Shannie and I waited for this stranger's account. "You see, Lee took off after Mitchell, he knew Goddamn well that the crazy motherfucker was headed right into a minefield. 'cept you see, Lee, he was fast for a big white guy, but not fast enough, I used to kid him he wasn't black enough. He wasn't black enough to catch Mitchell. So, when Mitchell goes and gets his ass blown apart stepping on that mine, couple of grunts on sentry who be minding a heavy, opened up in the direction of the explosion. Poor Lee probably never knew what hit 'em. Probably was dead before he hit the dirt, poor bastard. I know he was dead when I got to him, and that was a half-minute later."
Shannie slid her arm around me, her fingernails digging into my side.
"Yeah, that gunner was just too good. He had to be good and scared, you know what I'm saying? He had to be scared to death. You see rumors spread like crazy over there, and word was going 'round that the Iraqis were coming; mix that up the air force howling overhead, explosions and moving shadows, he said he saw shadows, He just didn't figure out the shadows were running away from him not towards him.
"Fuck the gunner," Shannie said.
"All I'm saying is he's got to live with it. Till the day he dies, he's got to live with knowing he killed one of his own, killed one of us, you know what I'm saying? Killed one of us who was trying to save another one of us. He took out a hero; took out a brother, you know what I'm saying? I don't have any bad feeling for him, he'll have more bad thoughts 'bout himself then you, or any of us can ever feel 'bout him.
"He's still an asshole," Shannie snarled.
"Wouldn't expect you to feel any different," Calvin answered, exhaling as he studied the Washington Monument awash in light. "You are in the business of hurting, missing your friend, that's sucks enough, but you ain't in the business of knowing you pulled the trigger, knowing that you killed one of your own. I can't begrudge the gunner. He knows he killed one of his own, you gotta know he's burning in his own personal hell, you know what I'm saying?"
I knew what Calvin Green was saying, in a convoluted way I felt like I pulled the trigger. My grandfather's war stories. He hypnotized Count with them. I never heard Count mention one word about the army until my grandfather got hold of his ear. Count told me himself, the day before he left for basic training, when we were sitting in the maple tree drinking beers, "…because you moved in I met your Grandfather. If I hadn't met your Grandfather, I wouldn't have been interested in the Army. Go figure."