American Dream - Book 1

by Z.M. Kage

  **********

  Four months in.

  They’re more than halfway done already. Time is passing by much faster than Jon had anticipated. It’d been a couple weeks since he’d heard from Erin, but he wasn’t worried about it. All he had to do to be with her was think about her – take a second and bring her image into his mind – and it was something he did often.

  Jon’s squad had been standing post as base security for almost a week. It was their turn again, and always the most relaxing part of their rotation. Four of his Marines were keeping an eye on things at the moment, and Jon was making his rounds, going from post to post to check on his boys, to see how they were doing and see if they needed anything.

  Jon climbs the ladder to check on Private First Class Mark Moore, and as soon as he’s in his post, as soon as he’s standing behind him, he knows something is wrong. He can feel it.

  How does he know? Because PFC Moore isn’t doing what he’s supposed to be doing – scanning the horizon for threats; anything out of the ordinary. It was very out of character for him, as Moore had yet to drop the ball. He’d taken the job seriously and been nothing but an exemplary Marine as far as Jon was concerned.

  Now, Moore looks defeated. He’s holding a letter in his hands and staring down at the words as if looking at them long enough and hard enough will somehow make the message change – make the ink on the page morph into something else.

  Jon says his name in an attempt to get his attention. Nothing.

  Moore continues to stare, focusing so hard he’s zoning out.

  Jon says his name again, louder this time.

  There we go, a sign of life.

  “Oh, uh, hey Sergeant... sorry about that, didn’t know you were there, must’ve spaced out for a second,” Moore says, stuffing the piece of paper into his cargo pocket as if Jon hadn’t already seen him staring at it.

  “I thought I told you not to call me that,” Jon says back.

  “Shit, I forgot... Jon, I meant Jon. I can’t believe I keep forgetting that... that I can call you by name and not rank – it’s so ingrained in us since boot camp, ya know?” Moore says. “What’s happenin’ Jon, what can I do for ya?” he asks.

  “Yeah I know,” Jon replies... “the whole first name thing can take some getting used to. I’ll let you skate for now, but it sure as hell better not happen again! Joking, Moore, I’m joking. What’s happenin? Oh just doin’ my thing, thought I’d come by and check on you. What you can do for me is pull that letter back out of your pocket... the one you were staring at when I got here.”

  Moore looks at his feet, almost ashamedly, like he’s not sure if he wants Jon to see it.

  “Unless of course you’d rather not show it to me,” Jon says. “I mean I’m not going to give you a direct order or anything. You know I’m not like that. Your business is your business.”

  Moore looks at Jon, then through the bulletproof class – his window to the outside world, his shield – lost in thought, struggling to decide what to do.

  “Let me know if you need anything. I’m here for ya, Moore,” Jon says, turning around, getting ready to leave.

  “Jon?” Moore says before Jon starts his return trip down the ladder.

  “Yes?” Jon responds, relieved for the chance to get to the bottom of what’s bothering him and touched that he doesn’t want him to leave just yet.

  “Here,” Moore says, handing Jon the piece of paper. “It’s a letter, from my girl back home.”

  “I had a feeling,” Jon says... “Mind if I read it?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Jon starts reading.

  SIX

  “Your girl’s pregnant? That’s fantastic!” Jon says, excited and proud that one of his Marines is going to be a father.

  “Keep reading,” Moore says, devoid of all emotion, still in shock.

  Jon returns his eyes to the page, scanning quickly, processing the information as fast as he can. “Jesus. Unbelievable.”

  “Right?!?! ... Talk about a fuckin’ gut punch, man. So she’s bangin’ this other guy. That’d be bad enough, but nope... can’t stop there – SHE’S CARRYING HIS BABY. And we’ve been over here, what, just over four months now?”

  “Yup, just passed the four month mark. We’re over halfway done,” Jon confirms.

