“The Iraqi people. Do a lot of them speak English? Will they be happy to see us?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jones assures her. “The kids come running right up to the trucks with their hands held out for whatever we’ve got.”
“They’ve gotten used to us,” I add, wanting desperately to be a part of the conversation. To smooth things over. “They don’t speak much English, but they understand the basics, and they’re definitely excited.”
“Can’t wait.” She releases a loud, relieved breath and once again falls silent.
My eyes continually scan the desert while the four of us joke around throughout the remainder of the hour-long drive. I feel more relaxed on these missions than usual, but I never completely let my guard down.
“How are your kids? Have you spoken to them lately?” I hear Scottie ask Jones behind me.
“They’re good. Mandy said the baby just took her first steps yesterday.” The regret is heavy in his voice, the same way Scott’s gets whenever she speaks of her family back home.
“What about you?” Jones asks Scottie, and I can’t help that my ears perk up.
“My little boy read me a story last night. He’s been having trouble with his Rs and Ns, and he’s finally getting it down. My husband is great. We’re thinking about having more when I get home. Trying for another baby.”
“Yeah?” Jones is smiling that goofy, fatherly smile as I ignore the jealousy that threatens.
You have no right, dickhead. None.
Listening to these two makes me grateful for my lack of ties. I’ve always known that this was the life I wanted. I don’t need anything or anyone holding me back. I am fueled by the fear—live for the adrenaline rush.
Though I fully realize the gravity of the situations I am being placed in, I’m essentially just a boy living out his childhood dreams…playing the ultimate game of war. I always wanted to be a hero. To get the bad guys. That may make me a sick fuck, but there have to be men like me out there. You don’t enlist into infantry without that inherent urge to shoot something and the desire to blow shit up.
I still have no idea why I admitted I had no one waiting for me when I get off the bus, but I guess some small part of me was beginning to realize I can’t do it forever—that it might eventually be nice to have someone waiting for me when I get home. To have the warmth of a woman—other than my Gran—to hug, and a home-cooked meal followed by an endless night of meaningful sex. I imagine that’s not so shitty in comparison to the free-for-all lifestyle I’ve grown used to. One day I’ll slow down and find my own Scottie. As if she’s somehow heard my inner ramblings, her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and for that moment, in the middle of the desert, I get lost in ocean blue.
“Shit!” I yell, yanking the steering wheel to the left as the truck explodes in front of us. The right side of our Humvee collides with Morrero’s, and the girls’ screams ring in my ears as we’re thrown back by the force of the blast.
I awaken on my back, bloody and bruised, with no recollection of ever leaving the vehicle. My stomach lurches, and I pull up onto my elbows and roll, vomiting into the sand just inches from my face. Rolling my tongue around in the aftertaste, I feel something hard and spit a chunk of a tooth into my hand.
I’m lost in a daze, my ears buzzing and periphery fuzzy until the sound of gunshots spraying into the air brings me back into the present.
I’d know the sound of those AKs anywhere.
We’ve been ambushed.
Chapter Ten
Briggs
I search for my weapon, patting my chest and coming up empty. I’m completely unarmed. Reaching into my boot, I grab the only thing I have left, my KA-BAR, which is great for slicing and dicing in hand to hand, but shit for open fire. My entire body begins to shake in trepidation, and for the first time since arriving in Iraq, I feel helpless.
Lifting my throbbing head, the heat from the flames sear me as they engulf Morrero’s truck.
“Jones!” I yell into oblivion, hoping for any sort of backup. Growing dread races through me with the knowledge no one made it out of that thing alive.
Morrero.
Pressure builds behind my eyes, but I bite back the emotion. There will be time to grieve when we get out of here. That’s the way with war. We’re taught to push our feelings aside and to deal with them later. To dwell on it would change nothing but could cost us our lives.
I hack, attempting to cough the smog from my lungs as I survey the area, spotting my own Humvee burning about ten yards away.
Unable to stand without making myself an easy target, I drag my body slowly across the shrapnel-covered ground, back to my truck. Thick black smoke billows from the right side and I know that it could explode at any moment, but I won’t leave any soldier behind. When I reach the truck, I pull myself to stand. It’s a Herculean task. Everything fucking hurts. Pushing the pain aside, I grind my teeth while trying to balance myself on my good leg, unsure of what I’m dealing with on the other. With a chest full of dread, I yank the door open and find Jones’s body consumed by flames. I will never, for as long as I live, be able to erase the stench of my best friend’s burning flesh from my memory.
Gripping the hot metal door in both hands, I lean over and puke as uncontrollable tears run from my eyes. I let go and collapse to the ground.
How will I tell Mandy?
I lay there in a pool of my own vomit, in too much pain to move, unable to process the devastation of losing my two best friends. Unable to accept that with one glance into the back seat, I cost those children their father. This is my fault.
If I hadn’t looked back at Scottie …
Scottie. Where the fuck are Scottie and Mullins?
Shielding my hands over my eyes, I squint and search for them, but it’s so hard to see through the haze of smoke.
A scream echoes in the distance, and I follow the sound, unable to see two feet in front of my face. Still on my stomach, I pull myself up and away from the truck to find Scottie against a tire that was thrown from one of the Humvees, Mullins’s head cradled in her lap.
She’s hunched over her body, tears streaming down her cheeks, her mouth open in a soundless scream. The need to protect her gives me the strength to take command of the situation. “Scottie. It’s me…It’s Briggs,” I call out when I’ve managed to bridge the distance, attempting to sound more in control than I feel. “Scottie, look at me.”
She can’t hear me through her fear and grief. She blinks, and panic mars her features as Mullins begins to convulse in her arms.
“Scottie!” I snap.
I am afraid to touch her—so instead I do my best to jar her out of it. “Scott!” I shout, and her head swivels in my direction. “You need to get it together, Soldier. We’re under fire.”
The relief in her eyes when she finally sees me makes me feel ten feet tall—indestructible, if only for a second. The hope in her gaze conveys trust. I feel her conviction to my bones, and I want to believe it too. She gives me a sharp nod before jumping into action.
“Briggs …I have to get my bag from the truck.” She shouts, rolling Mullins onto her side, before pushing her fingers into her mouth to clear her airway. “I need my supplies.”
“The truck’s on fire, Scottie,” I reply with a sand-covered tongue. “The supplies are gone. Everything is gone.”
She shakes her head, her voice full of fear. “She’s seizing too hard.” Scottie closes her eyes as a bullet whizzes past her head.
“We need to get out of here, now.”
“I’m not fucking leaving her!” Her eyes command mine.
“We’re not,” I promise her.
“Give me your belt,” she orders. I rip it off as fast as I can manage and hand it to her. She wraps it around Mullins’s gaping thigh. She’s still for the moment but remains unconscious. I assume it’s due to massive blood loss.
“Scottie, we have to move fast. Your pistol isn’t going to defend us against those machine guns. I have nothing,” I say, knowing everything we had for weapons went up in flames. “Do you hear me?” I ask, lifting her tear-soaked chin, feeling as it begins to tremble between my thumb and forefinger.