Love, Lies, & Crime: Anthology

by Kimberly Blalock

  My combat boots crunch against the arid soil; it’s a reddish mixture of sand and gravel. As I approach mess hall I’m feeling run-down. My body is still adjusting to the time zone/climate difference. Yesterday I was on leave for a little over a month… It had been years since I’d been upstate with my folks. I spent my days hunting with Pop, and nights lying underneath the starry skies stuffing my face with mom’s sugar cookies. But today I’m halfway around the world fighting an interminable war.

  I’m resting and relaxing with my family when I see through the windowpane a pair of grey Crown Victorias pulling up in front of our cabin. Pop and I exchange glances—he may not know the type of work I do with the Army Rangers, but he was super supportive of my choice to join the military. Let’s face it: He’s the typical dad who brags to his friends how his only child happens to be a ranking officer with the U.S. Army.

  Most of my missions are black ops…the type-of-classified missions that end up being redacted in ‘eyes-only’ files, and are only discussed in The Pentagon and the Situation Room inside the White House. For all intents and purposes, I’ve steered Pop into thinking I’m just another soldier fighting the frontlines of this war against terror. The less he knows, the lesser the risk of compromising his, and my mother’s safety.

  War has already arrived to the U.S. 9/11 was only the beginning… Every day sleeper cells are recruiting weak-minded Americans and turning them into enemy combatants and terrorists. So, not only are our men and women fighting against religious and political oppression overseas, we’re combating them here on American soil…in “the land of the free”.

  “I’ll be right back,” I chirp to my parents reassuringly, their eyes watching me intently. Surely they’ve grown weary over the years, dreading the sight of government vehicles pulling up to their house to deliver news about me, or worse, announcing my death. My mom sighs heavily, so I turn on my heel and wrap her in my arms hugging her tightly. “It’s okay, Mom, nothing’s wrong.”

  Pop nods again, but this time he pulls her into his side and kisses her temple soothingly. “Go on, Natalia, you can’t keep them waiting out there.” I return his nod and open the squeaky screen door leading towards the wrap-around porch of the rickety cabin.

  Taking a deep breath I cross the threshold, jogging down the steps, taking two at a time. I land onto the gravel walkway and approach the officer standing guard by the parked sedans.

  “Staff Sergeant Caballero,” he salutes upon my arrival.

  “At ease,” I reply, saluting him back. I bend at the waist to peer through the tinted windows of the Crown Vic. “To what do I owe this visit?” I mutter to the officer, and then straighten my stance to wait for a response. The passenger side door opens, and my jaw drops when I see Captain Lizardi step out. My appearance leaves much to be desired; I’ve spent my morning hunting with Pop… My hair is a ball of frizz, and my clothes and shoes are scuffed and riddled with dried-up clay and mud. I’m not in dress blues or fatigues, but there’s a high-ranking officer on my property, so I can’t dwell on my haggard appearance. Whatever brought him here, it must be urgent.

  “Captain, sir,” I salute. My mind is scrambling for something to say, but I come up empty handed. I stand in silence waiting for him to speak.

  “At ease, Sergeant.” Captain Lizardi removes his hat and eyes me curiously. A muted smile adorns his thin lips. “Deer or elk?” His voice is quizzical yet firm—very characteristic of a man of his stature.

  “Pheasant, sir.”

  “Ah, I see. You never told me you enjoyed hunting, Caballero. Color me shocked…wait. No…Pleased.”

  It’s a jarring contrast to see how my manners change in front of a higher ranking officer, or when I’m on base, or during a mission. Yet, it comes as second nature regardless if I’m in the comfort of my home while wearing hunting khakis and a plaid shirt.

  “Yes, sir. It’s something my father taught me as a young girl.” I take two steps back and look into Cap’s eyes. “Permission to speak freely.”

  Captain Lizardi smiles, his crisp azure eyes boring into my own dark ones. “Granted. You are on-leave after all, Natalia.”

  I sigh in relief. “What brings you to my family’s cabin, sir?”

