Motor-T was quiet. I low-crawled up to a bullet-riddled porta-john. Gravel crunched beneath my
chest. Firelight emanated from the maze of tractor tires. I looked up at the apartment buildings.
Nothing.
I crept to the entrance of the maze then walked inside. Someone was playing Billy Holiday. I heard
laughter. I walked faster. I smiled. Where was it coming from?
The maze opened up to a center courtyard. Marines sat on pallets of food. They ate Twinkies,
caviar, olives stuffed with various things, SPAM, smoked oysters and corned beef hash. Someone
passed a bottle of Jack Daniels around. Some marines had beers. A small campfire burned in the
middle of the secret campsite and marines were actually making smores. The radio played, just loud
enough to be heard but not enough to get busted. Rome was burning and the boys were going home.
Billy Joe sat on a pallet of Tapatillo Hot Sauce. She took a sip from a bottle of Crown Royal
whiskey. She drew her knees to her chest and stared into the fire.
“Komban wa?,” I said, bowing.
“Nothing has been good about this evening, Gene,” Said Billy Joe. I climbed up next to her, on top
of all that hot sauce.
“I need to talk to you,” I said, “but I’m so tired I can’t even remember what it was anymore.” I took
a sip of her Crown Royal then closed my eyes.
“Why don’t you sleep for a couple of minutes,” said Billy Joe.
“Why don’t you sleep for a couple of minutes,” I said.
“I should,” said Billy Joe. She laid her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “we’ll figure it all out.” I blinked, trying to stay awake.
“Gene?” said Billy Joe.
“nan’ desu ka?”
“Do you think we’re being punished?”
“For what we did or what we didn’t do?” I said.
Billy Joe sat up. She looked into my eyes. “Both,” she said.
“It’s normal to have regrets,” I said, “but I don’t feel responsible, not for everything. We just need
to get out of here.”
“When, Gene?”
“I’m working on it. You know how delicate it is.”
“Promise me,” said Billy Joe, “I’m serious, I can’t take much more of this. Promise me we’ll make
it back to Japan. I have to believe it again, cause’ if I don’t...”
I looked up at the apartment buildings. I looked at my fellow marines, the faces around the
campfire.
“Gene?”
“I promise,” I said.
Billy Joe rested her head on my shoulder again. My eyes kept closing. My head kept nodding. Billy Holiday kept singing.
“Sergeant, Wagner!”
I opened my eyes.
“Sargent, Wagner, get him!” said corporal Fahrad.
Gunny hurdled the campfire. He danced, shirtless in dog-tags, skivvies and boots. Corporal
Donovan grabbed ahold of gunny’s wrist.
“Come on now, Gunny,” he said. Gunny reversed the hold and twisted corporal Donovan’s wrist over, flipping him onto the ground.
“No no no, papasan, I don’t think so,” said Gunny. He stepped away, giggling. He continued to
dance. Someone turned off the radio. Gunny’s eyes locked on the marine who had done it.
“Radio!” said Gunny. “Turn on the fucking radio, marine!!!”
A round impacted near the fire. We all looked back up at the apartment buildings.
“Cocksucker,” said Gunny, “would you look at that?” He turned around and scrutinized us. He
smiled. “Verry well,” he said. Gunny sprinted towards the fence-line.
“Wait” I said. I ran after him.
“Gunny!”
He was fast, almost three times my senior. Maybe the weight of my clothing prevented me from
catching him. Maybe I was afraid to catch him. Gunny rolled into a trench, slipped under the fence
then vanished into the darkness between buildings.
“Oh no,” whispered corporal Fahrad. Billy Joe ran up behind him.
“Oh, this is just stupid,” whispered Billy Joe, “If he wants to get killed we should let him then.”
“He’s a marine,” whispered Fahrad, “That part I still remember.”
“You know nothing,” I said. I peered into the darkness where Gunny had vanished. I pulled the
9mm from the front of my trousers and tucked it into the small of my back.
“Gene, don’t,” said Billy Joe, “Fahrad, where are you going with that bullhorn?”
“Gunny told me to guard it with both my shriveled balls.”
“Gene!”
I low-crawled on my stomach, slipped under the fence, then headed after Gunny. My heart pounded
in my ears. I approached the dumpster I had taken cover behind earlier. I crouched down with my
back to the wall and breathed. I closed my shooting eye to develop some quick and dirty night
vision. I counted to ten.
I retraced our steps - from the dumpster - to the abandoned car - to a rock pile - through a broken
first floor window- down a hall - into the stairwell - 2nd floor - 3rd floor - 5th floor - I stopped with
my back against the side of the 5th floor doorframe.
I entered the hallway.
The doors were still kicked open. I don’t know why I expected them to be otherwise. A giggling
sound emanated from a room at the end of the hall. I cross-stepped towards the room, pistol at the
ready. Inside, Gunny knelt on the floor cradling a young man’s head in his lap. It rested against Gunny’s
forearm, in a headlock. A mardouf of *khat and a rifle lay beside the young man’s arm on the floor.
Gunny rocked him back and forth. (*The leaves of an Arabian shrub, which are chewed (or drunk as an infusion) as a stimulant.)
“Had to be a cocksucker,” said Gunny. He was sobbing, “Had to make me kill him, Gene, had to
fuck it all up. Couldn’t just let us have a couple of minutes to relax, fucking people, man.” He
punched the deceased Somali in the face.
“Easy, hard-charger,” I whispered. I placed my hand on Gunny’s shoulder, “easy.”
“Gunny?” said corporal Fahrad. Gunny looked at Fahrad’s bullhorn then smiled. Gunny’s face
hardened. He snatched the pistol from my hand then pointed it at Fahrad.
He fired.
A man with a rifle fell backwards in the hall behind Fahrad. Gunny had saved his life.
“Let’s get out of here, devil dogs,” said Gunny. He sniffled, “shirt, please.” He looked to Fahrad.
“Aye, Gunny,” said Fahrad. He removed his t-shirt and threw it to Gunny. Gunny smiled. Fahrad
looked down at the dead men. His expression faded. He looked back at Gunny.
“Let’s go,” I said. We crept down the hall, pistol, rifles, and bullhorn at the ready.
****
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