Honor Courage Commitment

by Jordan Danzig

  Angel threw his head back and laughed, then grabbed Zanna’s shoulder.

  “You OK?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “but sudden movement makes the room spin.” He spoke to Amanda. “You make it sound like, ‘The Marines do Club Med’. It’s not like that. Hawaii isn’t exactly ‘overseas’. And would you have the same reaction, I wonder, if I was going on exercise in the jungles of the Philippines?”

  Amanda grinned. “You’re right. I’m getting jealous at the thought, and you’re not even going!”

  His gaze dropped to the floor. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  Amanda cleared her throat. “Um . . . speaking of trips,” she brushed Angel’s forearm with her fingertips. “Commander Gant’s going back to Afghanistan before Christmas and says that he’s coming back via Germany again. He said I could go with him.”

  Angel scowled.

  “What?” Amanda asked.

  “I’m not happy about you going back out there.”

  Amanda’s hands went to her hips. “Why ever not?”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Angel, I know I can’t stop you doing what you do. And I love you for thinking about my safety.” She kissed her fingertips then placed them on his cheek. “But, this is a fantastic opportunity for me . . . please try to see if from my side.”

  He squinted at her. “The situation is fluid out there. It can change in an instant. Stay on the FOB this time.”

  Amanda’s face fell and she looked away. “I have to get back to work. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  He watched her leave, then lay back on the bench with his arms folded across his eyes. He was sitting with his legs either side of the weight bench. Zanna straddled the bench too.

  “She’s right,” he said. “The decision isn’t mine to make. She’s been outside the wire. She knows what it’s like.”

  “She lit up when she told me about that. It means a lot to her, to go out there and be a part of something.” She patted his knees. “You, of all people, understand that.”

  “I understand it. I’m just sorry I won’t be there.” He sat up, swung his leg over the bench and stared at the floor.

  Zanna copied him. “I’m sorry too, Angel. You still have some hurdles to overcome. And while there might be people who think there’s nothing wrong with you because you show no physical signs, yours is no less an injury because of it.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “But you’re doing really well.”

  He sat up and Zanna squeezed his knee.

  “Hey,” she said, “I know what will ease this tension. You fancy a dip in the pool?”

  Angel shot her a sideways glance. “For real?”

  “I think you’re ready. It’ll be interesting to see how you cope working against the resistance of the water.” She called over to Raul, who was chatting with another therapist’s assistant. “Go with Angel and get changed. We’re going next door.”

  Once in the wet room, Zanna considered how seemingly chalk and cheese Angel and Rivera were. Angel accepted just about everything with a glint in his eye and a laugh in his heart. He didn’t appear to get frustrated at the things Rivera would have seen as abject failures—but if he did, he never showed it. He made fun of himself and those around him, laughing with, but not at them. He was open about how he felt from day to day, making it much easier for her to target activities that would challenge, but not overwhelm him. He enjoyed the multi-tasking ones, like maintaining his balance on a wobble board while throwing and catching balls. One day, for a bit of a laugh, she had him working out math problems at the same time. They’d started with basic simple addition but had increased to subtraction and division of whole, increasingly larger numbers. She thought he was just making up the answers to the more complicated problems until Raul used the calculator on his phone to double check.

  Raul was in the pool with Angel doing some exercises and they concluded by walking against the resistance of the water. Raul climbed out and sat on the edge while Angel took a time out floating on his back.

  With a cry, Zanna jumped to her feet from the plastic lawn chair she’d been sitting in. Angel had made it to the far end of the pool and disappeared underwater.

  “Raul!” she screamed, but he was already up and running along the side of the pool.

  He dived over the top of Angel as Angel came out of the flip-turn that put him in a position to push off the wall. He stayed underwater for about ten meters, propelling himself like a dolphin, arching his back and kicking strongly with his legs together and his hands out in front of him one on top of the other.

  Zanna relaxed; it was the same action Rivera performed at each change of end in the length pool. She was waiting for him when he reached the far end. He stopped, crouching in the water, hanging onto the guardrail—grinning like he’d just won a major prize on a scratch card.

  “Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again!” Zanna started to reprimand him, but his face took on such a look of contrition that she mellowed into, “You had me worried.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Still friends?” He stretched up his right hand. The instant she made contact, Angel closed his grip on her and questioned her with his eyes.

  It was a stupid thing to say, but she said it anyway. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He pulled her over his head. She came up spluttering and laughing between him and Raul.

