The Severance (8 page)

Jake unfolded them; the top one was a scanned, signed copy of a DD Form 638 Awards Recommendation Form. Under the recommended award, it said, sure enough, “Silver Star.” Flipping to the second page, Jake noted that the award had already been through the final approval authority, General Dan Richards, Commander of all NATO forces in Afghanistan.

In the comments section, under the general’s signature, there was a handwritten notation from the man himself:

“A skilled officer and combat leader. He is a lethal battlefield asset and an inspiration to other young leaders.”

Jake let out a long whistle. He had never read sweeter lies.

“Pretty fucking awesome, right?” Wes said.

“To put it mildly,” Jake replied, still staring at the general’s signature.

“Here’s the deal,” Wes said, getting back up. “You fly to Bagram at 1800 today, go see the battalion liaison NCO there and he’ll get you and the boys a place to stay. The award ceremony won’t be until 1600 tomorrow, but they want you there at least two hours ahead of that so you can do a rehearsal at division headquarters. The distinguished guests will arrive and pin you and the boys. Once you’re done, the platoon is being bumped up to the first redeployment flight. You got it?”

“I think I can handle it,” Jake replied.

“Please, Jake, make sure the boys look their best. Clean uniforms, good boots, fresh haircuts, and shaves. The works,” Wes said.

“No problem, Wes. They’ll be in their Sunday Finest,” Jake replied, as he finally stood up and stretched.

“You ever going to crop that mop?” Wesley asked, motioning toward Jake’s hair.

While his fellow officers kept their hair neatly cropped, Jake allowed his, dark and brown, to grow a bit longer. Shaggy by Army standards.

“I’ll get a cut when I need one.”

Wesley rolled his eyes.

“The colonel also wanted me to tell you to make sure Eastman is kept under control. He doesn’t want a repeat of what happened at his last awards ceremony,” Wes said, looking over at the still-sleeping soldier.

“Wes, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Jake replied.

“Yeah, well, there’s one lieutenant with sparkling new dentures that would disagree with you.”

“He should have brushed and flossed more,” Jake said.

“Looks like you might break even before they put you out, Jake,” Wes said.

“What are you talking about? I always land on top of the stack,” Jake shot back.

“If you say so,” Wes said, shrugging his shoulders.

Medal or no medal, Jake Roberts had made sure he was coming out of the army better off than when he went in.

Wes was walking out of the tent, when he suddenly stopped and turned around. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. There is going to be a CNN crew doing a story on the whole thing. They might want to interview you. Just so you know and you’re ready.”

Jake had friends, parents, and a wife. All of them would be impressed and proud to see him on TV, doing something good for a change.

“I know I can handle that,” Jake said, with a slight smirk of satisfaction.

“Good, let me know if you need anything from Battalion before you leave,” Wes said, exiting before Jake could respond.

Wesley Parker was jealous of his friend, Jake, even though Wes had made all the right choices in life and Jake hadn’t. Wes was a prime example of everything an army officer should be and Jake was the antithesis. Wes had graduated in the top of his class at West Point, and he and Jake had been platoon leaders together in Iraq. Jake had been undeniably a more popular and successful leader. This was largely due to dumb luck, but the higher-ups didn’t see luck, only results. When it was time to select someone to become the personnel officer, a mundane and unglamorous position, it was Wes who was chosen. After Jake got himself in trouble and blacklisted, instead of tasting failure, he was given another platoon, a second chance.

Wes had languished behind a desk while Jake had gone out and fought the good fight again. Now Jake was being decorated. Physically, the two were almost the same, except that Jake could always be counted on to outdo Wes, if only by one push-up or a few seconds on a run. Being good at everything just came naturally to Jake, or so it seemed.

Wesley Parker didn’t hate Jake Roberts, but he found it hard to be happy for him.

Jake stumbled around his cot in an effort to collect all of the necessary items for a shower. He adjusted his pants; a year in Afghanistan had caused his weight to drop from 165 to 150 pounds.

“Hey, Sir, what’s all this talk about going to Bagram today? What’s going on?”

Jake was startled. Despite all the noise he and Wesley had made, no one in the tent had appeared to be awake.

There was Big Joe, sitting up and finally taking off the boot he’d left on his foot a few hours earlier. The big man had been clever enough to pretend to be asleep while Jake and Wes had been talking about him.

“Well, Joe, after I shower, I’m going to call a platoon meeting and tell everyone. The long and the short of it, though, is that we are all getting medals for last night,” Jake said softly, now aware of the other sleeping soldiers.

“Medals? What for?” Big Joe asked.

“For saving Captain Slater, Joe. Remember?”

“Oh, okay.”

“Why—” Jake stopped mid-sentence to consider his audience. Big Joe could always be counted on to say some nonsense that could drive Jake up the wall. If he were doing it on purpose, Jake would have considered him brilliant, but brilliant Big Joe most certainly wasn’t.

“Joe,” Jake said after a pause, “I’m going to hit the shower and we’ll have a platoon meeting where I will explain everything.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jake returned from the showers to find his entire platoon awake, alert, and waiting for him. As soon as he approached, the group grew silent.

Jake shrugged. It was as good a time as any to spread the good word.

As expected, the news that they were all being decorated for valor got the platoon going. Even Sergeant McBride was happy about it, although he outwardly proclaimed that he wasn’t going to accept his award
or
leave theater early. This was a bold-faced lie, of course, told only to bolster the platoon sergeant’s reputation as a grizzled old bastard. Jake knew that a valor award for McBride could only help his résumé as a private security contractor. As for going home early, McBride was tired, like the rest of them—tired of firefights, tired of being responsible for everything, tired of the army. He needed the rest and had no qualms or concerns about taking the easy way out, as the platoon planned to do, in more ways than one. That said, McBride would keep his counsel until he was buckled up with his tray table in the upright-and-locked position, medal in hand.

