Gooseberry Island

by Steven Manchester

  “I guess.”

  “You guess?” She leaned in toward the PC’s camera. “You’d better not be trying to play the hero over there because I want…” She stopped.

  During her awkward pause, he asked, “Yeah? You want…”

  “I want you to stay safe,” she cleverly recovered.

  He lowered his tone. “Is that all you were going to say, Lindsey Wood?”

  “Nope. Not at all. But unless you stay safe, David McClain, you’ll never find out, will you?”

  “Good answer,” he said.

  “I thought so,” she teased as she studied every crease that his smile sculpted on his face.

  “How’s the food over there?” she asked.

  “Horrendous. What I wouldn’t do for a decent plate of pasta or real bacon and eggs. Oh yeah, and some sweets.”

  “You have a sweet tooth?” she asked.

  “Unlike anything you’ve ever seen. It’s terrible. Thank God I like to run and work out, or I’d be a very large boy.”

  She laughed. “Good to know. I’ll start baking tonight.”

  “Because you like fat guys or…” His attention was completely on her. It felt like he was sitting right there with her.

  “Because I like you,” she blurted.

  Even though they were thousands of miles apart, she could see him swallow hard. “That’s so mutual, you can’t even imagine it,” he said, his voice somewhat muffled.

  She felt her face blush.

  After they stared at each other for a few moments more, he asked, “What about you? You like sweets?”

  Nudged from her wonderful trance, she grinned. “Sometimes, but I’m definitely more of a food eater.”

  He laughed.

  “I love hummus, tabouli, anything vibrantly healthy,” she volunteered. “I’m a seafood-eating vegetarian who loves my food to be colorful.”

  He moved closer to the computer screen, wrinkling his nose and making her heart flutter.

  “I like clams and calamari, and I really like fruit,” she added, “especially strawberries and melon.”

  “That seems random,” he joked. “So meat’s completely off the menu for you?”

  “Well, I probably won’t eat meat, except maybe a piece of General Tso’s chicken once in a while because it’s a million miles removed from meat.”

  He laughed hard, lost in the moment. He then looked down at his watch, and his smile was erased. “Listen, I hate to run, but I need to get going. There’s a special briefing in HQ in ten minutes. With any luck, they’ll break up this boredom and put me to work.”

  “Is there time for one last question?” she asked.

  “Of course. Shoot.”

  She grinned. “Where would you be right now, if you could be anywhere in the entire world?”

  He smiled and cleared his throat. “Well, let’s see, my favorite place in the whole world is on the beach at sunset in the arms of someone who really, really likes me.”

  She giggled under her breath; it came out as a mousy squeak.

  “And you?” he asked.

  “I have a bunch of favorite places,” she said, teasing him. “Reading in my big puffy chair. Sitting on my porch just as the sun comes up, drinking a cup of my favorite tea.” She stopped and grinned. “Oh yeah, and sitting on a park bench with someone who likes me even more.”

  He laughed.

  “Spending time with you right now hasn’t been all that bad either,” she added.

  “I know,” he said. “I wish we could talk for hours.”

  “We will,” she said. “I’m planning on it.”

  “Good.”

  She took a deep breath. “So when can we talk again?”

  “Tonight,” he said, “in my dreams. Will you meet me there?”

  “I’d love to,” she whispered.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be there.”

  “I want to know the details.”

  “I’ll call you when I can and let you know what we talked about.”

  She giggled. “Be safe, David…please.” It was one degree shy of begging.

  “I will.”

  Driven by the immediate need to share her heart, she leaned in close to the computer screen. “David, if I could be there with you, I would,” she said, as if it were a final confession. “But since that isn’t possible, please know that I’ll be with you in spirit the entire time.” She paused. “Concentrate on what you’re doing over there because there’s nothing on Gooseberry Island that can’t wait, okay?” She smiled. “Hint…hint.”

  “Good to know,” he said, happily.

  “I’m serious,” she said. “Stay focused and please be safe.”

  “I will,” he promised. “Please don’t worry.”

  “Oh, and one last thing,” she blurted.

  “Yeah?”

  “Your Red Sox are on a winning streak. They’ve taken two in a row.”

  “That’s a winning streak?” he asked, laughing.

  “If you’re a positive thinker like I am, it is,” she said.

  “That works for me.” He peered longingly at her. “I’ll miss you, Lindsey. Bye.”

  She placed her hand flush to the screen just as their connection was severed.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  At the conclusion of the debriefing, David asked to speak to his first sergeant alone. The request was granted, and they stepped off to the side.

  “Top, when are you going to assign my team to one of the patrols?”

  The older man studied David. “Things have been heating up this past week, lots of insurgents out there looking to even the score. You boys are still…” He stopped.

  “Anything would be better than losing our minds cooped up here,” David said, shrugging.

  “Listen, I’ll tell you the same thing I told Lieutenant Menker an hour ago. You boys are being brought into the rotation in the next day or two.”

  “Good!” David said.

  The man studied him some more. “You’re still young, G.I., but you’d better start watching what you wish for.” He grinned. “In my experience, it usually ends in a steaming pile of crap.”

