A Fallen Hero

by Sharon Kimbra Walsh

  “You know exactly what I mean. Don’t play games with me, Joe. I’m too tired at the moment to take any bullshit, even from you. I want some answers about what the hell you’re doing back out here,” Katie responded.

  Joe stared at her and remained silent.

  Please, Katie…I love you, but please…

  “Let me remind you of what you’ve done, as you seem to be finding it so difficult to remember,” Katie continued. “We are married and we have a daughter. You have parents who are sitting at home worrying themselves sick at your absence. You left in the middle of the night, leaving us letters saying that you had issues that needed resolving. You told us nothing, Joe. You made plans, and you slunk away without so much as a goodbye. What the hell is so bloody important that you could do all that?”

  Joe felt as though a metal vice was encircling his head and tightening, millimeter by millimeter. His chest ached with tension and he suddenly found that he was struggling to draw air into his lungs. The irritation was quickly turning to anger, the flight or fight mode—inherent in every human—taking hold as he was backed into a corner.

  You’ll regret it, Katie, a small voice, almost pathetic in its pleading, sounded inside his mind. I’ll come out fighting.

  “I told you once and I’ll tell you again,” he suddenly answered. “I don’t want to talk about it. Cut me some fucking slack, will you?”

  “You’re going to have to talk about it, Joe,” Katie continued. “Do you honestly think that what you’ve done or what you’re doing is…normal?”

  Katie’s voice was softer but Joe’s arms dropped down to his sides, fists clenching as the embers of his anger flared brighter and rational thought began to dissipate, replaced by the only defense mechanism he had left in the throes of his emotional conflict.

  He gritted his teeth. “There’s nothing wrong with me, Katie,” he snapped. “I have to sort this out myself. I don’t need you banging on at me all the time because you’re just making things fucking worse.”

  As he finished speaking, Joe realized he had involuntarily thrust his head forward in an aggressive manner.

  Back off, Katie. For God’s sake, back off. Back off!

  “You need to get a grip, Joe,” Katie continued. “What are the issues that you say need resolving? Is it something that happened to you when you were captured?”

  Agitated with her questioning, Joe put his clenched fists on his hips.

  I need to get out of here. Get out of here. Out. Of. Here.

  The words sounded like gibberish in his mind.

  “Leave it,” he suddenly ordered, a helpless feeling that he was losing his grip on reality nearly overwhelming him.

  “Joe…” Katie began again.

  Without being able to stop himself, Joe lunged toward her.

  “I said, fucking leave it, for God’s sake!”

  He heard the words with the small part of him that was still rational, spat with such hate and fury that he was suddenly terrified.

  Joe stopped his forward motion as Katie staggered back from him. He saw the terrified expression on her face and realized what he had been about to do. A sick feeling of horror welled up inside him.

  Fucking hell. I was about to…

  “Oh, my God, Katie,” he began.

  At that moment, someone came through the open door and as both Katie and Joe turned, they saw Sergeant Eastman standing staring at them, a look of annoyance on his face.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” he asked, looking from one to the other.

  Both Katie and Joe remained silent and when he received no response, Louis Eastman strode toward them. He turned to Joe.

  “This has got to stop, buddy,” he announced. “You are seriously jeopardizing this patrol and the men. Whatever the issues you have between you, get them sorted or fucking put them away until we get back to base. I shit you not, pal. I will get you taken back. You are showing all the signs of not being able to command crap. Give me one more excuse to call base and get you removed.”

  At his final word, a heavy silence fell and he and Joe glared at each other, any friendship they had once shared forgotten at that moment.

  Joe shifted his gaze to Katie then back to his sergeant.

  “Fuck you both,” he spat, his tone full of hostility. He thrust his way past his sergeant, and strode toward the door, forcing his way through the gap and disappearing.

  At his leaving, Katie felt her legs sag and she staggered, feeling tired, both mentally and physically. Putting a trembling hand to her forehead she murmured, “Jesus.”

  Sergeant Eastman touched her arm. “Are you okay, Katie?” he asked.

