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Prologue/I; lemme know if this blows harder than ur mum
Topic Started: Feb 3 2018, 03:58 AM (20 Views)
Hick

Everything that could have gone wrong, did go wrong.

"HQ this is Bravo Two-Six, we've got a man down in Sector One-One Joker. We need a dust-off out here ASAP!"

"Glenn! Glenn! Help me with the fucking Lieutenant!"

Mick was calling me from the high grass, several yards ahead. By that point, the sound of rounds snapping and whipping around my helmet liner had become familiar. I picked myself up and hauled ass to Mick, who had the LT by one arm. I knew the drill and grabbed his other arm.

"Where the fuck was he hit?"

"Just get him back to the line!"

I hadn't seen him go down. In fact, when the shooting started, he seemed to disappear from sight.

"Two-Six, HQ reads your request, we're gonna get a bird in the air for you."

"Copy that," Sergeant Harvey lifted his chin from his shoulder. "Spread the fuck out! This is our firing line; pick your targets!"

Mick and I dropped Jack down and immediately began tending to him. His upper half was unblemished, but specks of crimson along the bottom of his Kevlar said otherwise. The right knee was hanging on by an exposed tendon, artery shooting blood down his calf. Mick was flying through his ruck, bringing out gauze and morphine and plasma bags. He upped his chin.

"Keep it steady. Don't let him look at it."

I went to respond, but bullets whined past my neck. Jack wasn't having any of it.

"Hold the fucking leg, McKinley! God-fucking-dammit, hold it...shit! Jesus Christ, Mickey, give me the fucking morphine! Pick up your rifle, Moore, start fucking using it!"

I did exactly that. Darkened figures along the ridge-line ahead were producing muzzle flashes and smoke. Rounds punched the dirt in front of me, and that's when I humped it.

"Fucking FUBAR, man!"

"Keep your goddamn head down!"

"Two-Six, how copy?"

Harvey was quick to respond, "Where's that fucking dustoff, HQ?"

"A bird has left the nest and is en route to your pos, Two-Six. ETA three mikes. Callsign is Falcon Nine; mark your pos with smoke on the deck and try to clear that LZ."

Jimmy suddenly appeared through the high grass, crawling textbook-style through it, "They got fucking RPDs on that ridge! Uh-...two o'clock! Take 'em out, dude, take 'em!"

I couldn't get a bead on anything. Dirt flashed in my eyes and I had to slump down; they'd found me first.

"We're out in the fucking open, we gotta move somewhere!"

"Nah, nah, this is our line, we're holdin' this shit!" The other platoon sergeant, Patel, barked over the ambience. "Hold it 'til the bird gets here."

Jack's expression remained in a constant grimace. His hand clutched around his thigh, blood drenched his fingers, ran between the crevices. Bone marrow ran with shredded tendons, leaked out of his body and onto the ground. Mick had given him two shots of the good stuff but it wasn't enough.

Harvey called out, "Espinosa! Get smoke on the deck!"

Jimmy nodded, reached onto his waistline and produced a canister of purple smoke. He primed and lobbed the sucker about twenty yards behind our line. The canister hissed and popped. Smoke began to flood onto the battlefield like mist.

"Start falling back towards the smoke!"

Jack grabbed ahold of my sleeve as I was reloading, "No. No, no, no, don't fucking move me. My leg's gonna come apart."

"We gotta move you, LT-"

"Moore! Moore, you listen to me!"

Mick and I glanced at each other and nodded. There was no choice.

In the same fashion that we dragged him back with, Mick and I started to retreat. Jack shrieked high above the incessant popping of rifles in the near distance. The fire reigned down on us from above. Rounds sliced the air and dug at my boots; they always seemed to be one literal step ahead.

We dropped him. Harvey waded through the grass, "The fuck happened up there, Lieutenant?"

There was no response. Just manic shivering and quivering, almost mirroring an epileptic seizure. Mick jumped into action.

"Shock. He's going into shock; hold this and hold it steady," He handed me a plasma bag. It promptly exploded in my hand as a stray round penetrated it. "Jack? Listen, LT, you keep hangin' in there, okay? Bird's on the way, man, just-just keep it together. Jack. Jack?"



