Captured(70)

As they pull up to the house, I rise to my feet, lean against the post of the front porch, and swig my beer. I run a hand through my hair as the four doors open and four men emerge. Two hard-looking MPs and two officers—Captain Laughlin and a lieutenant colonel I don’t recognize.

“Corporal West.” Captain Laughlin, his voice sharp as ever, hard eyes raking over me. Tall, whipcord thin, angular features and a nose that’s too long for his face.

“Alex.” I don’t move.

The colonel bristles and steps forward. “You’re still an active-duty member of the United States Marine Corps, son. You’d better—”

Captain Laughlin just laughs and waves the colonel off. “Relax, Jim. I’ve got this.” He moves up the steps, leaving the other three men behind. He gestures to the front door. “Can we talk inside, Derek?”

“We can talk right here.”

He sighs. “All right, then.” Sweeps his hat off his head, takes a seat on a chair, and leans back. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Derek. You’re AWOL. You left the hospital without being discharged. You left without being assigned a sponsor. You left without any further debriefing. Could be said you’re in dereliction of duty. I could put you behind bars. Strip you of rank, make you a PFC all over again, and send you back to the FOB. I could dishonorably discharge you. You catching my drift so far, Corporal?” He emphasizes the word to remind me of my rank, I guess.

“Sir.”

“But I’m a nice motherf*cker, okay? I’ve got a heart of f*cking gold, so I haven’t done any of that yet. I’ve given you time. I’ll be honest, of all the places I expected to find you, this wasn’t one of them. But I get it. You’re not getting any judgment from me. All right? You‘re a damn fine Marine, Derek.” He shifts forward, elbows on his knees, dark eyes on mine like chips of obsidian. “You went through hell. You suffered. I get that. I respect the shit out of you for coming out of that with even a speck of sanity left in you. But I got orders, and you know as well as I do there ain’t a goddamn thing I can do about that.”

“I can’t go back, Alex.” I set my empty beer bottle on the railing and turn to face him. “Can’t. Won’t. To be totally honest, I don’t think I’m fit. I’d be a liability. Soon as shit hit the fan, I’d be a mess. A while back, some punk little f*cker set off some firecrackers, and I hit the deck, shaking like a leaf. How do you think I’d do ducking RPGs and avoiding IEDs, Alex? Huh?”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Derek.” He stands up. “They’re not asking you to go back to patrols, all right? They’re not trying to send you back into combat. They’re not that stupid—” He breaks off with a grin, and, despite myself, I can’t help laughing because, yeah, they usually are that stupid. He sobers and continues. “I can’t say much, not here, not now. I’ve got to get you cleaned up and on a transport across the pond.”

I frown. “So they want me back over there, but not for combat?”

Captain Laughlin nods at the screen door, at Reagan and Tommy, who are standing inside, watching and listening. “Like I said, this is not the time or place for a full rundown. But I can give you the bottom line. They’re counting your time as a POW as another term of duty, so you’re going to receive special pay for it, and credit for time served. Which means you’ve done three years out of a five-year term. Do this for me, and we can work something out. Get you a desk job. Recruiting in Houston, maybe. Something easy, possibly even close to here, if that’s what you want. Something to finish out two years, get your walking papers, and do whatever the f*ck you want with the rest of your life.”

The idea of leaving has my stomach twisting. My heart is being ripped out of my chest. Seems I made a promise I couldn’t keep. “I served my time. I did my duty to my country, goddamn it. Haven’t I paid my f*cking dues, Alex? Haven’t I? It’s not enough I watched a dozen of my closest friends get f*cking slaughtered? It’s not enough I held my best goddamn friend in my arms and watched him die? It’s not enough that I spent three years enduring torture and beatings and interrogations? I never gave ’em shit but name, rank, and serial number. I didn’t give ’em shit, Alex. But yet, none of that’s enough? I gotta go back? Just one more mission. Fuck you, Alex. Fuck you for asking.”

He stares out at the pasture, at Henry shaking his head and trotting along the fence line. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m not asking.”

“I’m not your goddamn buddy, Captain.”

“I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

“Fuck your ‘sorry.’ Fuck all of you!” I shout past him, at the colonel, at the MPs, who step forward, ready to bust my ass.

Captain Laughlin extends a hand, palm out, stopping them. He turns to me, all sympathy, humanity, and friendship gone. Nothing left in him now except the commander, and an expectation of obedience. “Get your shit, Corporal. The jet is wheels up in twelve hours. You’re on it, or you’re in cuffs.”

I remain still for a moment, chewing on my rage. Eventually, the knowledge that there’s nothing left to do but comply sinks in. Better to do the job, take the offer. Prison will kill me. I straighten my spine. I stand at attention. Snap a salute. He just narrows his eyes, and I can see a faint trace of regret lurking deep somewhere in there. I about-face, each move stiff and angry, and go inside. I slam the screen door behind me so hard Reagan jumps and Tommy drops his blocks, his little face screwing up, ready to burst into tears.