  “You want to press charges, ma’am?” Raul asked. “He did assault you, after all.”

  Zanna paddled around to face him. “No! It wasn’t an assault. It was my—”

  Raul danced in the water, poking his two forefingers at her.

  She splashed water at him with the flat of her hand. “You’re as bad as he is. Everybody out. That’s enough for one day.”

  30

  After lunch, Amanda looked in on Angel at Zanna’s request to assess the effects of that morning’s exercise in the pool. He was lying on top of the bed, in jeans and a t-shirt, fast asleep. Noa Lana was curled up in the crook of his arm, her left fist closed around the bullet on his necklace.

  Galena entered the room. “I was coming to pick up Noa Lana, but it’s a pity to disturb them. Have you time for a drink?”

  They moved to the Staff Lounge.

  Amanda sat and absently stirred her coffee. “Galena, you showed me that tattoos can have a lot more significance than I gave them credit for, so might that also extend to the bullet Angel and some of the others wear? It seems every time I mention it the subject gets changed.”

  Galena fingered the tattoo on her wrist. “Noa Lana has always taken hold of it like that, ever since she was a tiny baby. I think she uses it like a comforter.”

  Bloody weird thing to use as a comforter. Amanda grinned. “I hope she’s never tried it with Rivera’s.”

  Galena gave her an odd look. “Why? They get on very well.”

  Maybe she doesn’t know how touchy he is about his? “Oh, nothing. So, is there some significance to it? Do only the members of Angel’s team wear them?”

  Galena stroked the dragon tattoo again. “How much do you know about the men?”

  “I know they’re in Special Operations. Is it something to do with that?”

  “Sort of . . . kind of . . . not really.”

  Amanda chuckled. “So, it’s not just an all boys together, fraternity thing, then? A Band of Brothers moment?”

  Galena smiled. “I guess it is all of those, but I’ve never heard it described that way. It can take someone who is completely on the outside of something to put it all into perspective.” A pause, then, “Do you have any reservations about what the men do? About what their ultimate job is?”

  “I’ve never really considered what it is they do, so I suppose that means it doesn’t give me too much cause for concern. I know they’re akin to the SAS.” She grinned at the use, yet again, of the comparison.

  Galena nodded. “It seems to have an eerily glamorous lure to some on the outside. The men never tell strangers wh
at they do; a lot of people get the wrong idea. If pushed, they might say they’re in Recon, but usually just that they’re infantry grunts.”

  Amanda pursed her lips. “Isn’t it the infantry Marine’s job to kill people? I thought that was the whole purpose of their being.”

  Galena gave her a wry smile. “These four guys have a very specialized way of doing it.”

  A soft cough came from behind and Amanda turned in time to see Raul’s expression change from a scowl at Galena with a hand across his throat to a broad smile and a neck scratch.

  Galena folded her arms. “Amanda asked about the bullet necklace. Yes, it should probably have come from Angel, but I thought it better to come from someone who knows rather than someone who thinks they know . . . and now you’re here, who better than you to fill her in.”

  Zanna joined them. “Did you hear about what Angel did in the pool today?”

  “Yes. It sounds like he’s well on the mend,” Galena said with a laugh.

  Raul slumped down with a huge sigh in one of the easy chairs. “Commander Gant’s taking a look at him later to see how he recovers from it.” He stretched his arms over his head, fingers interlaced, and cracked his knuckles. “Just how would you like Raul to fill you in, Amanda?”

  Zanna thrust a mug at him, growling.

  “Galena was about to tell me why the men wear a bullet,” Amanda said.

  Raul stared into his coffee for a moment, then raised his gaze to Zanna. “Because they’re snipers.”

  “Their ‘specialized way’ of killing,” Amanda said.

  “Death from afar,” Zanna said.

  Raul nodded. “You got it.”

  “And the story behind the bullet?” Amanda asked.

  “It’s called a Hog Tooth and it’s awarded in the last phase of Scout Sniper School, which incidentally is one of the toughest training courses in the military to get a seat in, let alone pass. The final event is a twenty-three-mile endurance test in which a sixteen-man team extracts four two hundred-pound dummies that simulate injured men. Then after eight hours of slog, they reach the top of a hill at dawn, get into formation, and the instructors hand them the bullet and tell them they’ve qualified as a Hunter of Gunmen—a Hog.”

