The Traiteur's Ring (5 page)

Fuckin’ mood ring or something. It changes when my temperature or moisture or something changes.

It still gave him a little chill and for a moment he thought about pulling the ring off. Then, he looked around at the massacred village, and across the clearing he could still see the motionless dark and wrinkled feet of the old man who so passionately seemed to need Ben to wear the damned thing. He sighed and decided he could suffer with it a little longer.

Respect for the dead.

Ben finished wrapping Auger’s leg and stood in time to see Chris striding towards them. He reached down, scooped up the little girl, and turned to face their officer. The little girl grabbed at his ear and giggled.

“You okay?” Chris said to Auger.

“Yeah,” Auger answered and flexed his leg at the knee. “Actually, the burning is gone already.”

“Nice work, Ben” Chris said and patted Ben on the back.

Ben only nodded and looked at the ring – a dark orange now.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Chris said. “We got the MEDEVAC helo that was standing by at the forward refueling point about fifteen minutes out. We’re gonna exfil back to base…”

“Fuck, yeah,” Auger exclaimed.

“…AFTER,” Chris continued and gave a wry look at Ben, “we get those other two assholes.” He put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “You and Auger stay here with the prisoner and the survivors. Wait for me, Lash, and Reed to get back with the other two bad guys. Then, we’ll call for the exfil.”

Ben looked around.

“You want us to make these people sit here surrounded by all their dead family members?”

Chris frowned. “No, I guess not.” He thought for a moment. “Okay. Let’s pull everyone back to the road, and you guys wait there. Then, we’ll go back to our little camp for the exfil. Cool?”

“Yeah,” Ben said. That sounded a lot better. Not just for the survivors, but he needed almost desperately to get out of this village.

Chris squeezed the transmit button on his vest and spoke into the boom mike by his lips. “Two – Five – Pull back, and rally with us at the road. Viper Lead.” He turned to Ben and Auger. “Let’s go,” he said and reached gently down to help the older woman to her feet. “Come on, dear,” he said slowly, as if speaking slowly would fix his foreign words.

Together the three SEALs helped the traumatized villagers to their feet and, then, Chris jerked their prisoner roughly to his by the plastic flex cuffs that held his hands behind his back.

“If we run into any trouble,” Chris said turning to Ben, “the call sign for the helo is Voodoo forty-one, and they’re on channel three.”

“Rog,” Ben answered.

Voodoo. Huh. How fitting
.

They slowly moved the survivors and the captured killer out of the horrible death scene around them and towards the road. Ben held the little girl snuggly against him with one arm, the feel of her smooth face on his neck a mystery and a comfort. His other hand held firmly to the pistol grip of his M-4 rifle.

As they entered the jungle from the edge of the clearing, Ben took one last look at the gut-wrenching horror scene. He looked over to where the fire still smoldered by the old man’s corpse and shuddered. He had lots of shit to sort out when he had a minute to breathe. Ben looked down at the ring on his right hand.

He doubted he would ever be able to tell his friends what he had seen.

*   *   *

A stiff wind whipped through the door-less cabin of the UH-60 Special Operations Helicopter, and the moving breeze provided a needed relief from the heavy, stagnant air of the early afternoon jungle.  The four adult villagers sat on the single metal bench seat in the rear of the helicopter and clung to the cargo netting in abject terror. The other SEALs sat at the four corners of the two wide openings on either side, their legs dangling out onto the skids, each lost in their own thoughts. Ben sat at the front of the cabin on the floor, surrounded by their gear and packs, between the two helmeted aircrew guys who scanned the jungle tops over their fifty caliber machine guns. He thought this would be less scary for the little girl who sat between his outstretched legs, but she looked completely unconcerned. She pulled at the pockets of Ben’s pants and looked up at him frequently to smile and bounce up and down with excitement. Ben kept a hand around her and looked past her to the prisoners who sat blind-folded in the center of the cabin, cross-legged and flex-cuffed to the floor. His eyes watched the unbroken and desolate jungle rush by beneath them, but he didn’t really see it.

