by John O'Brien
I almost killed us all, he thinks, nearing the top of the escalator.
If only he’d looked closer he would have clearly seen those propane tanks. He plays that picture over and over – that one just before giving the order to fire. In his head, he sees those tanks clearly and wonders why he didn’t then. His dad’s only words during the debrief were ‘lesson learned…for all of them’ and that was it.
It beats the shit out of Robert how his dad can brush off significant things like that as if they mean nothing, yet he’ll harp on the smallest of things. Robert remembers asking him about this once. He remembers his dad turning to him and saying, “Because it’s paying attention to the details that’ll keep your ass out of the fire. If you do that, the bigger things will fall into place. Let the larger picture guide you but focus on the details. You can’t create a building if you don’t meticulously lay each brick. On the other hand, you can’t just haphazardly lay bricks and expect a grand building to materialize.” Yeah, his dad loved his metaphors.
However, Robert feels like he let the whole team down. He was given a chance at leadership and he almost killed them. Robert fully expects his dad to relieve him. Oh, he’ll do it quietly and make it seem like it’s not a negative thing, but he’ll do it nonetheless. And Robert doesn’t blame him. They can’t afford mistakes like that. He feels sick to his stomach as he climbs the last step and watches Gonzalez as she makes her way to her quarters.
Standing at the top of the stairs, he rubs the back of head. It still feels tender where he bumped it and he feels the beginnings of a headache coming on. Those terrifying moments play through his mind…
The numerous night runners filling the screen. His watching intently as he gives the order to fire and watches for the explosion on the monitor signifying a hit, ready to follow up with the 40mm and 25mm Gatling gun to finish off any survivors. The monitor going completely white. His confusion. The shout of his dad yelling ‘hang on’ and the aircraft lurching violently to the side. The sudden movement knocking him off his feet from where he was standing behind Gonzalez’ shoulder and slamming him into one of the tables – thankfully he was wearing his helmet.
He remembers trying to scramble to his feet, but unable to do so because of the continued buffeting of the aircraft. Barely able to hear the instructions his dad was yelling and knowing they were as good as dead. They were going down and it was his fault somehow. He still didn’t know what had happened. The panicked fear that the 105mm round had exploded inside the aircraft and tore them apart. Then, suddenly, they were upright again. Climbing to his feet and finding out what had happened. The sick feeling returns in strength to his gut.
He looks over to see Michelle giving him a warm smile near the balcony. Giving a half-hearted smile in return, he walks slowly toward her.
“What’s wrong,” Michelle asks as he draws in front of her.
“Nothing. I’m just tired,” Robert responds.
“Well, let’s get you to bed then,” Michelle says, wrapping her arm in his and leading him toward their room. “How was the flight?”
“It went okay, I guess. We made it back,” Robert answers.
He wants to tell her what happened but, with the sick feeling he has and the oncoming headache, he just doesn’t want to right now. As they draw near the entrance, he hears his dad call from behind. They both turn to see his dad approaching.
“If I could steal him for just a moment longer,” his dad says to Michelle. “I promise I won’t keep him long.”
Oh boy, here it comes, Robert thinks.
“I’ll be right in,” he says to Michelle and walks with his dad to the balcony overlooking the first floor.
“Okay,” she replies and waits near the doorway.
With his elbows resting on the wooden railing, he looks over to his dad leaning over the balcony in a similar position. He looks tired. He’s seen his dad tired before but not like this.
“Look, Dad—” Robert begins.
“Nope. This is where I get to talk and you get to listen,” his dad interrupts. “I know what you’re going through and that you feel like it’s your fault. You feel like you let everyone down and that you shouldn’t be in a leadership position.”
“Yeah. Well—” Robert begins again.
“No, you’re talking again. Now listen. First of all, it’s not your fault, so you can toss that crap out of your head. No one blames you. Yes, you should have taken a look at the surrounding features, but I missed them as well. I was the pilot-in-command and therefore any fault with anything, and I mean anything that happened, is ultimately mine,” his dad says. “Look, leading isn’t about being perfect, but learning from every mistake – one made by you or others. It’s showing by example and, if you do make a mistake, you own it and rise above it. You don’t hang your head down, but lift it up and say, ‘Fuck, I guess I won’t do that again’. The one thing you can’t do is let it destroy your self- confidence. If you do, the mistake wins. If you rise above it and tuck the lesson into your bag of tricks, you win.
“Tonight was a good lesson, and one you need to take to heart. As a leader, you’re going to make mistakes. The world knows I’ve made more than my fair share. It’s what you do afterwards that counts. Awareness, on all levels, is vital. You can’t let the mistakes of the past cloud your mind or you’ll never be able to make a decision. At some point, you’ll need to make snap decisions. Sometimes, they won’t be the right ones, but you’ll make that decision based on instinct. That instinct is driven by the bag of tricks you carry. As you progress, that bag will grow as you stuff more experience into it. You’ve heard me say many times that making a decision, any decision, is better than not making one at all. A leader was once asked, ‘How do you make so many good decisions?’ The answer given, ‘Because I made so many bad ones in the past’. Collect the lesson and move on. Does any of this make sense?”