  “Yes, but for a minute before you arrived…”

  Katie’s voice trailed off into silence, then she said with a note of desperation in her voice, “Louis, I’m so afraid that something is wrong with Joe.”

  Louis’ hand dropped from her arm and he nodded. “Yeah, I know,” he agreed. “I noticed there was something up as soon as he arrived in country.”

  “Do you have any idea what happened to him when he was captured?” Katie asked hopefully.

  Louis shook his head. “Nope. He’s never spoken about it. Whenever I brought the subject up? Well, he turned into someone I didn’t recognize.”

  “Oh, God,” Katie murmured. “I don’t know what to do. He needs medical treatment—counseling—but I can’t make him listen. Louis, aside from the death of his men, I think something terrible happened to him on his last deployment and I think he might have developed PTSD as a result. I’m not a doctor or a psychiatrist but I did a course on it during my training so I know a little about it. He has all the signs and symptoms. He won’t admit it though and until he does, nobody can help him. I think he’s out here to seek some sort of revenge.”

  Louis Eastman nodded in agreement. “My thoughts also,” he replied. “God help him. Look, I’m not about to report the poor son of a bitch. All I can do is keep an eye on him and cover up his mistakes. By rights, I should get on the radio and get him medevacked out of here as a psych case, but I can’t do it. He’s a good man, one of the best, and at the moment, the men respect and trust him. He’s just gone off the rails a bit. You need to do your bit, Katie. Keep an eye on him, and try to get him to open up about what happened. That’ll be the first step in making him admit that something is wrong. Now, we have to get out of here otherwise there’ll be more shit happening.”

  Katie nodded, feeling only slightly relieved that Louis Eastman was going to help her with Joe. She followed him out of the room into the harsh sunlight and, in silence, they retraced the path back to the hole in the wall and through that into the courtyard.

  Sergeant Eastman went to join Joe, leaving Katie to go to her lean-to, to retrieve her pack. Collecting it, she turned to search the area, found who she was looking for and walked over to Private Bradley. He glanced up as she approached and gave her a small nod.

  “Private Bradley,” she began, “how’s your foot?”

  “It’s doing good, ma’am,” the young marine answered.

  “I need to take another look at it,” Katie continued briskly. “Remove your boot and sock.”

  She knelt down on the hard ground and while Private Bradley unlaced his boot, removed it then took off his sock, Katie withdrew the medical equipment she would need and laid it out on the ground. As before, she dusted the private’s sock then turned her attention to the injury. She unwound the surgical tape, removed the dressing and lifted the marine’s ankle so that she could take a good look at the blister. It was healing well and Katie glanced at the young man.

  “It’s looking good,” she commented. “Now, you still need to keep a dressing on it. If it hurts, I’ll pad out your heel again so it won’t rub. Is that all right?”

  Private Bradley nodded and Katie proceeded to put another clean dressing on the blister, padding it out slightly, and she wound a length of surgical tape around the ankle. Having finished, she got to her feet.

&nbs
p; “Remember,” she reiterated. “If you get any pain when walking, come and see me.” She offered him a smile then turned and walked slowly back to her lean-to.

  Almost asleep on her feet, she slipped the strap of her weapon from her shoulder and propped it against the side of the building. Sinking to her knees, she crawled beneath the canopy. It was only marginally cooler there but she didn’t care.

  By now, feeling completely exhausted, lightheaded and sick, she took off her helmet and lay down, resting her head on her pack. It didn’t matter that parts of it dug into the skin of her face and were full of lumps and bumps. Groaning softly, she closed her eyes and instantly fell asleep.

  Chapter Nine

  An hour later, following the briefing, Joe decided that it was time to check out the men on watch at the wall and obtain updated reports from them. He also secretly wanted to see Katie. He had watched her lie down and was aware that she was probably asleep because she hadn’t moved in some time.

