end to her emotion-fueled tirade, Grace stylishly pranced up behind him, having only caught his attention at the last second.
“Christiaaan,” Grace cooed, drawing his name out. “I didn’t hear much of what went on from the cheap seats, but did I just see you talk my sister down?”
Christian shook his head, his expression flattened and awestruck. “No. No, Grace. That is definitely not what you saw.”
“Could’ve fooled me. I mean, initially, she had the upper hand, or fist—I guess I should say…it’s the more suitable operative word. But to me, it looked like you handled yourself well.”
Christian shrugged indifferently. “I’m glad you think so. Perception is reality. I’m pretty sure all I did was ignite a fuse.”
Grace shook her head. “No, trust me. Her fuse was set alight a long time ago.” She reached gently for his face, examining the damage to his jaw. “Although, you might have chopped a few inches from it today. You should’ve listened to me. It was stupid to go after her, you know. How’s your jaw?”
“It’s seen better days,” Christian said, wincing each time Grace touched him. “Her right was manageable, but that left almost put me down for the count. Where the hell did she learn to punch like that, anyway?”
Grace pursed her lips. “I don’t know—she used to take karate.”
“She didn’t learn that in karate,” said Christian. “Or anything else I’ve seen her do lately.” He spit some saliva mixed with blood onto the grass near his boot. “Grace, I hate to be the one to say this, especially today, and especially after all that’s happened, but I think something’s wrong with your sister. I see a drastic change. She’s…dangerous now, definitely a threat to me, and in some way, maybe even to everyone.”
“I know my sister, Christian. She’s not a threat to us, and she’s not dangerous,” Grace asserted, looking away in the direction where Lauren had gone. “Lauren is just…wrath personified.”
Christian removed Grace’s hands from his face and squinted at her. “What did you say?”
“Christian, I want you to listen to me for a minute, okay?”
“First, tell me what you said.”
“Never mind that,” Grace said, shooing him with a waving finger. “I have something I need to say. It’s my turn now.”
“Fine,” he relented. “I’m all ears.”
“Okay, first of all, I’m very happy you came clean with everyone like you did. I didn’t ask you to do it, but you did it anyway. It proves you have guts—it also proves you’re a bit of an idiot, but I like to take the good with the bad. I know what kind of person you are. You’re loyal and dependable, and you mean well. You’re genuine—always trying to do the right thing, even if you don’t know what the right thing to do is. I like what I’ve learned about you so far, and I can’t wait to learn more. But I have a favor to ask of you. I need you to do something for me.”
“Like what?”
Grace hesitated. “I would like for you to go on the road trip—the excursion thing. I want you to go with them…specifically, with her—with my sister.”
“Are you crazy? I thought you said you saw everything that just happened.”
“I did see the whole thing. I was standing right over there; I really didn’t have a choice in the matter,” said Grace. “I felt this way before, but what I saw only solidified my feelings on the matter.”
Christian went to turn away, but she grabbed him. “What about John? Why doesn’t he go?” asked Christian. “I don’t remember seeing his hand raised at the meeting.”
“Don’t be a moron—especially an obtuse one. His dad is leaving, Christian. Norm believes he can be a better help to Lee by going along. My guess is John didn’t raise his hand because he didn’t want to leave his brother by himself in his condition, and I can’t blame him for that.”
Christian rolled his eyes. “I can’t either, then.”
Grace took a long pause while edging closer to him. “Look, this is going to sound strange no matter how I say it, so please, just listen. I know there’s no way you could’ve known this was going to happen, and I know you can’t see it like I do, but…somehow, in some bizarre way, you’ve filled a void here, Christian. It’s a different one for each of us, but oddly enough, the one you’ve filled for my sister was the one left behind when Dad didn’t come home.”
“Grace, just what the hell are you getting at? I’m not exactly the finest choice for a father figure.”
Grace shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck. “That’s not what I’m saying or suggesting. Look—I’m doing my best to locate the right words here, so cut me some slack, please.”
“Sorry.”
She continued after a slight pause. “I know I don’t do much around here other than expel sarcasm and remain ceaselessly scared of my own shadow. I’m a third-stringer at best, and I spend most of my time on the bench, but that’s given me an opportunity to watch everything from the sidelines. We’ve all been stronger since you showed up, but Lauren—she evolved. She’s done things I’ve never seen her do before since you’ve been here, and I think you nurture her confidence somehow, in a similar way Dad did when he was around. And my contention is, at least for now, and especially in this case, that she needs you more than I do. So I want you to go with her and keep her safe for me. Please.”
“If you ask me, the only person Lauren needs protection from is herself,” Christian jeered. “You know, Grace, for the past few weeks, you’ve done nothing but monopolize my time and our time together. And now you’re telling me to just go and leave you and head off into the wild blue yonder with Lauren and the others.” He shrugged. “I don’t get you—I really don’t get you. Are you bipolar or something? I don’t know what you’re going to do or say anymore from one moment to the next.”
Grace pulled away, smirked, and twirled playfully on a toe. “Well, now that you mention it, I have been off my hebephrenic schizophrenia meds for almost a year now.”