+



"Family of Jack Dupree?"

War changes you, boy. The more you fight it, the more it does to you.

"Glenn? Alright, cowboy, that's us."

I sat up and instantly regretted doing so. It took a few seconds for everything to balance out, but even then, I felt hungover and sick with mono all at the same time. I've been both in my life and couldn't wish either on my worst enemies.

Jimmy put a hand on my shoulder, "You've been out for a few hours, dawg. Think they're gettin' ready to walk us back there."

Ah, yes. Now I remembered where I was, even though I didn't exactly want to. The smell of hospital, a soft tinge latex and industrial bleach, found me and slapped my senses into gear. My vision settled and I stood up, staggered to the Coke machine, and pushed a janky two dollars down the slot. I almost teetered over but somehow found my coordination and propped a shoulder against the machine.

"Christ alive, G, you look like hammered shit."

I'd memorized the combination for Coke and punched it, tried to wipe the sleep from my eye and wound up poking it, "Yeah, well...certainly feel that way, too. Anybody got any aspirin?"

"Nah, man, tapped out."

"Used my last one yesterday."

Mick reached into his pocket and held out two packs of it, each one containing two pills. He did the opening for me and before I knew it, his hand popped over my mouth and fed me the pills, "How much did you have to drink last night, Glenn?"

"Not enough, apparently."

"Not alcohol, dipshit. You look dehydrated," He gestured down to the Coke in my hand, "Don't drink that, man, soda's only gonna make it worse."

Nevertheless, I washed it down. The carbonation wreaked havoc on my tongue, almost blistered it on the first touch. My throat felt like sandpaper and as one would expect, the bubbling sensation didn't exactly help the cause. I wound up sputtering and coughing; Mick gave me this look that oozed "I told you so" vibes. I didn't care. It'd been ten months and four weeks since I'd had a Coca-Cola. Once the burning subsided, the taste made me smile; it was a performance worthy of a spot in a commercial, I thought.

"How long have you slept?" Mick persisted.

"I'm fine."

"Was that the only sleep you've gotten? You look awful."

"Mick, I'm fine," I said, downplayed the conflict roaring between my ears. "Once this aspirin kicks in, I'll be...I'll be okay."

He lifted a brow. I knew in a heartbeat that he didn't believe me, but testing a Southern man's pride is as about as effective as trying to light a wet match. Mick stood down and sank into his own chair, beside the two platoon sergeants Harvey and Patel. There were twelve of us total inside the ICU waiting room but most were half-awake, still dressed in their CUs like the rest of us. Mine had taken on this God-awful musty smell from the snow outside; when we stepped out into the Baltimore night, it'd been snowing, snowing hard. I'd never seen such a hard snowfall, but then again, the plains of Georgia doesn't offer much.

Harvey checked his phone, "Alyssa's on her way. Has the kids with her; mind your P's and Q's. No 'fucks', no 'cunts', none'a that shit."

"Kids? Christ," Jimmy picked up the Auto Trader magazine with last month's date, "Don't you think it's a little, I dunno, early for kids? I mean-he just got back, we don't know what he's gonna be like when he comes up."

"Your old man just lost his leg? 'Course you're gonna wanna be there," the sergeant answered. "They're stayin' at the Sheraton across the street, same one we're goin' to."

"Rooms have already been taken care of?"

"Yep. Army actually came through on this one. Beats sleepin' in a fuckin' foxhole for seven nights. Let me tell ya, boys, Everest might be our home, but it could sure do with a few renovations. Beds that don't creak, showers, plumbing. I mean for Christ's sake, you're tellin' me the United States Army can't get toilets and showers out there? Thought we prided ourselves on 'American ingenuity.'"

I sat back down, finally turning the corner towards levelheadedness. The past thirty-six hours had passed like thirty-six days. One minute we were down in the Kandahar and the next, we were changing out of our battle rattle, trying to at least prepare ourselves for one week of stateside leave. We'd spent the better part of ten months out there and I think it's safe to say that the routine was drilled into our heads. Four hours of sleep. Wake up. Get dressed and try to stagger out into the belly of the outpost. The previous thirty days, doing so required extra caution. Taliban seemed to press their foot on the gas and made sure we got their early morning hate speech on a consistent basis.

