Today We Go Home

by Kelli Estes

  Tears streamed down her face and terror filled her eyes, but what really got Larkin were the purple bruises and cuts on her face and arms. She’d been beaten, and now she was being forced to die. Larkin didn’t believe for a second that the girl was doing this by choice.

  Larkin stepped into the street.

  “Anahita,” she called, signaling to the others to hold their fire. Slowly, she took one step and then another toward the terrified girl. “Anahita, let me help you.”

  Anahita saw Larkin, and her eyes widened even further. She stopped walking and turned her head to the left, down a side street. Larkin hoped the ANP officers noticed and would be heading that way, though she didn’t take her eyes off Anahita to check. “What is this about?” Larkin called to her.

  Anahita’s terrified blue eyes turned toward Larkin again. Only a hundred yards separated them. Anahita took a shallow breath before replying, “My husband beat me for talking to a khareji in the market.”

  Larkin gasped for air, feeling like her lungs were sealed shut.

  The girl was still talking. “I ran away from my husband and returned to my family’s home, but my father sent me back. My husband beat me again and turned me out of his house. I returned to my father in shame. This is the only way for my family to regain honor.”

  This was Anahita’s father’s doing. An honor killing. Larkin had to save her.

  Thinking through all of her training, Larkin searched for the right way to safely end this. Slowly, she took a step forward. Larkin was not trained in ordnance disposal, and she knew she was supposed to remain behind a barricade for her own safety and wait for the explosive ordnance disposal guys to take care of it. But there was no time to wait for them. Anahita’s father could detonate the bomb at any moment.

  That left one last option. She should take out the threat to minimize collateral damage. She should take out Anahita. Keep the bomb stationary and everyone else away from it.

  But the girl was innocent. And she was Larkin’s friend. It was because of Larkin that she was punished in the first place. There had to be a way to save her.

  “Anahita,” Larkin said, keeping her voice low and calm. “Can you remove the vest?”

  The girl shook her head, fear pouring off her in waves. Her eyes begged Larkin for help.

  “Do you have the detonator?” Larkin knew she didn’t, but she asked anyway, both to be sure and to keep Anahita talking so she didn’t succumb to panic.

  Again, she shook her head, and a lock of auburn hair fell into her eyes. Her gaze slid to her left again. Somewhere over there her father had his hand on the button. Sweat rolled down Larkin’s back.

  “Bennett, take cover!”

  Larkin was shocked to hear Sarah’s voice so close to her. She turned and found Sarah kneeling behind a parked car only feet away, her M4 aimed at Anahita. “Hold your fire,” Larkin ordered.

  Sarah didn’t lower her weapon, nor did she say another word. She simply got to her feet and moved toward Larkin. Before Larkin realized what Sarah was doing, she grabbed her arm and yanked Larkin back behind the car. Only then did she say, “Take cover, goddamn it!”

  Neither had the chance to do or say anything else. The bomb detonated.

  A solid wall of energy slammed into Larkin, throwing her to the ground. Pain ripped through her whole body. All sound ceased as her eardrums ruptured. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was Sarah landing on the gray ground beside her, her helmet missing and blood pouring from a gash on her head. Her eyes stared at Larkin sightlessly.

  After that, Larkin was happy to close her own eyes and let go.

  * * *

  Larkin blinked and came out of the memory, surprised to find herself in her bedroom at Grams’s house. Kaia was using the sleeves of her pajamas to wipe at her blotchy, wet face.

  Grams was crying, too, and she had a tissue pressed to her mouth. She met Larkin’s gaze and dropped her hand. Wordlessly, she slid under the covers with Larkin and wrapped her arm around her. “I’m proud of you, soldier girl,” she said, planting a kiss on Larkin’s temple. “You did the best you could.”