  “Four fucking months. So let’s figure this shit out. Factoring in the two weeks or so it takes for mail to get from the States to here, and assuming she JUST found out she was pregnant... that means that she got knocked up somewhere in month two or three. And who knows how long she’d been fuckin’ this guy before that,” Moore fumes, pausing to take a breath, fighting to maintain control over himself. “Shit, she could’ve been in bed with this jackass the same week we shipped out!”

  “Calm down,” Jon says as reassuringly as he can manage. It’s all he could think of.

  “Calm... down?!?! How the HELL can I calm down? She was my everything, man... yeah we’d only been together for the few months leading up to this deployment, but what I felt for her... love is the only way to describe it. She was scared to death of me coming over here; she didn’t want me to leave. Do you think I wanted to leave? Fuck no I didn’t... but I committed to doing this before I met her, before I fell for her. Falling for her gave me a reason to fight, to be a man and follow through, to keep my word. Thinking about her, dreaming of going back home to her, it’s given me strength every day we’ve been in this shit-hole. And now that’s gone. I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Moore says.

  “How old are you again, Moore? Nineteen, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m nineteen. And for the love of God, please spare me the ‘you’re too young to know what love is’ speech.”

  “Ooooh no, I wasn’t goin’ there – that’s something parents would say. And no matter how much you’d like it to be true... I’m not your daddy.”

  Jon’s attempt at humor hits home as Moore smiles from ear to ear.

  “Hey, now we’re getting somewhere!” Jon says. And with that, he knows that Private First Class Mark Moore is going to be just fine.

  “Can I ask you a question, Jon?”

  “Of course you can. Fire away.”

  “You got a girl back home?”

  “I sure do... her name’s Erin. I proposed to her the night before we shipped out.”

  “Get outta here! You didn’t!”

  “I did.”

  “Judging by that smirk on your face I’m assuming she said yes?”

  “She did. We’re getting married as soon as I’m outta here and settled in back home.”

  “Do you trust her? I mean, are you worried about her messing around when we’re over here?”

  “I’m not worried at all. I trust her completely. We’ve been together for quite awhile. Since high school, actually. I know my Erin.”

  “You’re one lucky bastard. Damn, man... I’d give anything to be you.”

  “We’ve got so much in common it’s scary, Moore. Look, I gotta get some rack time before we step off tomorrow morning... but I can’t head out without saying this...”

  “What’s that?” Moore asks.

  “...what you said earlier, about your ‘strength’ being gone? Lock that shit up. If you focus on her, if you think about her, you’re gonna get yourself killed. I don’t wanna see anything happen to you, Moore... you’re an outstanding Marine and it’s an honor to serve beside you. Forget about her. Focus on your brothers. Draw strength from us. Clear?”

  “Clear.”

  “Oh and one more thing: rack out as soon as your relief shows up. Big day tomorrow.”

  “You got it. I appreciate the talk, Sergeant, I really do. Thanks.”

  “Anytime, brother.”

  SEVEN

  Jon descends the ladder and starts back for his room, feeling fantastic about his brief exchange with Private First Class Moore. The kid wasn’t human. Eyes of an eagle, ears of a bat, PFC Moore was the ‘point man’ Jon could count on
most.

  Most Marines that age are terrified of walking out in front during a foot patrol, of being so exposed, but not Moore. He owned that lead position in the formation and, more often than not, heard noises and saw movement before anybody else in the squad.

  He hadn’t gotten tunnel vision. Not yet.

  He’d been calm. So far.

  But how much of Moore’s calmness, his coolness, stemmed from the strength he’d been drawing from his (now) ex-girlfriend? That’s what worried Jon as he made his way back to his living quarters.

  Halfway there, Jon meets one of his three fire team leaders, Corporal Stone, in passing. “Piece of mail came for you today, Sergeant... I put it on your rack for ya.”

  “Care package?”

  “Nah, envelope.”

  “Your team all set for the op tomorrow?”

  “We’re good to go, Sarge.”

