OBLIGATION

by Donald Stilwell

  Slowly they continued the crawl. Several minutes later they found themselves sheltered moderately under a large twisting slide. There was just enough room underneath to house both of them.

  Kevin set up shop while Peter kept eyes on the residence. He spoke quietly to Kevin as Kevin checked his dope. Kevin left the rifle zeroed at one hundred yards. This was considered point blank range for a Remington 308, sniper system. In the Marines his rifle, when he utilized one, was zeroed at four hundred yards.

  The transition to a much closer proximity was one of necessity. In an urban environment you had to account for a hundred other factors. First and foremost was pin-point accuracy. In war, shooting a man in the chest, stomach, leg, was every bit as good as a head shot. It took the soldier out of the battle. And if another of your enemy stepped in front of a shot which you took from eight hundred, or a thousand yards, oh well, shit happens. Should that happen here, and an innocent citizen loses his life, you were fucked.

  The other important factor was the head shot. If the snipers’ skills were necessary in the city limits, it generally meant the bad guy had a bomb, or a gun and one or more hostages he was willing to kill. To do that, his finger was already on a detonator switch, or a trigger, waiting to end someone’s life. Cutting the power source, which in this context meant the immediate neutralization of the central nervous system, was only achieved by a well-placed head shot.

  Kevin understood the reasons and the necessity for such close ranges. He knew the average police sniper shooting was approximately seventy yards. Knowledge in hand, this did nothing to detract from the fact from this range, when he placed the glass on the intended target, he felt like he was right next to the guy, could read his lips if he were speaking. Sometimes it could be unnerving.

  Peter was relaying information to command: “Two story dwelling, yellow and white in color, four large windows on first level, two showing topside.

  Lights are burning on the number one side, bottom level, window Charlie. I have no movement at this point.”

  Kevin had screwed back on his wind and elevation caps. His zero was set at one hundred yards. Peter had already ranged the house. They were eighty-two yards from the front door. The settings on the scope required no alterations.

  Kevin flipped on the night vision; the house glowed grainy green in the scope. Now they waited. A sniper’s vision was good in the glass for about twenty minutes at a time. Any more than that and the fatigue and eye strain put your reflex and ability at a diminished capacity. That was the reason for two-man teams. One rested while one kept vigilant.

  The Bravo team had made their way to a position in the back or number three-side of the residence. They had forwarded their report, no activity as well.

  An hour had passed with one sighting of the male subject in question. Kevin had seen him walk in front of the window. He looked outside quickly then disappeared.

  Peter kept watch through the spotting scope; this was the game, hours of waiting, watching, and then an outcome. Sometimes peaceful, other times not.

  “You remember the times in the woods around your grandpa’s place, him leaving clues to a target, us trying to track and stalk it without him finding our location along the way?”

  Kevin smiled, not removing his eye from the scope, “Little did he know he was training a couple of twelve- year-old snipers, huh?”

  "Your grandfather knew exactly what he was doing.”

  "Yeah, I guess he did. It was what he knew, ya know? That was him, though, always passing on his knowledge.”

  Both said, “Great fucking guy” simultaneously.

  Alpha and Bravo entry personnel were set up at points on both sides of the dwelling. The houses to either side, three deep in each direction, had been evacuated.

  With the house surrounded, a team negotiator made a call. The man inside the house picked up. He was slurring his words, obviously upset and intoxicated.

  The SWAT Team waited.

  The man had told the negotiator he wanted to speak with his girlfriend, wanted her brought to the residence. There was no way that was happening. The trick was making the man inside believe it could happen if he cooperated.

  Peter and Kevin lay patiently for two more hours. Kevin had seen the man pace in front of the window several times now. He had looked out to see where the cops were.

  He was young, maybe twenty-one, a normal looking kid, upset and agitated. Kevin could see all of this through the scope as if he were standing in front of him.

  A decision had been reached.

  The man was not coming out. The girl’s parents were possibly inside the residence, and they were not going to be let out. The man had not let the negotiator speak with either of them so it was unknown if they were in there, and if they were, if they were still alive.

  The beaten girl was adamant her folks were inside the house. They were there on vacation to see her; they drove a white Buick Century. The Buick was parked outside. The girl knew her boyfriend owned several rifles. She had said he hunted often and kept the rifles in a safe in the bedroom. It was nearing five in the morning. People in the neighborhood would be waking up for work. In half an hour the area would be compromised, completely.

  The time to act was now, before more innocent lives could be harmed. Entry was going to be made. At one point during the waiting game the man had closed the curtains to the first story windows. The sniper teams had no visual into the house.

  The last call was placed.

  The negotiator told the man this could all end peacefully. Other than the fight with his girlfriend, everything to this point would be an easy fix.

  He told the man there were officers waiting outside of his house. All he had to do was walk outside, his hands held above his head. He would be driven to the police station where they could work this out in person. The man was crying on the phone, said his life was over; everything was fucked up because of him. He was crying and then he wasn’t.

  The man’s voice turned into something opposite. It was angry, a sneer of forced words through clenched teeth.