Ben felt total relief and happiness at being pulled out of their little hide in the jungle. They had been there alone for ten days, and he would be happy to have hot food and a rack to sleep in, even if it was in the hot, corrugated tin airplane hangar they had converted into a crude barracks back at the Joint Special Operations Task Force base. That crude little shit-hole would be like the Marriott to them for a day or so. As a SEAL, he was used to going from comfortable beds to sleeping for a few days in a hollowed-out tree. But this was different. After this morning, he needed to be around other people and out of the miserable jungle for a while, at least. He needed things that felt like home – like satellite TV and real food.

Mostly, I want some fruit. Fruit and some fresh vegetables
.

Ben looked at the little girl between his outstretched legs. She clapped her hands and smiled up at him again. He tickled her cheek and, then, twirled her earlobe with his fingers, making her giggle. Then, she leaned over and lay down with her head in his lap, her eyes heavy. Moments later, she was asleep, and Ben leaned his head back and watched the jungle again, his mind drawn back to the Louisiana bayou, his grandmother’s ramble-shack house, and the magic and mystery the memories held.

He steered clear of the bad nights and thought instead of warm spring days and Gammy’s wonderful food. He thought of hot summer evenings and the folks who visited at all hours of day and night and looked to the local Traiteur to fix their aches and pains.

That was how the nightmare days came, wasn’t it? The man who wanted more than Gammy could (would?) offer. The man with the horrible, bloody wounds and the wild, yellow eyes.

Ben sprinted away from the thoughts and focused on the jungle rushing by. He realized he really needed to be at home for a while. Not just in Virginia Beach and Christy’s warm embrace in their Chicks Beach condo, but maybe Louisiana.

Who would you visit, bro? You got no friends or kin left there. Gammy’s with God, and everyone else got the hell out when they could.

Ben sighed and quietly stroked the soft hair of the little sleeping girl in his lap. He just needed a little break was all.

Ben felt the helo pull up and to the right, a signal they approached their base in the middle of nowhere. He strained to see out the port-side door without shifting too much for fear of waking the sleeping child and caught a glimpse of the run down, converted airport that was home – or at least home away from home. A few folks walked around the compound, and he could see the security details in their Humvees, patrolling around the tall barbed-wire fence. But otherwise the camp looked almost empty.

Daytime. Ours is a night job. Everyone is sleeping from last night’s work and resting up for the night ahead.

They were like vampires. He remembered how strange it had seemed to come home from the deserts of Iraq with less sun on his skin than when he left. Christy had told him he looked pale and anemic. Ben smiled at the thought of her – her dark eyes and pretty smile. He realized he would be able to call her that day, once they got settled in – another luxury of being out of that shitty little hide in the woods. They would have plenty of time before they were called to summarize their op at the nightly intel brief. As the officer, Chris would have to meet with the team commander and fill him in, but they would have the day to unwind until darkness fell and their fellow warriors came back to life.

The helicopter arched its nose up to slow their descent before settling onto the broken concrete ramp. Ben watched his friends unsnap their safety lanyards from the helicopter as they landed, and Auger and Reed knelt beside the villagers who looked wide-eyed out at the row of dark helicopters they now joined. Lash came up behind the prisoners and pulled a folded knife from his kit, quickly cutting the flex cuffs holding them to the floor. He and Chris grasped them by the remaining flex cuffs that secured their hands behind their back and held them firmly to the ground. Ben scooped the girl up in his arms, and Reed and Auger helped the frightened and confused villagers step out of the helo. The whining sound of the turbine slowed and dropped in pitch, and the spinning blades slowly came to a stop overhead.

Ben saw several guys in the digital cammies of their Army cousins approach and recognized one as the surgeon assigned to the Joint Task Force.

“Hey, doc,” he said as the man approached.

“Hey, man,” the surgeon returned. “Whatcha got there?”

Ben hugged the girl. “A beautiful little girl who has seen some wicked serious bad shit.”

The surgeon’s face tightened. “I’m sure,” he said. “Is she hurt?”

Ben hesitated for a moment. What the hell was he supposed to say? That her head had been split open with a machete this morning, but she’s quite alright now, thank you?

