by Lyn Gala
“I will handle this. I’ll meet you at the courthouse in the morning.”
“The morning?” And that was a Lev squawk, a sure sign that Lev was about to start swearing and throwing random gears and tools. Gears, anyway. Lev babied his tools enough to make Clyde question the man’s sexual fetishes.
“Yes, the morning,” Clyde said firmly. The conversation he needed to have with Tank wouldn’t be pretty, but the boil needed to be lanced. Lev, however, would try wrapping Tankersley up in cotton and protecting him, which was exactly the wrong tactic. “Lev,” Clyde said in a softer tone, “trust me.”
The silence at the other end spoke of fear and a certain disbelief that Clyde could handle things diplomatically. Clyde did appreciate the irony that Lev was judging Clyde based on a facade Clyde had deliberately constructed. He could do diplomacy. If he couldn’t, he wouldn’t have risen through the ranks. However, he’d had others betray him often enough that he didn’t like to do diplomacy. Tankersley wasn’t the only one with battle scars that were more emotional than physical.
“Don’t do anything to hurt him,” Lev finally warned him. Clyde sighed. That really was the last thing on his mind, but given the way Tankersley was flinching at shadows, achieving that goal wouldn’t be easy. Clyde just closed the phone without answering. Lev would torture him for it later, but right now Clyde didn’t have any reassurances to offer.
“Let’s head for the courthouse. Private, we have enemy in the field. Which areas are most dangerous?”
“All of them?” Tankersley said with a derisive snort. That answered one of Clyde’s questions—Tankersley was damaged enough that he couldn’t rank relative danger. All dangers appeared extreme. Part of Clyde wanted to file the paperwork for an honorable discharge and put the man in therapy. God knew that was exactly what a shrink would do.
“John, take point back to the SUV. Tankersley, stay sharp. If we have more adversaries on the field, I really don’t want to end up dead. I’d never hear the end of it from the general.” Pulling his weapon, Clyde held it out for Tankersley.
Tankersley looked at him with alarm. His gaze darted down to the weapon, up to Clyde’s face, down to the weapon. He was going to pull an eye muscle at this rate.
“Go on. I know you passed your small-arms test with flying colors. Just do me a favor and avoid shooting any bystanders. It’s hell on the paperwork.” Clyde lifted the weapon, and slowly Tankersley reached for it. From the kid’s scores, Clyde trusted him to hit what he aimed at. From the raging case of PTSD, he really did worry that Tankersley might startle at some six-year-old and shoot her. But with active enemies on the field, Clyde wasn’t about to disarm one-fifth of his forces. Worse, he was missing his techies, which meant that any capture situations were going to end very badly. So Clyde would rather avoid being taken.
“Do guns even work?” Tankersley asked. “I mean, I would hate to shoot someone and get all excited only to find out all it did was tickle, leaving the other guy able to rip my head off my shoulders.” Tankersley’s inappropriate humor was starting to reassert itself. He had a strong core in him, even if the edges were fraying a bit.
“Bullets can hurt ’em until they decide to go after someone else,” Clyde suggested. In the short term, it was the only advice he had. In the long run, if Tankersley stuck around, he would have to target weak spots and identify the controller.
Clyde also had to figure out a way to rein these kids in. They had proved they could fight, and now Clyde had to figure out how to convince them to avoid any extremes. If they succeeded in killing an actual alien, all hell could break loose. The last thing anyone wanted was for some alien civilization to send a shit-ton of soldiers to protect their scientists. That was the disaster everyone wanted to avoid.
At the SUV, Cooper and Washington came in from their flanking positions.
“Clear,” Cooper said before he moved to the driver’s side.
“Where are we going?” Tankersley asked.
“Does it really matter?” Clyde was a little aggravated that Tankersley had complicated this situation by bringing his friends in before the team could assess the problem, and he really hated how much he respected Tankersley for escaping.
