The Measure(99)

He wrote a letter to his parents, explaining the lie that had launched his career, and hid it under his cot, where he knew someone would find it after he was gone, when his belongings were being packed. It had taken him months to decide what to say, but he couldn’t leave his parents in a state of grief and confusion. They deserved to know the truth about the switch, to know that this was their son’s choice. But Javi never named Jack in his letter, hoping that would be enough to protect him.

Every morning, like a ritual, Javi checked beneath his mattress to make sure the envelope was still there, touching it lightly with his fingertips before heading out for the day.



Javier was walking one afternoon with his buddy Captain Reynolds when the commanding officer called them over the radio. They were needed for the emergency recovery of a pilot and two medical personnel whose aircraft had just been shot down over unfriendly territory. All three passengers had successfully ejected and were currently presumed alive.

Javi and Reynolds quickly gathered their gear and headed toward the helicopter.

“Where are the PJs?” asked Reynolds.

“Here, sir!” The two pararescuemen appeared from behind the helicopter, ready to fly. Javi settled into the copilot’s seat, to the right of Reynolds, with the flight engineer and two PJs in back.

As the chopper ascended, the voice over the radio prepped them. “You’re looking for two males, one female. Our pilot and two civilian volunteers from Doctors Without Borders.”

The sky was too overcast to spot the survivors and drop the rope ladder, so they were forced to land. Reynolds and the engineer stayed behind with the chopper, while Javi and the two PJs set out on foot, traipsing through the thinly forested terrain.

They got lucky, Javier thought. It was easier to camouflage among trees than desert plains.

About twenty minutes into their trek, the soldiers located the survivors, their faces and limbs smudged with dirt and blood, hiding behind the thickest tree trunk.

The two men were both injured—the pilot had been burned and one of the doctors had a bleeding leg—and the woman was attempting to tend to them both.

Javi radioed to Reynolds and their CO back at the base, “We’ve got all three survivors. Over.”

The two PJs crouched down to examine the survivors’ wounds, and Javi nodded at the woman.

“My name is Captain Javier García,” he said. “You’ve done an excellent job here, miss.”

“Anika,” she said, “Dr. Anika Singh.”

“Let’s get you home, Dr. Singh.”

The pilot could walk, albeit sluggishly, but the wounded doctor needed help just to stand. The six of them were about to depart, with the doctor leaning heavily on the junior PJ’s shoulder, when the CO’s voice came over the radio. “We have reports of hostile forces near your position. Do you copy?”

“Roger,” said Javi.

Anika and her fellow doctor froze, looking to the soldiers for their orders.

“We’ll be slow on foot.” The senior PJ thought aloud. “And we’re a big group. Easy to spot.”

“With two people injured,” Anika added.

As if on cue, the gravelly engine of a truck roared faintly in the distance.

Javi could see the fear on the two doctors’ faces, still damp with sweat and possibly tears. They’re only civilians, he thought, here because they wanted to help, to make an impact.

“I’ll head off as a decoy,” Javi offered. “I can run in the opposite direction, fire a few shots in the air to get their attention, then circle back around to meet up with the chopper.”

“No, I don’t like it,” the senior PJ said.

“It’s our best shot.” The pilot winced.

“He’ll be fine,” said the junior PJ. “He’s not gonna die, right?”

The senior PJ wanted to yell at his comrade, scold his casual attitude, but he knew that it wasn’t the boy’s fault. Most of the squad felt the same. Hell, he once felt that way himself. But then he had watched a friend walk straight into a field of IEDs, convinced he couldn’t die, and he lost both of his legs instead. It’s the fucking strings, the PJ thought. Because of them, suddenly everyone is invincible.

Until they’re not.

“I won’t go if you don’t think it’s the right call,” said Javi. “But I’m ready.”

The senior PJ hated to separate from one of his own, but he couldn’t ignore the two civilians under their care now. And he didn’t like their chances of walking more than a mile undetected, with two of his men barely hobbling.

“Okay,” he finally agreed. “You’re a good man, García.”



Reynolds spotted the group through an opening in the trees. There were only five.

“Where’s my copilot?” he shouted, as the PJs loaded the two injured men into the back of the chopper.

“He’s coming,” said the junior PJ.

The rest of the group climbed inside, and Reynolds was all set to fly. But Javi wasn’t back yet.

A tense minute passed, followed by another.

And then they heard the engines.

“Shit.” Reynolds felt a shiver of anxiety run through his body, but still he waited.

The rumbling grew louder. The injured doctor moaned. The rescued pilot was breathing rapidly, and the flight engineer tapped her fingers nervously on her knee. The senior PJ sitting directly behind him leaned forward. “Remember we have two civilians with us, Reynolds.”