  He walked up the compound and as he neared Katie’s lean-to, he slowed his pace, still glancing around the courtyard as though he was inspecting security. His anger had gone as quickly as it had occurred, leaving behind an emptiness inside him that made him feel physically sick.

  His gaze turned to where Katie was lying and he felt a terrible longing to crawl beneath the awning and cuddle up beside her. He saw the peaceful look on her face, the way she had curled into fetal position and her usual sleeping pose with one small fist thrust underneath her chin.

  A part of him wanted to say to hell with the obsession that was eating away at him, to admit to Katie that he felt as if the anger burning inside was spiraling out of control and he would end up doing something he would regret. He was confused—felt as though elements of his life were disintegrating and he could do nothing about it.

  Subconsciously, he knew that his wife and Sergeant Eastman were perfectly correct in their assumption that the death of his men and his capture on his last tour had deeply disturbed him and that he did indeed require psychiatric counseling, but to admit to this consciously and to actively seek help went totally against his pride and dignity.

  Joe continued walking on past his wife, struggling to strengthen his resolve and draw on his remaining inner strength to continue—rightly or wrongly—with what he had come out to Afghanistan to do.

  Hastening through the gap in the wall out to where members of his squad were keeping watch, he then climbed up onto the ledge and walked along it, talking to his men, making sure that they had ample water and ammunition. At one point, he stopped and leaned on the rough wall, raising his small binoculars to look out onto the panoramic vista of the desert in all its dry, arid glory.

  The sun was beginning to lower itself on the horizon now that it was early afternoon, the harsh, searing rays decreasing in intensity. The sky was pale gold, turning the ochre and dun colors of the barren desert into a shifting miasma of warm tones. Lone scrubby trees stood outlined against the horizon and there was a marked absence of human and animal movement, a good thing for Charlie patrol.

  Finishing his survey of the area, Joe lowered his binoculars and rested his elbows on the wall. Still looking out onto the surrounding landscape, his mind again drifted away from the task at hand and he saw Katie’s face superimposed on the golden horizon like a mirage.

  He tipped his helmet back onto his head and closed his eyes, feeling weary and heartsick. For the first time in his life, he felt isolated and alone—set apart from his men—some of whom he had known on past tours, particularly Louis Eastman. He felt like everything that he had ever been as a man was crumbling into ruins.

  Joe opened his eyes, bowed his head and focused on the pitted and gouged sand-colored stone of the wall. He ached inside for his wife—for what they had once had. He grieved for himself and for his dead men and he blamed himself entirely for their deaths.

  Joe ran a hand across his face. The trigger in his mind—something that prevented him from delving too deeply into his memories—snapped the mental shield back into place, and he was catapulted back from his thoughts to reality. Jumping down from the wall, he continued his methodical and intensive patrol around the outer wall until once more he arrived back at the gap leading into the courtyard.

  Stepping through, he began to walk back to where he had left his equipment, wanting to check in with the base for any change in Intel. As he approached Katie’s lean-to, he saw that she was awake and that she wasn’t alone. He recognized Corporal Reed as her companion and noted that the two were conversing intently. He saw that Katie was smiling at the young marine and Joe was instantly and irrationally angry and jealous. Eyes narrowing, lips thinning, he paced past his wife, his stride like that of a lion who has sighted prey. As he passed, his gaze never strayed from Katie, interpreting the expression on her face as interest and animation for the young marine with her.

  He noticed Corporal Reed glance at him and nod a greeting, which he ignored, then saw Katie finally notice him. The look of undisguised fear on her face made him experience a rush of satisfaction, which turned quickly into a sick guilt at the content of his thoughts.

  What the fuck is happening to me?

  Joe hastily turned his face away and went on his way back to the radio, trying to get a grip on his feelings. He felt as though he was drowning—suffocating with anger and confusion. To someone who had always had his life strictly under control and had never suffered any conflict while out in the field, his situation now felt like a nightmare.

  Reaching the radio, he sat down and picked up the handset. Pressing the button, he uttered his call sign and password, then spoke at length with his squad leader at Base Independence. After receiving the updated Intel, he ended the transmission and turned to Sergeant Eastman.