Robert continues to look at his dad.
“You can talk now.”
“Yeah, I guess it does, but I still feel like I let everyone down. I almost blew us up.”
“No one thinks that. You can march down there and ask them. They’ll look at you funny and tell you bullshit. And I’m not just saying that to blow sunshine up your skirt,” his dad says.
“How about we not use that expression again,” Robert says, the first smile coming to his face in a while.
“Deal,” his dad replies.
“So, are you going to relieve me?” Robert asks.
“You’re kidding, right? I need you. You do a tremendous job leading the team in back, and I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want there. We’re going to need your expertise in the coming days and weeks.”
“Okay, Dad…thanks,” Robert says.
“Just tellin’ it like it is. Is something wrong with your head?”
“What do you mean?” Robert says.
“You’ve been rubbing it the whole time we’ve been talking,” his dad says.
“I just bumped it in the aircraft. It’s nothing. I had my helmet on and it rubbed it funny.”
He’s worried his dad will see through his story and find out about his headache. Then he’ll ground him and hover like a mother hen. His dad stares hard at him for a moment.
“Okay. Go get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
With that, Robert turns and walks with Michelle into their cubicle. Later that night, with his arm around Michelle as she sleeps, he stares at the ceiling. He goes over what his dad said and sees the truth in it. He also thinks about the numerous night runners they saw and thinks that they might be heading their way. That is if they continue to push south. His dad didn’t say anything about how they are going to counter them, but he assumes they’ll hit them nightly and whittle them down. They have the walls to keep them out and have enhanced their defenses, so he’s not overly worried about another attack like the one the others experienced in which Lynn was taken.
With these thoughts, he falls into a dreamless sleep.
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br /> * * * * * *
Bri stays at the planning table following the debrief. She watches as Gonzalez walks away, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. Robert follows slowly in her tracks with his head hung low. Bri knows he feels bad and blames himself for what happened tonight. She wants to go to him but doesn’t really know what to say. She’s sure that anything she does say won’t be the right thing.
It’s been a week full of downers. Sure they rescued Lynn, but that seems to have been forgotten amidst losing McCafferty, finding out that there may be a group targeting them, and Drescoll disappearing. The events have brought back an unreal feeling – that this is all somehow still a dream. None of this can be real.
She would never admit it to anyone, but the events tonight in the aircraft were actually kind of exciting. She never felt like they were in trouble. Well, she would be lying to really say that. There was a moment during the initial slam when she thought they’d had it, but the fear of death never entered her mind. She knew her dad would handle it. The thing that worries her, and excites her, is being included as a full member of Red Team. She absolutely hates the way it came about. Bri really liked Allie. She reminded her of one of her friends. Bri had started to bond with McCafferty seeing as she and Gonzalez always seemed to be together. Bri will miss that…and Allie.
She hears her dad sigh loudly and start up the stairs to where Robert and Gonzalez went. This whole thing has shown her such a different aspect of her dad. Having watched movies and gone on trips with him, she would never have guessed this about him. She knew that he knew stuff, but she had no idea about this part of him.
To be honest, she feels kind of lost in this new world. Her dad pays attention to her, too much at times, and Gonzalez always seems to be there, but she doesn’t really have any friends. There’s no one to hang out with and talk to. Sure there’s Red Team, and they’re fun to be with, but she always feels a little left out…like she’s on the outside. She supposes that could be an age thing, but she really wants to belong, and not just because of her dad. She wants to belong because of her.
She misses her friends. It’s the camaraderie that she misses the most; although there are a couple of her friends she really does miss. And Nic. Bri wishes so much, every day, that her sister was still here. She’d know what to do and always made Bri feel special. In some ways, it seems like Nic’s death happened so long ago, yet in her heart, it still seems like yesterday. With Nic around, everything seemed like it was going to be okay. She was just that way.
If she were to have a word to describe how she feels, it would be thin…she feels thin. Like there’s no substance to her. There’s no meaning. Sure, there’s the whole surviving thing, but they do that every day and that’s different. Perhaps now that she’s a part of Red Team, that empty feeling will leave and she’ll be a part of something.
The one part of the day she looks forward to is the training. She’s not a fan of waking up early, but eagerly takes it in once she’s out and engaged in it. She can’t get enough of it and wants to learn everything there is – to experience it. Nic enters her mind once again and Bri wishes her sister were here to see her now…see how far she has come. And to share in conversations they used to have, both deep ones and those just for fun.
Bri quickly wipes away the tears in her eyes. She doesn’t want anyone to see her crying. She remembers Gonzalez’ talk with her seemingly so long ago.
Tempered steel, she thinks and turns back to the flight plan they have for the trip out. She has fuel numbers to crunch.
* * * * * *
Last Legs
Krandle slips off the rubber craft and studies the narrow strip of sand before him. The soft roar of waves rolling onto the beach is the only accompanying sound. Off to the west, the Santa Fe has already submerged but will rise again quickly upon the team’s return.
They had traveled slowly down the coastline, checking out the small towns and establishments nestled in the forested hills. This wasn’t a very populated area of the coast – mostly small resort towns and fishing villages. Captain Leonard would sound the horn, wait for any sign of activity, and then submerge and move on after finding none. The clouds drew a blanket over them without rain. Pockets of fog would form just after sundown against the shore, lifting with the sunrise and pushing out to sea.