  Cap isn’t one for formalities, something I like and respect about him. There’s no beating around the bush, and if he’s here, it’s for a reason…a damn good one. “Nat, chalk three requires your special talents—a recovery mission in Iraq. It’s a matter of political diplomacy not sanctioned by The Pentagon.”

  My gaze falls to the dirt below my feet. Not sanctioned. This is a risky mission where the odds of coming back alive are less than ten percent… and in Iraq of all places. Tensions have been rising with the increase of troops securing the U.S. embassy and nearby military installations. It’s a danger zone.

  I plunge my hands deep into my pockets, and exhale louder than intended. Cap didn’t come all the way up here to ask. He came here on behalf of command. I can’t say no. It’s my job and my duty to my country.

  He sighs, prompting me to make eye contact. His eyes soften apologetically. “Listen…I know I’m asking for a lot here, Nat. You’ve been going non-stop in and out of the Middle East, and going back into enemy territory so quickly is a tall order, even for the likes of me…”

  I remove my hands from my pockets and straighten my spine. “It would be an honor to serve my country once again, sir,” I affirm, raising my hand and saluting my commanding officer.

  He clicks his heels and returns my salute. “There’s a C-130 leaving Fort Bragg tomorrow at twelve hundred hours. You’ll fly commercial out of Syracuse tonight.” He retrieves an envelope from the slant pocket of his dress blues. “Here’s your flight paperwork. The chalk lieutenant will brief you upon your arrival to Ramadi.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Cap moves to open the door of the sedan. Before stepping foot into it, he turns and says, “Be safe over there, Nat.” I nod, and he smiles. I watch in silence as he closes the door. The engine turns on both sedans and they drive away down the gravel path leaving a cloud of dust and leaves in their wake.

  “The hawk will drop you off on Targus. Your orders are to locate the asset, bring him to the extraction point, and wait for the helo. No more, no less,” Lieutenant Sherman “Skip” Cooper asseverates, standing in front of the projector in the briefing room with the other members of my chalk. He’s our ground operations commander, and rumor has it he has zero tolerance for mistakes. Whoever the asset is, he must be of value to the U.S.; we are breaching protocol with this mission. There’s no denying I’m curious. Who the hell is he, and why are we doing this?

  LIEUT Cooper glances my way, snapping me out of my reverie. “Staff Sergeant Caballero, you will deploy system Comms as soon as the primary objective is complete.”

  “Affirmative, Sir.”

  “Do you have any questions?” he asks, surveying the room. When no one responds, he shouts, “Dismissed. Hooah.”

  “Hooah!” the platoon replies in unison.

  I gather my notebook and place a beret over my head, making sure to tuck in a couple loose tendrils of dark hair back into my bun. As I walk back towards my barrack, I think about the mission. My biggest concern is I’m a weapons sergeant…I don’t understand why LIEUT Cooper assigned me to Comms. Don’t get me wrong, I have experience in the field, but I’m better at going behind enemy lines with a mini arsenal of weapons, and strategizing. The more I think about it, something isn’t settling well with me. Maybe this is why Cap sent me in…Perhaps he has reservations of his own about this mission? I don’t know…

  I climb into my bunk praying for a night of restful sleep. I wouldn’t say it’s entirely comforting dozing in a warzone, but it’s easier to get shut-eye here than at home. After having slept on a government issued mattress for eight years, sometimes for months at a time, I welcome the worse-for-wear bed. As crazy as it sounds, it’s more comfortable than the expensive one I have back home—that one’s too damn soft.
Sometimes I find myself camping on the rug beside my bed with my trusty combat pistol, a Beretta M9, right next to my pillow. Some habits die hard.

  In the distance I hear gunfire and explosions…I close my eyes and think about the cabin, focusing on the sounds of the forest, birds chirping, and the whispers of the wind. I think about Pop and Mom…if they’re happy and okay. Our job is far from easy, but it’s harder on them than it is on us. We’re highly trained individuals, and while we witness horrible acts—it is war after all—the stress and worry they carry on their shoulders, waiting patiently for our return is of unfathomable proportions. I pray for my folks, for my safe return…for peace, as naïve as that sounds.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The sharp hiss of a bullet buzzing past my left ear instinctively makes me drop down to the ground. I roll around to lie against my back in order to survey the clay and brick buildings lining the streets closest to us.