  Throughout his explanation, Raul’s gaze switched between her and Zanna, but Amanda got the distinct impression his words were being directed more toward Zanna.

  “Their primary mission is combat support. They deliver precision fire on selected targets from concealed positions. Their secondary mission is gathering intelligence.”

  “Good old Raul,” Zanna said. “But that sounds like it came straight out of the manual. Now tell us what they really do.”

  He sat forward. “They break things and hurt people, but that’s kinda oversimplifying it.”

  Galena grimaced. “Thank you, Raul. That always makes me want to scream, the over-emphasis on killing. They don’t just shoot people. They take out other important, non-human targets too.”

  “Yes,” said Zanna, softly. “They go and do what has to be done and by whatever means they think are necessary. Often without recognition, and nearly always without the public knowing anything about it.”

  Raul tilted his head. “You’re right, much of what they do is just unsung painstaking reconnaissance work. They can lie in the same place for hours, days even, without moving just to record some vital piece of intelligence.”

  Amanda, who was busy topping up coffee for all of them, stopped what she was doing. “How can that possibly be?”

  “What do you mean?” Galena asked.

  “I’ve never met such a bunch of live wires.”

  Galena chuckled. “I guess it’s their form of release when they’re not doing the deadly serious stuff. And as I’ve heard all these ‘war stories’ before, I’ll go see if Noa Lana is awake yet.”

  Zanna nudged Raul. “So, they’re both snipers then.”

  “Yes. Plus two others Amanda had the pleasure of meeting in the Stan; O’Malley and Mason.” He waggled his hand. “But they’re called Scout Snipers because they not only shoot, they’re also trained to spot—or observe—too. It depends on the mission, rifle, optics and such, as to who shoots and who spots. Either man can fulfill either role just as well.”

  “Do they always work together?” Zanna asked.

  “As a four-man team, you mean? No, they can work just as effectively as two two-man teams. Angel usually pairs up with O’Malley and Rivera with Mason. Angel and Rivera are Team Leaders, the senior partners, if you will. The TL’s are responsible for the effective employment of the team, and care of weapons and equipment.” Raul shook his head. “You sure you want to hear all this?”

  Zanna’s reply was instant. “Yes!”

  Amanda just nodded.

  “Well, you can reverse the primary and secondary missions for one. There’s more time spent gathering Intel than there is taking out anything that could cause disruption and hinder the enemy. Those things are known as HVT’s—High-Value Targets—and they can be resources . . . or people.”

  “But, having seen their off-duty antics in Afghanistan,” Amanda said, “I still don’t get how a bunch of crazy guys like that can hold down such a responsible-sounding position.”

  “Don’t let first impressions, and I’m thinking of that prime goofball, O’Malley, fool you,” Raul said, “Believe me, when the chips are down, those guys are as responsible as it gets. Not only have they had to pass one of the toughest schools in The Corps . . . they’ve gone through rigorous screening, selection, and training to be where they are now. All those guys are extremely intelligent, highly motivated shit-hot shooters. They’re cool under pressure, and they have an ability to conceal themselves a chameleon would envy . . . and they are fully aware of the great danger they put themselves in by doing what they do.”

  “Do they have to be good at maths?” Zanna asked.

  “Yeah, there’s a lot of math involved in what they do. Angles, distances, allowances for wind, weather, and temperature.”

  “Who’d have thunk it,” Amanda said.

  “That’s just it. They look like regular guys. They don’t have ‘sniper’ tattooed on their forehead.” Raul laughed.

  Amanda played with the spoon in her mug.

  “You OK, hun?” Zanna asked.

  “Yes. I’m just trying to process it. I’m more of a big picture girl, but I know you like all the intricate details so please carry on, Raul.”

  He scratched at an eyebrow. “Scout Snipers are considered ‘force multipliers’. That means two men on their own can inflict the damage of a much larger force—and that increases the odds for a successful mission outcome.”

  Amanda rounded up the empty mugs and washed them in the sink.

  Zanna stared hard at Raul. “OK, buddy, I’ve been wondering how come you know so much about the Marines when you’re in the Navy—and how you know so much about these guys in particular?”

  Raul adjusted his position to face Zanna and gave a self-effacing shrug. “I was kinda a Marine for a while, back in the day.”

  “What do you mean, kind of a Marine?” said Zanna.

  Raul spread his palms. “We served together in Iraq.”