Dead Six

Other than some cuts and bruises, I was unscathed. The same went for Tailor, Hudson, and Sarah. Wheeler was dead. The bullet had struck him in the bicep, traveled through his arm, and entered his chest through the armpit opening of his armor vest. He hadn’t even known that he was dying. There was nothing we could have done for him. My shirt was sticky with his drying blood.

After the four of us had been seen by the medics, we assembled outside by the garage. Hal backed his van up to the open garage door and gave us a body bag. Together, and in silence, Hudson, Tailor, and I stripped Wheeler of his equipment. When that was done, Tailor and I stood back while Hudson quietly said a few words to his old friend. We then carried Wheeler’s body to the medics’ van. It was the closest thing the affable former army paratrooper would ever get to a proper funeral.

“Tailor?” Hal said, approaching us after a while. “Hunter wants you to come back for debrief.”

“What?” Tailor said, sounding agitated. “We had kind of a bad night.”

“I know, but he wants you to come back. Valentine, McAllister, he said there’d be a car for you two sometime tomorrow.”

Sarah seemed suddenly uncomfortable. “Wait a minute. Don’t they need me to debrief Asra?”

“You’re not the only one that can speak Arabic, you know. Besides, you’re exhausted. You’re in no shape to do any work tonight. Tailor just has to give a report. Then he can go to bed.”

“Why not just bring us all back?” Hudson asked. He hadn’t spoken in a while. “They need someone to stay here and watch the house or something?”

“Well, there’s only one extra seat in the front of the van,” Hal said. “And . . .” he hesitated. “I didn’t figure anyone would want to ride in the back with Wheeler.”

“I will,” Hudson said. “It’s no problem.”

“You sure, man?” Tailor asked.

“Yep,” Hudson said. “Wheeler and me, we zipped six of our soldiers into body bags last time we were deployed. We carried them away. Stayed with them for as long as we could. I’ll ride with him one last time. I owe him that much. He never would’ve come over here if it wasn’t for me.”

“Okay,” Hal said quietly. “We need to get going now.”

“There any food in this place?” I asked. Hal just shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just need to get some sleep.”

“Take it easy, bro,” Tailor said as he climbed into the van. It disappeared through the gate, leaving Sarah and me standing alone under the stars. We had the big house all to ourselves. Awkward . . .

“Mike, I’m sorry about Wheeler,” she said as we went inside. “Are you okay?”

“I just need to take a shower.”

“Me, too,” she said. Fortunately, the big house had two bathrooms, so it wasn’t an issue. The medics had brought fresh clothes for us to the safe house, so we wouldn’t have to run around in blood-stained khakis for the rest of the night.

After my shower, all I wanted was to get some sleep, but sleep just wouldn’t come. The longer I lay there, the madder I got that I couldn’t sleep. I rolled over, then rolled over again. I was too hot, so I cranked up the air conditioner. Then I was too cold. Then my foot itched. Then I had to go to the bathroom. Then . . .

“Fuck!” I snarled, throwing my pillow across the room. “Goddamn it!” I stood up and began to pace around in the darkness. The clock on the nightstand said 4:45 and I was still awake. I stormed across the room, picked up the clock, yanked the cord out of the socket, and threw it against the wall. It smashed into pieces of broken plastic.

I stood there, breathing heavily, ridiculously mad but unsure of what I was mad at. I just wanted to go to sleep and forget things for a while.

Wheeler was dead. Yesterday he was there, today he was gone, just like that. I had no one to talk to, nothing to distract me, and no alcohol to numb me. All I could do was sit there, awake when I should be sleeping, thinking about how I’d watched my friend die and what I could have done differently. It was killing me.

There was a quiet knock on my door. It was Sarah. “Mike, are you okay?” she asked. Her voice was slightly raspy, like she’d been crying.

“Yeah, I’m . . . yeah . . .” I said, even though I was anything but okay. Sarah opened the door a little bit and peeked in at me.

“Can I come in?”

I sighed. “Sure,” I said and sat down on the bed. I turned on the stupid-looking lamp that sat on the nightstand. Sarah was wearing the same short shorts and T-shirt she’d been wearing the first time she came into my room, our first night in-country. It was strange, but she looked a little older now.

“You broke your clock,” she noted. “And you look like hell.” I became suddenly self-conscious and looked around for my T-shirt.

“It’s been a bad night.”

“I know,” Sarah said. She crossed the room and sat down next to me. “I’ve been in my room crying for an hour.”

“Are you okay?” I asked, looking over at her.

“I don’t know why I was crying,” she said. “I don’t feel anything. I didn’t feel anything when Wheeler died. I didn’t feel anything when I killed that solder. I didn’t feel . . .” Tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes, and her hands started to shake. “I didn’t feel anything at all.”

“That’s normal,” I said. “It’s adrenaline. You’re going through adrenaline dump right now. Makes you crazy.”

“How do you do this?” she asked, wiping her eyes. “I saw you. You shot those three guys dead like it was nothing. It took like four seconds. I mean, oh my God, how do you do it?”

I shrugged. “It’s what I do. It’s all that I do, I guess. I try not to think about it.”

“I just want to go home,” Sarah said, sounding like she couldn’t cry anymore. “I hate this country.”

Me, too. “But, hey, we’re alive. Right now that counts for a lot.”

“Thank you,” she said. Sarah then yawned widely.

“You should get some rest,” I suggested. “You’re exhausted. I am too.”

“I know,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I just don’t want to be alone right now. This big house is too quiet.” Sarah looked down at her lap for a moment, then back up at me. “Is it alright if I sleep in here?”

“What?” I said, surprised. “I mean . . . sure. If you want.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” she said more sternly. “I just don’t want to be by myself. Okay?”

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I’m sure,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “Lay down.” Sarah thanked me again, gave me a small kiss on the cheek, and slid under the covers on the right side of the bed. I turned the lamp back off and laid my head on the pillow. This time sleep quickly overtook me.

It was daylight out when I awoke. My clock was still smashed on the floor, so I wasn’t sure what time it was. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes as the events of the night before came back to me. I relived, in my mind, watching Wheeler die, and I quietly swore to myself.

There are always doubts when a teammate dies. You question yourself, and your confidence is shattered. Did I do everything I could? Was there any way it could have been avoided? Did something I do cause him to get killed? The hardest thing to do after losing one of your own is to go back into combat again, burdened with the knowledge that your surviving teammates are all counting on you. I’ve known guys that could never get over that hurdle, and I’ve seen it end careers.

In my case, that wasn’t really an option. There was nothing I’d have liked more than to simply quit and go home, but it seemed like the only way to go home early was in a body bag.

It was then that I noticed something warm and soft pressed against me. Sarah, still asleep, had wrapped her arm and one leg around me. She quietly slept, her face a few inches from my right ear, her auburn hair splashed across the pillow.

God, she’s beautiful. Sarah opened her eyes then, as if my thinking about her woke