Chapter Twenty-Three
Stone
Within days of Elise going home, Iraq bombed Kuwait City and thus began a war.
Immediately, we were put on high alert. Maneuvers started in earnest, and training was stepped up. Overnight, the assault courses and gyms on base were filled, and the shooting range became a hubbub of activity as Marines were put through their paces.
The news channels had a field day. All we heard were summaries of peace talks and veiled threats. Journalists and politicians analyzed who owed whom what, and why, nonstop and debated it all to death.
But I knew it all came down to oil and dollars—the two things that kept the country ticking over—along with our Second Amendment rights. But who could blame the population for becoming nervous in the face of adversity? War was expensive, but it was also big business, and the gun lobbyists were in their element.
Spence and I suddenly became busy at work. We attended meetings and briefings, then flew to various countries and carried out a job before flying back for debriefings.
The U.S.A. professed neutrality—except they had a vested interest in Kuwait not falling into Saddam Hussein’s hands. Therefore, an operation to move troops and warships to strategic areas began. My battalion was put on standby, but in my world, players for specific organizations became targets, or to Spence and me, jobs.
See, whenever I peered down a long-range scope, I didn’t consider my target a living, breathing human; I saw a job. Being a Marine wasn’t like other occupations. We weren’t paid to think; we were paid to carry out orders. Our training—even as far back as boot camp—was specially designed to knock our powers of deduction right out of our heads. Curiously, I didn’t see it as right or wrong; it was just the Marine Corps’ way.
Weird for a man who’d been thinking on his feet since he was five years old.
One morning, me and Spence were lifting weights in the gym when the call came over the loudspeaker, calling for my battalion to report to headquarters.
My buddy and I stared at each other for a beat, before getting to our feet to change into uniform and report as ordered.
“Fuck!” Spence exclaimed.
I scrubbed a hand down my face and looked to the heavens for divine intervention, but the ground didn’t rumble, and the sky stayed exactly where it was supposed to be.
It looked like we were about to be deployed.
The heat of Saudi Arabia was unlike anything I’d ever known. It was throat-gripping, chest-burning shit, and I hated it on arrival.
As I walked off the plane, my eyes caught a wide plume of sand in the distance, billowing from the dunes that, from where I stood, looked a hundred feet high. The whirr of aircraft was deafening, and the shouts of soldiers milling around the place, hard at work, just added to the overall feeling of confusion in my chest.
My brethren appeared as perturbed as I felt. Most of us were already beginning to sweat through our fatigues, though it didn’t help that we were loaded down with rifles and weapons and had gas masks attached to our hips.
I’d been here on three occasions, all top secret and under the cover of darkness. We’d been spirited in to do a job, then spirited out when it was over.
This was entirely different. In fact, the whole setup jarred me to the core.
Within thirty minutes, we’d been rounded up and marched to a bright-green Bedouin tent, where our colonel already waited.
He called a battalion formation, and after we lined up, we settled in to listen to our orders.
“I’m pleased to announce that we’ve been selected as one of the first battalions to take part in a coalition force called Operation Desert Shield,” he announced proudly. “Our objective is to protect Kuwait, its citizens, and its oilfields and operations. The Iraqi government wants the same thing as our government… resources. It’s our job to ensure they don’t get them.” He walked down the line, eyeing us individually as he went. “You’re gonna hear a lotta chatter from home. There’s already an anti-war movement forming. Expect to read shit that’ll make you wonder why you’re here. The fact is, it’s not our job to debate politics. We’re here to defend, serve, and follow orders.” His mouth hitched into a smirk. “Our conditions here are dire, but we’re doing our best to give you as much comfort as we can. As you can imagine, it’s been a rush, and it shows in the facilities, but you’ll receive the basics, and remember, Marines, you’ve been trained for this. I have no doubt in my mind we’ll be A-OK.”
