We need to get into the shack. With the Marines holding down the gunfire this is our chance. The six of us make our way across the open space smashing down the door of the shack. Inside we’re met with immediate gunfire. The air is stagnant and the place is too small to fit the amount of people holding arms. It makes my heart skip a beat because a bullet can hit a cement wall and ricochet.
Montgomery takes down one man, while Hanson and I follow the Lieutenant has moved further in and I am following him while shooting down the insurgents that have filled up this small space. They all must be here for a reason.
“Found something,” Kendall calls out. The gunfire continues as the shack gets surrounded by insurgents. The Marines have notified that they are returning fire. We follow Kendall’s voice into an abandoned room. There’s a hand-knotted carpet on the floor and underneath it a tunnel leading underground. The Lieutenant leads the way down—it’s dark and dusty and everything is eerie through my night goggles. It’s so quiet that I can hear the breaths of the other men.
McCall gestures for us to stop. We hear the sounds of mice squealing. And then footsteps. I had a bad feeling about tonight and I’m hoping I wasn’t right. First, I’m faced with a woman giving birth, now this. I don’t want to die in an underground fucking tunnel. The chances of insurgents lighting a grenade or mine under here is huge.
As we make our way through the tunnel, a breeze brushes across my skin. We must be reaching the outside. This makes me even more nervous, wondering if we’ve been led into a trap. The Lieutenant exits first, followed by Hanson, Kendall, Montgomery, me then McCall. I take in a lungful of air, relieved we all made it out alive.
“Turn your lights off, men,” the Lieutenant orders. We all walk carefully on high alert. We’ve almost formed a circle as we move forward ready to shoot when it happens. The first shot goes clear but it’s obviously coming from above—a sniper. Montgomery immediately uses the binoculars and makes his calculations at exactly what angle the shot came from and within seconds Hanson is shooting back. Our team begins to shoot while charging forward until we reach a group of twenty insurgents all clearly formed around one man.
This isn’t unexpected. We disperse as planned into the low grasses and brush nearby. I’m happy this shit isn’t going down near the village. Hanson and I end up on our stomach in the dirt with Hanson ready to point his AK-47. We’re outnumbered. Hanson is a fast and accurate shot, but he’s only one person. There are at least twenty men—Hanson shoots first and then our entire team begins shooting. One by one the insurgents fall down as the members of our team shoot at 45 degrees, 90 degrees, 120 degrees and so on. Problem is that not all the insurgents are falling and they are shooting back, now having a clear understanding of where the shots are being fired from. Suddenly there is a shot at 180 degrees that has clearly cut out one of our men. Sweat begins to roll down my face. I pray it isn’t Montgomery. Knowing that one of our men has been hit makes us amp up the gunfire. As the insurgents drop, we rise out of the brush and move forward. Some of them get away—a problem because now they can come at us from any direction.
“Two got away,” the Lieutenant clips. He moves forward, surveys the men on the ground and gives the signal that our target has been hit. Kendall and Montgomery make their way to us—Montgomery is limping.
Fuck! I let out a long breath. It looks like he took a bullet—or maybe was just grazed—on the lower leg. McCall photographs the deceased al-Qaeda leader and within seconds we are moving out. We have to clear out fast because now we will have angered the insurgents for killing their leader.
I place myself under Montgomery’s shoulder and Kendall takes the other side. Hanson has his rifle ready and the Lieutenant is scoping the area so we don’t fall into any surprise ambushes. I can’t help but think of Rover and the day I carried his limp body away from the insurgent gunfire while Hanson had my back.
Rover’s death is always a reminder to never lose focus. We stay close to the brush to camouflage ourselves. As we move I think of Halo and wish I could send my thoughts and feelings to her telepathically. I’m coming home to you, baby. I will be there for you. I will be there for our baby, just please take me back. I’m so sorry, Halo. So sorry. Your mom wasn’t right about me. I messed up but I will stick around from here on out. I will stick around.
These past months I’ve had time to consider my life, my mistakes. I hit rock bottom and that does something to a person. It burned me to the core and opened my eyes. I was so wrong. I now know that I am a man who can look after her. I made a mistake and I’ll need to fix it because I will love her forever. I can’t live without her.
