“My father say he happy for your gift of pizza,” Mina says.
I know that’s not what he said, but I nod, bowing to Mina’s mother. Mina walks me to the taxi. We don’t speak. I give her a chaste kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you again tomorrow at Dairy Queen.”
“Yes, khun Robert, you come there every day.”
* * * * *
I lie in bed, sweating. This is my first sober day in two years. My headache is back, and my ears are ringing. It’s raining outside again, so the windows are closed. My fan has picked today to quit on me. Lightning flashes. It starts thundering. I hear screaming in the street. It sounds like a bar girl having a fight with her boyfriend. I struggle to hold old memories at bay, reaffirming my promise to myself – no booze until I complete my mission. But my head pounds as never before. I cringe, knowing I will lose this battle. The beast is coming – the rage, the sick feeling of vertigo, like I am being sucked through a hole in my life...
And then I’m back there. It’s hotter than the Kitchens of Hell. We’re both wearing our ghillie suits, and I have sand in every orifice of my body, including five pounds in the crack of my ass. Sand filters down to my ball sac, like a herd of mice gnawing on my nuts. I am set up in my hide, M-24 chambered in 300 mag, waiting for an Iraqi officer to show his head. When he does – tick tock, I’ll stop his clock.
Jasper taps my leg and whispers we have company. The spotter is the shooter’s eyes and ears. He not only calculates distance and windage, he follows the shot, calling out corrections. And he keeps watch. He has my six. The shooter’s job is to focus on the target and make the shot.
Iraqis are coming right towards us. Five assholes loaded for bear. Short of stepping on us, they won’t spot us. I pivot right slowly, taking a bead on the lead asshole. No doubt about it, they see something. Most likely just coming to check. But what did they see? What did we miss? I look to my left, and there it is, an old bomb sticking out of the sand. The windstorm must have uncovered it, because I damn sure didn’t see it. It’s on a direct bearing to those ragheads, and we are right in the middle. No way out but to fight.
At four-hundred meters, they are easy shots. My magazine holds three, counting the one in the chamber. I whisper on my mark. Jasper carries an M-16, and he can hit at five-hundred meters. That’s not my concern. What worries me is, once we start shooting, the rest of the bad guys will get a fix on us. What do we do? Oh well, no one lives forever. We might as well kill as many as we can.
I center-mass the lead Iraqi and chamber another round. Jasper shoots at the two on the right. They all hit the sand about the same time, food for the maggots. I see a head pop up and give him a third eye, blowing the back of his head off. My spotter shoots low. I’ll bust his balls later.
Still no return fire, and nothing from the camp below us. How can they sleep through this? I see another head pop up over the body of my first target. I hit him in the face. Red mist fills the air. I reload, only one Iraqi left. Jasper settles his hash as he gets up to run. I hear the thump-thump of mortars. We are about to have our own hash settled.
Mortars hit four-hundred meters short of our position. I say a prayer as we back out. The Iraqis haven’t figured out where we are yet. They saturate the area, hoping to get us. They won’t come out to play. Snipers fuck with their heads that way.
We can’t call an air strike because the war hasn’t started yet, and no helicopter is coming this far in-country. We are alone and expect no help. My ass would be puckered if not for the sand in the crack. It’s broad daylight. They will see our tracks. I signal for my spotter to stop. We will wait this out. We have no choice.
Mortars rounds pound all around. My hearing is shot. As rounds hit closer, I know genuine fear. We are helpless. I scope the compound, hoping for a target, and I see the Iraqi officer. Three deep breaths. Exhale. Tick tock, motherfucker. Center mass, and he is down. His clock is stopped.
I see more Iraqis taking cover. We settle in for a long hot day, waiting for nightfall. They walk the mortars right over us. Planes roar low overhead, followed by the sudden whump of napalm. A giddy feeling of relief fills my heart almost enough to make me forget the herd of sand-mice gnawing at my nut sac. My spotter ain’t moving. I whisper, “Yo, Jasper, it’s the cavalry.” He doesn’t answer.
Two years, we were a team. His son is named after me. I promised his wife to keep him safe. My mind is numb with dread as I inch closer. His ghillie suit is leaking blood. A shrapnel and rocks tore off his face. You don’t see that in the movies, soldiers being killed by rocks. It’s something you pray you can forget, but of course you never will.
