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I watched Lia closely as she let my words sink in. She was staring down at the sheets, watching her fingers twist the fabric.
“You still want me to go on?”
“Of course,” she said quietly.
“Your mom was right, you know.”
“About what?”
“You don’t know much about me. You might not want to know all this shit.”
Lia thought for a moment and then looked back to me.
“I want to know,” she stated.
“It’s going to change everything.” My voice carried both warning and desperation. “I won’t be able to take it back. You won’t be able to just forget it.”
“I know.”
With a deep breath, I continued.
“I went through basic training and figured out I was a damn good shot. I became an expert marksman very quickly, so I went for sniper school at the base in Quantico, Virginia, and finished out on top. I could take out targets over a mile away and hardly ever missed.”
“Shit,” Lia said with a sharp outtake of breath.
“I ended up deployed to the Middle East as part of a Scout Sniper platoon to do reconnaissance into Afghanistan for a while, did well, got promoted to staff sergeant, and led the other members of the platoon under the captain of the battalion. When he was killed in battle, I was promoted to lieutenant in the field and took over for the rest of the…well, up until the time I was captured.”
My mind raced with memories, and I dropped my hand from my dog tags when I realized I was gripping them.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
“We were scouting out the area where one of the Al Qaida leaders was supposedly spotted. My team was the first one out, and we were the deepest into the area, but we hadn’t seen anything for days. There were four other groups behind us—spread out several miles to cover as much terrain as possible. We weren’t supposed to engage or anything yet—just watch and report back when the time was right for the rest of the SF infantry to join us.”
“SF?”
“Sorry. Special Forces.”
“Got it.”
“We had a small base set up in the rocks around the desert—tents, a couple Hummers, and a small outbuilding. I was back behind the outbuilding when they attacked.”
I took a slow, steady breath. I was trying to keep my memories focused on the debriefing that took place after I returned to Virginia and not on the events themselves, but it wasn’t completely possible.
“Like I said, it had been really quiet. I think we got a little complacent, which is how they managed to get the drop on us. I heard some noise, came back around, and everyone in my unit was dead.”
“Oh my God.”
I didn’t look at her as I went on.
“I didn’t really have much time to react. I got hit over the head, came to for a few seconds in a truck, bumping down a road, but got hit again. The next thing I really remember, I was in one of their camps. They didn’t do much but smack me around for a while and ask me where the other units were located– they were waiting for their leader to show up.”
“What did you do?”
“Gave them my name, rank, and service number,” I said with a hollow laugh. “Just like the fucking movies. I couldn’t really do much of anything—they had me hogtied. They kept hitting me with a bag full of fucking potatoes or something—ached for days, even when they left me alone for a while.”
When I glanced at her, I could see her looking at me closely, and I knew exactly what she was doing—checking for scars.
I stood up, unbuckled my belt, and shoved my jeans down just a bit over my hip.
