The Traiteur's Ring (36 page)

He turned the ignition key and fired up the big pick-up truck, put it in reverse, and looked over his shoulder. For a moment, he saw a flickering image of the Attakapa in his back seat, but he felt certain that one at least was just his imagination. He spun the wheel to the right to head left toward home only a few blocks up the beach from where had brooded the last half hour.

Home to the love of his life and the difficult news he had to share. He knew he had no hope of making her understand it since he didn’t understand himself. He also knew she would support him unconditionally – as she always had.

That won’t make it any fuckin’ easier for her, though.

He felt nothing but tired and disgusted with the thought that, once again and maybe this time for real, this might finally put it all behind him, and they could start their life. He would go over, close the circle, and come home knowing he had done everything he could possibly do.

And, then I’ll really come home. Home to my wife and new baby boy.

*   *   *

Reed sat outside the door to the large warehouse-sized equipment room divided into bathroom-sized cages where the SEALs kept their deployment gear and where he and Ben shared a cage. He packed a thick wad of dip into his lower lip from a fresh can of Wintergreen Kodiak and leaned back against the wall, uncertain what he would say to his best friend. Not that it mattered much now – they had all made their decision, and he knew it was the right one.

One for all and all for one, right?

No big deal for him, of course. Nothing held him here. He had no girlfriend even (and he and Amy had vowed never to tell Ben and Christy about the four wild days after they had left for their honeymoon – it would just make it awkward for all of them). His father and his new lady were already down in Florida again. His only real family was Viper Team.

“Hey, bro,”

Reed looked up and saw Ben approach, his face confused.

“Whatcha doin’? Thought you were still at the Roost.”

Reed had been at the Roost – the condo on the beach in the Outer Banks where the team hung out when they could – when Chris had called him. They had all met together to decide what to do. Reed had been very clear – no matter what the other guys decided, he was going with Ben. He believed he owed him that, and he felt his best friend just might need some looking after. He had not been surprised by the response of the rest of the team.

And, as his best friend I should tell him.

“Came back this morning,” Reed said and tossed the can of Kodiak to Ben. “Thought we ought to do gear check together.”

“You didn’t need to come back to help me with my gear,” Ben said. He looked genuinely sad Reed had interrupted his trip. “Obviously, you heard from Chris.” He packed a dip into his front lip, and then he tossed the can back. His eyes were distracted, and he looked tired. Reed got to his feet.

“Yeah, well I don’t trust you to check my shit, bro,” he said and opened the door and followed Ben inside. They walked down the first row, between the rows of black barred cages full of gear – summer, winter, dive gear, parkas, ammo packs, back packs. Some were woodland green, others desert cammie. All the cages were packed to the top.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ben asked. He looked around for something, and Reed handed him the Gatorade bottle he had brought for him. Ben spit dark brown tobacco juice into the bottle. “Where the hell are you going?”

They reached their cage, second from the end on the left, and Reed spun the combination into the lock on the gate (sixty-nine, sixty-nine – not very original. He imagined two thirds of the cages had the same combination). He popped off the lock and looked up at his best friend.

“I’m goin’ with you, bro,” he said simply.

Ben’s mouth opened, he made no sound, and then it closed again.

“Guess the boss figured out you’re not really worth a shit without me,” he said with a laugh and clapped Ben on the shoulder.

Ben clenched his jaw tightly and a pained look spread across his face.

“Reed,” he said softly and looked at his feet. “Dude, I’m not trying to drag you into anything here. I just,” he stopped and stared off, and Reed wondered just what the hell his friend saw when he did that. Ben’s eyes refocused. “I just have some things I feel I need to finish over there, you know?”

Reed pulled a black bag off a low shelf that held his kit – body armor with pouches for ammo and other gear, his helmet, knee pads, gloves and other junk.