The transport is waiting for us at our drop-off point. We load up and the first thing I do is bandage up Montgomery’s leg since we couldn’t stop to do it before in fear of insurgent retaliation.
We speed down the mountain—at first we have our heads low and I know we’re all thankful to be getting back to base. After we’ve taken a moment to compose ourselves, we go through a circle high-fiving each other for a job well done. I feel a strong jolt. At first I think we’ve hit a bump because my jaw snaps and my stomach bottoms out. But then I hear it—boom!—and the truck swerves wildly then tips sideways. There’s a loud blast, the whoosh and heat of an explosion.
Pain…fire…burning…BLACK.
“I’ll make dinner. Please. Please just leave me alone.” I’m begging but he won’t stop kicking me in the ribs. It’s hard to breathe. I feel like an elephant has taken a seat on my chest and won’t let the air into my lungs. “Please, I’m sorry,” I beg my father but he is a cruel bastard and he won’t let up.
“You’re sorry, you piece of shit. You should be. You should be sorry for the day you were born,” he says as he lifts his leg for another kick. He’s drunk again. I gasp.
I open my eyes and they burn—they’re filled with dust. As I lift my hand to rub them, a knife-edged pain jerks through my shoulder.
What the hell? I’m in the dirt—I’m not in my apartment. And my father isn’t looming over me.
I blink up at the sky. The sun is just peeking above the clouds, turning them pink, orange, blue… It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I try to take a breath but it hurts. My ears are ringing. I don’t know if I’ve been plunged into heaven or hell.
As I try to stand I realize there’s no question. I’m in hell. My skin is raw—when I touch my face, my hand comes away charred and bloody. When I rise to my knees, a scream is forced from my body. The sound echoes weirdly around me.
When I finally manage to take a breath, the scent of charred rubber and burning meat makes me ill.
It’s becoming very clear I need to get the hell out of here. But how…
I turn my head and see the transport. It’s a black shell, lying on its side. And that’s when it all comes back to me. “Hanson,” I yell. “Montgomery!” I yell even louder. But I can’t tell if any sound is coming from my throat. My voice doesn’t seem right. “Kendall!” I scream and my head feels like it will burst.
“Wells! Wells, over here.” I hear McCall’s voice and it takes me a moment to locate him. When my gaze lands on his body the tears begin to flow. They make my raw skin feel like flames. I stumble toward him. Half his body is burned and it looks like his legs have been severed from the thighs down. “McCall,” I scream, but it sounds more like a sob.
“Take it,” he says with a hoarse voice, passing me the camera. I take it, swiping at my eyes. I don’t know if there are sirens going off, but that’s how it feels inside my head. I stuff the camera in my pocket. My hand comes into contact with the morphine syringes I carry as a medic. I take one out and stab him in the arm with it. At least he won’t be in pain. My mouth feels gritty and full of dirt so I spit to the ground. I’m dying for some water or something to clear out all the shit that is clogging up my windpipe.
I hear groaning coming from the transport. “Hanson?” I yell. It sounds like him.
I approach the burned-out ride as fast
as my legs will take me. I see him—he’s half in and half out of the rear window, his arms scrabbling on the dirt.
“Hanson!” I drag myself toward him and, ignoring the screaming pain in my shoulder and knee, I try to bend and grab his upper body. The explosion that took out the vehicle has left pockets of fire everywhere—in the brush, in the charred remnants of the engine.
I tug at him, screaming with the effort, knowing I have to get him away, out into the open. Hanson groans—a horrible, wrenching sound—as I finally wrest him free. I drag him far enough away that if the vehicle explodes, we are at a safe distance. I lie back down in the dirt. It hurts to breathe. I need to get my shoulder back in its socket because I am seeing colors from the pain and I can’t pass out now. I smack my shoulder as hard as I can into the ground.
