Chapter Text
"He's GONE, Shadow...he's fucking gone," said Sgt First Class Merton G. Masterson, 2nd Marine Recon Unit, Marine
Expeditionary Force. The hard-bitten *top sergeant's* voice was quavery, something Robert had never heard before.
"Uh...hum...Goddamn, Top. W-When?" Staff Sergeant Michael Patrick O'Hanlon, Marine Captain Robert Sullivan's primary 'spotter'
on the majority of his sniper missions. Nine and one half of ten snipers are men, and as sniper teams are two men affairs two people
get to know one another, as well as one person can know another. Apart from Lucas Ripley and his own spouse (Andrea Herrea) Mickey
was his best friend in all the world...the news hit him HARD, and after Andy kept after him for a solid three days without the response she
desired she phoned Diane Lewis HERSELF and booked an appointment for him...
****May 2021, Diane Lewis' office****
"Well. You and your little family have had quite the year, Robert. And yet another tragedy for you to deal with."
Robert wrings his hands but makes no further comment.
"Andy says that she had to turn on the pressure to coax you into today's visit."
A slight shrug this time.
Diane murmurs "We agreed that neither of you would keep such things bottled up inside anymore-is that YOUR recollection?"
"It is," he finally says. "My spotter is dead. KIA in an unknown location on a classified date, country of Afghanistan. I know his parents-
his children and ex-wife. Apart from Ripley and Andy, he's my-WAS my best friend. I haven't seen or spoken with him in a while."
"How long had it been?" Diane wants to know.
After some thought, he responds "At least ten years, maybe more. Mickey signs up with Enron, then Blackwater: mercenary work. The
pay is too much to turn down and he needed to get away from Phoenix once his marriage ended. A combat vet with a specialized skill
set like his commands top dollar."
"Does his...does what he chose to do as a profession bother you, Robert?"
"No. A wife and three children; nice home, alimony, apartment...a man does what's necessary to provide for his family. I don't fault
him for that. I'm a little shaken, that's all."
Diane leans forward, her eyes bore into his: "Nightmares, anxiety, hyper-vigilance or nervousness beyond the usual PTSD symptoms
that you already have? And no BULLSHIT, please."
He returns her stare and finally says "Nothing beyond the normal. Just sadness and melancholy, I suppose you'd say. Andy and the
babies help, I'm leaning on them."
"GOOD. Keep doing that, hm? And don't try to 'make sense of Mickey's death. You're no stranger to sudden demises and before you dealt
with it by shoving it WAY DOWN DEEP...please don't do that now. You've made such progress...I'd hate to see you take any backward steps.
I'm here and available for as many sessions as you need, or if an emergency 'Zoom' session or phone call is needed. If I need to come to I
will. Whatever it takes: agreed?"
"Agreed."
[Before Sullivan departs Diane has parting advice for him]:
'DO NOT FORGET the CT scans, Chief. They'll confirm some suspicions that I have. And remember this: as you have probably already been
told more than once, the longest-lasting effects of physical and mental trauma seem to emerge from wartime experiences. Combat veterans
of every war have seen death and destruction unparalleled in the rest of society. The constant need to be ON ALERT, READY TO ENGAGE THE
ENEMY AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE, AND THE DIRECT THREATS TO LIFE AND LIMB make military veterans unique among those who suffer from
PTSD. You have witnessed the killing and maiming of civilians and the death of fellow soldiers, even friends. Soldiers are ordered to kill the
enemy with no option for non-compliance. Even individuals in supporting roles, such as medics, nurses, persons serving grave duty, pilots,
transport and MPs, among others, are at risk to develop problems. Civilians, too, can be caught in the crossfire, captured, or made to flee
their homes, becoming survivors of war stress. Research shows that a certain proportion of individuals will suffer psychologically after a war
experience. The more loss of life, horror, or physical injury seen or experienced, the more likely the person is to have problems. As time
goes on, many of these individuals will find that their distress becomes less severe. For some, however, the disturbance remains strong and
and continues to interfere with their functioning and enjoyment of life. That seems to be the case with you. With your permission, I'd like to
call Herrera and loop her in.'
'Sure.'
***************
At home, his children rush to him at the front door, screaming ¡*"Papi, Papi!*"
With his son beneath one arm and his daughter the other, he trundles them into the kitchen where Andy's busy at the stove...
"¡*Niños-dejan a su Papa en PAZ, por el amor de Dios! Acaba de llegar*." (Children-leave your daddy be for the love of God! He's barely
arrived). "*Bienvenido, tú*." (Welcome, you).
"*'Alo...huele deliciosa, la cena*." (Hello...dinner smells great).
"At the table, you horde!," Andy scolds. "After washing your hands-you too, Sir."
Robert herds them away. "*Vamos, Nenes.*" (Let's go babies).
The little ones stand on their chairs and eat with occasional assistance from their parents. "Lewis called," Andy reports casually, wiping
their son's mouth and chin.
"She mentioned that she would."