The last time we were on American soil, the idea of New Year's resolutions were still fresh. Now? They'd hung up a combination of Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations in the ICU reception, which did little to lighten the mood. Walter Reed was already depressing but the ICU ward had the livelihood and joy of a morgue.

The double doors leading to the actual ward swung open and a PYT, decked out in aqua scrubs, emerged with a good looking doctor by her side. He reminded me of Richard Gere, in a way, at least in his hidden swagger and confidence. We all stood. The moment had arrived and I'm not sure I was ready for it.

"I assume you all are...Bravo Two-Six? Jack's platoon?"

"Matter of fact, we are. How is he?" Harvey stepped forward, made it clear he was the one to speak to.

"He's recovering," He sniffed and nodded. "I'm not sure how acquainted you all are with Doctor Pearson, but he did a damn fine job in preparing him for the transition. He's been at Bagram for almost twenty years; the man's an absolute genius when it comes to these things."

Pearson ran the ER at Bagram, was a lifer who was also good friends with the LT, also a lifer. He'd been on the ground when the dustoff helicopters landed and helped his guys wheel Jack inside. There was fear in his eyes at the initial sight of the copious amount of blood, but the fear was washed away with determination within seconds. What followed next was three hours of absolute nerve-wracking paranoia, worry that Jack wouldn't make it. A day and a half later, I still hadn't slept and my blood pressure was through the roof, taking its' time to drop.

Kaplan shifted. "I'd let you boys back there, but our policy is that immediate family has first visitation. Any word from the wife?"

"She'll be here in a few minutes. She's flying in from Kansas."

The doctor nodded but before he could flash his identification card, unlock the double doors, we heard footsteps down the hall, steps that were heavy with high heels. Alyssa appeared with the two boys at her flanks, both of which looked absolutely wrecked. I'm sure they hadn't slept on the flight over, and from the looks of it, she hadn't either. She dabbed at her cheeks, which were heavy with mascara runoff, with a moist towelette that airlines hand out.

Kaplan took in her presence and I could tell by the look on his face that the news that followed wasn't good. Then again, I hadn't expected it to be. Jack's leg had been hanging on by a mere thread and the helicopter had hit so many patches of turbulence, surely the rough CASEVAC made matters worse.

We followed him through the double doors and the smell of hospital greeted us with kisses on the cheek. The smell of Latex and chlorinated cleaner snaked their way into our nostrils, poisoned us with dread and the feeling that despair was all around us. Jack didn't belong here; hell, none of us did. If all was right in the world, we'd be out humping it, sweating in the morning heat and looking for something to do. First Platoon was scheduled for perimeter guard. Third was going down on a combat op. We weren't gonna do a damn thing all day except sweat, smoke, and play cards until we got bored.

But all wasn't right with the world.

Kaplan ushered us all into his office, kids included; he kept a keen eye on Alyssa and the two. I think he knew he had to watch his language, speak in terminology that only the adults could understand. Micah and Steven were too busy to listen, though, their active little minds scanning the walls for something attractive. Once the doc saw their preoccupation, he began, picked up two X-Ray sheets and slapped them against the projector on the wall. Jack's knee was nothing short of fucked up.

"In his attempts to...repair the leg, Doctor Pearson attempted to re-attach the fragments of the kneecap," He pointed to the bone, visibly segmented into three parts. "He did so with mixed results but unfortunately, he left a bullet fragment inside the cartilage, probably mistook it for fragmentation of the bone itself and left it there." He pointed to a circular piece. "The operation conducted here was to remove said fragment and repair the knee as much as we could. Any questions thus far?"

Alyssa's lip began trembling. The boys looked up, saw their mother doing so, and looked at each other. Panic flowed through each other. That scene alone almost got me. Almost.

She gathered herself and the boys settled. When she spoke, her words quivered as they came out, "Is he okay?"

"He is. The surgery to remove the fragment was an ultimate success and he's recovering as we speak."

"What about his leg?"

I envisioned it hanging, disjointed. I shuddered.