“Really?”
“No, stop it,” she said, lining herself up with him again. “I’m not schizo or bipolar, you weirdo. I’m…multifaceted. You should know by now, getting to know me is like climbing a spiral staircase in the dark—it takes time, makes you dizzy, and you never really know where you’re at. Don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon either, just because we’re together now.”
Christian’s expression softened. “So…it’s official. We’re together. We’re a thing…yet you still want me to go?”
Grace nodded. “I do. Look, I know she’s angry with you, and I know you feel like it’s the last place you should be right now. But she needs you, Christian. She may not act like it, but she does.”
Christian smiled coyly. “What about Grace? I thought Grace needed me.”
“Grace does need you,” she said. “And you and Grace can deal with that when you come back to Grace. So go.” She smacked him on the butt. “Get moving…packed up, or whatever.”
Christian put his hands on his hips and sighed. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Well, just remember, you’re not doing it for her. You’re doing it for me.” Grace reached for him and transferred his hands from his hips to hers, leaning forward to kiss him. “Just make sure to bring your happy ass back home to me and bring my sister with you—safe and in one piece. Because if you can’t do that, Grace will find you. And Lauren’s violent side will be the least of your worries.”
Chapter 20
Point Blank Weapons Training Center
Capon Bridge, West Virginia
Approximately two years before present day
The first days of Lauren’s weeklong vacation from school to train with Dave Graham and his team had been spent performing what he’d referred to as ‘back to basics’ drills. Although termed
as basic, it had most assuredly been anything but. Over the course of both days, she had spent her time from sunup until sundown learning the skills of how to properly move, shoot, and communicate—which her instructors had ardently voiced to her as being the bare-bones fundamentals and, therefore, the foundation of any other skill or precept she would acquire while training with them and learning the ropes.
Lauren had found the members of Dave’s paramilitary unit to be serious, no-nonsense, and often unforgiving at times. At first, she didn’t like it and felt overwhelmed, underprepared, and even unwelcome and out of place at times. After having been encouraged and informed by the team that she simply wouldn’t be allowed to fail, Lauren had pushed herself to accomplish the tasks she’d been given, often finding that she had not only satisfied her mentors, but had even managed to impress them. She had always been an incredibly quick learner, and she adapted to each scenario she had been presented with and, one by one, had overcome them.
In order for the basics to be absorbed properly, they had to be drilled over and over—exhaustively, until the point was reached that they became instinctive. It was a principle that could not be accomplished overnight, or even in a week’s time, involving involuntary motor actions, predisposed reactions, and muscle memory.
Oftentimes, there wasn’t enough time to think through a problem when immersed in battle. A soldier only had time to act on instinct, and the only way to develop those instincts was to drill. And drill again. And again—over and over until the body just flat out knew what to do and when to do it, as if it were operating on its own—disconnected from hesitation, doubt, perception, and fear. During her training, Lauren had referred to the practice of drilling as ‘programming a robot’, a sentiment that Dave and the others could not exactly disagree with.
Communication was the first fundamental they had drilled on, and Lauren had learned from the ground up. But it wasn’t the type of communication that relied on any form of technology, such as cell phones, the internet, or even radios. Dave had been adamant about this, citing that he did not want any member of his unit to become reliant on anything that might not be available or functional in the future.
“People, there’s one absolute guarantee about the technology that we rely so heavily upon today, and that is it will fail—probably when you least assume it will and, most likely, at the worst possible time,” he’d said. “Never forget the epigram of Murphy’s Law—it holds true in every avenue in life and can be a full-on Charlie-Foxtrot in combat. If we utilize tech when it’s operable, that’s fine, but we must know how to convey information without it. It’s paramount—from this point forward, everyone in this unit will be telepathic—or as close to it as humanly possible. With seamless communication, we will overcome the odds and win the day.”
Lauren had discovered how vital it was to pass information effectively so the unit could not only make better decisions, but make them more rapidly—faster than the enemy. As such, they had drilled on visual signaling, or hand, arm, and body signals and their meanings as found in US Army field manuals. In addition, Dave instituted the use of a set of supplementary signals and gestures created specifically for the unit, based on ASL, or American Sign Language. Lauren was elated to discover this, as she had taught herself to sign many years before so she could communicate with a neighbor who had lost his ability to speak due to injuries suffered in a car accident.
On the second full day, Dave and the others awoke at dawn, geared up, and practiced tactical and strategic movement—both individually, as a two-man team, and as a unit while performing a roving patrol. It was stressed that appropriate movement through hostile environments and enemy territory was something that must be committed to memory and practiced often so that the skills and aptitudes became second nature. Lauren learned about camouflage and how to find both concealment and cover—while also learning the stark, mortal differences between the two.
During her first two-man team movement drill, Lauren had been partnered with the Korean-American Navy SEAL, whom she knew only by the handle Woo Tang. She had been introduced to him only days before, yet had already begun considering him a trustworthy advocate as well as a friend. Woo Tang was mysterious and strict, while remaining sincere and approachable, and was constantly offering her reassurance.