“She took a little blow to the head, but doesn’t seem too much worse for wear,” he said instead. The surgeon reached out for her, and Ben had an overwhelming urge to hold her to his chest and take off for the hills. Instead, he kissed her cheek and handed her to the surgeon who held her gently.

“’Bout the same age as my little boy,” he said.

“Yeah,” Ben said, not sure what else to say. The little girl reached for Ben, but didn’t cry. He tickled her earlobe again and smiled. “I’ll come see ya in a little bit, baby girl,” he said. Then, he watched as the surgeon and his two medics helped the other four villagers into a waiting ambulance and drove off.

The three “crows”, or prisoners, were being searched one last time beside the helicopter before being led blindfolded to a waiting truck. Ben decided it would be best for everyone if he stayed as far from them as possible. So he set to the task of pulling their gear out of the Blackhawk.

“Hey, Ben, let me help you out, man,” a voice said beside him as arms reached past him and pulled a backpack out. Ben looked over to see Tim Schousse. The SEAL was clean and well shaved, clad in tan cargo pants and a black Dierks Bentley T-shirt.  Seeing his smiling face made Ben realize how tired, sore, and filthy he was. He scratched the ten days’ worth of beard on his own cheek and sighed.

“Thanks, dude,” he said and slung a sea bag full of supplies onto his back and followed Tim to a waiting open-backed Humvee.

“Heard you guys smoked a bunch of shitheads,” Tim said.

“Yeah,” Ben answered quietly.

Not enough and not in time.

“Head Shed is chattering it up. Nice work.”

Ben said nothing, but tossed the sea bag into the back of the truck. The two headed back towards the helo where Reed pulled more gear out and onto his back.

“Shower and, then, hot food,” Reed shouted over his shoulder as he hustled past him with two rucksacks and a grin.

“Nice,” Ben said.

That sounded about right.

Then, I’ll head over to the clinic and check on my little girl.

He grabbed two ammo cans and his own backpack and headed double-time towards the Humvee with a new-found energy.

Chapter 5

Reed looked at his buddy and wondered again just what had smacked him and left him so sullen and distracted. The op at the village had been a bitch, had gone to shit in a hurry in fact, and the massacre had sunk in deep with him, as well. But they had all been in the shit before and had seen some terrible things in Iraq and Afghanistan. They were hardened SEALs, right?  Reed felt horror at what men could do to other human beings, and he felt terrible sadness when they couldn’t stop it, but it is what it is.

The world can suck, but they had the privilege of sometimes making it right when it did. But Ben seemed haunted by something more – something personal. He walked beside his former roommate in silence as they headed to the crumbling building that now served as a chow hall. Ben’s eyes looked darker than usual.

Reed had always thought of Ben as a weird son-of-a-bitch. He was different for sure, but then maybe that was why they became such close friends so quickly. Ben had joined the platoon right from BUD/S, the initial phase of SEAL training, and Reed had only briefly met him before that. They crossed each other’s paths in California, and Ben had actually finished the Basic SEAL training ahead of him. But because his medical training took over a year, Reed made it to their east coast team ahead of him and liked to call Ben the rookie. Ben never argued about the status, which they both knew to be bullshit, and he liked that about him, too.

They were night and day in their personalities, and Reed thought now about how good that was. There were a lot of cookie-cutter team members, and Ben was very different. That made him fun. They had become like “P-and-Q” as his mother used to tell him when he was little.

But not right now.

Reed broke the now-unbearable silence.

“You call Christy yet?” he asked.

Ben jumped a little, as if startled back from very far away.

“Huh?” he said and seemed a little embarrassed.

“Christy, dude,” Reed said with a chuckle that he didn’t feel. “You remember her? The chick with no taste who sleeps with you instead of me?”

That got a grin.

“Yeah, her,” Ben said. “What about her?”

“You call her yet?”

“Nah,” Ben said. “Too early back home. I don’t wanna wake her. She won’t be able to get back to sleep.”

Reed nodded and searched his mind for something else to say – not usually a problem when he was with Ben.

“Starving,” he said.

“Yeah,” Ben replied.