The Long Night Read online

  It felt like surrender. Like defeat.

  It felt like digging his own grave.

  He didn't say any of that out loud. He looked over at Merrick, the heat from the burning vehicle warming the exposed side of his face. "What are you talking about?"

  "The patrol is going to have to come back for us."

  A cacophony of “Bullshit” and “What the hell?” rang up from the guys in the small room.

  "That blast you just heard? It was a dump truck loaded down with explosives. They ran it through one of the guard points at the base and opened up a massive fucking hole in the perimeter. Our escort patrol was called back as part of the holy shit plan."

  A rising fear squeezed Sam's guts. "How long before they come back for us?"

  Merrick's eyes glittered in the midafternoon sun. "Unknown. In the meantime, we need to get that radio re-established."

  Sam glanced out the window at the smoldering vehicle. "We're going to need another truck."

  "They can't just leave us out here, can they?" Major Whitman's voice held an edge of something not quite panic.

  Sam was unprepared for the violence of his own reaction. "You fucking coward," he spat.

  "I'm in charge of this operation," Whitman said.

  "And you've done an admirable job of fucking things up for us so far. How about you let the adults pick up and run with things now that you've broken all your toys?" Sam snapped.

  "I don't appreciate your tone, Sergeant," Major Whitman said.

  The attempt at pulling rank pushed Sam over the edge. He didn't think. Didn't consider the consequences. He lifted his weapon, thumbed the selector switch from “safe” to “semi” and fired.

  It was quite possibly the dumbest thing he'd ever done. The round could have ricocheted off the walls, but instead it was absorbed by the soft metal of the coffee pot.

  Everyone in the room hit the deck.

  Sam fought the strongest urge to point his weapon at the major. It was all he could do to force himself to lower it. He wanted to drive the butt of his weapon into his fucking skull. Instead, he flicked his weapon onto “safe” as he lowered it. He jammed his index finger at the ruined silver bullet. "Your coffee pot cost me a truck. We could be heading back to base right now if it wasn't for your stupid officer tricks."

  "I'll have your ass court-martialed over this."

  "I think it'll take a hell of a lot more than killing a coffee pot to get me court-martialed." Sam stepped into the bigger major's face and prayed, prayed, the man would swing on him so he could bust his teeth in. "I've got a fiancée at home with a baby on the way. I want to go home to them and I'll be fucked if I'm going to sit back and let your coffee pot change that." He pivoted toward the stairs. "Get the fucking antenna back up and get a truck hooked up to it."

  He walked out before he did anything else stupid.

  Like actually shoot an officer.

  * * *

  "Pretty sure that was one of the top ten stupidest things I've seen in this war." Hale slid down the retaining wall next to Sam's position overlooking the alley.

  Sam shot him a deadpan look. The sun blazed overhead, but the sky was empty of air support elements. The radios were eerily quiet. Every time they'd tried to call the base, their calls had been unanswered—just empty static filling the hand mic.

  "I thought you were going to shoot him," Hale said when Sam said nothing.

  "I thought about it," Sam admitted.

  "Why didn't you?"

  "Because I'm probably going to get my balls crushed over shooting his coffee pot. I'd just as soon that did not involve prison time."

  "After everything we've done in this war, an accidental discharge that results in a soldier getting shot is the least of your sins."

  Sam glanced at Hale. His willingness to lie for Sam—again—did not go unnoticed. "I appreciate that, but we've done enough harm on this tour." Sam looked back out over the city. Pyres of smoke filled the sky from the direction of the base.

  That was not a good sign.

  "You know I got married on midtour?" Hale's comment came out of nowhere.

  "Oh yeah?" Sam's voice held genuine surprise. "Who's the lucky girl?"

  "I've known her since I was six. We went to Sunday School together when we were kids."

  "That's awesome, man. Congrats." He glanced at the younger sergeant. "Why didn't you say something before now?"