  “Excellent. Tell your fellow team leaders to get their boys tucked in ASAP. Big day ahead of us.”

  “Will do.”

  Jon quickens his pace. He’s got a reason to walk fast.

  Up the hill, around the corner, through his door, and there it is, sitting all by itself – his only piece of mail: a letter from Erin.

  Dang, she really soaked this one, Jon thinks to himself. He could smell her perfume emanating off it without bringing it anywhere near his nose. He loved it when she did that. It did, however, make him miss her even more. He ached for her.

  Jon pinches the envelope with both thumbs and index fingers, gauging its weight and comparing it to other pieces she’d sent. It’s heavier. He can feel something in there, too... two chunks of something hard, but he doesn’t have the energy to guess what it might be.

  Not tonight.

  Can’t be more than one page in here, he thinks to himself. Very unlike Erin. Weird.

  Hard as it is to resist the urge to tear into it right then and there, Jon decides to wait until morning. He wants something to look forward to right after he wakes up. He carefully places Erin’s scented message under his pillow, lies down, and stares into his Kevlar helmet...

  ...like he’s done every single night since he’s been here. It’s become a ritual; the last thing he looks at before going to sleep.

  Behind the webbing inside his helmet rests Jon’s favorite picture of Erin... the one with her posing for the camera in her sexy black bikini. She’d had highlights then, her hair pulled back into a ponytail... but a few defiant strands never wanted to cooperate.

  Whenever she’d put her hair up the tiniest sliver of bangs refused to play along and decided to, instead, hang down in front of her forehead.

  Infuriating for Erin... adorable to Jon.

  “We’re over halfway there, babe,” Jon whispers, still staring at the photo... loud enough to hear himself speak, but quiet enough to keep from disturbing the other two squad leaders. “I miss you, I love you, and I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll open your letter first thing in the morning, I promise!”

  To finalize the ritual, Jon kisses his right index finger, touches Erin’s lips, and returns his helmet to its proper resting place.

  More than seven thousand miles away, Erin isn’t looking at a picture of Jon. She’s not even thinking about him.

  EIGHT

  “Do you take this man...”

  “I do.”

  “Let’s go, Sergeant Cole, get up.”

  “Do you take this woman...”

  “I do.”

  “Hey! Wake up!”

  “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the...”

  “Damn it, WE GOTTA GO!!!” It’s Corporal Stone – frantic as all hell.

  Jon’s overslept.

  “Ugh... no. No... can’t be morning already. How much time do I have, Stone?”

  “We step off in ten mikes. Moore isn’t acting right, Sarge. I tried talking to him... but he won’t tell me what’s up. Could you check on him before we head out? I’m really worried about him.”

  “I think I know what’s goin’ on... yeah, I’ll talk to him. Thanks for letting me know. And for waking me up.”

  “You got it Sarge. Hey, you’re always up and outta the rack before me... what’s the deal, you couldn’t sleep last night or what?”

  “Oh, it was just one of those nights... took me a little while to drift off. I’ll see you out there, Stone.”

  Jon sits up, glad that he hadn’t taken the time to get undressed before crashing the night before. He hadn’t even taken his boots off. Good thing, too...

  Ten minutes. Ten minutes to round up all his gear, check on Moore, and... and... he feels like he’s forgetting something but he can’t put his finger on it...

  ...and then like a slap across the face it hits him: the letter! The message from Erin he’d stashed under his pillow the night before. Time isn’t on his side, he’s got none to waste, but if he hurries he can read her one page letter before he has to go.

  Excited, pulse climbing higher, he retrieves the letter from its hiding place, anxious to digest the words his love has sent from afar.

  A five year old on Christmas morning, Jon rips into the envelope, unfolds the single, lonely page... and a level of pain he didn’t even know existed permeates every cell of his body.

  Who would’ve thought it’d take less than ten words to turn his entire life upside down?

  ----------------------

  Jon,

  Wedding’s off.

  Have a nice life.