The Watch (7 page)

He eyes Folsom. Is he …?

He’s gone, I tell him. Now take Mitchell and get out of here!

He ignores me and crouches over Folsom.

I yell at him: Go, go,
GO …

Mitchell gets up on his own and staggers away.

The LMG team start retreating as well.

Doc takes Folsom by the shoulders and drags him past me. At the last moment, he turns to me and yells: You better drop back, Lieutenant! We’re being overrun.

Mitchell glances back at me, ashen-faced. He looks astonished, as if he can’t believe what’s happening.

I pick up his discarded M-4, and something slams me in the back of the neck. I feel my breath explode out of me as I catapult with the force of the blow, and then I’m staring up at the sky, everything around me strangely yellow …

     … I can’t breathe …

     … yellow, yellow, hello …

     … I can’t breathe …

    
 … Hello? I can’t hear you …

 … Hello? Is anyone there?

     … Hello … Emily?

 … Nick? I can’t hear you … You’re breaking up …

     … breaking up …

 … We’re breaking up … I’m sorry, Nick, I’m breaking up …

     … with you …

 … you …

Emily?

Hello, Nick.

Emily, I love you, baby. I got your letter. Please don’t do this to me! Please.

Why are you calling me, Nick? I asked you not to. It’s only going to make this harder.

You send me a letter telling me you’re breaking up with me, and I don’t even have the right to ask you what the hell is going on?

I’m sorry, Nick, but I can’t talk to you. I’m so sorry.

What is this? Is there someone else?

Of course not. I’d have told you if there was.

Em, I’ve been counting the days. This is fucking crazy! I’m in the middle of nowhere, entirely dependent on a fucking phone for my
sanity and … I don’t believe what’s happening. You’re my lifeline. Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me everything’s going to be all right.

Nick.

What?

It’s too late.

Why? For God’s sake,
why?

Because you’ve changed! You’ve changed so much. I read your letters and I don’t know you anymore. There’s so much violence in you. Where does it come from?

Violence. Christ. I’m in a war zone, in the middle of fucking Afghanistan! What do you expect?

You wanted to go to Yale Divinity when we met. Do you remember?

That was a long time ago.

Not so long. Three years ago.

All right, three years. What’s your point?

That was the man I fell in love with.

Jesus. People change, Emily.

Not to this extent. I haven’t.

What’s that supposed to mean?

I’ll always love you, Nick, but I can no longer imagine a life with you.

Can’t we talk about this when I get back? Please? I’m on my knees. I’ll be home in less than seven weeks.

I won’t be here when you get back, Nick.

        … Emily, don’t leave me …

        
… hello …

        … Emily, don’t leave me, baby, please.

… I’ve nowhere else to go.

        … It’s okay, Lieutenant …

…

Doc …?

Don’t try to talk.

What happened?

You took a round …

        … I can’t breathe …

        … Try putting some feeling into it, Frobenius …

…

What …?

JoAnn walks over and looks at me as if I’m waking up.

She says: You gotta
feel
it, Nick. Feel it in your gut. This is Sophoclean tragedy, not Broadway. You’re in the presence of the god of Death. Now:
show it
.

I’m sorry, JoAnn. I’m having trouble breathing. It’s probably stage fright.

Okay. Calm down. Let’s try again. No, wait.
Emily, why don’t you show him? Read from the Chorus, lines 115 to 120.

Sure thing.

A girl runs up. She’s petite, blonde. She offers me her hand.

Hi, I’m Emily. Emily Tronnes.

Nick. Nick Frobenius.

Frobenius. Finnish?

Close. My dad’s from Sweden, actually.

Sweden. Cool.

It’s the first time I’ve been on stage, by the way. It’s probably why I keep making mistakes. I’m a Classics major.

Classics. That’s awesome. I’m a sophomore. I haven’t declared yet, but it’s going to be Theater.

JoAnn calls out crossly: All right, you two. Enough chitchat already.

Emily laughs. We’re just getting to know each other, JoAnn. To emote better.

Emote better, my ass. When you decide to take some time out from flirting, I’d like to get on with the play, please.