  “Eyes!” I call out, rolling onto my stomach, and peering through the scope of my rifle. I look frantically, searching the rooftops and windows for the sniper who fired on us, but I come up empty handed. “Thompson, eyes!” I repeat, but he doesn’t answer. I cast a sideways glance and find Thompson lying on his back with his eyes wide open, but absent of life.

  I scramble towards him, and extend my index and middle fingers to his neck feeling for a pulse. “Damn it, Thompson!” I huff in frustration, feeling saddened for his unexpected loss in combat. But this is war. Life is seldom guaranteed, and as the popular saying goes, “tomorrow is never promised.” Being things as they are, all I can do is call command to ask for a recovery and have a team collect him, but I can’t leave his body here at the mercy of insurgents. I sling my rifle over my chest, and pick him up, draping his lifeless body over my back. He’s so heavy; I can barely walk without tumbling forward. Bullets continue to zip past us, some hitting him and others missing me. I haul ass out of there forgetting the burning pain that carrying him brings.

  To my right I see an abandoned building, and kick my way through the rotted wooden door. There’s a large surface that resembles a pool table, so I unload Thompson gingerly onto it. I’m covered with his blood; a mixture of sand and gravel crusted on my camo fatigues and cream-colored combat boots. The radio strapped to Thompson’s chest squawks. “Thompson. Status report. Have you entered the compound?” I scramble to answer.

  “That is a negative, sir. Thompson is down, I repeat, Thompson is down.” My voice breaks over the communicator. I have been in battle more than I care to admit, but I’ve never lost a chalkie under my watch, and I can’t help but feel a sense of responsibility. I battle the urge to cry because I have a mission to complete, with Thompson, or not.

  “Activate the locator, Caballero. You are clear to engage. We have lost all contact with Chalks Two and Three. Carry on with the primary objective. Acknowledge.”

  I look at the radio in my hand in disbelief. This is a suicide mission. All kinds of thoughts inundate my mind. Did they send me out here to die? What in the ever-loving hell! I believe this target extraction should be aborted until we can surpass insurgent lines with minimal loss of life. But the military doesn’t pay me for my opinion. I’m here to do a job and whether I like it or not, I have to follow orders.

  “Affirmative, Sparrow Leader. Proceeding.” The knot in my throat slowly unravels. The moment I put the radio down I know it’s quite possible I won’t live to see another sunrise, listen to the sway of the tree branches with each gentle breeze. I close my eyes and elevate a prayer. I don’t know what my mission is, God. If I was sent here to die, please let it be a gentle death.

  I open my eyes and focus on my breathing, taking deep breaths and exhaling the air from my lungs rather shakily. Raising my rifle I check the clip and add more ammo, and then search Thompson’s pockets for his. “Sorry, Thompson, I hate to leave you here like this. You deserve better. I’ve activated your beacon so the recovery chalk will come and get you…” I kiss his forehead and chant a Patriot’s Prayer.

  “Lord, make me fast and accurate. Let my aim be true and my hand faster than those who seek to destroy me. Grant me victory over my foes and those that wish to do harm to me and mine. Let my last thought not be, ‘If I only had a gun.’ And Lord, if today is truly the day that you call me home, let me die in a pile of empty brass.”

  I hear the rattling and booming sounds of gunfire and explosives in the distance. The air is thick with gunpowder and fiery smoke—my nostrils are coated with what I can only describe as the scent of war. Bullets zip past me left and right as I zigzag my way through the desolate streets. My feet are tired and my breaths heaved, but the will to stay alive keeps me upright. Up ahead I see the gates that lead into the compound, and with each step my heart thuds. I don’t know what to expect, or how many foes I’ll encounter—the objective is simple, but the cost is too damn high.