"Despite our best efforts, we found that...there was simply too much structural and nerve damage. If Jack had kept the leg, it would have been more of an accessory than a working limb. We were forced to amputate for that reason, and also to prevent possible septic infection."

She jolted forward in her seat, gasping loudly into her hand. The tears started coming and didn't stop, eventually spreading to the kids. Micah was the oldest one at six and turned to his mother, asked calmly: "What happened to Daddy? Is he gonna be okay?"

That got me. I swallowed hard and thumbed at the corner of my eye.

Alyssa inhaled and let loose a shaky breath. The mascara kept running but she caught it with the darkened towelette, "Daddy's gonna be fine. He's just...gonna look a little different from now on. But he's still your daddy, okay?"

He seemed to accept that. I don't think Kaplan wanted to go on; he paged the PYT and told her to take them to Jack. That left the thirteen of us, standing in silence, waiting for someone to break it. Sergeant Patel gazed around the platoon, then found Kaplan. "He's gonna get a new leg, right?"

"Of course. The government pays for all combat-related amputations."

"So, say five years down the road, I lose my arm in a car accident. Will it still be covered? Gotta start thinkin' about these things, doc."

Kaplan cleared his throat, "Sounds like a question for someone higher than my pay-grade. Look...if you're worried about Jack's financial stability, you shouldn't be. Government takes care of it's own."

Someone scoffed.

Jimmy joined, "So God forbid he winds up on the streets, who do we talk to then?"

"He's not gonna wind up on the streets," Harvey shut him down. "We're his brother's keeper; ain't nothin' gonna happen to him on our watch."

That answer suited Jim and he responded with a soft "Yes, sir." Harv would've normally called him out on using such a professional title; usually "Sarge" or "Sergeant" sufficed and nothing more. But the exhaustion was written all over his face like a book, and he kept quiet and said nothing more.

The door creaked open and Alyssa reappeared. She looked younger, much to our pleasant surprise, and the kids seemed to have perked up. Sergeant Patel offered a hug to her and she took it, softly smiled in the crook of his arm. "He's gonna be okay. He's okay. He's," She exhaled. "He's okay."

I smiled, "Why wouldn't he be? Man's made of steel; he's probably still tryin' to reenlist as we speak."

That drew a few chuckles, even from her.

"Yeah. Betcha he's gonna get an M4 for a new leg, like that chick in that one movie?" Jimmy nudged me. "You know which one I'm talkin' about. Underworld or something. She was a total baddie, dude, the LT could pull it off."

"Missile launcher would totally be more B.A."

"Yeah, but, how the hell would he reload it?"

"I heard that shit's gonna be made of titanium."

Harvey sharply elbowed Mick in the stomach, which made him wheeze upon impact. "Watch it. We got kids here."

"Jack's asking for you all," Alyssa parted a strand of hair from her eyes. "He was happy to see me and the kids, but I think he wants to know you're all okay."

That was an offer we happily obliged. Single-file and silent, we slipped out the door, nodded towards the PYT who wound up serving as our tour guide through the ICU ward. Knowing that the LT was okay, things began to shift back into normality, back to how they should've been. We were home-well, not entirely home. Georgia, San Diego, Boston, Chicago, San Antonio. Those were our homes. But we were stateside, where people spoke our language and were much more amicable than those in country. I started to line up my day, who I'd call, how long I'd sleep...

Sleep? Fuck it, sleep the whole goddamn day. Sleep for two, actually.

I smiled. That smile evaporated as soon as the nurse opened the door and ushered us in with a plastic smile, then shut it behind us. We now stood face-to-face with Jack, who looked astonishingly sickly in the eyes and lips. He'd always been a dark complexioned man but there were hints of yellow around his sunken eyes and chapped lips. Whatever pain medication he was on was working, though. Once we walked in, he cackled obnoxiously, held his hand out.

"Come in, come in. Welcome to my humble abode, my niggas. Welcome!"

We laughed. I slumped in the corner of the room, "They got you fucked up, LT. What kinda shit they give you? Codeine? Morphine?"

His head rolled lazily until his even lazier eyes found me. "There's my Georgia peach-my cowboy, my sharpshooter! How...the fuck have you been, Specialist?"