“Motherfucker,” I scream out from the pain. It didn’t work. I inhale a deep breath and smash it as hard as I can into the ground. I feel the click. The pain sucks the air out of my lungs. I brace myself before I rise up to my feet. I have two more doses of morphine. I reach into the pocket of my pants and give Hanson morphine. Fuck! I need one of these shots myself. This pain is fucking unbearable. I place my focus back on Hanson and his lips are quivering while his head is flailing around like he’s punch drunk.
Fuck, Hanson—this is not how I saw this life ending for us. I wanted him to go home, find a woman and get married. I wanted him to experience love for once in his life. I fall to my knees beside Hanson and yell when I remember my leg is fucked up. I fall to my ass and then reach for him, cradling his head in my lap.
“I love you, Tucker Hanson. I love you, buddy. Thank you for always having my back.” I want to cry, but the damn tears singe my skin so I do my damnedest to hold them back.
Suddenly he looks directly at me. “Thank you. Go home.” Then he closes his eyes. I look up to the sky, squeezing my own eyes so hard it hurts. When I open them, I know it before I feel it—he’s stopped breathing. I slowly rise to my feet. The other men…
Montgomery. I stumble around the vehicle, searching. I hear the click of a radio and I think I hear Montgomery’s voice. I think he might be radioing in for help.
Thank God. I remember the conversation we had about his daughter—how he missed her birthday. Montgomery needs to fucking go home. And I do too…
“Where are you, Montgomery? I can’t see you,” I holler frantically. I see movement beyond a stand of scrub bushes. A hand raising a radio.
“Montgomery,” I breathe out.
When I get to him I want to yell. I want to sob. I want to fall to my fucking knees. His body is burned, mangled.
“I can’t see you, Wells,” he says in a calm voice.
“Montgomery, you hold on. Please just fucking hold on.” I lift his head, rest it on my arm.
“Morphine, man. I need some. I called for help and they’re on the way.” His voice is weak. All I can think about is his wife and his daughter. I stick my last needle in his arm.
“You’re not fucking dying, Montgomery! You are fucking staying with me,” I urge with boiling rage and anger.
“Just tell them how much I love them. Tell my daughter that her daddy was a hero.” His eyes shut and I look up to the sky, not caring about the grit or the tears or the pain.
“Noooooo!” I scream and my lungs pierce with pain. In the distance I see the Marine troops coming down the mountain. I also hear the distant roar of the Chinook—it’s probably coming to rescue us but it’s too fucking late.
Chapter Twenty-three
April 2008
Halo
I can’t settle myself. The military officers left over half an hour ago, but adrenaline is still rushing through my body. I’m shaky and sick and I don’t know what to think or do right now.
The urge to talk with Ryder is overwhelming, but I can’t talk to him. For a bunch of reasons.
I decide to call Jenny. As I listen to her phone ring, my leg bounces, shaking the whole couch. The phone rings about five times before she picks it up. She must be busy with the kids. I try to breathe but my chest is tight.
“Hey Jenny, what are you up to today?” I ask, hoping I sound close to normal.
“Just some spring cleaning around the house. Why?” she asks with a curious tone. I guess I don’t always call early on Sunday mornings.
“I was hoping to stop by,” I reply.
“Great. Come on over. Dave plans to make the kids our ritual Sunday morning breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes later.” She sounds like she is huffing away with all the cleaning.
“Okay, we’ll be right over.” I answer and close my cell phone. Brandon’s playing in his bouncy chair. He just started smiling and it is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. Only right now when I look over to him I want to cry. His daddy is here. His daddy has been with him almost since the day he was born. Only his daddy doesn’t remember me or realize he has a son.
I wonder if he did have his memory back if he still would want to be around us. A part of me is so angry at him. I can’t help it—I know I’m not thinking rationally. Why didn’t he tell me his real name? I think back to our conversations together… I never did mention that my husband’s name was Thomas. I guess I always referred to him as my ex-husband. Saying his name was personal and it hurt so badly—I guess I was trying to free myself from the pain.
I knock on the garage door because, if this were a normal day, I would ask Ryder if he wants to join Brandon and me over at Jenny’s house. He swings the door open. He’s just come out of the shower and he’s wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. My stomach drops. My gaze travels down his body as I wonder how I didn’t know that this man was my husband.
