Matt Gallagher - Youngblood

He shrugged. “Even partners make trades, Loo-tenant Porter.”

“Three.”

“Five.”

“Done. But it’ll take me a week or so, my supply connection is at Camp Independence. You know I’m good for it.”

After a moment, he nodded. I patted him on the back and walked away from the table, fleeing the bitter, red-cheeked stare of Dead Tooth’s brother, now pushing to the front of the line. Saif motioned the next Sahwa forward. The Son of Iraq walked up with a reckless smirk, a need in his step that could never be replicated by someone who’d known a full stomach and a warm bed his entire life.

Once through the crowd, I moved up the stairs, tottering a bit. Rather than face the Mother Hajj and Pedo bin Laden, I studied the ten smiling children in front of them holding the tricolored Iraqi flag. All of them had two dots for noses, not unlike the disfigured girl on the Sunni Strip who worked at the falafel shack. Halfway up, the low roar in the foyer rose sharply. I turned around and watched a pair of midtown Shi’as in armbands push and shove with Sunnis in khaki brown; it looked like some of the Shi’as had arrived late and attempted to cut the line. There was shouting and fist shaking, and more Sahwas on both sides packed in close to join. I smelled the loose flesh of violence, all hot sweat and young rage, and fingered the ammo magazines in my pocket. Dominguez and two tall jundi s stepped into the center of the throng and charged their rifles, restoring temporary order. Saif stood on the table brandishing a fistful of dollars to try to maintain it. From the center of it all, Fat Mukhtar laughed and laughed.

This is the legacy of Shaba and the sheik, I thought, in all its twisted, messy ambiguity. None of the Sahwa had been allowed to take a weapon inside the outpost, be they Sunni or Shi’a, sheik or guard, old or young. Allies or partners, I figured, would still have their guns.

At least we had meant well. Or something.

I continued upstairs and moved into our boxy, windowless room. Chambers was asleep in bed, resting for another night mission. I poked his shoulder and avoided looking at the black skulls on his arms.

“I’m coming tonight,” I said.

He smacked his lips. “Sure thing.”

“Awesome.” I breathed out. “Any idea what we’ll be doing?”

“Yeah.” He sat up and cracked his neck. “While you were talking to the cleaning lady, battalion got a tip from the Rangers. Passed along the location of one of Dead Tooth’s sleep spots. It’s raid time.”

My chest seized up and my mind turned to cream. He knows, I thought. How? Don’t ask. Don’t blink. He’s probing. Acting like he knows more than he does. Be cool, Jack, I told myself. Be cool. A raid? I don’t want to go on a raid. This is all Dominguez’s fault. How. Does. He. Know?

“Looking forward to it,” I said.

I turned away, hell-bent on getting to a Porta John to think things through. I was halfway out of the room before getting called back.

“One more thing, Lieutenant.”

I stayed in the doorframe, like we’d been taught to do in elementary school in case of earthquake.

“Drug tests came back today. Few guys pissed hot for Valium. Washington. Tool. Some others. Must be getting it from the jundi s. Your buddy needs to rein in his boys. Busting them all down a rank, which means Washington loses his fireteam. You cool with Hog taking his spot? Kid’s fucking ready.”

“Hog? He’s great, but what about that negligent discharge a while back? During the sandstorm patrol.”

“He’s been counseled,” Chambers said. He balled his fist twice, flexing his forearm, then stopped. “Onetime mistake.”

“I’m fine with it, then. See you tonight.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said.

Hey, Will. It’s me.”

“Little bro! Good to hear from you. Everything okay?”

“I guess.”

“What’s up? No offense, but make it quick. Lady friend stayed the night. We’re headed out to all-you-can-drink brunch.”

“Oh. Sounds fun. It’s just that, well, shit’s hitting the fan and I was hoping to — I don’t know.”

“You get that local to write a sworn statement about your platoon sergeant yet?”

“No. And. Well. Things are different now. He — he saved my life.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story.” I smacked my lips. “He pulled me to the ground in a firefight.”

“Why were you were in that position to begin with?”

“Because I wanted to get shot. For fuck’s sake. You think I did it on purpose?”

“Sorry, sorry. Old habits die hard. Once a combat leader, always a combat leader. But you’re okay?”

“Yeah. They gave us a medal for the firefight. Well, some of us. It’s fucking stupid.”

“Oh yeah? Which one?”

“Army Commendation Medal with Valor.”

“Nice. Still no Silver Star, though.”

“Yeah. Okay. You got me on that. They’re all shit, anyways.”

“What’s all shit?”

“Any stupid piece of tin given out by old men to trick young men into perpetuating bullshit myths.”

“Slow your roll.” He clucked his tongue. “Know you’re stressed-out, and probably operating on zero sleep, but soldiers died for those pieces of tin. It’s not the awards. It’s what they represent.”

“Whatever.”

“You talk to Marissa recently? I don’t think you want to hear anything I’m saying right now. A woman’s voice would do you some good.”

“About that.” I laughed. “She told me not to call or write anymore.”

“The hell?”

“It’s my fault. Probably. I don’t know.”

“She’s a good girl. Smart. Honest. You guys have had all sorts of ups and downs, and always manage to find your way back to each other. It’ll happen again.”

“Fuck her. She wouldn’t know what it’s like over here.” I left out the part about not telling her what it was like when I’d had the chance. “She probably wouldn’t even care if she did.”

“What what’s like?”

“All of it. Like another platoon accidentally shooting up a car because they thought it was a bomb but it wasn’t, it wasn’t anything but people.”

He sighed. “Man, listen. I’m sorry you all had to deal with that. I really am. But, well. It’s war. Shit happens.”

“War? Weren’t you listening? It was an accident.”

“I’m trying to be patient, Jack, but you’re making it really hard. Pull yourself together. Look within and ask yourself if you’re doing everything you can for your men. For your mission.”

“Shit. It’s good enough for government work.”

“Come on. Don’t get snarky. Is this about the firefight? I’m sure you did fine. Besides, physical courage doesn’t matter the way moral courage does. You know that.”

“Here we go again. Spare me, please. If you were actually God’s gift to the army, you’d have stayed in.”

“You know what? Fuck you. You know how difficult it was for me to leave.”

“Fuck me? Fuck you. I called you thinking you’d know what to do, not just lecture me.”

“Do about what? Your kill-team sergeant? Sounds like you don’t even want to get rid of him anymore, which makes me question just how much you looked into things at all. Or did you just want to get rid of him because he tested your leadership and you didn’t know how to respond? Man up, make a decision, and live with it. That’s the job.”

I didn’t say anything.

“And call Mom and Dad. But only after you get some sleep and chill. They’ll freak out if they hear you like this. I’m going to brunch. I love you. Be safe. Be strong.”

“Be safe? Be strong? What does that even mean?”

“It means what it means.”