John Gilstrap - Hostage Zero

Isabella looked interested. “I don’t think I understand,” she said.

“We’ll kill some, and make the others too frightened to ever hurt you again.”

“We need to talk,” Boxers said in English.

“There are only three of you,” Isabella said.

“But we’re very good at what we do,” Jonathan countered.

“Scorpion, stop!”

Jonathan slammed the table with his hand. “Quiet!”

“Are you listening to what you’re saying?” Boxers railed. “Do you think maybe a team meeting is in order?”

Jonathan’s eyes flared. He shifted to English. “What’s the alternative? What would you have me do? We’re just going to sneak in, take our one precious cargo, and then leave the rest for these people to live with?”

“That’s exactly what I’d have you do,” Boxers fired back. “That’s the mission. We’re surgical, remember? Not tactical. In a perfect world we sneak in and sneak out and never fire a shot. You’re talking about going to war.”

Jonathan cocked his head. “Since when did you start backing away from starting wars?”

“When I learned to count and discovered that three against a lot was really bad odds. What they have going here is not our fight. It’s their fight.”

“But our fight is going to make it worse for them.”

“So? Our fights always make things worse for somebody. It’s what we do.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” Jonathan stood. He thought more clearly when he paced. “Just once, wouldn’t you like to actually finish the job we started? Just once, wouldn’t you like to solve the problem behind the problem and bring justice to everybody?”

Boxers looked confused. “Are we still talking about Evan?”

“Think about it,” Jonathan went on. He was on a roll. “Vietnam, Grenada, Mogadishu, Heavy Shadow, two Gulf Wars. Hell, Afghanistan. We moved in, we did what we had to do, and then we left a mess behind. We told ourselves we were successful because we achieved our objectives, but then we left misery behind.”

“What’s this ‘we’ shit? We did our jobs. We would have stayed for as long as it took. But we were just the muscle for the assholes in Washington. Don’t lay their shit on me.”

Jonathan opened his palms, as if balancing an invisible tray. “But don’t you see? You just made my point. Washington isn’t in on this. This one is all us. The scope of what we do is our design. What we do or don’t do is all on us. We can do this right.”

Boxers rose, too, and when he did, Isabella and Harvey both stirred uncomfortably. If this came to blows, it’d get real ugly real fast. And no one in his right mind would put a dollar on Jonathan to win. “Jesus, Scorpion, why do you always pull this shit? Why is there always some fucking moral dilemma to lay on me? These people were born badly, okay? Whoever spins the luck wheel before we’re born let it stop a tick or two early for all these poor fucks. But we can’t fix it all. Even if we had enough ammo, we couldn’t carry it, and sooner or later some lucky fucker is going to drill me. Again.”

Harvey raised a finger to interrupt. “Are you saying-”

“You shut up,” Boxers snapped, thrusting a finger in warning. If it had been a gun, Harvey would have been dead.

Jonathan nodded that it was a good time to sit quietly. He wanted to hear Boxers out. He valued the Big Guy’s input on his occasionally quixotic plans.

“And what about the Guinn boy?” Boxers said. “You’re going to risk his life while you’re saving the third world?”

“His life is already at risk,” Jonathan said.

“Which is why we’re here. How do you think he’s got a better shot at getting home? By us sneaking him out under cover of darkness, or by touching off a running firefight?”

That point scored. Jonathan wanted to argue. He wanted Boxers to be wrong, and he wanted to fight for these people. But Big Guy was right. Evan Guinn was the target of this op. It began and ended with him, and whatever resources they expended needed to be expended exclusively for the mission. On another day, under different circumstances, or maybe even with more manpower, this was a fight they could afford to wage.

But not today.

“We could give them the extra weapons,” Harvey said, flouting danger and daring to speak.

The others turned in unison to face him.

“The weapons we left behind at the bottom of the hill. The ones that Josie’s guys surrendered. We could leave them for the villagers to fight back. They won’t need us.”

Boxers stood a little taller and planted his fists on his hips. “Just like that, huh? Just give ’em to the locals and leave? No training? Is that the way y’all did it in jarhead school?” He snorted a laugh. “Explains a lot of the Marine marksmanship I’ve seen.”

“They’ll be as trained as the people they’re shooting at,” Harvey said, ignoring the interservice dick-knocking.

“Or they’ll end up providing additional weapons to the bad guys,” Jonathan said. “Either on purpose or otherwise.” He shook his head. “I was wrong,” he said. “It was a stupid idea.”

Harvey stood. “No, it wasn’t. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Says the medic,” Boxers scoffed.

Harvey took two steps closer to the Big Guy, craning his neck to stare him down. “Exactly, says the medic. The very same medic, in fact, who just did his best to repair what may be irreparable damage. Chances of bearing children maybe five in ten. Then there are the facial cuts. You want to see?”

Boxers tossed his do-you-believe-this-guy smirk to Jonathan, but Jonathan wasn’t receiving.

“Come on,” Harvey pressed, grabbing Boxers’ sleeve. “Come on in and take a glance. See if it’s worth fighting for.”

Boxers yanked his arm away. “I don’t need to see what I already know,” he said. “I’ve seen it before. Don’t care to see it again.”

“But you don’t mind letting it happen some more, right?”

“It’s not our job to stop it. Our job is to rescue a little boy who needs rescuing.”

“A white boy,” Harvey mocked. “Just like Isabella said. We love ’em if they’re white, but put a little color on ’em and we don’t care so much.”

“Who the fuck are you to lecture me?” Boxers growled. “You’ve got no idea what I got in my heart. You’ve got no idea what I want to do and what I don’t. What I’m telling you is that professionals don’t think with their hearts. They think with their heads. I don’t know where jarheads come from, but where I come from, it’s a professional’s job to push all that shit aside and concentrate on the fucking mission. If I’m gonna die in some fuckin’ stink hole like this place, it’s gonna be because I was trying to do my job.”

“And these people?” Harvey made a wide sweeping gesture with both arms. “What about them?”

“They are not my job. Not this time, anyway.”

Harvey gave up that fight and turned to Jonathan. “Boss, don’t back down. You were right the first time. We’ve gotta do what we came to do up there at the top of the hill. That’s a sure thing. But after we do, what about all these villagers? They’re going to pay the price for our success.”

“You make like they’re innocent,” Boxers said, reengaging. “That’s bullshit. Where I sit, these villagers might not be the monsters that the others are, but their fingerprints are on this business, too. They know what’s going on up there, and they let it happen every single day.”

“They’re powerless to stop it!” Harvey yelled.

Jonathan held up a hand for his turn. “Not entirely,” he said. “Big Guy has a point. In World War Two, Eisenhower held townspeople accountable for the concentration camps. They accepted soldiers’ business in their shops, and they kept roads clear for the shipment of people to the death camps. Wasn’t it Edmund Burke who said, ‘All that is necessary for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing’?”