"Your PTSD's getting worse and I'm the last to know?" Her face doesn't betray any frustration; it's in her voice. "*Mami*...says their little
boy and she assures him that nothing is wrong. "Toma. No se preocupe*" (Here. And never mind) adding a spoonful of vegetables to his
mouth.
Robert corrects "You're already aware of my original PTSD diagnosis; it seems that it's progressed. You knew as soon as I did,
Andy. I don't consider that hiding anything," trying his best not to allow resentment to creep into his tone.
"I DON'T." Herrera reaches over to clasp Sullivan's free hand. "*No lo creo.* (I don't see it like that). "I'm angry with myself for not seeing
any of this sooner, Robert. It's my job."
"You have a lot on your plate these days. I don't blame you."
She repeats "It's my job. I'M your partner and I'm supposed to have your back-no matter what else is going on."
"*Jugamos, Papi!*" (Let's play, Daddy) Yadira yelled. Andy wasted no time telling her (gently!) to use her 'inside' voice.
"¡SI!" added Yael.
****November 7, Ripley's residence****
"Remember that time I shot that kid, 'Rip?" Both men are a little 'tight'...as in drunk.
Ripley said "C'mon, Man. Those were orders."
"You remember then."
"Yeah. I remember," he admitted unhappily.
Robert emptied his glass, turning the squat tumbler in his hands nervously. Lucas waited patiently, not pushing. At last
his best friend said:
"I sat on that side of that hill for two days. One target...one shot...back to base-and new orders. Shoot someone else. Y'know?"
Ripley nodded; he KNEW alright...
"The target package (dossier provided to snipers) didn't mention anything about a...ch-child...(a long breath) and he continued "I
didn't know until my spotter saw him through the scope. It went through my mind to abort mission, Luke. I see that boy, no more
than ten, maybe twelve years old..."
Quietly, the Chief says "You sent the shot."
Sullivan bawls like a heartbroken child, so loudly that Victoria came to the sliding glass doors in alarm. Her husband waves her
away and links his arm around the sobbing man's shoulders. "I know, Brother...I know ," he says. "I. We were on
the...the Afghanistan-Pakistan border...I mean..near there. My guys and I ran across a group of nomads...there were women and
uh...girls with them. By then none of us had seen a female in months. Four, five of this lot hadn't been with us long; they menance
the civilians and start talking about assaulting the females. I'm out-numbered and I think to myself 'Fuck; just yesterday we lost
ten of our number: killed and wounded when a woman feigning injury set off explosives when they tried to assist...'just turn your
head-let 'em get it out of their systems'...OF COURSE, I DIDN'T do that: Myself and a senior Sergeant 'pulled' on them and it almost
came to shots when we linked up with some mates from base camp. I thought about it, Sul. I actually CONSIDERED it...to my great
shame."
"We stood in the fire, Luke. We saw shit that can't be unseen-or forgotten. Big pieces of our humanity are GONE and we can't get it
back. I don't know which is worse: the nightmares or...the flashbacks."
Luke says "On the highway...I drive down the middle lane: my brain tells me that the rubbish piles on the sides of the highway
don't conceal IEDS-intellectually I know this ...and that same brain tells me 'right; but just to SURE'...
"Did you ever wake up-in the middle of choking your wife?"
Lucas's laugh is more akin to a dry bark. "All THREE."
"Claire almost left a few times, before..." Robert confides. He adds that it hasn't happened with Andy (yet!), but that he's scared the
shit out his little ones a few times.
"Is Diane helping?"
"She understands-she's a vet."
Ripley agrees. "She's seen some shit; As you know the average civilian looks at us as if we're creatures from Mars when
they find out that we've seen combat. They don't get it and they never will...Johnny Walker Blue Label©-he gets it!"
"Yes, he does!" says his best and dearest friend.
****1045pm that night****
"He's here, Andy. He and Luke hit the Blue Label pretty hard. Luke's too drunk and I can't leave the kiddos: I could take them with
it's too cold."
"I understand. I'll drive over in the morning-ours have been out since 8. How did he seem? He hasn't been drunk since your
nephews were born."
"Neither of them is GREAT...I overheard them talking about their time overseas, which was fucked up from the little bit I caught.
And Luke has two or three beers in his free time, nothing like this since before YOUR nephews. I don't see them opening up to us."
"Sullivan won't say a word about it; I asked once and he said 'civilians can never understand' and that if he told me just one
sentence of what he'd seen and done that I'd think him a monster. But we have to find a way to make them let us in."
"I agree. Playdate for the Littles and virgen margaritas for the Mommies on...Thursday?"
"Si."
Both men are seated at the beakfast table when Andy and the children arrive that morning; both are properly shame-faced and chastened
(she figured that Vic must have tongue-lashed the two before her arrival). Her twin boys run to join their 'cousins' after getting her approval
and she plops into a chair next to her hostess. "Diosito MIO " (Goood GOD!) she complained, accepting a cup of coffee gratefully.
"They picked this morning to go full 'chimpanzee' and with Sullivan to help you can just imagine."
"I don't envy you for a second. I had to deal with these two sad sacks as well as those heathens causing chaos in the garden."