Chapter 42
Ford
There’s no amount of training that can adequately prepare you for shooting at another human being, even in self-defense. The knowledge that I’m taking lives settles on my shoulders heavily, and I strain against the weight as I pull the trigger again and again.
We’ve been battling with this group of insurgents for four days, and I’m worn the fuck out. I’m tired of war. I’m sick of being put in the position of kill or be killed. I’m ready to get the fuck out of here.
She’s waiting for me.
There’s a south wind this afternoon, stirring up dust as we exchange fire. Ducking around the corner of the stucco building, I see a clear path and slink down the side wall on silent boots as we take our positions.
“Elwood, De Luca, do you have eyes on the building?” Hale asks through the comms unit.
Six shots ring out, cracking through the air like too loud popcorn kernels. Some die in the dirt in front of the building across the street, others embed themselves into the facade.
“Confirmed. Four on the roof.” Drake replies into my ear. He and De Luca are on the roof of the building across the street. While I can’t see them, I’m confident they can see us.
De Luca and Drake are the best long-range shots in our unit, so I’m not surprised that Hale stationed them up there while the rest of us split into two groups to enter this house from the front and back.
Silently, Hale signals for me to lead Suarez and Vesper toward the rear entrance and the three of us get in position, waiting for Hale to bust the fucking door down. Adrenaline surges to life in my veins, my heart jackhammering in my chest.
When that happens, the three of us bust into the back, and I fire two rounds at the man raising his rifle in my direction, sending him to the ground, blood pooling around his head.
The three of us move as one unit, clearing the rear of the home as Suarez fires three rounds next to me, sending his own target slumping against the wall.
Gunshots from the front of the house ring out, making my stomach clench as we make our way there to see if Hale’s team needs backup.
But when a thunk sounds from above, I redirect the three of us toward the stairwell. I’ve only taken two steps when the telltale sound of gunfire being exchanged filters down from above, followed by Drake’s strained voice into the comms unit in my ear.
“De Luca’s hit,” Drake rushes out, and anger buzzes in my head like a hive of hornets.
“Copy. Calling for a medivac. Hang on,” Hale responds, muttering a curse before killing his unit to contact command for extraction.
At the mouth of the stairwell, I glance toward the front of the room, meeting Hale’s eye, and I nod. That’s all the confirmation he needs, and he, Smith, and Michaels, our medic, leave the building now that the ground floor has been cleared.
“Let’s kill these fuckers,” I grit out to the two men with me, my lip curling menacingly. As hard as it is to pull triggers on human beings, I have no qualms with revenge, and I’m fueled with a renewed sense of adrenaline that bravely propels me forward.
“For De Luca,” Vesper affirms, and Suarez nods, determination in their hard gazes.
There’s an ache in my chest as I sink onto my bunk, my head falling into my hands.
Peering at De Luca’s empty cot next to me, the throb of regret, grief, and sorrow radiate through me.
Fuck, it shouldn’t have been him. He’ll never sleep next to me again, he’ll never talk late into the night about the flaws of college football playoffs, he’ll never see his fiancée.
We all lived. He didn’t.
Awaiting the chopper, Drake held him in his arms as he struggled to wheeze out the words, “Tell Chelsea…I love her.”
His last words blanketed us in an invisible, mournful mist, chilling us to the bone. We all stood around, sobering pain etched on our faces as the medivac lifted off the quiet dirt street, taking him home one last time.
Reaching over, I lift the corner of his mattress, grabbing the hidden stash of Camels. Shaking a cigarette into my palm, I toss the pack on the bed and roll it between my fingers. I don’t smoke outside of the occasional cigar with my grandfather, but I have the urge to now.
On a whim, I get up and swipe the satellite phone as I log into the computer, pulling up my messages with @dc_d0ll and punching in her number, praying it connects.
I need her to soothe the grief spreading through my body like a virus, desperate for her to erase the throbbing pain even for only a minute.
It rings, and rings, and I screw my eyes shut. Please answer.
She doesn’t, and I don’t bother leaving a voicemail. It’s late there. She’s probably asleep, but it doesn’t ease the hurt I feel as I toss the phone aside and slump back onto my cot, deciding to message her later.
Drake stomps into the barracks, his uniform and hands still coated with De Luca’s blood.
He rips off his helmet, his chest heaving and eyes red.
A growl rumbles in his chest as he throws the helmet across the room.
It slams into the wall like a basketball, falling to the floor with an audible crack.
He threads his hands together at the back of his head, closing his bloodshot eyes as he begins to pace.
It’s then that I realize he thinks he’s alone.
My bed is easily missed as it’s tucked into the corner of the barracks, and I decide to make my presence known.
Drake can and will kick me out if that’s what he needs, but I don’t think that’s what’ll happen.
Setting the cigarette on my bed, I push to my feet and march over to him, pulling him in for a hug. Neither of us are overly affectionate, if at all, but as his eyes fly open and he meets my gaze, I know this is what we both need.
I can sense the shift occurring within me, and I’m certain that De Luca’s death is going to change all of us. There will only ever be before De Luca died and after. I won’t be the same, and Drake won’t be either.
He wraps his arms around me, and we stand like that, holding each other and our grief in the middle of the barracks for what feels like an eternity, but is likely only a few minutes.
When we break apart, his eyes are raw-looking and damp, but he’s not the only one. I’m at war with my own sadness.
“Fuck this place,” he mutters, and I nod.
Three more weeks and I’ll be at the park in Logan Circle with the girl in red.