"I've been alright, Jack. What about you?"

"Just fuckin' great. I mean...I feel like a million bucks. I'on care if they took my leg. Shit, they can take my other one if they want...'s long as they get me more of this shit. Now I know why 'Nam vets was hooked on this shit."

I wasn't sure what Alyssa's standards were in regards to him being "okay", but I was admittedly concerned. Jack always held a professional, practical aura about himself. Sure, he liked to cut up to show that he was human, too, but he was never this aloof. I and everybody else there exchanged glances that read "What the fuck is happening?" It was like watching an uncle or a grandfather go through an Alzheimer's spell; Jack was transforming into a completely different person and the transformation wasn't for the good.

He kept looking at me, for some reason, that stupid smile plastered all over his face, "You look beautiful, Moore. Good Lord, man, I could kiss you," Jack pointed to Mick. "Him, too. God it's good to see y'all again."

Patel drug a chair over and sat down, "Pleasure's ours, LT. They got you fucked up, though. When do you think they'll set you free?"

"Dunno. Don't care! As long as they send me on my merry way with that strong shit, I'll be a-okay, boss, don't you worry 'bout me."

I scoffed, shifted my stance in the corner, "They got us at the Sheraton in Baltimore."

"Let me guess: seven days and a wake-up?"

"Give or take, leaning towards take," Harvey lifted a shoulder. "Couple outposts've been hit in the past few days. Matterhorn. Everest. All of 'em got rocked by the Daesh; nobody saw it comin'. They held the line but it's not lookin' too good."

Jack laughed. "God, I am too fucked up on this shit, right now. Y'know what they need? They need'a put this in the water supply," He started laughing again, let his eyes close as he did. "Could you imagine? Horses 'n cows in a drum circle singin' Kumbaya. Ha! Could you imagine?"

The two sergeants looked amongst each other. They knew that there was no point; Jack was more or less gonna be spitting out nonsense for the next few hours. It was still early in the morning, as well. There was no designated check-in time at the Sheraton but now that Jack had been checked on, the guys were starting to get antsy. Boots squeaked. Shoulders rolled. Hands wrung. Patel and Harvey nodded once and stood from their places.

"We gotta head over to the hotel," The latter nodded, extended his hand and shook Jack's and made up an excuse. "We don't get there by six, they're gonna deny us at the door."

"A-okay, Joel. Wow. Wow, you got a strong grip, boy! They don't make 'em like they used to."

One by one, Bravo Two-Six slipped out of the room. I was the last man standing in there, and I turned to leave when Jack reached for my hand. He nodded towards the door. "Shut it."

"You want me to shut it after I leave?"

"Shut it and sit down."

The seriousness of a commanding officer had finally returned. I nodded and did so, dragged a chair around to face him. He looked me up and down, swallowed thickly, "You're too young for this, Glenn. I mean it. You should still be in college, getting laid, getting high-literally anything else besides this. Why'd you even enlist in the first place?"

I paid little mind to how quickly he'd turned back. I mulled it over and thought aloud, "Couple reasons. None'a which I seem to settle on."

"Let's hear 'em."

"There's this genetic obligation. Army's in my blood, LT. Daddy never served and my uncle, well...he fell off the map years ago. But my grandaddy served and his daddy did, and so on and so forth."

"Next?"

"Patriotism. Plain and simple."

"Alright. Either of those reasons worth losing a leg over?"

I thought I saw his lip quiver, but instead, chalked it up to tiredness. "Well...patriotism-"

"Don't bullshit me, Moore. Ain't nothin' in the world worth losin' a limb over," He spoke sharply. "I can't tell you how many kids went over there, some younger than you. Same mindset. Same values. Some lost themselves, man. Now they can't sleep without a nightlight in the hallway. I knew a few guys who still wet the bed. You wanna know what war does to you?"

I didn't, but that wasn't gonna stop him.

"Men go off to fight the war. They come back as old men. It breaks you down into nothing and leaves you there, dyin' in the road. All of war ain't bad. But the bad outweighs the good, Glenn. I hope you realize that."

I ran my hands together, "Any advice for me, then?"

"Yeah. Get out of the game before it takes you out."



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dylan
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