  G.I. stood for Government Issue, but whenever David heard the acronym it made him think of home—of Gooseberry Island. As David walked out of the HQ tent, he also wondered whether he’d just made a fool’s request. But we’re trained for this, right? His mind immediately flashed back to the intense training he’d received only a few years before.

  Chosen from the best, David was selected a U.S. Army Ranger School candidate and began preparing for the sixty-one most grueling days ever concocted by man. The majority who dared test everything inside of them flunked out and reported it was like living a nightmare without ever falling asleep. David was confident in his physical condition, but it was the mental hardness he questioned. No man really knows if he has it in him before putting all he has to the Army’s harshest test. The main objective of each recruit was to perform effectively as small unit leaders in a realistic tactical environment under incredible physical and mental stress. They were exposed to conditions and situations usually exceeding those found in war. Factors such as reduced sleep, hunger, reaction to frequent and unexpected enemy contact, difficult terrain and operating under the pressures of restrictive time limits were all thrown out at once. Graduation depended on quick, sound decisions, as well as the demonstration of calm, forceful leadership under such distress. The first instructor at Ranger School—a man who had been cheated out of a neck at birth—picked up a stick and threw it over his shoulder. Turning toward the group, he grinned. “The toughest of you will return that weapon to me.” There was one sudden surge, while men punched, kicked, scratched and even bit for the coveted prize. The instructor finally reached in and plucked it from their bloodied hands. From there, he ordered the group to form teams of six. Gesturing toward a pile of telephone poles, he ordered, “Each team will shoulder a pole, three men per side, and commence running.” After reaching a destination of a mile and a hal
f out, they switched shoulders and ran the heavy burden back. On the first day, the teamwork theme became brutally clear. After twenty-six of the most strenuous hours David had ever endured, they were allowed to sleep. Two recruits had already dropped out, while one was informed it would be best for everyone that he leave. In shame, he did. David felt ill with exhaustion but thought, I can’t imagine what it would take for them to be rid of me. He fell asleep comforted by the thought. Three hours later, he was violently tossed from his bunk. It was time to do it again. For twenty solid days, averaging twenty hours per day, they built stamina, mental endurance and confidence. The combat scenarios created seemed so real that the deepest fears were brought to the surface—to either be folded into or overcome. David stayed strong. All it took was to be constantly and completely abused, he thought, and through it all David hung tough. He continually reminded his tired mind that he’d volunteered. He had asked to be trained to move farther, faster and fight harder than any other soldier—and he refused to embarrass himself with failure. Quitting is not an option, he vowed. Though he never let on, it was more pride than intestinal fortitude. It didn’t make a difference. Whatever it was inside him, he decided, I’m going all the way.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  As promised, the first patrol assignment in Afghanistan took place the following day. David’s team was dropped, via deuce and a half, six miles out from camp. Known as “the projects,” South Kabul was reputed to be one of the most violent areas on their grid. Sergeant Scott Gervasio, who’d been in-country for months, was assigned to tag along and show them the ropes.

  Max, a gifted navigator with the natural instincts of an Apache scout, took point. With every sense heightened to complete vigilance, the team swept from house to house, interviewing locals, checking out any suspicious activity and essentially acting as human lures for concealed Taliban.

  The day was uneventful, or as uneventful as it could be when kicking in doors in downtown Kabul.

  As the day progressed, a level of confidence and comfort worked its way into their efforts. “We’ve gone over this back at camp,” Lieutenant Menker said. “We cannot fire at the Hodgie’s unless fired upon.”

  “And I’ll say it again,” Max replied. “It’s better to be tried by twelve than carried by six.”

  Big Al stared at him. “I swear, your family must have too much chlorine in its gene pool.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “And that’s coming from a guy who likes to work from twelve to one, with an hour off for lunch,” Max countered.

  Everyone laughed more.

  After debating the rules of engagement and what would and would not land them in Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary, they took Max’s hint and located a secure area to eat lunch. Canteen water and dehydrated MREs caused even more comical griping. “We should just grab one of these wandering goats and roast it,” Nate suggested.

  “Then we’d definitely have a firefight on our hands,” Lieutenant Menker said, grinning.

  David laughed but remained quiet. He was content with absorbing his foreign surroundings and taking it all in.

  Five hours later, the patrol was on its final leg back to camp, tired but satisfied with their effort.

  “Another day, another dollar,” Nathan called out.

  “Yeah, before taxes,” Big Al joked, poking fun at their menial pay.

  David pulled his father’s note out of his pants cargo pocket and read it a few times, while the team walked the six miles back to camp and reported the day’s events—without incident.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  After a few days of consecutive foot patrols—and thinking about Lindsey whenever he wasn’t scanning for those who preferred him dead—David jumped on Skype again to meet her and continue their long-distance courtship.

  “Miss me?” he asked.

  “Nope,” she said, grinning.

  “No?” he asked, surprised.

  “How can I miss you when you’re always with me…in my heart and mind every minute of the day?”

  “In that case,” he said, matching her smile, “I haven’t missed you either.”

