by Deacon Rie
Rolling to his right in the dust filled hallway, Stephen rolled onto a spike of some sort. Responding, he flipped his body hard against the wall and his leg began to cramp from receiving a major charlie-horse. He instinctively looked toward his leg, but caught sight of a faint light further down the hallway where there might just be an exit. Painfully rising to his feet, Stephen bolted for the light amid a hail of bullets exploding into the walls around him. Not two steps into his sprint, he tripped over something and fell face first into the darkness. He reached down and his hand found flesh; it was Waters.
Mile 10
He pulled his face close to Waters and started calling out to him. The hallway echoed gunfire so loudly Stephen couldn't even hear the sound of his own voice. Waters was limp and unresponsive. He grabbed Waters by his load-bearing harness and dragged him towards the room with the light in a crouched, limped run. Stephen cut the corner to the lit hallway too close and clipped his shoulder on a large metal filing cabinet. The cabinet was industrial sized, and Stephen hitting it was like a fly ramming into a door; the door doesn't notice the fly but the fly goes spiraling out of control. It was exactly what happened to Stephen while also tripping over Waters. As he was twisting and descended past the immovable cabinet, the hallway behind him exploded from the massive shock explosion of a fragment grenade.
The concussion of the grenade collapsed ceiling tiles onto them and the seemingly impenetrable cabinet also gave way and collapsed onto its side. The ringing in his ears made everything else inaudible and Stephen could hardly see his own hand in front of his face. Looking around he saw a large object and placed his hand against it. It took a moment but his fingers felt familiar buttons and plastic trays which slid out laterally. It was a commercial printer. He looked up and saw a window too small to fit through about seven feet above his position, which was currently flat on his back. All too late, Stephen realized he wasn't in another room or new hallway but instead, he had dragged Waters into a small cove the office had used for printing supplies. He pushed Waters a few more feet to the back wall of the cove and then returned to get a view of the hallway.
Stephen positioned his legs against the wall and put all his strength to shoving the fallen cabinet into an angle for a makeshift defensive position. Pain from his leg shot through his body but his scream was muffled out by the cabinet's loud screeching as jagged metal creased through the linoleum flooring. Its slight movement provided Stephen with enough encouragement to ignore the fire he was feeling in his leg. Having only moved the cabinet about ten inches, he reasoned that the angle could actually serve to deflect incoming rounds better than the hope of resisting them. He sent a volley of gunfire throughout the hallway. His targeting was pure guesswork, and he half expected the rounds would naturally find their targets. Identifying the enemy's advances through the increased volume of their weapons, he kept firing until his magazine was empty.
The responding fire continued but after a moment the rapid pace stopped. The hallway was beginning to clear of smoke, and Stephen heard Arabic voices speaking to one other. Stephen reasoned they had realized he was pinned and they were advancing on his position. Slapping in a fresh 30 round magazine, Stephen again raised his rifle and took a deep breath before discharging the first three rounds. The hallway filled with an agonizing scream followed by angry shouts and a towering sequence of bullets pelting the walls of the cove. Stephen ducked back out of the line of fire as the unflinching cabinet deflected and absorbed the enemy's fury.
Another heavy thud hit the hallway wall just past the entrance to the cove. The forcefully thrown grenade continued rolling further down the hallway and violently exploded without endangering Stephen or Waters; but filling their protective little nook with smoke. It became clear to Stephen the insurgents would continue to advance in order to obtain an angle where they could simply lob another grenade and blow he and Waters out of the cove. Stephen leaned over the cabinet and continued firing with quick bursts into the darkness as empty shell casings leapt from the ejection port of his rifle. Then it stopped. The weapon had locked up again. Irritated and enraged, he dropped the magazine and immediately slammed it back into the rifle. He pulled back the rifle's charging handle, released it with a loud smack, tapped the forward assist button, angled the muzzle into the obstructive haze and pulled the trigger. Nothing. Stephen couldn't exhale. He pressed the button to release the magazine and pulled it from the rifle. His heart pounded through his chest with anticipation and a tingling crawled up the back of his neck as he ran his thumb over the top of the magazine where his ammunition should be. He felt the unmistakable smooth bump of the spring press which forces bullets to the top. He was empty.
Stephen's momentary shock was rudely interrupted and he quickly ducked as the insurgents continued firing into the cove. The smoky haze in the air began to clear but it served as no relief to Stephen as chaos and confusion of darkness were his only remaining defense. The peppering holes in the wall of the cove were increasing in their angle, suggesting a cautious progression by the insurgents. He didn't know if they figured out that he was out of bullets. Perhaps that awareness is what prevented them from tossing another grenade in toward the cove. Quite possibly they were concerned about the building's structural integrity or perhaps a close-range execution was simply more to their liking. Then again, there was no telling how many of their friends Stephen had killed in that hallway. They may have something far less pleasant in mind as retribution. Stephen hoped for the grenade.
Stephen pulled Waters' limp body close to himself. The gradual settling of smoke, debris and ash permitted him to look closely at Waters for the first time. Stephen's own heart was beating so fast he couldn't even get a read on Waters' pulse. He didn't know if Waters was alive or dead. At this point, it didn't matter. They would both be dead soon.