Only Sergeant Olsen, negative as usual, commented, “It’s just a bullshit ARCOM.”

Once, Olsen had been a staff sergeant, but he had been demoted to private first class after attempted grand larceny. Jake didn’t know the details, but he was sure it had to do with stealing government property. Jake would have chosen 50 other guys over Olsen to lead one of his rifle squads, but he had to work with what he was given. Hearing Olsen’s words, Jake merely shrugged. What else was new?

Jake didn’t tell the men about the fate of their discharges; he didn’t want to dampen their elation. He would tell McBride privately and the two of them would come up with a way to let the men know.

When Jake dismissed the meeting, Sergeant McBride gave out a constant stream of orders to prepare. There were e-mails to be sent, calls to be made, haircuts to be had, laundry to be done. Everyone was beaming from ear to ear, except Big Joe. Even though he was getting a Bronze Star for Valor, awards depressed Big Joe.

Kodiak platoon had been born as a platoon to be kept close to the battalion and used at the discretion of the battalion commander on any task or objective he wanted, but didn’t want to waste good soldiers on. The problem was that it was hard to find leaders who were willing to lay their careers on the line to lead these kinds of soldiers.

That’s where Sergeant First Class Greg McBride and Captain Jake Roberts came in. In the months leading up to the deployment, and before they were tapped to lead the platoon, they had both been relegated to a small office in the basement of Brigade Headquarters for their previous sins. Alcoholism for McBride and, for Jake, things he never uttered aloud, but that never left the forefront of his mind. Neither McBride nor Roberts knew exactly what they’d been assigned to do in that dingy basement room, but every few hours a different major would come by and scream at them about what they were doing or not doing. No one ever gave them any work to do, but majors would scream at them for just sitting around. McBride had surmised that their assignment was specifically to be screamed at and that this was some kind of “officer therapy.”

After months of this torture, a major came by and started screaming at Jake.

“Are you Captain Roberts?” the major asked

“Yes, Sir.” Jake said.

“Just what do you think you’re doing down here?”

“I work here, Sir.”

“You work here? How long have you been down here?”

“I’ve been down here for five months, Sir. You’ve come down here several times—”

“I’ve never been down here in my life!” the major snapped.

“Yes, Sir, you’re right,” Jake said.

“Roberts, you’ve been reassigned to Second Battalion. They are short an officer and you’ve been fucking off down here far too long. Seems they are building a new platoon at the HQ level. You got it.”

“So I’m out of here?” Jake asked.

“Get your shit and get down to Second Battalion. Now.”

Jake grabbed his gym bag and was about to leave when he saw Sergeant McBride sitting in his chair. McBride looked defeated. With Jake gone, McBride was going to be all alone in the dungeon.

“Sir, are they short a platoon sergeant down there, too?” Jake asked. “If they are short an officer to lead the platoon, maybe they are short a platoon sergeant, too.”

The major snorted as he flipped through the pages on his clipboard.

“Yeah, they just sent up a requirement for a Sergeant First Class. Why do you care?”

“Can I get Sergeant McBride to come with me?” Jake asked, motioning toward McBride.

The major looked over at the sergeant and, for the first time, acknowledged he was in the room.

“Who are you?” the major asked.

“Sergeant First Class McBride, I work down here, too.”

“No you don’t. You work for Second Battalion now. Let the Sergeant Major down there know that you and Captain Roberts come as a package deal. No givebacks.”

“Yes, Sir!” Sergeant McBride said, as he grabbed his gym bag.

That had been 20 months earlier. Now the platoon was going back to Fort Campbell, where there would be no need for an extra platoon and there would be no need for a Captain Roberts or a Sergeant McBride. They would all get out with no hope of retirement benefits. But their dead-end careers were their own fault. McBride had been a superstar early on, climbing the rank ladder with ease. At one point, he was even a part of the prestigious 75th Ranger Regiment. He was on track to be the Sergeant Major of the Army, and then his father died. Grief led to pain, which led to whiskey to dull that pain. Before he knew it, McBride had a drinking problem.

It was only a matter of time before he got caught. After three DUI convictions, all within six months of each other, it took a 30-day jail sentence to finally get McBride to sober up and put the bottle down, but by then it was too late. The best-case scenario he worked out was to be allowed to leave the Army at the end of his current enlistment, after only 10 years of service, nowhere near retirement.

Now, the soldiers of the platoon scurried about packing their gear for Bagram and bantering cheerfully. They were following McBride’s orders to the letter, and it gave him the opportunity to sit down and think. Soon there would be no more orders to give or commands to shout. Soon it would just be him. All alone. McBride put his face in the hands.

“What am I going to do, now?” he whispered softly.

“Now?” Jake replied, “Right now you’re going to go send a few e-mails. Then we’re going to figure out what to do with The Severance when we get home.”

Up to now, Jake had considered The Severance as a gift from a higher power. For a platoon full of men facing unemployment at the conclusion of their combat tour, The Severance seemed like a golden parachute.

They’d been on the way back from delivering a trailer full of mail to the combat outpost in the Terazi district one night several months earlier, when they came upon The Severance. Sergeant Olsen had missed the mission because of a knee problem that only seemed to be a problem when long missions came up.

One of the platoon’s four RG-31 Mine Resistant Ambush Protected vehicles had become stuck in a mud hole and they had to stop and dislodge it. The road they were traveling on was treacherous; on one side was a rock wall and on the other was a 200-foot drop into a ravine. Almost everyone’s attention was directed on the truck that was stuck and the extrication truck. The only soldiers not focused on the accident were the crews of the two remaining vehicles that had been posted as security on opposite ends of the stuck vehicle.