  "Didn't want to listen to Lewis run his mouth." Hale grimaced. "And I didn't want to jinx it."

  "Superstitious?"

  "Yeah, well. You know how it is."

  Sam didn't, but he didn't say so. Hale was beating around the bush. He'd get to his point soon enough. "So you gonna have kids?"

  "Yeah, when I know I'll be around long enough to raise them. This fucking war isn't going to end any time soon." Hale paused, wiping his thumb over the lens of the optic on the top of his weapon. "How long before you think they'll come for us?" he asked.

  There it was. The fear that everyone felt and no one wanted to admit. "I don't know. Once they get the base secured again, I assume."

  "What if they don't come?"

  That was not a question he’d expected from Hale. Maybe from Jinx, who was still on his first deployment and didn't realize that shit happened during combat. Maybe from the skinny kid who slept with his Bible as though it offered some protection from the banality of war's horror. But not from Hale, who'd been with Sam since his last deployment and who'd come through the fight for Najaf and Ramadi and Fallujah ready for more.

  "They'll come. And if we don't hear anything by nightfall, we'll figure out what to do then." Sam cleared his throat and swiped his gloved finger beneath his eye to scratch an itch. "See who's running low on water."

  "What about food?"

  "If the poor bastards already ate their MREs, they can go hungry until we get back to base. Check ammo levels, too."

  "Roger that, Sarn't."

  Hale needed to be busy. The fear in his voice nagged at Sam, insinuating that his sergeant was fraying at the edges, but Sam ignored it. He'd focus on Hale when they all got back to the base. He didn't have time to lead a therapy session in the middle of the city, alone and unafraid in the middle of the battle space.

  The silence on their end of the radio unnerved him the most. He'd tried Merrick's radio. He'd tried hooking the antenna up to every one of the remaining three vehicles.

  Nothing. No updates on the fight on the base. No response when they tried to hail Hellhound Main. Only silence. Silence that whispered across Sam's neck that they really were alone. That they were going to die on this shitty outpost in the middle of the city.

  "Fuck this." Sam pushed to his feet and went to find Merrick.

  * * *

  He found him on the bottom floor crouched next to a blown-out window frame. Merrick held his finger to his lips and motioned for Sam to approach.

  Out the window, in a narrow space, a veiled woman led six small children away from their location. The kids couldn't have been more than five, all boys except for one little girl at the end of the human chain.

  The woman hadn't seen them. They'd deliberately left the face of the building nearest the orphanage unmarked by concertina wire so as not to draw the kids' attention if they were in the street. Sam hadn't wanted to leave the building exposed but now, as the woman led the children away, none the wiser about their occupation or the vehicles hidden around back, he realized that the plan had had some wisdom after all. His skin prickled as he watched the children pick their way over broken pavement and trash.

  The little girl stopped. Sam’s heart stopped in his chest. She turned, her wide brown eyes looking right at him. As though she’d known exactly where to find him. Sam's heart caught in his throat. She looked exactly like another little girl from another town. Another fight.

  Her lips parted, forming a perfect ‘O’ as her eyes met his. She stumbled when the boy ahead of her kept walking. Her feet had frozen.

  They were caught. Th
ey were going to have to rush to the end of the street and secure the woman and the kids. Possibly blow their entire location.

  It was a shit situation.

  The little girl turned and watched where she was going because the little boy in front of her yanked on her arm. She gave a yelp of pain. Then they were gone, disappearing into a market filled with smoke and burned-out buildings instead of into a bomb-making factory.

  The silence was sharp with relief.

  "A little too close, that one," Merrick said, peering down the alley just to make sure they were alone.

  Now that the kids were gone, taking with them the fear of having to do the horrific, Sam didn't mince words. "Look, I know you're waiting on your boys to come get us, but I think we need to try and get back to base."

  Merrick's expression was sharp and hungry, as if he'd been waiting for Sam to make this very argument. "So you want to pack five vehicles’ worth of people and equipment into four and hope we can make it back through a city where we’re not exactly on friendly terms without getting blown up." He paused, his nearly black eyes darkening. "Did you even think that through?"