“We all got unfinished business back there, Ben,” he said and pulled a second bag off a higher shelf. “I was there too, you know. You ain’t the only one that feels like shit about them villagers.” Reed felt his emotions start to rise and struggled to pull them into check. He sighed and looked at his friend. “Ben, I wanna go. No just for you, for me too.”

A wall of light broke into the dusty dimness of the warehouse-like building as the door opened at the other end of their row. Reed peered past Ben and saw what he expected. He gave Chris a nod, and Ben turned around.

“Gentlemen,” Chris said as he, Auger, and Lash approached, “and I use that term quite loosely.”

“Boss,” Ben said with a nod. “You knew about this, I guess – about Reed going back to the Task Force with me?” Reed thought he heard something other than just guilt in his best friend’s voice. Not fear exactly, but something.

“Yeah, of course,” Chris said and gave a nod to Auger who already opened the cage next to them. “And, of course, nobody could expect you two jokers to perform at even marginally acceptable levels without proper supervision.” He slapped Ben on the back.

“One for all, and all for one,” Lash said from a cage across the row. He had pulled down a long rifle case he used for his sniper gear.

Reed thought he saw Ben’s eyes turn wet, but his friend turned away before he could be sure.

“You guys do not have to do this,” Ben said with a tight voice.

“Yes, we do,” Chris said. “This whole team has some unfinished business back there.”

“I’m bored, anyway,” Auger said with a grin. “Just how much beer can one guy be expected to drink?”

“Yeah,” Lash agreed. He had opened his case and inspected the sights and other optics inside. “I can’t stand watching any more women shoot Reed down.”

“Amen to that,” Chris agreed.

“Anyway,” Lash said. “There is a war going on you know? Maybe you heard about it? It’s kind of a big deal.”

Viper Team laughed and set about the task of organizing their gear for deployment. Reed wondered for a moment how Christy was doing. He thought maybe he would invite himself over for a beer tonight and make sure his little sister was hanging in there.

He looked over at Ben who knelt beside his own kit changing batteries in all of his electronics. He worried about his friend. He didn’t like that he wanted to go back so soon after the wedding or that stormy look he had in his eyes again.

And, he hated that goddamn ring he still wore. He would see if Christy could talk him into getting rid of that damn thing.

Maybe when they got back.

Chapter 33

The C-17 cargo plane had a few round, porthole like windows scattered about, but he and Reed had stretched out their sleeping bags and gear campground style on the aft cargo ramp so he couldn’t really see any of them from their dark and cave like perch.

Ben thought watching the coastline disappear behind them as they headed east towards the dark continent might erase the dream-like quality he felt envelope him. What he didn’t feel was anxious or frightened. In fact, he felt remarkably at peace as if the act of returning had finally stifled the many voices that demanded his journey in the first place. He wondered if he would feel so confident if his teammates were not spread out all around him.

“What’s it gonna be, dude?” Reed asked as he opened his lap top and unzipped his DVD case.

“Anything not set in Africa,” Ben replied. His throat tightened with the thought that he ought not complain – that, if not for him, Reed would be drunk at the beach instead of heading back to that shit hole and certain firefights with those Al Qaeda dick weeds.

“You got that shit right,” Reed said with a laugh, obviously not as bothered as Ben by the hypocrisy.

He popped in “3:10 to Yuma” and they began to watch a young used-to-be-batman-cowboy limp around his ranch.

Ben’s mind slipped inevitably to Christy. She had not reacted with any of the emotion or frustration he had feared, but then he really knew she wouldn’t. She had maintained the even strain of the perfect Navy Wife. The fact he would be back in only six weeks helped a lot he felt certain.  He doubted he would have gotten the Christy-style unconditional support had he been courageous enough to tell her he had volunteered for this trip. He had no idea how to explain it to her without her thinking he had lost his mind completely, so he had allowed her to believe that orders were orders.

She had wanted to tell him something earlier that morning, but had changed her mind at the last minute. It didn’t matter – he knew her thoughts even without the strange new gift. He knew her like a husband knows his wife. Christy believed she might be pregnant.

