toward the stairs. Gerrit realized he’d snatched up the puppy without thinking. For a moment, he thought of flinging it away to leave his arms free. Instead, he yanked open a thigh pocket on his pants and shoved the puppy inside as he ran.
Just as he reached the stairs, several rounds slammed into the wall next to him as he hustled through the doorway. One team member fired back as the others dashed to safety. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the last team member make it safely through the doorway as they single-filed down the stairs to ground level.
“Do not engage unless there is no other option,” he yelled. More fighters were moving into the area. A sweep would be coming their way, and he didn’t want his men caught in the cross fire. “Let’s move out.
They began moving away from the sound of enemy gunfire. The building opened up on a parallel street, a large hole punched by an artillery shell. One of his men poked his head through the hole, glancing both ways down the street before crossing. Another Marine moved in to cover, as the first team member charged across the street and kicked in the front door to another dwelling.
The team cleared the next building and leapfrogged their way from building to building. They worked their way about another hundred yards before they felt comfortable the enemy had given up pursuit.
In the last building they came to, Gerrit found an interior courtyard built around a small fountain, cobblestones creating a small pool. The water, barely running, seemed fresh. Oddly, in this war-torn city, this courtyard seemed to offer a moment of tranquility.
Gerrit motioned the others to gather round. “Okay. Let’s sit tight until dark. Then we’ll make our way back home.” He directed several of the team members to clear the building above them to make sure they were alone and directed two guys to stand watch on the top floor. The others spread throughout the building to stand guard.
Bones squirmed as he tried to thrust his nose through the pocket flap. Gerrit smiled as he reached in to withdraw the puppy and carefully set it next to the water. The puppy thirstily lapped it up, stopping for a moment to glance back at Gerrit.
He shook his head. “What am I going to do with you, Bones?” The puppy seemed to have enough water and sniffed around Gerrit’s boots. The dog lifted a leg and peed on his boot. “That’s how you show me gratitude, you fur ball?”
Peaches, sprawled a few feet away, tried to stifle a laugh. “Hey, Bones. Y’all got to learn a little respect.”
Wearily, the Recon unit slipped into headquarters just before dawn. They’d crept through the city as quietly as ghosts, using night-vision goggles to navigate their way until they hooked up with a transport unit back to this compound.
The men plodded to their cots, anxious to catch some shut-eye before starting out again. Gerrit handed Bones off to the radioman. “Since you think the dog’s so funny, you baby-sit this mutt till I report in. The comm. center says the old man wants to see me.”
“Yes sir.” Peaches held the dog as far away as possible. “Man, this here dog stinks to high heaven. What kinda dawg is he?”
“Looks like a cross between a mud-colored lab and a who-knows-what breed. He’s a mutt.”
Peaches seemed to be reading his mind. “Please, Lieutenant. Don’t make me do it.”
Smiling, Gerrit shook his head. “Just keep an eye on him. I’ll clean this freeloader up when I get back.”
Peaches opened up an empty locker-left behind by another Marine who just shipped out-and gingerly lowered the animal inside. “Okay, dog. You can pee all you want until the lieutenant gets back-just don’t poop.”
Peaches always made him smile. The team slapped that nickname on him over beers after he drunkenly boasted that Georgia girls thought he was “sweeter than peaches and cream.” No matter how hard he tried, Peaches couldn’t shake that handle. It stuck to him like Super Glue.
Gerrit made his way to the CO’s hooch, raised in the middle of the compound the Marines had taken over for the duration of Operation Phantom Fury. Enclosed in concertina wire and earthen bunkers, the battalions’ nerve center consisted of green-canvassed tents enclosed by waist-high sandbag walls. Headquarters seemed to be drowning in waves of dust raised by passing trucks, Humvees, and other motorized vehicles.
Gerrit rapped on the door to the major’s quarters, a plywood entryway that led to the commander’s tent. “Permission to enter, sir.”
A growled response from within led him to believe permission had been granted. Inside, Major Jack Thompson sat at a folding table, maps spread out in front of him.
“Sir, received your message. My unit just returned.”
“Take a load off, Lieutenant.” Major Thompson pointed his chin toward a folding chair next to his desk. He peeled off his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Close-cropped dark hair dusted with gray and a wrinkled weather-tanned face gave no hint as to Thompson’s age. “G2 updated me on your run-in yesterday. Good job calling it in, sitting tight, and keeping your troops out of harm’s way.”
“Thanks, sir. Good men. Good Marines.”
Thompson frowned. “They are, but that’s not why I called you here, Gerrit.”
Hearing the major call him by his first name made Gerrit tense. He waited for the man to continue.
“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.” Thompson turned, facing him. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just spit it out. I’ve just been advised your folks were killed in a car bomb two weeks ago. Somewhere in the Seattle area. And your uncle… he turned up missing.”
A chill grabbed Gerrit’s chest, icy fingers refusing to let go. His world seemed to slow down and sound became distorted. Numbly, he stared at Thompson, finding words hard to form. “Why? Do…do they know who did this?”
Thompson shook his head. “I made a few calls and learned that Seattle PD’s running point on the case. The feds are assisting. So far, they don’t have squat.” The major leaned forward. “I’ve cut orders to send you back home.” He paused, looking down at his hands for a moment. “I’m sorry to add to this to your load…but they couldn’t wait on the funeral. Those idiots couldn’t seem to find you. A closed-casket affair. A few of your dad’s friends got together from MIT and buried them near your home in Boston.”
Thompson’s face seemed to soften. “Son, I want you to go home. Make your peace.”
Gerrit felt the chill disappear. “Sir, my men…the operation.”
The major waved his hand. “Our operation here in Fallujah is winding down, and orders will be coming down to rotate some of you guys in 1 ^st Recon Battalion stateside anyway. In your case, rotation just came a bit early.” He stood. “Go home, Gerrit. Take care of your family.”
Gerrit eased to his feet. “Sir, I have no more family. Everyone’s dead or missing.”
Thompson placed a hand on Gerrit’s shoulder. “You got your father’s Irish looks and his ruddy brown hair, but you have your mother’s smile. They were good folks.”
Gerrit shot him a quizzical look. He never knew the major knew his folks.
“I met them years ago at one of those highfalutin’ D.C. parties. We kept in touch over the years. Once your dad learned I was your CO, he’d drop me a line once in a while to see how you were holding up.”
Something seemed to make the older man draw back. After a moment, Thompson continued. “Go home and take care of the dead, son. Your mission here’s finished.”
“But-”
“That’s an order, Marine.”
Gerrit stiffened and saluted before turning to leave.
“And may God have your back.”
Gerrit closed the door behind him without responding.
The sun was just rising, casting a golden hue as it chased the shadows of night toward the west. Black, acrid smoke rose in the distance. He heard a helicopter whirl past. An overpowering smell of diesel fuel hung in the air, a part of the stench of war wherever men and machines clashed in battle.
Unclenching his fist, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a pocket watch his father gave him the day he received his doctorate degree from MIT. He flicked the watch open and gritted his teeth as he studied the photo of his mother and father attached to the lid, protected by glass. They were smiling back, proud of their son, enjoying a moment of academic achievement as the last remaining member of the O’Rourke clan earned the right to be called doctor. They could call each other that now-but they never did. Status did not mean much inside their family circle.