Tankersley got into the back of the SUV without another comment. Both John and Washington gave Clyde shit looks as he got in the front. Clyde missed the days when he’d had a nice simple unit, when he’d fought communists and terrorists and had subordinates who remembered they were in the military. Clyde waited until everyone was in the vehicle before he gave Tankersley an answer. “New York gets targeted often enough that we have a forward operating base in place that we can use. We keep it shut down when we aren’t active in the field.”
They drove in silence until Cooper pulled up to a service entrance leading to a network of underground rooms that had once been a nuclear fallout shelter. Now it was the home of the IF and connected to the Thurgood Marshall Courthouse. The courthouse had been renovated a few years back, and the IF had traded some alien tech for permanent access to their old shelter system. Few people even knew it existed since it had been designed to protect high-level government targets, so it was perfect for covert work. Normally they avoided the service entrances and entered through the regular courthouse, which helped hide their movements, but they needed quick shelter.
Once they had parked, John seemed to take custody of Tankersley, and the private wasn’t arguing. “Through here.” He headed through the rusted and weatherworn gates. Of course, if anyone looked too closely, the hinges and locks were top-notch. Inside, the place had the feel of an abandoned service corridor. A single dull light flickered unevenly at the end of a long hall, and the doors were covered in dust. Maintenance made sure to replace the dust after every use.
“Tankersley and I will take room A,” Clyde said before John could claim the kid. Tankersley needed someone who had fewer loose screws than John. In front of the first door, Clyde touched Tankersley’s shoulder to get his attention. Clyde wasn’t surprised at the flinch.
“We’re sharing?” Tankersley sounded on the verge of hyperventilating. Clyde suspected he was afraid of being trapped in the same room, of being penned in. Too fucking bad.
“Never divide your forces when you’re outnumbered, which, given the circumstances, is always,” Clyde said. “We’ll have A, John can take B, and Cooper and Washington can take C.”
“Never divide the forces? You left Lev and Major Sadler behind,” Tankersley pointed out. For someone who liked to play dumb, the kid was too sharp for his own good.
“Military personnel clear the field before technical support come in and assess. If you were vetted for the program, you’d know SOP. Please keep two things in mind, Private. First, you were only given information you would have found out on your own. Second, a lot of commanding officers don’t appreciate the attitude.”
“Pretty much none of them do,” Tankersley answered. So the kid knew he was annoying and kept it up. Either he really didn’t care, or Clyde could add self-destructive to the list of symptoms.
Clyde moved into the darkened room on full alert, checking the steadily blinking security beacon for confirmation that they were the first life-forms to enter the room since the last authorized use. He nodded to tell John he was clear before he closed the door, trapping himself inside with one seriously damaged kid.
“Can I have my sidearm back?” Clyde asked. Tankersley handed it over without a second thought, so he definitely wasn’t planning to fight his way out of any messes. “You have any weapons of your own?” Clyde asked, just to be sure. Tankersley pulled a silver knife out of his pocket and surrendered it, handle first. A knife. He’d planned to take on aliens who possessed superior technology using a four-inch knife. That was about as self-destructive as anything Clyde had ever seen.
“Where’s Lev?” Tankersley asked as Clyde turned on the lights and gave two knocks on the connecting door to let John know his side was good. One knock answered him. All clear.
; “He’s still at Picatinny. Major Sadler needs to find the edges of this incursion, although knowing what company it’s centered around is going to make things a lot easier.”
Tankersley started breathing faster. “Look, Colonel, I know you don’t like me.”
“Don’t tell me how I feel, Tankersley,” Clyde said, cutting him off. Clyde might not want to like Tankersley, but he had to respect a man with the balls to pull off what Tankersley had.
“Okay. You have an expression on your face that makes you look as if you just stepped on a bug whenever I get too close. See? I didn’t mention your feelings at all.” Tankersley gave a totally insincere grin.
“Yeah, well, looking in a mirror is never pretty, especially not at my age,” Clyde pointed out dryly. He was actually starting to have a little sympathy for the many commanders he’d annoyed with irreverent humor.
“What?” Tankersley was confused out of his self-hate.
“I saw Hoffer’s cell phone footage.”