  “You tell your officers the first one I see, I kill. You got that mother fucker, you tell them that, tell them!”

  The negotiator was going to say something else; he wasn’t given the chance. The line hadn’t disconnected, the man had just put it down. The negotiator could hear muffled pleas for help, a female voice crying.

  Then he heard the man say, “I’ll show that bitch.”

  Kevin and Peter saw it at the same time. Stillness replaced by glass disintegrating, shots echoing, shattering the early morning calm.

  There was chatter on Kevin’s headset. It was something to the effect of shots fired, and if the shooter presented himself to take the shot.

  Peter spoke out loud, his eye still focused through the spotting scope, “Guy’s got a rifle. He’s shooting in the direction of one of the entry teams to the west. The team’s pinned down. They can’t see from their vantage. Take him Kevin, take him.”

  Kevin saw it too. His body responded to the threat. Two shots had been fired, the pause in between shots meant the shooter was using a bolt action rifle. Still, the only thing visible was the rifle’s barrel; the shooter remained behind the curtains. Kevin lined up on the barrel, moved his rifle to where the shooter’s torso should be and fired.

  The shooting stopped, and except for the ringing in his ears the world was once again quiet.

  Peter had witnessed the barrel fall in the window’s jagged slot, beyond that there was no movement. He reported the shot taken by Kevin to command.

  “Alpha Sierra One has a shot away, threat has stopped firing. Repeat, Alpha Sierra One has a shot away, movement has ceased.”

  Kevin’s weapon bucked. He rapidly worked the action, a fresh round in the chamber. He focused intently, gauging the need for a follow-up shot.

  He asked Peter, “Is he down?”

  "I think so man, the rifle dropped the second you fired. It hasn’t moved.”

  Kev
in found the rifle in his sights; it was half in, half out of the window.

  "Alpha provide cover, Bravo make entry.” It was the commander ordering the entry units to take the house.

  Kevin kept vigil through the glass; he watched the precision movements of the entry teams carrying out their order to move. Bravo worked expeditiously, one man breeched; the third in line tossed the flashbang.

  The entire unit moved as one right on top of the explosion. In mere seconds they had infiltrated the residence. Cooper had been first in the door, and first to discover the remains of the shooter. Kevin heard the traffic over his headset, “Command--, Bravo team, I have one down, repeat, suspect is down.”

  "Command copies, one down. Ambulance is staging.”

  Peter looked over at Kevin in the fading darkness. “You got him man, you got him.”

  Bravo team finished their search. Reported two subjects taped up in the living room. Both were scared. One had been beaten, but still they were alive.

  Paramedics were cleared to enter.

  Kevin’s shot had found its mark. The 168 grain boattail hollowpoint traveled the eighty-two yards in less than a second. The resulting damage was a through and through shot entering the upper torso and impacting the heart as the bullet traveled through. The aftermath was near instantaneous death. The man would have known he was shot, and not much else. This was the second man Kevin had killed in the line of duty.

  Kevin was cleared of any wrong doing; his shot was deemed necessary to save the lives of his teammates, and therefore justifiable.

  Kevin dealt with it the way he always did. It helped his conscience knowing firsthand his actions had saved others. He’d never had that before. In his past deeds knowing was never an option; he followed orders and that was all.

  Taking life, however, was taking life.

  It found him at night, in his bed, in his dreams.

  The faces of men fallen by his hand.

  The word of God said, “Thou shall not kill”

  Kevin wrestled with it perpetually. How many men had killed other men in the name of God? So many Gods, everyman believing his the right one. In the end you didn’t know until you knew. And then, would you know anything? Or would the world simply cease to exist.

  Kevin did what he could, tried to live a good life, an honorable life. He helped those he could help and let the rest be. He spent time everyday thanking his God for every day. Prayers concluded, Kevin sat on the floor, his hands together in front of him, his breath reverberating in his throat traveling up into his nostrils. The sound it made helped his mind to clear. That was the goal after all. He had attempted meditation almost every day. Some days he was successful, other times his mind ran frantic with wayward thoughts and obligations. He was never good enough to make the time last more than ten or fifteen minutes. Still he remained. The thoughts would come, touching his brain with the insistency of a pesky fly. His only relief was trying over and over until the thoughts ran clear, mind with no mind.

  Thinking about not thinking about anything was the same as thinking. That thought found him every time.

  Tomorrow brought three days of freedom.

  He had invited Peter and Ethan up to the cabin. A boy’s getaway like his grandfather used to do for Peter and himself.

  They made the journey together. Kevin listened intently as Ethan replayed the events at school on Friday. He was a remarkable kid, very mellow, very little fuss. He behaved like a small version of his father. That made sense; his father was all he had ever known. Peter was sitting shotgun in Kevin’s jeep; Ethan was buckled safely in the back.

  Kevin watched Peter’s face from time to time as the boy would speak. He shifted in his seat to truly watch as his son spoke. It was a bond everyone should have in their life at least once.

  Kevin had never really dated, never contemplated having kids. There was never time, and had there been it would have been a relationship built on lies. Kevin saw no value in that. Watching Peter, however, the way he and his son spoke and played and cared for each other, it left a small empty pocket. He felt a longing for something that was never meant to be his.