  “I should have done something different,” Larkin argued, still holding her body stiffly, afraid to melt into Grams’s embrace. “Because of me, Anahita died, Sarah died, two ANP died. If I hadn’t talked with Anahita that day in the market, they would all be alive. If I’d listened to the cultural experts, if I’d alerted my chain of command, if I had done my job as I was trained, lives wouldn’t have been lost. If I had done something, anything, to help Anahita out of her situation, maybe even she could have been saved.”

  “You can’t think like that, sweetheart.”

  “I can,” she insisted. “I have to. I caused their deaths. I am to blame.”

  Kaia crawled to Larkin’s other side. She grabbed her hand and held it between both of her own. “No, you’re not, Larkin. You did not detonate that bomb. You didn’t kill anyone.”

  Larkin shook her head. Her therapist, doctors, and officers had all told her the same things, but none of them had been there. They did not know.

  She was exhausted. After several long moments of telling Grams and Kaia she was fine and wanted to sleep, they finally believed her.

  “Want me to sleep with you tonight?” Grams offered.

  “Thanks, but no. I’ll be okay.”

  Grams didn’t seem to believe her, but she gave in and left with another lingering hug. Kaia hugged her, too, and whispered, “You are my hero, Larkin. You are so brave.”

  Larkin didn’t respond.

  When they were finally gone, she released a breath and tried to relax, but it was clear from the adrenaline still running through her body that she wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.

  Her phone pinged and she grabbed it, hungry for something else to think about.

  It was a message from Zach Faber, confirming he was Sarah’s brother and he really wanted to talk to Larkin. He gave her his phone number.

  Larkin shut her phone in the bedside drawer. She couldn’t look at it right now. She couldn’t think about Zach, or Sarah, or Anahita, or any of it. She picked up the diary lying on her nightstand and dove back into that world, hungry for an escape from her own.

  October 24, 1861: My body is growing stronger (although leaner) as is my confidence. With the men, I can speak my mind and no one tells me to be quiet or to leave them be. I find I am developing opinions and thoughts I never had the freedom to form before now. I did not realize what I was missing, and now that I have experienced others seeing me as an equal, I do not know how I will ever give that up.

  I’ve quickly grown used to my daily schedule being marked by the bugle and drums, and I quite enjoy it. What will I ever do after the war ends when no one is there to play me awake, to supper, and to sleep?

  October 28, 1861: We received news today that the first transcontinental telegram was sent from San Francisco to Washington. Isn’t that something? There are also rumors in camp that the area where we are located, here on Cheat Mountain in western Virginia, will soon become part of a new state. The residents in these parts are voting to break off of the Confederate state of Virginia and become West Virginia. Surely this war will be over before it is official, but either way, I’m happy to know the Union will be one state stronger soon.

  I am worried about Benjamin and his friendship with our fellow soldier, Willie Smith. Perhaps I’m only being selfish and don’t want to share my brother with a new friend.

  Tonight, I will stand picket duty for the first time. If the enemy, or any other threat, appears, it is my duty to sound the alarm. Like any man, I am ready for this responsibility of protecting the lives of my fellow soldiers. And yet, I cannot help but hope it is a quiet night.

  October 29, 1861: I’ve discovered that Ben’s friend Willie Smith is a stand-up kind of man. I can see why Benjamin has chosen him as a friend
. I think he and I will become friends as well. After all, soldiering can be lonely and one never has enough friends.

  Chapter Twelve

  October 28, 1861: Union Army Camp, Cheat Mountain, Western Virginia

  Fifteen days had passed since she’d seen the Reb in the woods, and Emily could not stop thinking about him. She’d made a mistake by not reporting having seen him to her officers.

  For several nights afterward, she’d lain awake, unable to fall asleep in fear the Reb would sneak into camp and kill someone. Or worse, she feared that by not reporting his presence to her superiors, they would all be attacked and it would be her fault.

  Only now, two weeks later, was she able to relax. She couldn’t make a mistake like that again. She’d been lucky this time. Next time, she had to do better. Not because she was a woman pretending to be a man, but because she was a soldier and she needed to perform her duties to the best of her ability.