His radio isn’t damaged, and I make the call. How will I explain to his wife? Why couldn’t it have been me instead? Jasper was a good kid, with a kind heart. Not like me. He deserved to raise his boy. What made me more deserving to live? I feel rage building. I grab my weapon and scope the compound. I see a few survivors moving. Tick tock, another kill. I slam another round in, tick tock, tick tock. I reload, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, three more kills. My barrel is hot, needing to cool, but I reload. I am not finished. The rage is in control. I am down to my last three rounds, but have my side arm and Jasper’s M-16. When that’s done, I have my combat knife. I deal in death. That’s my, job, my purpose. I see Iraqis attempting to escape the compound. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, I stop three more clocks. I grab the M-16. Those bastards wanted a war, well they got one. I’m seven-hundred meters out. The M-16 is less than effective, but I don’t care. The rage has me, and it’s taken over. All reason is gone. I want vengeance, and I shall have it.
* * * * *
I snap awake, bathed in sweat, shaking as if I were in freezing water. I roll from my bed, moaning. Why do these ghosts haunt me? I gunned down every man that I could that day, until I ran out of bullets. The Blackhawk arrived six hours later to airlift me and Jasper home. That day was the first time the rage took me. The ghosts come to remind me. Always they are just under the surface, waiting to be freed.
Jasper, I am so sorry, my brother. I did my best to keep my promise.
I’m not sure why I’m talking to Jasper. He can’t hear me. Maybe I’m talking to myself. It’s all in my head now. The past is gone, but it won’t leave me alone. I know that I am insane and can’t last much longer.
Focus on the mission, I tell myself.
I need a drink and a whore – anything to distract me from these ghosts. I want to call Mina, but never thought to get her number. Smooth. It’s 3:42 a.m. That would be 3:42 p.m. in Virginia. I want to call Jasper’s widow instead, but I know that isn’t right either. I am on my own. You’ll be fine, the Navy promised. Yeah. Fine means ‘not their problem.’
The bitter bile of guilt threatens to overwhelm me as I stand looking at the man in the mirror. I know his face well, although he is a stranger, a shadow of the man that once was. Trembling like a kicked dog, I lie down again to avoid the mirror.
I light a cigarette, thinking about Mina. I want to save her, give her a measure of peace. I want to show her that it’s not too late, that she doesn’t have to end up like me. All went better than I’d dared hope on our date. I never expected to be touched as deeply as Mina touched me. I won a measure of her trust, or maybe she feels the need to save me. It’s too soon to see the rest of her face ... that will come with time. Time I may not have, if tonight is an indication of how fast I am falling apart.
I look at my hands, shaking uncontrollably. The shakes of a junkie gone too long.
I stub my half-smoked butt and roll out of bed. I have allowed myself to deteriorate not only mentally, but also physically. I pump out sit-ups, sets of thirty mixed in with sets of thirty push-ups. I make it through three cycles before I am whipped. It’s a start. Healthy body leads to healthy mind. I break out laughing hysterically. No more smokes, either. I am laughing again. I am so beyond insane.
###
DEATH SPIRAL Book 2 – coming soon!
~ABOUT THE AUTHORS~
; Walter Knight played football on Tucson High School’s last state championship team (1971). He served three years in the army, and the GI Bill paid for his college education, helping him earn degrees from Fort Steilacoom Community College, Central Washington State College, and the University of Puget Sound School of Law.
Walter lives a very quiet and private life, residing with his family and horses, dogs, cats, and fish atop a hill in rural Washington. Walt enjoys taking road trips to explore ghost towns and casinos.
To find out more about the author and his books, visit his web site.
www.waltknight.yolasite.com
James Boedeker was born in Lander, Wyoming, and grew up in northeastern Pennsylvania. James enlisted in the United States Navy shortly after graduating from high school. After serving honorably, James entered the private sector, working as an industrial mechanic and technician for Procter and Gamble.
James lives with his wife in the country, enjoying the peace and solitude of the Endless Mountains in Pennsylvania. James enjoys the outdoors and target shooting. James is known for stalking and hunting the wily but dangerous bull woodchuck.
To find out more about the author and his books, visit his web site at...
http://www.counterpunchbooks.com/
~TABLE OF CONTENTS~
Story Summary
Copyright Information
Author Acknowledgement
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Part II
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Sneak Preview – AGFL Book 17
Sneak Preview – Death Spiral
About the Authors
Galactic Disney Page 14