Tankersley turned an unhealthy shade of white and retreated to the far side of the room.
“I wish the guys who transferred into my unit were that good with improvised weaponry and asymmetrical warfare.” Clyde studied the private, waiting to see how he’d react. If Clyde was right, the compliment would be harder to bear than any dressing-down. Sure enough, Tankersley shrank in on himself as though under attack.
“Stuff happens. I was just there.”
Clyde suspected that Tankersley was avoiding the real meat of the subject to avoid feeling the pain. “‘Stuff’ defined as friends dying?”
Tankersley whirled around. “Don’t pretend you give a damn.”
Clyde sat carefully on the edge of the bed, watching Tankersley’s body language. A man could only be pushed so far before he snapped, and Clyde wasn’t fool enough to discount Tankersley’s abilities. John thought enough of him to train him, and Tankersley was half Clyde’s age. “I’ve lost people in battle, and I know the hell of having to keep fighting when a part of you is dying inside,” Clyde pointed out.
“You’ve confused me with someone competent.” Tankersley gave a pained laugh.
“You’re right that the man in the footage was competent,” Clyde said mildly. Tankersley’s body had tightened up like an overwound spring, and Clyde could almost hear the cracking as the facade started to slip. “From a military perspective, your group managed to defeat a superior force, and you had good situational awareness and enough discipline to complete a necessary and incredibly difficult action.” The compliment might be true, but it wouldn’t make Tankersley feel better. When people complimented a FUBAR mission, it was a slap in the face every damn time. Clyde knew that feeling all too well. Sure enough, Tankersley’s face twisted with emotion, although Clyde couldn’t tell if the private was coming down on the side of grief or fury.
“I’m so good, huh? People died!” Tankersley shouted the words.
“People do that,” Clyde agreed calmly. It was cold comfort, but he wouldn’t lie to Tankersley.
“Yeah. So I hear.” Tankersley backed up until he’d pressed himself to the dresser, before going for a quick change of subject. “Look, if you’re going to arrest me for desertion, I’m not even going to fight the charge, but you make sure that Zhu and Marie know what they’re up against. Don’t leave them to fight when they’re blind. How can they make good decisions when they don’t understand any of it? They’re putting their faith in weapons that will only work as long as the aliens want to play by some sick set of rules they’ve set up.”
“You want to be arrested, don’t you?” Clyde asked.
Tankersley jerked as though hit by an electric charge. “What? No. I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid. I’m not looking forward to bending over in the shower for my soap.”
“If you were in a cell, you wouldn’t be responsible for any of this,” Clyde pointed out.
Tankersley was quick to spit out his response. “You’re full of shit.” However, Clyde could see the shadowed doubt in Tank’s eyes. He didn’t know if he wanted to be arrested or not. He was at least considering his own illogical reactions.
“You’re so caught between wanting to run away and wanting to back up your friends that you can’t see straight. I bet there are nights you wake up in a cold sweat, terrified that you’ve forgotten something. You look at people and find yourself constantly trying to figure out if they’re a danger, and when you catch yourself doing it, you try to stop. But when you stop, you feel this cold panic that the woman who just passed you in the cereal aisle is going to turn around and shoot you in the back.”
“What? No.” Right now, Tankersley sounded like the worst liar Clyde had ever met, and considering that Clyde worked with Lev, that was saying something. Worse, the kid had lied like a champ to get off base, which suggested his skill set was highly unstable due to his psychological trauma.
“You suck at lying, Tankersley.”
“I don’t… I’m not the one who lost her best friend. I’m not the one who has a psychotic father trying to kill him or financially ruin him.”
“Hey, maybe they’re even more screwed up. I haven’t talked to them enough to know. But right now, I know that you’re falling apart. Have you gotten to the stage where you start looking at alcohol and wondering if it would dull the pain? That’s the next step, you know.”
Tankersley stared at him with barely disguised panic raging just below the surface.