  Ethan fell asleep an hour into the drive.

  Peter turned back to face forward. Kevin remarked at the calmness, the maturity of his son.

  "He’s a good kid. I haven’t been around many, but I’ll bet they’re not all like that one.”

  Peter smiled with satisfaction, “No my friend, not even close. He’s a lot better boy than I ever was. I don’t know where he gets it.”

  "You don’t, huh?”

  "Well okay, I guess he gets it from me, but I didn’t want to take all of the credit. I think some kids just grow up knowing what’s right, without a whole lot of coaxing.”

  "He’s you, man. Back when you were his age, I bet you were just like that. Granted, I met you at what, 12, 13, and you were already spent by that point, blew your wad early, but I can imagine at seven or eight you were still a decent kid with some redeemable qualities.”

  "Thanks, chief. As I remember you weren’t the spelling bee champ and eagle scout yourself.”

  "We’re not talking about me, and actually I was the spelling bee champ, so suck it.”

  Peter laughed, “Look pal, that thing you did in the first grade where they spotted you the “c” and the “a” and somehow you came out with cat, doesn’t count.”

  "Why can’t you ever just let somebody be good at something without qualifying it? Bullshit.”

  The good hearted banter continued all the way to the cabin. Once they had arrived, Peter eased Ethan into wakefulness, “We’re here, champ.”

  Kevin and Peter hauled in supplies while Ethan explored. Peter told him to stay within shouting distance. Ethan found everything in the way someone so young would. The tall trees, the rugged cabin, the greenery everywhere you looked. He pretended to be in the old west, a cowboy, or Indian looking for that night’s dinner. He was climbing a nearby tree when his father called him down, told him to wash up.

  Dinner was hamburgers and chips. Kevin had cooked them on the BBQ, and they were fantastic. Ethan ate relatively well for such a thin child. Another thing he had in common with his father.

  Dinner finished, Peter gathered up wood for an outdoor fire. The pit they had built as boys was still there. The rocks surrounding it from which they had gathered from everywhere remained intact.

  It was Ethan’s first time trying s’mores. He ate three of them before his father got a bite of one.

  Chocolate and melted marshmallows were a tapestry upon the boy’s face and sleeves. Kevin laughed as Peter did his best to clean Ethan off.

  Finally, Kevin and Peter drank coffee brewed over the fire, while Ethan enjoyed milk. The weather was perfect, cool with just a taste of breeze. The stars lined up the way they always do, the difference being you could actually see them from here.

  Peter enjoyed the peacefulness, while his son asked his best friend about the various star patterns. It was what life was about. No work, no one trying to hurt someone else, no other people for that matter, just family, and a place to enjoy them.

  The weekend went as all good times seem to.

  They arrived back in town late that afternoon. Ethan had slept on the way back as he had on the way up, a child’s gift.

  After dropping Peter and Ethan off, Kevin drove to a favorite Chinese place. He secured an order of Sizzling rice soup, Mongolian beef, and steamed rice. As he waited for the order to be filled, he watched the other patrons. Couples on first dates, families with teenage children, and an older couple, they all seemed to be enjoying their food, enjoying this place. Kevin would look, catch himself staring, imagining what conversations were taking place, then look away.

  There was something amiss within him today, perhaps it was the time spent with Peter and Ethan. Watching them interact, the joy they obtained from nothing more than each other’s company, he felt, well, lonely.

  It was stupid, he knew. He chose his life. He was responsible f
or each and every choice of his ill-fated, less than peace-filled existence. But still, he felt it.

  On the drive back to his house he looked at his surroundings. He had noticed everything before, the tree lined streets, mothers and fathers pushing children in strollers, kids on bikes, dogs on leashes, and it was everywhere all the time he supposed. But today, it was in his head. He felt longing as he had known only as a small boy when his mother left him. Well, she hadn’t really left, she had lost, and lost dearly, she had just stopped. Her heart had left, taken someplace where no more pain would find it, ever.

  Kevin wiped a wet spot from his eye. He shook his head in utter confusion. “This is ridiculous,” he said to the air around him. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  He knew, though, he always knew.

  Kevin pushed further, the untangling of thoughts appearing and traveling between his soul and logic. He would be thirty-two in a month. He had nothing to show for his time on earth. No wife, not even a girlfriend. No kids, no family, no one.

  Kevin softened in the middle then, his sob found that place that all grief knows, the one spot within all of us that swells and pulses, heaving and retreating until finally we push it down and lose our breath, or let it out to surprise us and leave us spent. Kevin didn’t allow this spool of thread to unwind any further. He deafened the noise, stamped out the flame. He found something to listen to on the radio. He turned the song up, attempted to sing along. Still, the heart knows what it knows. It doesn’t need us to tell it anything. That was God’s design, a fully functioning monitor to the soul, complete with a million years of memory; no one hurts alone, though we believe pain a solitary figure. It finds us in more ways than we know. What blade runs through the heart of man and leaves his brother clean? It can’t, and it never has.