His chest is smooth… he has a tattoo, scars. He’s larger, and his muscles are more defined. Thomas had a light dusting of hair across his chest and down his abdomen, he didn’t have a tattoo, he didn’t have scars, he wasn’t so large…
I’ve seen Ryder bare-chested before, but now it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. This man’s body is so full of scars. Some look like burn marks, others like wounds. My heart hurts. For some reason it was different when I was thinking about Ryder living through all this. Knowing it was Thomas… My eyes flick up to his face and I hear him clear his throat. I am suddenly aware that I must have made him feel very uncomfortable. I pull my thoughts together and try to gain some composure.
“Everything okay?” he asks, furrowing his brows.
I flinch. “Yeah.” I bite my lip nervously and wrap my arms around my waist protectively. I feel like a victim. I don’t know why. “I’m, uh, going to Jenny’s house. I wanted to see if you wanted to join us.” I need to keep my cool in front of him and not break down and ask him why he could leave the way he did. The reality is that he wouldn’t have the answers anyway.
“Yeah, sure. Give me a minute to get ready. Halo, are you sure you’re okay?” He eyes me warily and I plaster on a smile.
“Of course.”
“All right. I’ll get dressed,” he says, looking down at himself with a wry smile. Did he take the ogling as flirting? How can I flirt with him now? I’m suddenly questioning every little thing and I don’t know what to do.
“I’ll make coffee. Do you want one?” I ask.
“Yeah, thanks.” He grins and retreats into the apartment.
Ten minutes later he walks into the living room and I force myself to continue this charade.
“All ready to head out?” he asks. He has his hair slicked back. He’s wearing a black long-sleeve T-shirt that hugs his muscles and a pair of blue jeans that look fairly new. I find myself analyzing his appearance again, questioning how I didn’t realize it was him.
“Yup, all ready. Your coffee is on the mantel.”
“Thanks.” Before he retrieves the coffee he bends down to greet Brandon. “And how are you doing today, big man?” he asks in his sweet, just-for-Brandon voice. My heart is melting and falling apart at the same time. He grabs the coffee and asks, “Ready?”
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I fling on my jacket and nod. “After you guys.”
“That’s not right is it, Brandon? A gentleman always lets a lady go first.” He’s picked up the infant carrier and he’s smiling down at Brandon. I love it and hate it. And, yup, I’m crazy.
“Thanks, gentlemen.” I head out to the truck. Having to put up a front isn’t easy and on the ride to Jenny’s house, it feels like my body is shaking from the inside out.
After we park in the driveway, Ryder takes Brandon out of the car and I realize I forgot the diaper bag. “Shit,” I yelp. Then I immediately place my hand over my mouth because my son doesn’t need to hear that word from his mother’s mouth.
“What is it?” Ryder asks.
“I forgot the diaper bag. We can’t stay long.”
“I’ll run back and get it,” he offers. “Here, let’s get you both inside and I’ll be back with it before you know it.”
“Okay. Thanks so much.” I smile.
We’re greeted by the typical chaos at the door. Kids jockeying to greet us and Dave and Jenny yelling from somewhere in the house. Ryder smiles and passes Brandon’s carrier over to me. “I’ll be back in a few.” He turns and leaves and I’m relieved.
I let out a breath as Jenny comes barreling down the stairs.
“What’s going on?” she asks. She’s wearing her yellow cleaning gloves.
I don’t answer. I call out to Dave, “Dave, would you mind keeping Brandon with you for a few?”
He comes out of the kitchen looking frazzled. “Hi, Halo. Uh sure…” He sounds confused but he picks up the carrier, mumbling, “What’s a fourth child. Piece of cake.”
I slip off my shoes and go straight for the stairs, yanking Jenny by the arm. I can’t have a meltdown in front of her children.
“Halo, what the hell?” She obviously believes I’ve completely lost it, but she follows me up the stairs and into her bedroom.
I want to talk, but suddenly the words won’t form. “I… Ry— I…” I throw up my hands, exasperated.
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