Brendan DuBois - Dead of Night

‘Maybe those two boys,’ I offered.

Charlie nodded in my direction. ‘Perhaps. A spoof,’ he repeated.

‘Fine,’ Peter said. ‘A damn joke. Can we get moving, see if that farm is for real—or is that a spoof, too?’

Charlie looked over at Jean-Paul, giving him a knowing glance. I wasn’t sure what was exchanged in those looks, but Jean-Paul gave a little nod, as if something had been settled earlier. ‘All right, we move on. But we move on in helmets and body armor.’

Peter protested. ‘What for? That bloody stuff’s hot and heavy.’

Charlie looked at Peter, and the gaze made me flinch. ‘Better to be hot and heavy than be on the side of the road, bleeding out, waiting for a medevac chopper to dust you off,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m the military advisor and escort to this little outfit, and right now I’m advising helmets and body armor, and your team leader’s agreed with me. So. You’ve got a fucking problem with that? Sir?’

Peter shook his head, and I decided I liked Charlie even more. ‘No, no problem,’ our Brit said.

We resumed driving after about fifteen minutes or so of digging through our gear, pulling out the black body-armor vests and the light blue helmets with the white UN crest. The helmets were dented and faded, the crest depicting the globe and olive branches chipped and worn away. Miriam held up hers and shook her head. ‘Makes me wonder what places this helmet has traveled, what horrors it has witnessed.’

Peter said, ‘Is it clean? Is it whole?’

‘Yes—why do you ask?’

Peter smiled, showing his teeth, which needed a good brushing. ‘Just be glad there are no bloodstains or holes or flecks of brain matter inside. I’ve seen it before. Bad luck and all that.’

I saw the sweat stains on the green webbing inside my helmet and thought about what Miriam had said. She was right, whatever Peter might say. These helmets had been used and re-used. With money tight for peacekeeping, allowances had to be made. I put on my helmet, tightened the chinstrap, and instantly felt ridiculous, like an impostor. My buds at the Star would probably wet themselves laughing at seeing me dressed like this. We helped each other with the Velcro straps of the body armor, making sure that our radiation monitors were not obstructed by the material. I was pleased when Miriam turned down Peter’s offer of assistance and asked me to help.

Peter pretended that it didn’t bother him when I stood behind her and gingerly pulled the straps tight against her. It seemed a special, intimate moment, and I had an urge just to stand there, my hands around her slim waist. Then Miriam turned and smiled and said, ‘Fine. Let’s go, then.’

We followed the lead Toyota again, though slower, and Peter said, ‘I still don’t like what happened. Spoof or no spoof, someone’s fucking with our heads. This place is supposed to be pacified. I don’t like it, not at all.’

‘Maybe it was the kids,’ I said again, seeing how the land was beginning to rise up, fences with barbed wire and fields all around us. Some of the mist started to bum off.

‘Well, maybe it was the daddies of those kids, looking to see what we do in case we spot a booby trap or obstruction in the roadway. Now they know our hand signals, how we’ll disperse, the distances we aim to put between each other. Easier for them to take us out.’

‘So,’ Miriam said, trying to lean forward to talk to us without bumping her helmeted head on the roof of the Toyota. ‘What should we do? Go back to the hotel? Try to fill the swimming pool? Is that it?’

‘No, but Jean-Paul could get on the horn there and get us some back-up, besides that Marine,’ Peter said. ‘I’d feel a hell of a lot better with an APC in front of us, that’s for sure.’

I folded my arms, saw brake lights come on again up front. ‘Aren’t enough to go around, you know that.’

Miriam added, ‘Besides, this area’s pacified. That’s what all the maps said.’

‘Sure,’ Peter said. ‘But remember what Sammy here said last night. Did anybody tell the paramilitaries what kind of maps they should be using?’

Then we all shut up as the lead Toyota turned right and started going up a dirt driveway. We followed and I swung my head around, to check on the third Land Cruiser. Sanjay and Karen were back there but I didn’t see any laughter, any smiles. It’s hard to stay in a good mood while wearing a helmet and body armor. I saw something else I didn’t like: two black mailboxes, torn from their wooden posts and flung to the ground.

The driveway went up about a hundred meters, and Peter said, ‘I surely do take it all back. That sure don’t look like a spoof to me, mates, does it now?’

I didn’t answer, just trying to take it all in. There had once been a large farmhouse here, with a barn and a couple of outbuildings. But the windows were all shattered and there were scorch marks where fires had burned. In front was a large dirt turnaround and all three Land Cruisers maneuvered so that they were facing back down the driveway, for easy escape. A tractor was on its side, and a pickup truck was on flat tires, its body rust-red from having burned some time ago. We got out and Jean-Paul motioned us to stay behind. I felt my hands quivering as Charlie went into the rear of his Toyota and came out hefting a utility belt from which hung various items of equipment. He was also holding an M-16 rifle. Unlike the rest of us, his helmet looked like it belonged on him. Karen and Sanjay joined us, standing behind the front of the Toyota where the tires and engine block might protect us if something bad were to happen.

Karen said, exasperation in her voice, ‘Damn it, there he goes again. A man with a gun. Ninety percent of the world’s problems—and one hundred percent of our particular problems—would be eliminated if we could figure out a way to get rid of men with guns.’

I think I surprised everyone there—including myself—by saying, ‘Don’t be so quick to get rid of this particular man. He’d die fighting to protect you, Karen, so show some appreciation, why don’t you?’

Karen made a dismissive noise and looked to Sanjay for something, maybe reassurance. But Sanjay was watching with the rest of us as Charlie carefully walked around the buildings, stepping in and out for a moment or three. He then went into the two-story farmhouse. The building was painted bright yellow, which made the scorch marks around the broken windows that bit more dramatic. I looked out beyond the trees, wondering if the gunmen had come from there or if they had been so blatant as to come right up the driveway.

Charlie came out of the house, the M-16 slung over his shoulder, and I realized then that my legs had relaxed—earlier they had been threatening to start shaking. Charlie met with Jean-Paul and they talked for a moment. Then Jean-Paul came over to us, shaking his head.

‘No bodies, but there looks to be evidence in the barn and in the downstairs living room,’ he said quietly. ‘Time for all of us to get to work.’

There. For the first time since I had joined the team I had heard those quiet words. I went with Peter and Miriam to the rear of our Toyota, where each of us pulled out our work rucksack.

I wasn’t sure who to follow—those going into the house or those going into the bam—but when Miriam headed to the open doorway of the barn I joined her, my heavy rucksack dangling from one hand. We stood there for a moment, letting our eyes adjust to the gloom inside. I was surprised at the concrete floor of the barn: such an expenditure wasn’t to be expected in such a poor part of the country. Before us were empty stalls, bags of feed and fertilizer, and one area piled up with hay bales. One wooden wall was splintered and broken, like something had battered it fast and with great violence, and on the concrete below the wall hay had been spread around.