“Tankersley, do you really think you’re the only man to be this fucked up? Hell, after my first tour in covert ops, and we’re talking back before I knew about aliens, I couldn’t sleep in the same room with my wife. I’d wake up and panic at the feeling of another person touching me. It took a lot of therapy for me to get over that, and I was older than you. I was older, and I had officer training behind me. I knew the psychological toll of war, and even then I destroyed my marriage. I ruined my relationship with my kids because I couldn’t bear to be around anyone who looked at me like I might be worth a damn.”
“You couldn’t sleep near her?” Tankersley’s voice came out thin and strained, as though he was struggling to even speak—or maybe struggling to not scream. Clyde had been both places as he had tried to get his own balance back.
“Nope. That happen to you?” Clyde asked softly. It didn’t escape Clyde’s attention that Tankersley’s instinct had been to run for the fight, not away from it. He just ran for the war he knew.
Tankersley gave a reluctant nod. “Sometimes I snuck out and slept with Eric on the streets because when my mom would get up to go to the bathroom, I would panic and think that someone had gotten in the house. I would spend the rest of the night checking the locks and clutching a knife.”
“That’s normal, Tank.”
The explosion came, but Tankersley stormed across the room instead of attacking. Clyde leaped up to keep Tankersley from running out into the hall, but Tankersley reversed direction and ended up back at the far wall, his body trembling. “How can that be normal? I’m always waiting for the next person to try to kill me.”
“Let me tell you something Captain Hoffer said.”
“Great,” Tankersley said, self-hate coloring his voice. “I bet he said I was a real basket case.”
“He said you were traumatized. You didn’t have the support you needed to fight this battle. He also said you are a good man. The only problem is if you refuse help, Tankersley.”
“I don’t… I can’t….” Tankersley lost the pattern of breathing and seemed to panic for a moment.
“You can, Tank. It’s hard. It’s hard facing your psychological demons, but that’s what we do in the military. We face them.”
Tankersley rubbed his eyes even though Clyde couldn’t see any actual tears. Yet.
“Who died that day?”
Tankersley stopped breathing.
“Let yourself say the name. Remembering won’t change anything, and it can’t hurt you unless you let it, unless you lock it up and let it feste
r. Come on, Private, cough up a name. Who died?”
“Roger.” The name seemed to slip out without Tankersley’s permission, and the moment he said it, Tankersley just froze. The guilt almost leaked from him. Clyde so wished he could pull out every bad memory and toss it away, but that wasn’t how it worked. Tank had to find a way through this pain. And he’d have to find a way over and over and over until he figured out how to have a life without the pain ruling him. Clyde waited. He wasn’t sure how Tankersley would react, and he really didn’t want to get punched.
A wordless cry followed, and Tank crumpled to the ground. Clyde darted forward, trying to catch Tank’s head, but it thunked against the dresser.
The second Clyde touched him, Tank grabbed his shirt, the raw desperation circling like a lowlying fog. Clyde caught Tank by the back of the neck and pulled him close, holding him as tight as he could, but Tank still clung as though he was afraid someone was going to pull him away. After the first wild scream, Tank fell silent, but Clyde could feel the trembling ripping through his body. His breathing turned ragged, and then the real tears came.
Clyde ached for him. He’d spent his own time trying so hard to push his pain away. But his pain wasn’t Tankersley’s. Clyde couldn’t do anything to help. He could only hold on as the man struggled to feel everything he’d spent years trying to avoid.
The connecting door opened, and Clyde looked up as John stood in the doorway, silently watching. He had no censure on his face, but he stood as a mute witness as Tank’s cries gradually faded. It took over an hour, but eventually the stiff muscles and hard tremors faded until Tankersley lay limp in Clyde’s arms, either asleep or too worn out to keep grieving. Clyde didn’t fool himself. This was the first step on a long journey. But at least Tankersley had the balls to start down it. Plenty of men could never face their own fears.
“You want to give me a hand?” Clyde asked softly. John moved into the room, a silent shadow as he walked over and knelt down to scoop Tankersley up. He was really out of it. His eyes didn’t even flicker as John lifted him and moved him to the bed.