  Sam crouched and drew a rough diamond-shaped sketch in the dust at Merrick's feet. "We could arrange the vehicles like this, with security in the front and rear, equipment packed tight into the middle two."

  "And what happens when we get into a firefight, but can't dismount quickly because the team is packed into the trucks like sardines?"

  "We hope we don't get hit," Sam said.

  "In all my years in this line of work, I've never known hope to be a particularly effective technique." The censure in Merrick's voice should have embarrassed Sam, but he was worried about Hale. And Jinx. And Lewis.

  And the major, for that matter. The fat bastard hadn't said anything since Sam had shot his coffee pot.

  Sam probably was going to get court-martialed if he got back to base. Not if, when—Sam corrected his thinking.

  "I just think if push comes to shove, we need to consider this as an option. We haven't gotten a single call from the base in almost five hours." Sam lowered his voice. "Some of the guys think they may have forgotten us."

  Merrick shifted to avoid Sam's gaze. Even if he'd remained silent, Sam would have known the truth. "We have been left, haven’t we?" The statement glittered darkly in the setting sun.

  Night was falling fast, the sun obscured by so much smoke and dust.

  "I think that's a safe supposition," Merrick said after a long moment.

  Sam breathed out quietly. He supposed there were worse things. He wasn’t going to panic. Not while he still had ammo and options.

  "So what's the plan?" Sam asked quietly.

  "Right now, we're waiting, because if they're still trying to secure the base, the worst thing we can do is try to approach. We're more likely to get blasted by friendly fire than not." He glanced at the cable strung up the side of the building. "I have no idea what's going on with the radio, but I'm hoping the problem is on our end and not theirs, if you get my drift."

  Yeah, Sam got it. If the problem was with their radios, it was a significantly smaller problem than if they were looking at a major comms blowout at the main base. If the base comms were down, everything else probably wasn't doing too hot, either.

  "So we wait until dark falls before we make a decision," Sam said. "If we have to move out, it's better to try to make it back to base in the dark."

  "Right."

  Sam wasn't really a fan of that plan, but it was the best option they had. They had the advantage of night vision goggles, which would give them some assistance should they need to maneuver. It was the least bad of all the terrible options.

  "I'll go check the defenses," Sam said.

  "Brown?"

  Sam stopped and looked back at the skinny infantryman. "I'm surprised it took you so long," Merrick said.

  "What's that?"

  "Losing your cool on the major."

  "You could have spoken up at any time," Sam said.

  Merrick's smile was feral. "What's the fun in that?"

  Sam walked away before he said anything else. The longer they stayed, the bigger the sense of dread bloomed inside him, like a poison flower. He didn't need to waste time or energy arguing with Merrick. He'd set the guard rotations, check on his guys, and hope the comms came back up soon.

  14

  Sam rested his head on his assault pack and attempted to close his eyes. They were heavy, too heavy. He only needed a few minutes of sleep and he'd be fit to fight again. He couldn’t remember when he’d slept, really slept since he’d gotten in country. The jet lag had grabbed hold and refused to let go.

  His eyes had barely closed when a boot scuffed on the floor near his head. He looked up to see Lewis hunkering down next to him.

  "You're supposed to be sleeping," Sam muttered. "You've got guard in an hour."

  "Are you honestly going to tell me you were sleeping just then?" Lewis asked.

  "I was trying to," Sam said. "What's up?"

  He was more than just the squad leader. Sometimes he was also the confessor or big brother. Or the father, putting boot to ass. Right now, he figured he just needed to listen. Lewis had been acting funny since they'd left on this mission. If his boy was reaching his breaking point—and everyone had one—Sam needed to pay attention.

  "Hale isn't acting right," Lewis said, crouching down.

  Sam said nothing for a long moment. "Did you know he got married?"

  Lewis frowned. "Since when?"

