Authors: Katherine Owen
The rest of the SEAL team below us are far enough away and still enough in their movements that it proves difficult to discern them from among the desolate atmosphere of dust and straggly tree growth that wends its way into being. We no longer even attempt to identify this foreign plant life in this God-forsaken place called Afghanistan. I take an exorbitant amount of time to disengage my eyes from the horizon in front of us, debating my need for movement against the ten dollar wager for doing so. I finally give up and look over at Ethan.
He keeps his left eye steady on the scope of his rifle.
"What?" Ethan asks in an unhurried tone.
The man is The David—a statue of extreme patience and marble stillness. He smirks, while still looking straight ahead. He's been this way, since we were kids fishing at Logan's Pond in Austin.
"You giving up, Wainwright?"
I have lost so much money to Ethan I will have to pay for Max's college education. We make constant bets on who can stay still the longest. I always lose, but I still wager with him on a daily basis, if only, to better pass the time.
"Ten bucks," I concede, gratefully moving my head and stretching my body. My back aches from being on my stomach for this long. No matter the five hundred sit-ups I do every morning and every night. Being motionless for this long is always a battle between willpower and physical discomfort for me. Not for Ethan. He can go hours without doing more than blinking and exercising his trigger finger with only the slightest of movement. I've concluded he is more machine than man. I can tolerate the silences, but not the stillness.
We have been doing this mission for almost five hours. The light of the day has changed. Soon, the twilight will wreak havoc on our ability to sight anything within ten yards of us, let alone a thousand yards out.
We lay side-by-side, like two people married to each other for too long, not exactly touching, but singularly aware of the other. I see his mouth curve up into a familiar grin as he feels my continued stare. Having served together for the past three years, we're known as the best snipers on our team. We've become somewhat revered among our Special Forces unit and always draw the short straw for sniper duty. If I'd had a brother, I would have wished for someone like Ethan. I know he feels the same. We're close. We have been since we were eight and found ourselves sitting next to each other in Mrs. Clausen's third grade class.
From my perspective, Ethan has it all. He tells me I have it all. He seems to admire my stamina for the coveted rest and relaxation that always includes plenty of alcohol and sex with beautiful random women, while I envy him for his life back home in California, most of all, his wife and son.
Since our return from the States, this last tour has been different from the ones before. Something's changed. Everything's changed. Most of all, the two of us.
I know he struggles with missing them too much; it's affected his concentration in the mundane things that we have to do every day. Since spending part of our last leave together at his beach house, I can understand now how much he misses Jordan and Max. Being so far away from them must make it worse. Having finally met them, I envy him, even more, for everything he has. His life back home is everything I secretly want.
We never talk about Annie. I forbid it, but I'm reminded of her now. Jordan Holloway has brought everything back for me.
Ethan and I spend the better part of each day together. Our constant conversations about his life back home and my escapades, infrequent, as they are in this foreign part of the world, keep us going. My liaisons seem insignificant now. I've begun to live through Ethan's daily correspondence with Jordan, fully appreciating her total devotion to him and his to her. Remembering my promise to her to bring him back safe sends a tremor through me now. God knows I would take a bullet for him and I know he would do the same for me, but, something's different. Something's changed. I cannot name it, but I
feel
it. But, I need to concentrate and stop over-thinking everything. A lack of focus on the battlefield is what can get a Navy SEAL killed. I chastise myself for drifting and re-situate my scope on the dead-looking scenery of Afghanistan in front of us.
We pass the next hour talking about Max. Jordan has enrolled him in a new pre-school, and Ethan is upset that he's missed his kid's first day at the new school. The pictures that Jordan sent along with the email seem to just make him feel worse instead of better. He moves impatiently beside me, and I'm a little alarmed at his unusual lack of concentration. Ethan doesn't normally let life in California affect him at all, and especially not on a mission. His growing edginess becomes more obvious as the minutes tick by. I watch his uncharacteristic restless movement.
"What's up?" I finally ask.