  For a moment, the two men stared at each other then Joe said casually, “Son of a bitch! We’ve got trouble.”

  Louis Eastman raised a questioning eyebrow. “Yeah?” he responded just as casually.

  “Intel says that the satcam has spotted hostiles heading our way—about a dozen of ‘em. They’re a couple of clicks away for now but we need to move out damn quick. Our orders are to avoid contact. Our primary mission objective remains the main compound. Get the men grouped for a briefing, Sergeant.”

  Sergeant Eastman nodded, got up and strode away. Reaching the center of the compound, he stopped.

  “Okay, gentlemen and lady,” he said in a loud voice, glancing in Katie’s direction. “Get yourselves over to the Staff Sergeant for a briefing.” At his final word he turned on his heel and went back to join Joe.

  Those marines who had been sleeping—now having been nudged awake—rose to their feet, darting surreptitious, puzzled glances at each other. Normal procedure was a briefing directly before they moved out on the evening patrol, not some hours preceding it. They realized that it now appeared there might be a problem looming on the horizon.

  Chapter Ten

  Joe frowned at the meandering approach of the marines.

  “Move your asses,” he yelled out, his voice hard. “This isn’t a goddamn fucking tea party.”

  The men responded to the order by quickening their pace and gathered around their staff sergeant and sergeant in a half circle, serious and quiet now as they sensed that they were about to be told something that they might not want to hear. Katie and Dan joined the end of the group and waited patiently.

  Joe cleared his throat, immediately aware of Katie’s presence and avoiding looking directly at her, said, “Okay, Marines. Intel has advised that a group of hostiles are heading this way…”

  Swear words and questions immediately hurtled his way, effectively cutting off the rest of his sentence.

  “Let’s have some hush for the Staff Sergeant, shall we?” Sergeant Eastman shouted and there was immediate silence.

  “The enemy is about two clicks distant—for now,” Joe continued. “We’ve been ordered to avoid contact with them. Our primary objective remains the Taliban compound. We need
to move out…now. After leaving this compound, the patrol will be out in the open with no cover except a tree line a click from here. In other words, ladies, we will have our balls hanging out in the wind. We will move in teams of four, the first team as fire team one. You’ve done it before so you know the drill. Corporal Anderson.”

  He turned to face Katie, finally focusing his gaze on her.

  “You’ll move out in the second group of four, fire team two.”

  He turned back to the squad. “I cannot emphasize enough the need to stay focused, stay alert. Concentrate on where you put your feet and on your fields of fire. The EOD team has already been here on a sweep and IEDs and mines have been removed or detonated but that doesn’t mean to say that the bastards haven’t been back and planted more. You have ten to get your equipment ready and your asses over to that hole in the wall. Get moving, Marines. Dismissed.”

  “Oorah, Staff Sergeant.”

  The marines chanted the inevitable mantra and scattered back to their shelters. Without wasting any time, they quickly began packing away their equipment.

  Katie hurried back to her own lean-to, swiftly began to fold it away, then checked to make sure that the most important items in her rucksack were easily accessible.

  She hastily retied her boots then thrust her arms through her pack’s webbing. Lastly she pulled on her combat gloves then picked up her weapon.

  She felt the weariness in her body, the heat, stiffness and aches and pains in her legs that, despite her rigorous training sessions, were unused to the long march and the rough sleeping arrangements. She was ashamed to admit to herself that she was finding the patrol tough but she wouldn’t give up or let something beat her, so she straightened her shoulders and moved off to join the rest of the squad, making their way toward the mustering point.

  As she reached the men, Katie became aware of the heavy silence among them. There was a marked absence of the loud jocular humor that had been prevalent for the better part of the day. About to enter into a situation where their lives depended on their focus and concentration, each man had taken on a different persona. The hot air seemed to tingle with emotional pressure and an aura of restlessness indicated each marine was clearly aware of what could happen once they left the confines of the compound but they were eager to get moving, despite the danger.