  But the Reb still haunted her. At the oddest times, such as when she stood at attention for roll call or when she was sweating over the shovel she was using to dig a new company sink, she found the man’s face floating in her vision, almost as if he were standing in front of her.

  It took coming that close to the enemy to realize they weren’t a faceless mass of evil, but real living human beings with sisters and daughters and mothers waiting at home for them. By shooting at them, she would be inflicting pain not just on the rebel soldier, but on his innocent family at home.

  Could she do that?

  But, on the other hand, were they truly innocent? It was the Southern states who’d started this war, after all. They were the ones wanting to leave the Union, and they’d fired the first shot at Fort Sumter.

  But still, women and children who had no say in politics would suffer.

  Would either side truly be able to win this war when the losses cut so deeply and intimately?

  The truth was, she reminded herself as she stuffed her diary into the bottom of her knapsack and hurried across the camp to fall in for the Retreat roll call, the Southern states were trying to tear the country apart, and it was her job to fight to keep that from happening. She had to fight. Not to kill, but to preserve.

  “Gentlemen!” Captain Johnson’s voice cut across the lines of men standing at attention, Emily among them. “We’ve had word of Confederate scouts in the area, so we are doubling the number of guards on picket duty for the foreseeable future. Company lieutenants have duty assignments and will inform you of your shift.”

  Emily felt her knees weaken at the mention of Confederate scouts. That’s what the Reb she’d seen had been doing! Of course! He’d been spying on their camp to glean information, and someone else must have seen him poking around.

  As the captain strode away, leaving the company lieutenants to address their units, she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin, ready to do her duty. First Lieutenant Mattingly took his place at the front of their company, Company D, and began reading the names assigned to the first relief, which would commence in three hours, as soon as the men were dismissed from Tattoo, the final roll call of the day. Ben’s name was called, and he shot a look of concern to Emily. She waited to hear if her name was called, and when it was not, she did her best to send Ben a look that would reassure him everything was fine. This was the first time they would be separated at night, and Emily knew Ben was worried about leaving her to fend for herself.

  Her name was called for second relief, which was from 10:30 p.m. to 12:30 a.m. While the camp slept, she’d be patrolling the perimeter in the dark with only a handful of other men and the occasional campfire for warmth and light. She was ready.

  When they were dismissed, Emily and Ben made their way back to their tent. They’d gotten started digging a foot into the ground to form the foundation of the little cabin they planned to erect. It would include a fireplace, log walls with the chinks filled with mud, and their half-shelter tents and ponchos stretched over the top as a roof. Tonight, with the knowledge they’d be standing picket duty during the night, they agreed to take a break.

  Supper call would sound soon, and to pass the time, Private O’Brien from the tent to the left of theirs got out his fiddle and started playing a lively tune. Emily moved toward her usual seat on a log by her own fire, but when Ben passed her to go sit next to Willie Smith at his fire, Emily changed course and followed. She dropped onto an empty stump across the fire from them and was surprised to hear Ben’s warm laughter fill the air. When Emily glanced over, he and Willie had their heads together, and Willie seemed to be telling him a humorous story.

  A stab of jealousy shot through Emily. Didn’t Ben care that she sat here all alone? Did he prefer his new friend’s company to that of his sister?

  Two boys across the company street, who couldn’t have been older than fourteen and certainly must have lied about their ages in order to enlist, took to dancing with each other to O’Brien’s tunes. One of them, pretending to be a woman, held imaginary skirts out to his sides and curtsied, sending everyone nearby bursting into laughter. Everyone except Ben and Willie, who seemed to be deep in conversation. Emily tried to watch the two dancing boys, but her gaze kept sliding across the fire to her brother and his new friend. When had they become so close? Where was she when this happened?

  She studied Willie Smith carefully. He seemed to be about their age, maybe a little younger since his face was still devoid of whiskers. His body was small, as were his hands, as was fitting a man not yet grown. His straight, sandy-brown hair was cut cleanly over his ears but a bit long in the front where it hung into his eyes. With thin eyebrows and thin lips, he looked pleasant enough.

