OBLIGATION

by Donald Stilwell

  Returning a Favor

  "Kevin Anderson, how have you been hair trigger?” It was Simmons, Will’s partner and assistant trainer from my days in his care. It had been, what? Fifteen years? The guy looked exactly as I remembered him, tough and no-nonsense. He continued, “Look, Kevin, I’m sorry to call on you like this. I’ll replace your lock. You see, I parked in the most defenseless position I could find. I may be getting older but with that comes a dose of wisdom. Shit boy, you look good.”

  "You too, Simmons,” I replied. “What brings you out here?”

  "I wish it were good news, Kevin, I really do.”

  "Oh shit, is something wrong with Will?” I thought on that for a second. I hadn’t seen or heard from Will in years, not since he had rescued me from myself on that last gig. I felt my stomach turn to ice with the news that might follow.

  "That’s just it, son, we don’t know, well we do and we don’t. Crazy shit is going on in the world and Will put himself right in the fucking middle of it.”

  I tried to ask more but Simmons cut me off, asked if we could talk inside. I had forgotten about Ethan still seated in the jeep. I called to him and he ran over to us. He seemed relieved. I made hasty introductions and asked Ethan to go wash up and play for a while. I led Simmons to the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee, and settled in for what was coming.

  "He went over as a contractor, you heard of these guys?”

  I said that I had.

  "Ever since the conflicts in the Middle East erupted, demand for high end operators who worked outside of the government sanctioned box had sky rocketed. Never before had professional soldiers been sought out and held in such lofty regard.”

  I could imagine Will right in the thick of it. Despite his age and the battle scars he already wore, I was sure he was geared up and standing by for more.

  "All of us, Anderson. We all signed on. What else do you do? Work at McDonald’s? Fuck.” Simmons was holding onto his mug and looking at his hands. “This last go was a shit storm. The people over there, they all look the fucking same, the soldiers, the citizens, the bad guys, everyone looks the f-ing same. We are ramped up like nothing I’ve ever known. Will, being Will, he thrives on the shit, goes head first into mission with that thought no thought bullshit, guns up, --”

  "Mind no mind” I corrected.

  Simmons blinked, “Wha’d I say?”

  "Thought no thought, same shit, sorry I interrupted.”

  "Yea, okay, mind no mind, shit no shit, whatever. You know him better than anyone. You, my friend, you were his baby, his creation, do you have any idea how much that man thought of you? Thought of your father?”

  I didn’t and said so. I knew he cared, was thoughtful and deliberate in his training of me. I was unsure how much more there was. Will was a man’s man as they say.

  "Oh Christ, kid, the stories we had to endure about the great John Anderson. No disrespect, Kevin, I’m sure your old man was a great guy, it’s just when you hear any story repeated a thousand times, brought forth in biblical proportions, it gets old, and then you, the second coming, his boy, his protégé, Kevin Anderson. Shit kid, that man loved you like you were his own flesh and blood. Everything you ever did in training, every move you made as a cop, as a man, Will knew about it and bragged on it. Your ears must have been burning twenty-four hours a day.”

  I’d had no idea. I sat there for a moment taking it in. It was surprising and humbling.

  "So here we are. I didn’t know who else to turn to, so I looked you up.”

  "What do you need from me?”

  "There’s no easy way to ask this, and if I’m completely out of line, just say so and I’ll be on my way.”

  I urged him on with my eyes.

  "Will’s been taken, captured by some seriously shitty people. Sasco’s fucked up, took a piece of shrapnel from an IED. Wright is married with four kids. His head’s no longer in it, not the way it would have to be for this shit. That leaves you and me.”

  "You want me to help you find Will overseas? Is that what you’re asking? Sim, I don’t know, I’ve been out of the game for years now. I’ve got Ethan, this place, do you even know where to look? Where to begin?”