"She's thinks she's pregnant. She missed her period. I mean, I knew she was talking about it, and God knows we weren't overly concerned with contraception when I was back there. It's just…" Ethan stops and gives me a bleak smile. "I''m not going to be there."
"We've got another leave in six months," I say slowly. "Mid-September."
"Yeah. But I'm missing
all of it
. I don't know if I can do this anymore."
Ethan glances back at me one more time. His stern look telepaths that this conversation is over. He readjusts his rifle and looks into the scope again. I sigh heavily, finally letting go of the deep breath I've been holding since his news and refocus my eyes on my sighting scope and scrutinize the landscape. Then, I look deeper, pulling my eye even closer to the scope and try to determine if the puff of dust I just saw is real or not.
"Congrats, bro," I finally say.
"Am I terrible for hoping she isn't pregnant?" Ethan asks.
I'm hoping she isn't, too, for these completely selfish, secret reasons. Visceral jealousy roils through me. Jordan might be pregnant. Ethan is always the lucky one. And, what am I? The one living vicariously through my best friend's life and fantasizing about his wife every other God-damn minute. My time at Ethan's home in Malibu has stirred feelings inside of me that I haven't allowed myself to feel since Annie all those years ago. And now I have them for Jordan, Ethan's wife, a woman I can never have.
I wallow in the memory of her, remembering how incredible she looked on our last night there. Jordan's cheeks, flushed, as she lithely moved in her sexy black dress and oversaw the serving of all this amazing food at the restaurant, Le Reve, where she works. "The dream, that's what Le Reve means in French," she'd said to me with a laugh.
We toasted that night to her and Ethan as they celebrated their fourth anniversary a little early. We drank to Jordan as head chef, the fabulous food, and the evening itself. It seemed all of us imbibed in the expensive champagne, but probably me, most of all. I attempted to drown my lust for a woman I could never have in California's finest sparkling wine. I turned Ashleigh Blondell down that night, feigning I was too drunk to perform and needed my rest for the flight out. The truth was I spent a miserable night on Ethan's living room sofa, feeling sorry for myself, regretting my brief liaison with Jordan's best friend, and suffering with the dawning revelation that I wanted Jordan, herself, most of all. My best friend's wife. I couldn't stop thinking about her that night or every night since then.
Now, I've missed something Ethan's said. "What? What did you say?"
"Where did you go, Brock? I think you just missed the last five minutes of everything I just said."
"Maybe." I give him a sideways glance. "Fill me in?"
"Nah. I shouldn't keep talking about her. It just makes it worse."
"You should have told her about Austin. The jewelry," I say in a low voice.
"I know," Ethan says miserably. "In a few months, I can work out the funds and she'll never have to know."
"She'll eventually have to be told you're moving her and Max to Austin," I say.
"Yeah."
"She wants to open a restaurant of her own. At least, you got that right." I sound accusatory. I take my eyes off the scope and glance over at him with an apologetic look.
"I just wasn't planning on a second kid right now. She's not going to have time to run a restaurant if she's pregnant." Ethan says. He gets this anxious look. "And, we'll need the money to keep things going in Austin."
He takes his finger off the trigger and rubs his eyes. I look over at him in surprise. His lack of concentration is more alarming than mine.
"Can we just
not
talk for a while?" Ethan asks, irritably.
I just nod, because, frankly, I can't talk about his wife with him anymore today. I'm struggling with the dreams I had of her late last night. I wish I'd never met her. Then, maybe, I could take up my normal escapades in this foreign place and forget all about Jordan Holloway. Maybe, she wouldn't invade my every waking thought or my dreams at night, if I'd never met her. Ethan is talking, and I've missed what he's said again.
"I should have told her," he says now. His remorse is unmistakable.
"Can we just concentrate on the God-damn mission?" I ask, adjusting my scope, and attempt to focus upon the landscape in front of me again.
"I don't know. Can you?" Ethan's irritation matches mine.
"If you can, I can."