  Sam shrugged and sat up, popping the crick in his neck. "I guess he got married when he went home."

  "Why didn't he say anything?"

  "Apparently, he didn't want you fucking with him."

  Lewis grinned wickedly. "What, is she a stripper or something?"

  "I have no idea and I don't really care. Right now the bigger worry is what the hell is wrong with him?"

  "He wants to go home," Lewis said.

  Sam’s irritation got the better of him. "We all want to go home.”

  "No, I mean like I think he'll do something stupid to get to go home," Lewis said quietly.

  His words stoked Sam's irritation instantly. "Aw, fuck." Sam scrubbed his hand over his face. "Well, I would say we need to take him to the chaplain, but we're a little bit screwed right now."

  "Tell me about it," Lewis said. He picked at the black beneath his nails with the edge of his Ka-bar knife. "What do I do? We can't take his weapon. I don't have the manpower to post a guard on him."

  "We need to just keep him busy until we get back to base. Then we'll get him back to see the chaplain. Chaplain will talk to him. Hale's Catholic, Chaplain's Lutheran or something." Sam's words felt hollow, like he was grasping at straws.

  "When will that be?" Lewis finally stopped picking at his nails and looked up. His eyes were tired, his mouth set. Sam had seen him in worse shape, but not recently.

  "We're waiting until dark," Sam said. "If there's no word from the base by then, we're going to stuff everyone into the remaining vehicles and head back."

  "Dark." Lewis glanced out the window. "Okay."

  Sam frowned at Lewis' reaction. "It doesn't sit well with me, either."

  "I didn't say anything." He slid the knife into its sheath. "I don't trust these fucks to do their jobs. I found a gaping hole in the perimeter a little while ago because one of Merrick's boys decided to go find a place to piss instead of keeping his position."

  Sam ran his tongue over his teeth. "They're all we've got right now."

  "I know. I don't have to like it." Lewis slapped his gloves on his thighs, then stood. "For what it's worth, we've all got our sworn statements ready for when we get back to base." At Sam's frown Lewis continued. "About the coffee pot incident."

  Sam grinned and shook his head. "I don't even want to know."

  "Let's just say you're going to be known as Mr. Coffee from here on out."

  Sam laughed. It felt good. It was the first good emotion Sam had fe
lt since he'd returned from midtour leave.

  Lewis walked off, leaving Sam with the echo of the joke. He rolled onto his belly and looked out the window. The orphanage was empty and dark, the building blotting out the sun that had sunk below the edge of the city's buildings.

  * * *

  Their night vision goggles cut through the darkness. They owned the night, more so than any of the civilians around them and yet, with the approaching darkness, Sam's unease grew until it was a pulsing black thing inside him, a cancer that spread until fear was all he could feel.

  He scanned the street but nothing moved, not even the air. It was hot and still. Stifling and silent as the shadows stretched across the street and consumed the remaining light.

  The continued radio silence picked at his confidence that anyone was coming for them.

  They had ammo. They still had the ability to roll back to base. Their situation was just significantly more vulnerable than Sam liked. He wasn't risk averse, but he preferred to avoid a suicide mission if he could.

  He stood, frustrated by his own discontent. He picked up his gear and turned toward the door. A shadow caught his eye.

  He turned back and looked out at the street once more.

  A frail brown and white dog snuffled into view.

  Sam blinked. "Can't be."

  They were too far from the base for that fucking mutt to have followed them out here.

  He rubbed his eyes, and when he looked again, she was gone.

  Swearing at himself, he strode out of the room, his fatigue pushed away by irritation. He was just tired. He wasn't going to fail his team by losing his goddamned mind. He was getting them home, damn it.

  All of them.

  No matter what.

  * * *

  He found Hale on the roof, manning the .50-cal and squirting cheese onto the cracker from his MRE. It was a running joke that no one could eat that cracker dry in less than two minutes and not choke to death. The cheese made it marginally more palatable.