  I sprint past the gate and hide behind a large column made of cinder blocks. My chest rises and falls as I stop to take a breath. To my left I see children playing in a sandy lot like there isn’t a war waging outside the confines of the compound—it’s another day…business as usual. A small boy takes a few steps backwards, no doubt confused by my sudden presence, and then, as if spooked, he runs and yells for his mother in Arabic. I raise my rifle, praying to God I don’t have to open fire against civilians, let alone women and children. The other children scatter as I scurry my way deeper into the compound.

  From my waistband I retrieve a smoke bomb, and without a moment’s hesitation, I throw it through an open window. In seconds, women and children scatter from the building, fleeing from the horrible smell. I take a deep breath and enter, slowly and measuredly, scanning each room and clearing. My boots scrape against the cinder block staircase, and with each step I take I can feel the buzz of adrenaline going up and down my spine. I know it will be any minute now before someone opens fire. As I climb the staircase, time slows down—I can hear my heart beating inside my ears as if in slow motion.

  Zip. Pop. Zip. Pop. I gasp when two bullets meet my torso and shoulder—my body doubles over involuntarily. My lungs are devoid of air; it’s as if all the oxygen was vacuum-sealed from them. I fall backwards down the stairs—rifle and all—and land against the wall with a loud thud. Through hooded eyes I see the shadow of what appears to be a man approaching me, and without second-guessing my next move, I press on the trigger with all of my might and open fire. If I’m going to die right this second I’m dragging this bastard down to the fiery pits of hell with me.

  CHAPTER THREE

  My hands brush against the tall blades of grass in the meadow. The air is soft and there’s almost a sweet taste to it. I laugh to myself wondering if I made it to heaven, or if it was all just a dream. I see Mom and Dad at a distance, and I rise from where I’m sitting and run happily towards them. They are hugging each other tightly, and as I get closer, I see rivers of tears streaming down both their faces. I halt my stride and call to them.

  “Mom! Dad! I’m home!” I shout with glee, but they can’t hear me. I run—this time faster—and when I’m right in front of them, I call again. “Mom, Dad…it’s me! I’m home!” They don’t react…it’s like they can’t see me at all. Weird. “Mom? Dad?”

  “She’s gone…our ba–baby…she’s gone,” I hear my mother whimper into my father’s loving embrace.

  He holds her and my heart breaks when I hear him speak. “She died for her country. She did what she had to do. She made us proud.”

  They’re crying because I died? But I’m not dead! I’m right here. What the hell!

  “Mom! Dad! I’m here…can’t you see? I’m standing here!”

  “Wake up, soldier, wake up.”

  “Just a second,” I mumble to no one in particular.

  “Soldier, wake up.”

  My eyes flutter open, and a loud, choked gasp leaves my throat. “Mom! Dad!” I try to sit up, but the pain is overwhelming. Two strong hands push my shoulders back onto the bed. I swallow my discom
fort, and react out of pure instinct. I raise my hands and wrap them around the shadow’s neck. I squeeze with all of my might, but I’m not strong enough. He head-butts me and I fall back on the bed, my hands falling limply to my sides. Tears blind my vision, and without much fight, I surrender.

  “Jesus Christ, Caballero! You almost killed me!” The shadow exclaims. His voice is warm and tender, with a southern flair to it. Years of training have taught me to be a good judge of character, and from the get-go I perceive this person, whoever he is, is a friendly. I try to speak, but my throat is dry.

  “Wa–water, p–ple-please.”

  “You’ve been shot twice. We took a bullet out of your shoulder, and the other made an entry and exit wound through your armpit. A couple of inches lower and you’d be dead. You’re lucky to be alive, ma’am.”

  “Wh–where am I?”

  “Camp Blue Diamond, ma’am.” In his hand is a small cup of water with a straw. Bringing it to my lips, he smiles. “You are safe. Just drink and rest. Don’t worry about anything else.”

  My mind is nothing but garbled mush. I try to think back to the events that led me to this makeshift clinic, and flat on my goddamn back. I huff and clamp the straw between my parched lips. Little by little I swallow, but it doesn’t go down without pain. When it becomes unbearable, I tilt my head back and shake my head, signaling him that I don’t want more. He nods and places the cup back on the cabinet beside my gurney.