  Simmons removed a small folding electronic device from his coat pocket, opened it and pressed play. It was a grainy video of Will. In it, three men were around him. He was tied to a chair, his clothes were ripped and filthy. His face was marked and bloodied. One of them, the one capable of broken English, was urging Will to say something. Will was refusing and being beaten for his obstinance. The feed stopped with Will quietly stating, “You’re all going to die” instead of the words he was being fed.

  I asked Simmons to play the video again. I looked for clues in the background. The walls had a banner of sorts, the words were nothing I could understand, and I asked Simmons if he could translate them for me.

  Simmons said they meant Taliban and Jihad.

  Simmons had studied history, knew the beliefs and culture of those he fought. He provided me with a brief history lesson.

  “Radical Islamists like the Taliban practice their faith, or hide behind it, in any way they deem fit. Islam is different than any other religion as it is highly decentralized. There is no principal authority or ruling body to uniformly interpret the Quran’s principals; therefore, you have these bands of assholes, like the Taliban, or Islamic Jihad Organization, or countless other off-shoots, who kill innocent people without justification or provocation, and contribute their inappropriate behavior on an ideology. They interpret anyway they see fit to justify their cause, and right now their cause is to kill the infidels.”

  Simmons replaced the device, securing it in his jacket before continuing. “What makes it work so bloody successfully is this; these fuckers will kidnap and kill anyone. You don’t have to be a soldier, or a high ranking official, all you have to be is in the wrong place. And they’re smart. Don’t let the desertscape dew-rags fool you. They understand, at least from a historical standpoint, that the United States of America has never effectively practiced no ransom/no negotiation policy, has never utilized swift and effective retribution. They perform acts of terrorism that are truly terrifying.”

  Simmons pulled the video player from his coat once more, “I wasn’t going to show you this, Kevin. You’ve probably seen enough bad shit in your life to cover three lifetimes, but you really need to know what these people are capable of.”

  I watched in silence as a man dressed in an orange prison style jumpsuit, kneeling before his captures, was forced to remain that way, as a man dressed in all black, surrounded by others in this garb, read something to the camera. Again, the language was one I didn’t understand. A minute of this passed, and then swiftly, the kneeling man was knocked down and the reader stabbed him in the neck with a large knife.

  What followed turned me hot and cold at the same time. I was witnessing a beheading, one drenched in ignorance and utter hatred. The black clad man sawed his way through the other man’s neck, a horrible sound escaping as the victim’s airway was opened. It took what seemed like an eternity, until eventually, the lifeless body fell aside and the executioner lifted the freshly decapitated head and continued on with an ever frenzied chant of “Allah Akbar.” The others around him joined in and the scene was madness. I was engorged with rage. My face was consumed by heat, and my heart was beating as if I’d run wind sprints. “Motherfuckers” was all I was capable of saying. Simmons looked at me thoughtfully.

  "Tell me you can’t do it, Kevin. I’ll get it son. Soldiers know this shit may find them some day. Will would understand, believe me. He chose his path, always.”

  "How soon?”

  Simmons breathed out and touched my arm. “Yesterday kid, yesterday.”

  Simmons left and I gathered myself to tell Ethan. What the fuck was I doing? I had made a promise to Peter, a last promise along with everything else. This was madness, and I knew it. It was a suicide mission that required a man with nothing left. I had it all. I did
n’t know who to turn to, I didn’t know what to say. There were things in this life you owed. Things glaringly apparent that might not ever be repaid. Regret, that’s what I had a lifetime of, misery, sadness, pain. I had all of that in spades. But now I had life, the best life I would ever know. The voice that knew no restraint spoke then. Ever the listener, ever the follower, it reaches through and beyond one’s rational thought. It feeds on principal and honor and what is truly right, without regard for safety or comfort or happiness. It knows what is waiting, it knows better than anyone ever could.

  "Will would save you Kevin” it said in hushed tones. “He already has.” Again the voice, “Will would find you and kill every single man that had wronged you.” I spoke to the invisibility that occupied me, “I know he would.”