"Waters? You there? Talk to me, man!" Stephen was speaking to the dark and had a greater expectation of the wall responding than the unconscious young man lying next to him. A cold tingling recoiled through his head and spine. Despite the pain, Stephen knew the feeling came from fear. He was overcome by the sense of being at the end and being entirely by himself. While his family navigated the challenges of daily life, in the dark decimated corner on the other side of the world, he was alone.
Anxious for what was to come next he thought about his wife and daughter. A lot of guys said you shouldn't think about family when you're in a hot spot. Something about the thought of them causing a soldier to lose his nerve and screw something up. Stephen couldn't disagree more. Thinking about his family gave him a determination, strength, a focus. If there was any chance of making it out of this hallway alive, it could only be because he was thinking of them and how much he longed to hold them once more.
Staring into the flow of dust particles but looking at nothing, Stephen's thoughts drifted off to what it meant to be a husband to Sarah. He loved his wife; there was no doubt. But he couldn't communicate with her and he was certain distance had not been the only problem. Every recent conversation was tense and immediately launched into him interrogating Sarah about Hailey's health. Any other topic which happened to broach their brief chats did little more than provide revelations about something else that had broken or gone wrong and was more expensive then they could afford. His home was falling apart, metaphorically and physically, and he was too far away to do anything about it with his marriage beginning to represent the never-ending list of problems he couldn't fix. Another round thrust its way into the cove and penetrated the copy machine. The burst of shredded plastic and explosion of internal components startled Stephen.
Lying on his back, he tried to control his deep rapid breathing by closing his eyes and forcing his mind to refocus on the daydream. At the bottom of a burnt out cove, inside some old office building in a war-ravaged city, in the middle of a place he had no business being, just waiting for men he didn't even know to come and kill him, he had no choice but to be honest. He had to admit he had been unsure if Sarah was up to
the task of staying married. Being completely real with himself, he didn't know if he was either. If it wasn't for the chance to speak with his daughter, Stephen wondered if he would even call Sarah.
Hailey, on the other hand, was a purpose for his life. He longed to just lay down on the ground next to her and wait until the irresistible gravitational pull of a father's vulnerable back inevitably drew her to jump up and spring onto him. The way she would look at him; inspecting his face until suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred to her, she would plant a quick but sweet kiss on his forehead and spontaneously hug him with no intention of ever letting go.
Letting his mind drift on about Hailey, he couldn't help but worry about the likelihood of her cancer returning and the fear that her life could be cut so short from the illness. With that, so much of her life had already gone. Time was passing and he was missing it. It wasn't just time, there was an additional slight from life that fueled Stephen's frustration. Instead of the picturesque image of her running free across fields of dandelions dressed up like a princess, a large bulk of his mind's pictures of Hailey had been that of a physically and mentally exhausted little girl cloaked in a hospital gown, straining to expose that soft and tired smile. The smile that plainly revealed her submission to the routine pokes and prods of the constant testing she had to begrudgingly undergo. Stephen wondered if she even understood what was going on, and that not every young girl was made to face the trials she had to go through. He hoped not.
Hailey had become used to nurses and needles, something Stephen felt no child should have to hold a memory of. He wanted one more day with her. Something that would give him a chance to replace those memories of hospital trips with fishing trips, baseball games and daddy/daughter dances. If not a day, then maybe a morning. One morning to teach her that jelly-filled donuts really can be breakfast and that a really good joke can lead to hot cocoa blowing out your nose. If not a morning, then a minute. Just a minute to tell her how much he loved her and that he had made the biggest mistake of his life by leaving her. One single minute to tell her that he hoped she would one day forgive him, even when he knew he could never forgive himself.
But he didn't have more time, because the hallway didn't have an exit; not one that included him living long enough to walk through it at least. Trying to think of a solution he touched Waters' arm and squeezed the young man's limp bicep. "Waters!" The dryness of his throat scratched deep causing a choking sensation that made him cough through his mouth and nose while he lied to himself by talking to his unconscious friend.
"Don't worry, Waters. We got this. We're in deep but hang on just a little more." His head fell back and Stephen closed his eyes. "Just gotta figure something out. Then we go. Gotta push beyond this mess… gotta push through… to whatever's next…" Stephen's words faded before they left his mouth. Another round penetrated the cove's wall just past the copy machine and well into a range which exposed his body. The round eliminating any hope of an escape plan which Stephen could have even begun to consider. With alarming clarity, he realized that the shot was intended to test the waters of his resistance. Stephen became vividly aware of the close presence of those who would soon end his life.
Rolling onto his side, Stephen reached an arm over and pulled Waters' lifeless body tightly against him, gripping both hands around the limp hand of his friend and his responsibility. Letting gravity have its way, Stephen rested his head on the ground and let the uncomfortable helmet connect with the floor while taking a deep breath of dirt and dust. He lay there motionless with his eyes closed, waiting. Waiting for something, anything. While a spark of hope lingering deep within the hall of his soul and dared to imagine that he really waited for that fun-loving, impetuous laugh and the sudden surprise of Hailey's little body pouncing onto him the same way he used to do with his own father. He loved that despite her hindered body, she loved recklessly. Her love for him was pure and truthful.