And, she’s right. Should I have told her? How would I have explained how I know?

The pregnancy test she had tucked behind the spare rolls of toilet paper in their bathroom cabinet would give her the answer soon enough – and he would be home to share the excitement soon after. They would be together for most of the pregnancy. In fact, he had all but decided to ask Chris for some home time after this – some protected shore time until after the baby got here and they got through the first year or so. Maybe a training billet or something.

On Reed’s laptop, Batman was trying to explain to his wife how tough it was to lose a leg and still be a man. Ben closed his eyes and reached out behind them, out of the plane and back to the beach.

I love you, baby. I will be home soon, and it will be my turn to support you. You and our little boy.

He felt her tears as she sat on their deck back at the beach. Above it he heard the soft whispers of the Indian, the Elder, and more clearly the voice of his little girl.

I have missed you, father
, Jewel said in his mind. Little Jewel, who in real life was probably a year away from being old enough to talk in even her own language.
I have missed you, but I will see you soon.

He decided to try and focus on the movie. There was no friggin’ way he would be taking any Ambien on this trip. The last thing he needed was to not be able to wake from some dream he couldn’t control. 

*   *   *

For a moment Ben’s voice sounded so real and clear in her head. It didn’t speak to her but about her. She knew it had to be her imagination because his voice talked about their son and about being there with her for her pregnancy. Even if she could hear his thoughts from so far away, he couldn’t possibly know what she only suspected. She had decided to wait until he got back – by then she would know for sure and would even be toward the end of the tentative first trimester. They could relax into the excitement of their coming baby. The last thing he needed was more to worry about, especially doing what he would be doing – wherever the hell he would be doing it.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and blew her nose in a tissue. When he got back, they would be sure.

She looked out at the dark Atlantic Ocean and then up into the sky above it, wondering what her husband was thinking.

You are the Rougarou, and you must return to the fight.

-The Attakapa

Chapter 34

Ben walked beside his teammates with hands in his pockets and his thoughts far away. He had re-acclimated to their vampire-like lifestyle very quickly, having been away from it for only a month or so. He missed the warm feel of afternoon sun on his skin, especially with Christy beside him holding his hand, but the chronic malaise he always felt when exposed to only the last few rays of setting sun quickly became familiar background noise. For a SEAL he knew that darkness was just another tool.

The problem was he hadn’t seen his enemy yet. They had been on ops every night since they arrived, Viper team usually just one piece of a larger operational puzzle, and they had certainly had contact with Al Qaeda. The resistance had not been much, and they had taken a handful of bad guys off the targets each night. None of these assholes had what he searched for, though. He had reached into their minds (had become quite expert at controlling that part of it at least) but had yet to feel the presence of the dark ones. Even as he thought about it, he felt ridiculous. This evening, despite the same dreams as the other nights, he had awakened with a deep-seeded feeling he had made a terrible mistake – that he had left his wife behind and dragged his team back into combat in the shittiest place on Earth because of a simple chemical imbalance in his brain that had left him with insane delusions he could trace back to a disturbed childhood.

A part of him actually wanted to believe that. The thought of being crazy no longer seemed the most terrifying thing he could imagine. If he wasn’t crazy, the reality led by his nightmares and the voices in his head certainly held a shit load more terror than needing a good shrink and some psychotropic drugs.

Ben slipped into the back seat of the windowless white pick-up truck, one of a fleet of beat up and rusted hulks lined up beside the low brown building where they lived. The base they were on now was much more comfortable than the condemned airfield they had occupied last month. This base actually housed the “host country’s” militia and, in fact, bustled with activity. The host country had only a small number of troops on the base, in fact, but a large number of NATO troops were deployed here. The airfield was always bustling, mostly shuttling in foreign troops, such as his team, many of whom continued on by helicopter to some other forward outpost. In general, Special Warfare types shied away from crowds, but at least the crowds usually meant great living conditions.