  I made two phone calls.

  Everything I had in this world had been placed in a living trust for Ethan. I knew all too well how people passed without ever knowing the end was near. No surprises for him. I had worked out every detail, followed every lawful procedure to ensure he would never be left without means.

  Allison picked up just before my call would have gone to voice mail. She sounded rushed, and I tried to play it light. I explained to her an old friend had died a long way from home and I needed to attend to his last requests. Allison did what any decent person does in the face of such news. With minimal hesitation, she said she would fly out that evening. It was too much to ask, especially from one who knew me only fractionally. She arrived, looking beautiful, and was gracious and forgiving all at the same time. We spoke of the time at hand. I didn’t let myself drift upon our memory, or release my will to her tenderness. What I was doing to her was wrong and I knew it. If the worst happened, which was almost a sure bet, then she would be tasked with a responsibility she never signed on for. Ethan would once again be alone.

  I left them with a promise of soon returning. I drove away knowing in my heart I would never see either of them again.

  Simmons was waiting for me on the airfield. He had secured us a spot on a cargo into Iraq. “All of the gear you requested is already on board,” he said. “You need to know up front this is non-sanctioned Kevin.

  No one, except a few very trustworthy individuals know where on this flight, and even they don’t know where we’ll be departing from it.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I responded. “Half of everything I know in this world I learned from Will, and this here is a debt that needs to be paid. I’ll be real clear Sim, either he’s coming back with us, or I’m going to kill everyone that had something to do with him dying.”

  "You sound just like him Kevin.”

  "I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  In the air we checked our gear, assured ourselves our equipment was at least right, even if we weren’t. Simmons was hard to hear over the engine whine. He spoke of the jump off point, went over the land nav, possible insertion points, number of bad guys on site, probability of success, possibility Will was already dead. It all sounded unnecessary at this point. I had one thing in mind, one mission left to attend to and it didn’t even matter if I got it right. What I’d viewed, what was happening, or already happened to Will left only one thing clear, one item of importance on my, “Things to do” list. When I hit the ground, when those rag wearing, chant bellowing murdering fucks revealed themselves; I was going to kill them all.

  It was nearing midnight in this part of the world. Forty-five minutes to zero hour for Simmons and myself. I changed out, dressing first in polypropylene undergarments, prior to shrugging on my fatigues and free fall suit. We would be jumping, or rather falling in, HALO style, from a distance above ground of nearly 35,000 feet. My combat pack was last on. It housed my ammunition, M-4, pistol, and knives.

  Simmons assisted in final adjustments, and after his own gear had been secured properly, we set to the task of breathing 100% oxygen to flush the nitrogen from our bloodstream.

  It was dangerous; this type of insertion, but everything about this engagement was dangerous.

  Ours was a mission of highest probability. Jumping in from high altitude at terminal velocity was the best chance to go undetected. This wasn’t a case of drive up and order out. Two men in, maximum kill rate, three men out, that was the plan. There were no more words now.

  Everything that had to be said had been. Two extremely well trained men were going to risk their lives to save their friend. It’s just what it was, no more, no less.

  Silence had a most pleasurable quality. It allowed for reflection, introspection, nothingness. With Will’s teaching I had gotten pretty good at the latter. Simmons was good at it as well. In the cargo bay of this cumbersome craft, silence was defined as the deafening roar from twin engines roughly the size of motor homes. This form of silence was suddenly broken by the cargo bay’s rear hatch opening.

  The whining metallic click and subsequent hum would soon allow Simmons and I to be sucked free from the safety of the great craft, and once removed, glide effortlessly into the black beyond. I stowed the memories of all I’d left behind, and took an oxygen infused breath free of conscious thought. There was no need to pray, I was owed death many times over. If you could let go the real reason we were here, it was spectacular. The distance above the earth was vertigo inducing. The infinite sky and stratosphere beyond was inspiring, even to one so flawed as myself. Helmet and oxygen secure, I gave Simmons the thumbs up and semi-ran to the opening and jumped, leaving what was left of reasonableness and certainty behind.