  She laughed. “Good.”

  “Lindsey, I’ve already had a lot of time to think over here, and I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the night we spent together on that bench. I have to tell you…”

  “Yeah?”

  As if he’d waited forever to confess it, he said, “From the moment I first saw you, I felt an attraction that I’ve never known before. Though I think you’re beautiful, this chemistry I feel for you is more than just physical. I honestly think it’s a spiritual connection we share. There were times that night on the bench when I looked at you and swore that you saw everything inside of me. And…” He stopped, embarrassed.

  “Go on,” she whispered.

  He smiled. “And that kiss…that was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I know I’m…”

  “David,” she quickly interrupted, “I’ve done nothing but think about you since you left, and I honestly can’t wait to be with you again.” She took a deep breath. “I know it may seem strange to some people, but I’ve always tried to follow my heart rather than my head. I realize there are people who might call that foolish, but I say life’s too short for anything else, especially regret. I don’t want to have any regrets the day I die.” She shrugged. “I don’t want to feel like I should have done something, or worse, deal with the ‘what ifs…’”

  “I’m just sorry that the timing is bad for us,” he cut in.

  “It’s not so bad,” she said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He smiled. “Good.” He stared at her for a moment, memorizing her face. “How’s your dad doing?” he asked.

  “Oh, he’s fine. Yours?”

  “No idea,” he said honestly.

  After David babbled on about the details of his recent missions—careful to leave out anything that might be disturbing—the conversation eventually slowed and touched on several random topics.

  Finally, Lindsey returned to the one and only subject that they both wanted to discuss. “David, before you have to go I want to tell you…I’m trying really hard to keep myself in check and not let myself get too carried away with you,” she said.

  “And how’s that working out?” he asked, smiling.

  “Not good,” she admitted. “There are so many things I wish I could share with you right now, but I know I can’t. Well, not yet anyway.”

  “We will,” he whispered.

  “It’s not easy, but I really am trying to keep things in perspective.” She stopped, staring at him for a few moments. “I know you can’t make me any promises and I understand that, but it’s not easy trying to pretend that I don’t miss you like crazy…wishing I could be with you right now.”

  “It’ll be worth the wait,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m sure of it! In the meantime, I want to be able to share everything I’m thinking and feeling with you without putting any pressure on you. That’s not my intention. I’m just trying to follow my heart and believe that we’ll have a chance. We have to.”

  “Are you kidding me? I don’t feel any pressure at all,” he said. “Trust me, I appreciate the openness between us, and I want you to share everything with me. I want to know everything, so please don’t ever hold back with me. As I’ve said before, my biggest fear is our timing. I just don’t want anything to happen that’ll jeopardize a real chance of us being together. Please trust that I want you at least as much as you want me. I think about you nonstop and…”

  “And?”

  “And I realize it hasn’t been all that long since we met, but I’ve grown to really care for you, Lindsey.”

  “We’ve both grown,” she whispered.

  They sat in silence for a while—a wonderfully comfortable silence spent studying each other’s faces—before Lindsey provided David with his Red Sox update. “Okay, final report for the day: The Sox lost to Baltimore on Saturday, two to four, but won on Sunday, twe
lve to ten. They’re facing off with Seattle for their next outing. Looks like they’re still four out of first place, but I predict that the Yankees are going to slow down and the momentum’s going to shift to the Sox. David Ortiz had a great game on Sunday with two home runs, so I think the boys have a breath of fresh air to hopefully get their second wind for a pennant run.”

  “Wow, listen to you,” David said. “You could start working for NESN.” He looked at his watch. “Oh man… I hate to run, beautiful, but I have to get prepared for another day at the office.” He stared into the computer screen. “Keep smiling, Lindsey. The world’s a much prettier place when you do.”

  She smiled. “Be safe, David,” she said. “It’ll be over before we both know it.”

  He winked at her just as the computer screen went blank.

  ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

  Denis Wood, Lindsey’s dad, walked out of the VA Hospital, signing himself out weeks earlier than promised. He was holding a plastic grocery bag filled with his personal belongings.

  Lindsey sat in her car, waiting for him in the parking lot. As usual, they drove away from the large complex in silence—no questions asked about the time he’d spent there, no information volunteered—just the way the broken man demanded. Denis never talked about his actual service—ever. The jagged scar above his left eye and a missing index finger spoke volumes even though he wouldn’t.

  On the way home, Denis finally cleared his throat and spoke. “Joe, one of the regulars on the looney ward, knows a guy…”

  “…who knows a guy,” Lindsey teased.

  He grinned. “…who can get us tickets to the NASCAR race up in New Hampshire, smart ass.”

  “That’s great, Dad,” she said, unimpressed.

  “What do you say? We could take the ferry over and drive to New Hampshire.”

  Lindsey was shocked he was asking her to go.

  “It could be a great time,” he continued to pitch. “A bunch of guys are going…”

  “Sure, Dad,” she finally consented. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Great! I want to get up there early, so I’ll ride up with Ruggie. You can meet us there in time for the race.”

  Early, huh? she thought, but decided not to question it.