We retreat into an unusual, stony silence.
"Here we go," Ethan whispers fifteen minutes later.
Most people could barely hear him, but I do. Most people would miss the sudden anxiety in his tone, but I hear it.
"Fuck," he says beside me.
I re-sight my scope, again. And, there it is, the slight swirl of dust and the unfamiliar black boots among the dark shadows of the brush to the north. I quickly sight the advancing movements of the rest of our small team, but know they're still oblivious to the danger just to the north of them. With my right hand, I grab the radio positioned at my left hip to let the unit below us know there is trouble coming right at them.
"Foxtrot tango free bird. There's movement to the north of you."
The radio comes back with nothing, but static. Ethan swears again, even before I finish the radio call. I look through my scope, make my spotter's analysis, and rattle off the coordinates to him.
Ethan dials them in on his rifle with fast urgent clicks.
I frantically try the radio again. "Foxtrot tango free bird. Movement to the north."
"God damn it. God damn it, Brock," Ethan says, a few seconds later. "Get the hell out of here!"
I hear his rifle shot. At the same time, I feel the air slice between us. It takes another second to realize we're under heavy fire as shots come from everywhere all at once.
I push back for a second and see Ethan slumped over his rifle. I grab him by his left forearm and deftly pull our gear along with us as I go crashing back down the side of the mountain with everything and both of us. When I reach a flat hidden spot, I summon all my strength and lift him up over my shoulder, ignoring the knifing pain that rolls through me and then, judiciously make my way down the treacherous terrain.
Bullets zip from all sides, as if we're metal duck targets in an arcade game, but I keep to the shadows and hide behind the giant boulders scattered across the landscape and map the way in my mind back to camp.
As per our training, I utilize the terrain as cover and go radio silent to protect the rest of the team. The danger fades along with the daylight and the ping sounds whirring through the air get farther from us.
I'm talking to Ethan the entire time about how we're going to make it back, ignoring the relentless pain knifing its way through my shoulder and chest. There's all this blood mysteriously cascading down my right side like an uncontainable oil stain.
"It's going to be okay," I say, trying to catch my breath. "I'll get you back to Jordan and Max. Hang in there, buddy."
Four hours later, in total darkness, I barrel into camp with Ethan. I yell for help. "Get a medic. Now! I need a medic for Holloway!"
I gasp for air, realizing I've been holding my breath on and off for hours. I feel light-headed, but elated because I've managed to save everything. Everything. All of it. Both of us. I feel this immense relief for keeping my promise to Jordan.
One of the medics races towards me.
Finally. I can let go.
I gently set Ethan down on one of the barrack's cots and watch the medic dive in, ready to demonstrate his medical feats on Ethan. The medic, right beside me, shines a flashlight across Ethan, and says, "He's dead," at the exact same moment that I grasp this truth in looking at my best friend's face.
Ethan's right eye is open. The other—a fatal chasm—hemorrhages blood and brain matter.
The darkness closes around my own sight and extinguishes the last of what I know as standard operating procedure. The mission all but finished. The earthquake of painful loss deep inside of me opens up, and the once stable ground of my life crumbles inward.
*≈*≈*
Chapter 4. Wonder woman
Jordan
It was an ordinary day on the Phuket beaches of faraway Thailand, the day after Christmas 2004. The sun rose, heating up both air and sand on the bleached white beach. It was the promise of another perfect day in the middle eighty degrees Fahrenheit where bikinis, sandals, sun hats, and sunglasses would be the norm. The long Palm branches made a reed-like swishing sound in the gentle breeze, while birds chirped familiar notes much like the high keys on a piano delicately played. The tourists combed the coffee shops in search of morning coffee, croissants, and trinkets to remember the holiday season with. Thai natives embraced the normalcy of another day—another ordinary one poised for its predictability, even in paradise. All unaware that change was on its way spawned from a 9.1 earthquake in the guise of a killer wave that had already wasted much of Sumatra and Indonesia.