why’d you get out?”
“Ah, the quality of food really declined and my
government sponsored vacations were growing stale.”
“Come on, I’m serious Trav.”
He looked up at the walls. “Well, I didn’t want to
show up at my son’s high-school graduation one day and say, ‘ Remember me.
I’m your dad .’ Now, here I am a thousand miles from him not knowing what
he’s even been going through or….if he’s alive,” he paused to rub the back of
his neck. “Plus, I thought we could salvage our marriage. My wife told me a few
months ago, before we separated, that I should take this trip and try something
else that didn’t center on raids, kicking in doors, and shooting bad guys.
Guess that didn’t pan out so well.” He lightly shrugged his right shoulder
which was stiff from an old injury. “Yeah, I was also hoping to do without any
more joint and disk damage too.” Looking over at Katy he said, “Why don’t you
get some sleep. I’ll be over by the tunnel entrance and will wake you in a few
hours.”
As he got up she said in a low whisper, “For what’s
it worth, I’m glad you’re good at shooting bad guys.”
Chapter 8
The dream was always the same- gunfire, barking
dogs, and the acrid smell of spent cartridges coupled with the dust from
shattered adobe. His mind raced back to a recurrent nightmare, seared in his
mind from a nocturnal raid in Afghanistan. Most nights, the images unspooled in
his head causing his sleep to be a series of disjointed nightmares,
interspersed with occasional slumber.
In his briefing that evening, the Sgt. Major said
the intel indicated there would be little resistance guarding their target. Despite
the nightly routine of doing another kill or capture mission for high value
targets, Travis never let himself sink into complacency or let his awareness
lapse. The actual dynamics of a raid have certain principles in common but each
mission is its own beast. They only had a few more weeks left before returning
home and he and his unit hadn’t seen much daylight during the past sixty- eight
days of constant missions. His nocturnal world was one seen through the green
prism of night-vision goggles. Perpetual life in the dark made him understand
how Arctic peoples were sometimes driven mad from lack of sunlight during their
long winters, and he had yearned to see the sun cresting over the Rockies again.
Three units were involved with Travis’s taking
point. The infil to the quiet neighborhood that night was without incident. The
scene that unfolded after the house doors were breached meant four in his unit
wouldn’t be seeing their families again, including Travis’ best friend, Doug.
He was standing beside him upon entering the kitchen, at the rear of the house,
when the firefight erupted. Minutes later, after the dust cleared, he stood
next to the riddled body of his friend. Travis hardly felt the pain of the
round that had torn through his own arm while looking at the room beside him
and the staircase ahead, both of which were choked with a tangled mass of dead
extremists, fallen soldiers, and nearly a dozen of the unit’s dogs.
The morphine, later given to him by a medic, did
little to numb the hole in his bicep. Instead, he felt nauseous and a
constricting emptiness in his soul as he was evac’d to the chopper. Just hours
before they left the base, he and Doug had swiped stories about their kids, while
enjoying a cigar. Now, the world had changed forever as another brother was
gone.
“Travis, wake up. It’s OK. You’re OK,” said Katy’s
calming voice, as he shot upright from the cavern floor where he was sleeping.
His hands were pale and he could feel sweat running down his cheek, the
nightmare still fresh in his mind. Katy was kneeling next to him. The river
trip had soothed his memories but the images of that one night, years ago,
muscled their way back into his being.
She placed her hand on his as he looked up into her
eyes. He took a deep breath
“Ah, the quality of food really declined and my
government sponsored vacations were growing stale.”
“Come on, I’m serious Trav.”
He looked up at the walls. “Well, I didn’t want to
show up at my son’s high-school graduation one day and say, ‘ Remember me.
I’m your dad .’ Now, here I am a thousand miles from him not knowing what
he’s even been going through or….if he’s alive,” he paused to rub the back of
his neck. “Plus, I thought we could salvage our marriage. My wife told me a few
months ago, before we separated, that I should take this trip and try something
else that didn’t center on raids, kicking in doors, and shooting bad guys.
Guess that didn’t pan out so well.” He lightly shrugged his right shoulder
which was stiff from an old injury. “Yeah, I was also hoping to do without any
more joint and disk damage too.” Looking over at Katy he said, “Why don’t you
get some sleep. I’ll be over by the tunnel entrance and will wake you in a few
hours.”
As he got up she said in a low whisper, “For what’s
it worth, I’m glad you’re good at shooting bad guys.”
Chapter 8
The dream was always the same- gunfire, barking
dogs, and the acrid smell of spent cartridges coupled with the dust from
shattered adobe. His mind raced back to a recurrent nightmare, seared in his
mind from a nocturnal raid in Afghanistan. Most nights, the images unspooled in
his head causing his sleep to be a series of disjointed nightmares,
interspersed with occasional slumber.
In his briefing that evening, the Sgt. Major said
the intel indicated there would be little resistance guarding their target. Despite
the nightly routine of doing another kill or capture mission for high value
targets, Travis never let himself sink into complacency or let his awareness
lapse. The actual dynamics of a raid have certain principles in common but each
mission is its own beast. They only had a few more weeks left before returning
home and he and his unit hadn’t seen much daylight during the past sixty- eight
days of constant missions. His nocturnal world was one seen through the green
prism of night-vision goggles. Perpetual life in the dark made him understand
how Arctic peoples were sometimes driven mad from lack of sunlight during their
long winters, and he had yearned to see the sun cresting over the Rockies again.
Three units were involved with Travis’s taking
point. The infil to the quiet neighborhood that night was without incident. The
scene that unfolded after the house doors were breached meant four in his unit
wouldn’t be seeing their families again, including Travis’ best friend, Doug.
He was standing beside him upon entering the kitchen, at the rear of the house,
when the firefight erupted. Minutes later, after the dust cleared, he stood
next to the riddled body of his friend. Travis hardly felt the pain of the
round that had torn through his own arm while looking at the room beside him
and the staircase ahead, both of which were choked with a tangled mass of dead
extremists, fallen soldiers, and nearly a dozen of the unit’s dogs.
The morphine, later given to him by a medic, did
little to numb the hole in his bicep. Instead, he felt nauseous and a
constricting emptiness in his soul as he was evac’d to the chopper. Just hours
before they left the base, he and Doug had swiped stories about their kids, while
enjoying a cigar. Now, the world had changed forever as another brother was
gone.
“Travis, wake up. It’s OK. You’re OK,” said Katy’s
calming voice, as he shot upright from the cavern floor where he was sleeping.
His hands were pale and he could feel sweat running down his cheek, the
nightmare still fresh in his mind. Katy was kneeling next to him. The river
trip had soothed his memories but the images of that one night, years ago,
muscled their way back into his being.
She placed her hand on his as he looked up into her
eyes. He took a deep breath
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