  And then something strange happened. Willie leaned over and laid his hand on Ben’s arm. At first, Ben leaned into Willie as though he was eager for the touch, which confused Emily. She’d never seen two men touch each other in such a manner.

  But then Ben did something that confused her even more. His whole body grew stiff, and he jerked his arm away from Willie before jumping to his feet. His face had lost all humor, and he looked as if he was going to say something in anger, but he just pivoted and stalked away, disappearing into the dark.

  Emily watched him go and thought about going after him, but then she saw Willie looking at her, and on his face was as expression that looked like… Was it shame?

  She felt everything inside her go still. Even the noises and commotion around her seemed to disappear. The image of her brother and his new friend leaning toward each other filled her mind, quickly followed by the memory of their first night in camp when the men were joking about men having relations with other men.

  Emily squeezed her eyes shut and then forced them open again as the bugle called them to supper. The men who had been entertained by the dancing boys groaned at the interruption, but Emily welcomed it. She needed something to replace the thoughts and images in her mind.

  Grabbing her tin plate and cup, she fell in to the line of men snaking toward Cook’s shack. She could not see Ben anywhere, and she hoped he did not miss the meal. He’d need the fuel before reporting for picket duty. When it was her turn, she held her plate out to Cook for the ladleful of stew and a biscuit plopped on top. Although she knew the stew, made out of salt beef and desiccated vegetables, would not taste anywhere near as rich as the stew she made at home, she’d come to appreciate the hot meal after the long days of work. At the next large pot, another soldier filled her cup with hot coffee.

  On her way back to her campfire, she spotted Ben in the chow line and felt her muscles relax. He smiled and waved at her and seemed his normal self. Maybe she’d imagined something there that wasn’t.

  She sat back down on her log and turned all of her attention to her meal. Ben was still in line, and no one else had joined her. At Willie’s campfire, a man Emily did not recognize was telling a story of a skirmish he had been involved in during the Mexican War fourteen years
prior. He, of course, made himself out to be the hero. Emily was only half listening, but then the man said something that reminded her of a story her father used to tell.

  “We went charging straight down into that canyon where the Mexicans were hiding out.” The man had a huge smile on his face that told the gathering listeners something funny was about to happen. “Everyone else in the squadron became chickenhearted and fell onto their bellies along the rim with their weapons pointing down at us.”

  He shoved a forkful of beef into his mouth. “Wouldn’t you know it, but my friend started a’hollerin’ like there were twenty of us.” He laughed and slapped his knee. “And it worked. Those Mexican boys got so scared they seemed to be popping out of every hole in that canyon like prairie dogs intent on running. But our boys up top took care of them.”

  Emily called over to the man, “Was your friend named Calvin Wilson? From Stampers Creek, Indiana?”

  The man looked surprised. “He sure was. You know him?”

  Emily studied him. “He was my father. He was killed at Laurel Creek.”

  The man was busy sopping up gravy with his biscuit, but at Emily’s words, he paused. “I’m sorry to hear that. Come on over here, boy. Join us.”

  Emily hadn’t made any real effort to make friends, knowing that she had to be careful with everything she said or did so as not to reveal her secret. But, after watching Ben and Willie grow closer, she knew that needed to change or she’d be all alone. She picked up her coffee cup and got to her feet as Ben arrived from the chow line. “Come on, we’re joining our neighbors’ fire.”

  The others at the fire shuffled around and left them two empty stumps. Emily sat next to her father’s old friend, who introduced himself as Kurt Schafer. Ben dropped onto the stump next to Emily, causing disappointment to flash across Willie’s face. Quincy Rawlings was there, too, as was another man she didn’t recognize with red hair down to his shoulders. She nodded to him but turned back to Schafer. “I’m Jesse Wilson. This is my brother, Ben.”