He nodded to our commanding officers to lead us off to our billeting, which turned out to be a massive warehouse with a corrugated roof and walls. My unit found its own corner, and we bunked down on the ground, opening our sleeping bags and setting up our shit.
It was sweltering, it stunk, and it was uncomfortable, to say the least.
I plonked down on my ass, looking around me at the steady stream of military personnel milling around, and my heart sunk inside my chest.
“Well, boys,” Jackson, one of our unit buds bit out. “Looks like we’ve been transferred from the Marine Corps to the damned Oil Corps.”
Chuckles filled the humid, clammy air, and despite myself, my lips twitched.
Jackson wasn’t far wrong.
“Who’d have thunk it?” Spence mused. “One minute, we’re working for the U.S Marine Corps; the next, we’re working for Saudi sheiks who wanna pay us in crude.” He cocked his head in thought. “I wonder if my bank teller will take an oil barrel over the counter?”
More laughter rang out, and all the boys started making jokes about our new bosses and how they’d transfer our salaries back to the States, which, in a way, comforted me.
It didn’t matter where in the world we went or what we were doing. I loved how we could find humor in the most fucked-up situations. In fact, the more fucked-up our lives became, the more we joked about it.
One corner of my mouth hitched as my gut warmed, filling the uncomfortable hole that resided there.
Typical damned Marines.
“Target ETA four minutes,” Laska’s voice crackled through the comms in my ear. “Over.”
“Roger that,” Spence replied quietly. “Over and out.”
I closed my eyes, listening to the wind whipping around my ears.
The ground me and Spence were sprawled on was covered in dust and sand. Every muscle ached, and every inch of skin itched from the uncomfortable heat, but I tamped down the need to move from my position, belly down, and breathed.
“We’re all set, Stone,” Spence murmured. “Everything’s set up, transport’s half a mile away out of range, and our weapons are ready to go. We just gotta wait.”
My index finger tested the buoyancy of my trigger, and I peered through the sight at our target, checking it was all clear.
The wind blew from the east, so I needed my trajectory to begin a little to the west. The breeze was strong enough to move the bullet a millimeter and a half. The tiny chunk of metal had one mile and three yards to travel, and I wanted one clean hit. We couldn’t afford to miss this one. Lives depended on the target outing themselves and being played at their own game.
We’d been here for twelve hours, in the same spot, undetectable. Our target was already here, too. It arrived about two hours after we did. However, we knew its roundabout position to the nearest meter. The problem was we needed more than a meter as a point of reference if we wanted to get a direct hit.
The comms crackled again. “Sixty seconds ETA, Stone. Get ready.”
I checked my sight again. It was clear.
“Thirty seconds, Stone. Look for the signal.”
A truck came careening down the road.
“Wait, stone,” Spence whispered. “Let him make himself known.
I breathed slow, quiet, and steady, listening to the air whipping hard around my ears that whispered directions. My racing heart began to thud steadily, the adrenaline in my veins making the world around me shrink inward to a small point of tunnel visionthat only existed through the sight of my rifle.
That’s when I caught a sharp flash of light from up the tree we’d stalked for hours, as the Iraqi sniper shot at the truck that had been planted to draw him out.
The sounds quietened until a voice in my head whispered one word.
Go.
Without a thought, I took my shot.
Three seconds later, a body fell from the target point to the ground below.
“Wait, Stone,”came through my earpiece. “We need to check it’s him.”
We didn’t move a muscle.
After what seemed like an hour but was probably only ten seconds, we watched as a team of five Marines, who were bent double, ran toward the body sprawled on the ground.
“It’s looking good,” Spence muttered. “That fucker ain’t moving—”
He was interrupted by another crackle, followed by Laska’s voice saying, “Direct hit, Stone. That fucker’s taken out two top Kuwaiti ambassadors, along with God knows how many others. You played the player. Get the fuck outta there, both of you. Head straight back to base.”
“Yes, Sir,” Spence muttered. “Over and out.”
With a low groan, Spence got to his feet and began to gather up our equipment. “My ass has gone to sleep.”