They ran through the gentle swells of the Pacific, working their way south with the eventual goal of reaching San Diego where the sub was based. The eager anticipation from the crew is an almost physical presence. The usual breakage of items that would normally send them to port early hadn’t occurred. There was an underlying tension as well. The scenes from shore weren’t encouraging that any would find their families safe, but still, hope remained. After all, there were survivors from up north, so the crew held onto this hope that they would find their loved ones waiting for them.
The reason for their sojourn to this town was a report from last night’s watch of a light coming from one of the low, surrounding hills. Every so often, the moon would peek through a break in the overcast and send its beams cascading upon the land and water. It could have been the moonlight reflecting off a window or something of the sort but Captain Leonard thought it worth a journey to the shore and Krandle concurred.
With the black rubber craft on the beach next to him and the hiss of the water rolling onto the wet sand, Krandle surveys the area to his front as the others cover their sectors. The beach is a narrow strip of sand rising to bluffs on either side. To his right, hills rise directly from the beach with cottages huddled on them, overlooking the sand and the jagged rocks rising from the ocean just offshore. Stunted trees, some bent with the strong winds that occasionally came sweeping onshore, share the steep hillsides with the cottages and dense growth of bushes.
To the left, a breakwater of large rocks juts out into the ocean, the waves splashing over its height farther out. Ahead, the sand leads to a small embankment where other modest houses and duplexes mark the beginning of this small town. Nothing moves in Krandle’s sight.
Looking over the top of the roofs, he sees a series of small hills that surround the town. He eyes one in particular where the night watch said they saw the light. Taking out his binoculars, Krandle focuses on the heights that are their goal. Houses blanket the sides with what appears to be a fenced community stretched across the top. He can only see the rooftops of the houses nearest the wall from this vantage point.
“If you’re done sightseeing, Chief, can we please get off this fucking beach?” Speer whispers with a sharp edge to his tone.
Putting away the binoculars, Krandle motions ahead with the barrel of his M-4. “Lead on.”
This spurs the others into action. The raft is grabbed and, with the others providing security, is dragged across the sandy beach. The hiss of the rubber on the sand mixes with the surf running up the shallow grade of the seashore. The sun is behind the clouds, but faint shadows from the houses in the early morning light stretch over the embankment as the team draws near.
Blank windows stare at them, the curtains still hanging in many of them. Some of the houses have screen doors pitched at angles, the upper hinges having been torn loose. A few have open doors, whether forced or otherwise, giving a view into the darkness beyond. Paths cut into the embankment lead from the beach to each of the houses and the few streets that dead end at the shore.
Krandle rises near one of the dead end roads. A wooden post painted orange and white lies horizontal across two other poles, signifying the end of the street. A gust of wind stirs his pant legs and sighs through more of the stunted trees nearby. Groaning creaks arise from a couple of the screen doors as their hinges protest movement. The breath of wind catches one of the doors and it slams against an outer wall, startling the entire team.
They all drop to their knees in a semi-circle, barrels rise, searching for targets. The awareness of what the noise was comes quickly, but they continue searching the surrounding area.
“Speer, move us out. Opposite
sides of the street. Remember your intervals,” Krandle says moments later.
The team rises and negotiates short steps cut into the embankment leading to the street. They head around the dead end marker and begin to make their way into the coastal town. Tall grass surrounds each house, the stalks bending over and hiding any semblance of a sidewalk. Vehicles are parked at intervals on the roadway and in driveways, their windows and outer bodies covered in grime from months of being in the open. Sand has piled up around the tires of those in the street. Any curbs this street had have long ago been covered by drifts.
The road itself is covered in a thin layer of undisturbed grit, and it’s through this that the team cautiously makes its way farther into the town. The tracks they leave behind are the only evidence that anyone or anything has moved through this area in some time. Krandle isn’t worried about leaving tracks. After all, this isn’t a ‘zero footprint’ operation, and their mission is to actually find someone. If someone sees their tracks and finds them, well, that amounts to the same thing. Miller keeps a sharp eye behind them nonetheless.
Some of the houses they pass have had their doors and windows broken. Curtains in those broken windows stir in the breeze; there isn’t any movement beyond that. A hush has settled over this place. Even the soft shuffling sound of their boots on the gritty pavement doesn’t seem to travel far. It’s as if the area is absorbing any sound. The feeling isn’t a stifling one, more of a dead one. The land has forgotten that humankind once walked these streets.
The team comes to the end of this small neighborhood and small industrial shops occupy the few lots in front of them. Rusted husks of vehicles sit in some of the chain link enclosed yards. The buildings themselves have a rundown look and most haven’t seen a coating of paint in some time. Krandle halts the team at this residential boundary.
Sections of the fencing have been pushed down, the supporting poles leaning inward at angles. Some of the damage looks recent and forced while others are obviously down through age and neglect. Buckets, old signs, and other forgotten debris are scattered in the back of the businesses. The road ahead makes its way past these structures before turning to the right a few blocks away.