Truthful.
The word had meaning to Stephen that he hadn't previously given it credit for. Maybe laying on the ground, out of ammunition, covered in dust and darkness while awaiting a brutal death was a good way to bring new meaning to words. But his clarity around the word was undeniable. Also undeniable, was the fact that he had not been truthful with his own wife. Was omitting the truth the same as lying? If so, then Stephen had been a liar to the one person he swore to always be truthful to. Resolved, he swore to himself that if he was given the chance to hold Sarah again, he would be truthful with her. And in that moment of truth, he would confess to her that he had lied to her about this second deployment. He would confess that in his fear and frustration with what life at home was becoming, he had run away. He had run away from both Sarah and Hailey by turning down the local desk job which the Army had so generously offered him so that he could stay close to home and his recovering family. Turned it down and instead, he had volunteered for the deployment.
You volunteered. You chose to leave them. Nobody made you do it. You volunteered.
Tears dragged ash and dirt from his eyes as he thought about how he could be home safely by their sides each evening. But instead, he had lied to his wife and chose to deploy. He had lied to his wife and in that lie; he had put himself into the situation which would now be his death.
Through burning tear ducts he whispered, "Sarah, Hailey. I'm so sorry."
Then it happened. The explosion was stronger than he had anticipated. Stephen grit his jaw and jammed his eyelids closed as the air was forcefully extracted from his lungs and a horrifying burn engulfed his entire body.
Mile 11
Stephen had asked for it, at some level he even wanted it. A grenade was certainly preferred over being left to the creativity of his vicious attackers. They were sure to overwhelm him at some point and it was better to end this nightmare quickly. But when the explosion hit, it concussed him and he suddenly had no idea what was happening. As he grasped for breath his entire body was thrown shoulder first against the wall of the cove. Waters came up with him and Stephen's body broke some of the impact while also knocking out what little wind was left in him. The side of Stephen's face smashed against the drywall. Gravity rolled him onto his back and he began to struggle for a breath. He tasted blood pooling inside his mouth and spat, but he couldn't feel his lips and the result was a messy splattering cough. From an instinctive curiosity he pushed open a sliver of his eyelid. Realizing that his left eye was pasted shut, he stared at the ceiling. There was a roaring cloud of fire surfing across the upper tiles and he watched as it blew out the small and now shattered window above him.
He reached out his legs and searched with his feet in the hope of using the metal cabinet to turn his body over and somehow protect his face. The cabinet was gone. He tilted his head up and saw nothing but dense black smoke. Stephen coughed and began breathing in what looked like snow falling all around him. Instead of the soft refreshing bristle a snowflake brings, the air caused him to choke and he turned his head toward the wall just before everything went black.
Stephen was startled by the distant echo of gunfire. With his head pressed against the wall, he felt Waters' body blanketing atop him. Only one of his eyes could open and it took some twitching of the lid's muscles to pry it wide enough to see finally again. Completely dazed, he heard the muffled voices of men shouting. There was a massive ringing echoing within his head and he felt the urge to vomit. Still struggling to take in each breath, he got the signal from every appendage in his body that none of them were up for moving at the moment.
There was too much movement around him to focus. None of it made any sense and the few circuits in his brain which were working told him it was best not to try and understand anything right now. "Whatever." he grumbled in a drunken voice and willed his eye closed to go back to sleep, still gripping his arm around Waters.
Stephen dreamed about trying to get undressed for bed. He was having a hard time getting his shirt off. He knew he was dreaming but that did nothing to diminish his frust
ration. Too tight! The shirt was too tight and he had to get it off. Can't get it off the… No, his mind began to register the struggle; it wasn't him. Someone else was trying to pull his shirt off. He saw the shadow of a man trying to pull the shirt over Stephen's head. Then he looked down and saw his bleeding leg. It wasn't just bleeding; there was another man holding his leg and biting it.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" Stephen started yelling and tried to shake the man off his leg. But no sound emerged from his mouth and the leg wouldn't even move.
"Sergeant Lantz! Do you hear me?" Stephen was startled, and his heart did a double tap inside of his chest as his eye burst open from a thick layer of dust-filled muck. An inch from his face was a man recognizable to Stephen, though he couldn't remember the name or where he had seen the man before. The man turned and called out over his shoulder. "Eyes open! Lantz is with us!" His hollering was barely audible over the loud and constant firing of automatic weapons. The man turned away from Stephen and seemed to leave. Stephen decided to close his eye, face the wall again and rest. He was tired, it had been a long day and going back to sleep seemed like the best and only idea his mind could formulate at the moment.
Without warning, Stephen was yanked upward. The disturbance was as painful as it was abrupt. Stephen opened his eye and saw two men were dragging him over a large pile of rocks. His Kevlared head was being smashed against rock after rock while his torso felt like it was being stabbed from behind and crushed from above. Stephen saw a bright flood of white smoke and let his head fall to the side.
I’m back in this damn hallway again, aren’t I?