“It is important for a warrior to remain on the move, Lauren Russell,” Woo Tang had said. “We maneuver swiftly and silently upon our enemy, engage them, and eliminate them…swiftly and silently. That is our preferred method of attack when the rules of engagement allow. Lots of folks think battles are fought by firefights alone, and all we do is slap the trigger a lot and shoot from one location—pew, pew, pew—all day long, and that is okay, I guess. Those folks cannot help it—they get all their info from watching John Woo and Michael Bay movies. In a combat theatre, you will always do more moving than shooting or anything else. If you find you can no longer move, it will become a major problem for you—perhaps even a fatal one.”
Woo Tang had worked with Lauren on the alternating movement tactic known as leapfrogging, or bounding overwatch, as well as the transition into a process called fire and maneuver, in the event enemy contact was made. The pair practiced this drill for the better part of the day, along with other basic buddy team activities until Dave gave the order for everyone to fall in for patrol, into a formation he had referred to as a wedge.
“It’s the basic formation for the squad,” Dave had told Lauren. “Leadership remains in the middle and near the front, so every member of the squad can watch for my commands. All elements remain within ten meters of each other at maximum, and the squad swells and narrows as required while moving over differing terrain. Each member has a responsibility to the squad as well, and preserves a specific field of fire. We maintain cohesion, momentum, communication, and protection, and we position ourselves where we can make contact with the enemy effectively and without compromise. We all must be accountable, Janey, and that means we look out for each other—protecting one another like brothers and sisters. There’s no room for carelessness when the odds are already stacked against you.”
On their first patrol, she had been placed in what was referred to as the rear security element, where she’d been instructed to maintain a rearward field of view and watch for threats behind the patrol, along with Woo Tang, who’d been given the other rear security position.
Tim Reese, Dave’s second in command, had been assigned the point-man position, thereby leading the squad. Lauren learned that the point man oversees frontal security, watches out for traps and possible ambushes, and makes decisions on heading and bearing.
Dave was squad leader and had remained in the middle of the patrol, with Neo the radio operator on his heels just to his rear, and the unit medic, who went by the nickname Stewie, positioned beside him. Army demolitions expert, Santa, and jokester Marine scout sniper, Sanchez, took up the far sides of the wedge where the riflemen were typically situated, on opposite ends of the patrol.
“Positions assigned in a patrol will often vary, depending on the mission and the total number of participants,” Dave had explained. “We’d normally have a slack man just behind Tim, who keeps the pace count and watches Tim’s flanks, but since there’s not enough of us, we go without. These positions aren’t set in stone, and as such, we’ll rotate everyone in and out of them, so don’t get too comfortable.”
The group performed patrols over the varied terrain on Point Blank Weapons Training Center’s acreage all day until dusk, rotating positions several times before being allowed to call it quits.
“You are doing good so far, Lauren Russell,” Woo Tang had told Lauren just before they’d gone their separate ways for the day. “For a young person and a first-timer, I am impressed to see you do so well. I do not think the others thought you would amount to much, being fully honest. I think they thought they would have to slow down and wait on you. You sure proved them wrong.”
“Maybe they shouldn’t have underestimated me,” L
auren had replied.
Woo Tang had grinned and winked at her. “Maybe you are right.”
Shooting was considered the most dynamic of the three basic rudiments, and today, the unit had drilled on techniques of accuracy and effect on target. Dave had put Lauren through a myriad of ‘shoot or don’t shoot’ drills on her own, with a partner, and while moving together with the others as a squad in a patrol. She had practiced engaging a single enemy target and then progressed to multiple targets, all while avoiding the friendly ones, which were marked with bright blue paint.
In addition to shooting, Dave focused on reloading quickly and getting back into the fight, while stressing the importance of properly managing the quantity of ammunition. Lauren was the only left-handed shooter in the group and, as such, had to learn the steps of operating and reloading her rifle in a unique fashion.
After spending the morning at the range, training on enemy engagement, suppressive fire, and a profusion of varied shooting scenarios, Lauren had been sent to accompany Sanchez to the five-hundred-meter range to learn the basics of long-range precision target acquirement and elimination.
While Lauren led the way, her youthful, well-developed legs propelling her body at a hurried pace, Sanchez meandered along, practically dragging his feet as if he had all the time and not a care in the world. He took a puff from his cigarette, simpered, and blew smoke from his nostrils. “Why the rush? Slow down, hermosa. There’s plenty of daylight. The range isn’t going anywhere, you know.”
“This is slow for me,” Lauren said, turning her head to him. “I’m sorry—I guess I’m a little excited.”
“Excited, huh? It’s just a weapon. And a steel target that makes noise when you do good.”
“Just a weapon? Something tells me we aren’t going to be shooting just a weapon today.” Lauren pointed to the long nylon scabbard Sanchez was wearing like a backpack. “What’s in there, anyway?”
We Won't Go Quietly_A Family's Struggle to Survive in a World Devolved_Book Three of the What's Left of My World Series Page 25