but it didn’t work. She still looked uptight. The kind of uptight where people start to fray at the edges, and that worried Gartrell a bit. He really didn’t need her melting down on him.
Jolie leaned against the stainless steel stove and regarded him for a long moment. “So tell me why you’re in New York City. Because I’m thinking you’re not really a city boy, are you?”
Gartrell smiled. “Kind of. I’m from a place called Savannah, down in Georgia. Not as big as New York, but not some hick town with a population of six, either.”
“I’ve never been there.”
Gartrell shrugged. He figured Jolie wasn’t the kind of person to leave NYC for places like Georgia.
“So tell me why you’re here,” she asked.
Gartrell looked back into the living room. The boy was still fixated on the DVD player, but had taken the straw out of his mouth and had the cup in his lap. Jolie walked toward Gartrell and looked in on her son, then turned back to the first sergeant.
“He’ll be occupied for a bit longer.”
“Good.”
“So tell me what you were doing in New York, Dave.”
“Sure.”
Gartrell wasn’t much of a story teller—his wife said that whenever he had read his once-small children stories, it sounded like he was reading from a chemistry textbook—so he didn’t embellish anything, just made a straight, unpretentious report. Working to keep the military acronyms to a minimum, he told Jolie how he was tapped to join Major McDaniels on the mission to New York City, where they linked up with Operational Detachment Alpha 331, call sign OMEN. He had known some of the Special Forces troopers from his time as an instructor, so he had gotten along well with them and had no problem inserting himself into their detachment. He also told her of his history with McDaniels, how he felt the black officer was hidebound by regulation and had only a limited ability to adapt. He had the chops to lead a Special Forces unit; but when it came time to step out of the box, he had problems with his emotions clouding his ability to focus on the mission. When he told her of what had happened in Afghanistan, of how the death of one boy might have saved the lives of five Special Forces soldiers, her eyes widened in surprise.
“You would have killed that boy?”
“If so ordered, yes.”
“Was…was that really necessary?”
“He went back and told his people where we were. They came after us with Taliban. Five of our guys went down fighting.” Gartrell smiled grimly. “Of course, we sent about two dozen of the stinking Talibs to meet Allah in the process. But that’s what we were there for. You understand what I’m saying? McDaniels had the opportunity to balance the scales, and he couldn’t do it. No one wanted to kill that boy, not really. Killing kids isn’t what we’re all about. But letting him go free got a good number of other folks killed. I don’t care about the Taliban, they’re roaches. But our guys? And the whole village, which the Air Force flattened? That didn’t have to happen. The choice was a tough one, but McDaniels called it wrong.”
Jolie nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “I see…”
Gartrell went on, relaying how the team had linked up with Wolf Safire and his daughter Regina at Safire’s office building. He had come up with a compound, some sort of vaccine, which would prevent humans from transitioning to the walking dead after they had been bitten. The discovery was obviously quite high-value, so an entire Special Forces Alpha Detachment was dispatched to ensure Safire’s safety; McDaniels and Gartrell were Special Operations Command’s appointed babysitters to ensure the Safires made it out. And they had almost done just that. They’d actually made it to their helicopters when the stenches overwhelmed the security forces at the assembly area in Central Park. They had even taken off, while the team’s second helicopter crashed as the zeds rushed it. The surviving helicopter carrying
Jolie leaned against the stainless steel stove and regarded him for a long moment. “So tell me why you’re in New York City. Because I’m thinking you’re not really a city boy, are you?”
Gartrell smiled. “Kind of. I’m from a place called Savannah, down in Georgia. Not as big as New York, but not some hick town with a population of six, either.”
“I’ve never been there.”
Gartrell shrugged. He figured Jolie wasn’t the kind of person to leave NYC for places like Georgia.
“So tell me why you’re here,” she asked.
Gartrell looked back into the living room. The boy was still fixated on the DVD player, but had taken the straw out of his mouth and had the cup in his lap. Jolie walked toward Gartrell and looked in on her son, then turned back to the first sergeant.
“He’ll be occupied for a bit longer.”
“Good.”
“So tell me what you were doing in New York, Dave.”
“Sure.”
Gartrell wasn’t much of a story teller—his wife said that whenever he had read his once-small children stories, it sounded like he was reading from a chemistry textbook—so he didn’t embellish anything, just made a straight, unpretentious report. Working to keep the military acronyms to a minimum, he told Jolie how he was tapped to join Major McDaniels on the mission to New York City, where they linked up with Operational Detachment Alpha 331, call sign OMEN. He had known some of the Special Forces troopers from his time as an instructor, so he had gotten along well with them and had no problem inserting himself into their detachment. He also told her of his history with McDaniels, how he felt the black officer was hidebound by regulation and had only a limited ability to adapt. He had the chops to lead a Special Forces unit; but when it came time to step out of the box, he had problems with his emotions clouding his ability to focus on the mission. When he told her of what had happened in Afghanistan, of how the death of one boy might have saved the lives of five Special Forces soldiers, her eyes widened in surprise.
“You would have killed that boy?”
“If so ordered, yes.”
“Was…was that really necessary?”
“He went back and told his people where we were. They came after us with Taliban. Five of our guys went down fighting.” Gartrell smiled grimly. “Of course, we sent about two dozen of the stinking Talibs to meet Allah in the process. But that’s what we were there for. You understand what I’m saying? McDaniels had the opportunity to balance the scales, and he couldn’t do it. No one wanted to kill that boy, not really. Killing kids isn’t what we’re all about. But letting him go free got a good number of other folks killed. I don’t care about the Taliban, they’re roaches. But our guys? And the whole village, which the Air Force flattened? That didn’t have to happen. The choice was a tough one, but McDaniels called it wrong.”
Jolie nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “I see…”
Gartrell went on, relaying how the team had linked up with Wolf Safire and his daughter Regina at Safire’s office building. He had come up with a compound, some sort of vaccine, which would prevent humans from transitioning to the walking dead after they had been bitten. The discovery was obviously quite high-value, so an entire Special Forces Alpha Detachment was dispatched to ensure Safire’s safety; McDaniels and Gartrell were Special Operations Command’s appointed babysitters to ensure the Safires made it out. And they had almost done just that. They’d actually made it to their helicopters when the stenches overwhelmed the security forces at the assembly area in Central Park. They had even taken off, while the team’s second helicopter crashed as the zeds rushed it. The surviving helicopter carrying
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