  We fell at an alarming rate, a terminal rate. Soon enough the ground sauntered up to greet us. The impact was something I’d forgotten about. It had been many years since I’d performed a jump of any kind, much less this daredevil tactic.

  Ground underneath me, I began the task of readying myself for the night ahead. I had removed the unnecessary items, stowing them behind and under rock and brush which littered this rugged desert landscape. In the end I was left with the clothes on my back, load bearing vest, M-4 rifle, suppressor equipped, six twenty round magazines, a Kimber 1911 with crimson trace laser grips, two fixed blades, and several devices that went boom. Simmons was not going in with me. He was outfitted with long range kill power and night vision scope. He would be the only god that believed in me as I ran into the gates of hell.

  We were side by side in the dark as Simmons made the adjustment to his rifle’s dope. He spotted the building; an unimpressive dirt bound structure with four roaming guards, the closest of which was eight hundred yards away.

  "Look Kevin,” he said while studying his prey through the green grain glass, “I just want to say thank you. Guys like you, like us, were a dime a dozen. All we have is this, no one gets this shit, I’m not sure I do, I just know it’s the right thing to do. Whatever happens, man, it was an honor knowing you.”

  I could have made light of it, remarked with a smartass retort about spooning one another before I ran in there. I thought better of it. I had always been uncomfortable with sincerity, feelings of gratitude or praise. I took one last deep breath and thanked him instead. I told him how much it had all meant to me, the skills I had learned and practiced over the course of a lifetime from him, and Will, and those like them.

  I stood and eased away from his position. Once in the open, I ran and didn’t look back. All that was left was what was necessary. My mind was empty of anything resembling a human being. I had been taught long ago to leave the thoughts that bind behind.

  Worrying about life, death, what awaits you back home, or in the afterlife, none of it helped accomplish the mission. All it could do was hurt you, slow you down, when all you needed was immediacy.

  No one would hear the death Simmons brought with him. A rack of the bolt, ejection of brass, that would be all. I was closing in on it unencumbered. Simmons had done his job, and killed all four. I only saw one of them. He was wearing the dark rags of this place, only now he was adorned with an ever darkening pool of blood right at the point where the heart followed.


  Something else comes to call

  “Here I come Will” I said to the opening in front of me. The rest of the world followed very different ideas of what constituted a secure structure. Not every hatch had a lock, or even a door for that matter. Simmons had used the resources at his disposal to recon this place from the air and ground. It hadn’t been used for this purpose before, at least as far as anyone could tell. The U.S. Military was fed up with the bullshit perpetrated in the folds of this barren land, and in their determination to smoke out the badguys, the badguys adapted. No place was considered safe. Movement and concealment, caves and underground dwellings, structures that resembled burnt out farms and outposts, were utilized one day and abandoned the next. Simmons said we were lucky to track this place down, luckier still, that they had remained for more than a couple of days. Intelligence being what it was, I counted on nothing and prepared myself for the worst possible outcome. I had lied to people I cared about, but had made arrangements to secure their futures. I had made peace with all I could control, and was ready to give my life to save another, and if that was beyond scope, then rectify a great man’s death the only way I knew how.

  Ambient light was plentiful and made night vision pointless. I encountered no bell ringers out of doors, and surmised the folks waiting inside felt reasonably safe that four armed men walking the perimeter in this rural hut of sorts was security enough, first mistake.

  I quickly ascertained the entry I had made initially was but a mud wall constructed to shield the main building from the harsh desert winds.

  My next access point was a solid wood door without any form of security device. I had no idea how many awaited me inside, nor did I have a clue where Will would be kept. This was the unknown, the point of reference all operators know and speak of to their brethren. It’s given many names: “fatal funnel”, “point of no return”, “the suck”, it all translates easily enough, this is where good men die.