I rolled to my back and did an ab curl and sat up, ass in the dirt, and clicked the safety back onto my rifle. My leg muscles screamed as I stood to my full height and cracked my neck from side to side. “I need a gallon of fuckin’ coffee.”
Swinging my rifle onto my back, I watched Spence click the rifle’s sight and tripod back into its metal case and close it with a flourish. “All packed and ready to go.” He grinned.
I checked my compass, got my bearings, and pointed east. “This way.”
Setting off toward the area where our transport waited, I swung my ruck on my back, deep in thought.
“We’ve got twenty minutes, or those fuckers will drive off without us,” Spence advised as he ran up behind me.
I shrugged. “We can walk it in fifteen.”
He clapped a hand on my shoulder and barked a laugh. “Race you. We’ll do it in ten.”
My eyes slid to his, and I grinned. “Been belly up all day. A nice evening jog may be just what the doctor ordered.”
Spence set off at pace. “Last fucker back buys the beers.”
I almost groaned out loud. I would’ve killed for a cold one, but the base didn’t provide alcohol so as not to offend the locals. Setting off at a jog, I soon caught Spence up, and side by side, we ran back and met our transport with ten minutes to spare, laughing and joking as we went.
It was a successful night, made better by the fact that when I got back, I discovered I’d gotten a letter. So, I ate, drank, showered, and went to my sleeping bag. Then, with my back to the wall, I opened the envelope, and with a smile, I began to read.
Dear Johnny,
Everything happened so fast. One minute, we were curled up in bed; the next, I was home, and you’d been deployed.
Thank you for calling before you left base. It means everything that you did that. It meant I was prepared in case you couldn’t write. I got your letter this morning, I think it came by snail mail because it took almost three weeks to arrive from the date on it, though I’ll forgive the U.S. Marine Corps, given the circumstances.
Mom and I are putting a care package together. Connie and I also spoke to the pastor about the townsfolk doing their own packages to send to soldiers and Marines who maybe don’t have anyone. I also talked to the mayor, and he’s going to get in touch with an organization that can pass on letters to the men who are deployed. It’s not much, but even if we can help build morale a little, it’s worth the effort.
Everything here is as good as it can be without you. The college semester started up, so I’m keeping busy there, and I’m still helping in the mayor’s office on Saturdays. We’re learning basic accounts and all about taxes now. I was thinking, maybe I can do your books for you when you open the garage. It will save you the expense of hiring an accountant, and we can keep it in the family, as they say.
Peter and Monica get married in two weeks at the country club. They sent us an invite, so I’m going with Mom and Dad, but I know I’ll miss walking in with you.
I’m so glad Monica’s getting married because maybe she’ll stop flirting with you now. Peter is a nice guy though not charismatic like you are. I saw him when I did Dad’s banking the other day, and he stopped to chat. It was weird because he didn’t seem too excited to be marrying Monica. I hope Pete makes her happy. Everybody deserves happiness like we’ve got, I guess even Monica Stafford.
How silly is it that I watch the news all the time, hoping to catch a glimpse of you out of the thousands of military personnel there? I miss you so much, John, that my heart hurts. Our weekend in San Diego is something I’ll cherish while you’re away, and I’m so grateful we got that time together, because who knows when I’ll see you next? I thank God for all the beautiful memories we made together: the beach, meeting Ally and Spencer, and even just waking up with you. I can hold onto them when things get too hard. Those two days were the best ones of my life, John. It seems like it happened in another life now.
Whenever I speak to anybody in town, they all ask me to say hi and send their love. It seems the entire town is proud of you, John, and all the boys who have gone out there in sacrifice to keep the world safer. I’m sorry the conditions out there aren’t what you expected. You’re so brave. I think I’d probably have a breakdown if I were in your shoes.
I hope you’re okay. I’m aware it’s difficult for you to get any privacy, but please write to me soon. I love you so much.
Yours always,
Elise
XOXO