I blush furiously. Flirting, wow.

Emily says: Don’t mind her. She’s all bark and no bite.

She steps back, pauses, runs her hand over her face. When her hand comes down she’s a different person. She looks exhausted, and I stare at the tiny wrinkles that have magically appeared at the sides of her mouth and eyes, wondering how she did it. The transformation is breathtaking.

In a voice filled with gravity, she says:

        
Polyneices!

        
He stood above our city’s homes, hovered there
,

        
Spears thirsty for blood
,

        
A black circle of death
.

        
And then, before the flames of war could burn our tower’s crown
,

        
Before he could slake his jaws’ thirst with our blood
,

        
He was turned back
.

        
The war god screamed at his back
.

        
Thebes rose like a dragon before him
.

She stops, and I whisper: Wow.

After an instant, she moves away from me.

Do you want to try it now? she asks.

Sure. You were terrific, by the way.

Thanks.

I mean, really, that was stupendous!

Thanks. Thanks very much.

I start off in a rush and realize I’m reading haphazardly, so I stop.

I turn to look at myself in the mirror, and see that I have gone pale.

Emily says: You need to slow down.

She leans forward and touches my arm, and I tremble as soon as she lets go. She stares at me, and I stare back at her until she leans toward me and touches me again. I stop trembling.

JoAnn asks: What’s going on?

Then she says: Maybe we should try something else. Let’s see … why don’t you read from Creon, lines 174 to 180. Nick?

I jump. I’m sorry. What was that again?

JoAnn rolls her eyes. Where are you,
Frobenius? Earth to Nick.

I make a vague movement of embarrassment with my hand, and Emily takes it in midair, squeezing it gently before letting go. Her palm is slightly damp. My heart thumps; I feel dazed. I look down in confusion, scroll through the pages, and find the lines.

Emily whispers: You can do it. Be my king.

I glance at her with wonder. I feel disconcerted, then exhilarated.

Still gazing at her, I say: All right.

JoAnn calls out, exasperated: Nick!

Men of Thebes
, I say suddenly, my voice already gaining in confidence.
No king can expect complete loyalty from his subjects until he shows his control over government and the law. You cannot know his mind, his soul
.

For I truly believe that the man who controls the state must have a supreme and moral vision for its future. But if he is prone to fear and locks his tongue in silence, then he is the worst of all who ever led this country or could lead it now
.

I pause, and Emily begins to laugh.

Why are you laughing? I ask her.

I’m laughing because that was wonderful. You were wonderful.

Are you serious?

Of course I’m serious, dummy.

And she takes my hand in hers.

…

        … Emily …

        … It’s okay, Nick …

…

Captain …?

How do you feel? Connolly asks.

I don’t know. Confused.

I bet. Take it easy now.

Where am I?

We held them off, dude. We pulverized them! Fuckin’ sand devils. They’re all dead.

Sand devils. What?

Relax. It’s over. I’ve called in the birds. They’re on their way.
We’re having you medevaced out of here, you lucky sonofabitch. You’re going to be okay.

What time is it?

He holds up his digital watch before my eyes. The bright green dial’s all blurry.

0400, he says. The storm’s died down and it’s all quiet.

He bends close to my face. He’s still wearing his body armor. His face is grimy, sand-caked. It makes me wonder what I look like.

He asks: Can you hear me, by the way?

Of course I can hear you.

Okay, okay, no need to get all het up. Just checking, that’s all.

I cough a couple of times; something dribbles out of my mouth. Connolly leans over and wipes it away.

That fucking gave new meaning to “fog of war,” I whisper. My voice sounds clotted, unrecognizable.

Yes, it did. It did, Nicko.

I can hear men shuffling around in the background.

Who did we lose, Sir?

His voice drops. Konwicki, Terranova, Folsom, Espinosa.

Jesus. How many wounded?

Four, including yourself.

What about the ANA?

Five casualties. The rest disappeared. They must have hightailed it outta here sometime during the fight.

Fuckers.

No kidding.

Tom Ellison leans over me.

Lieutenant? You okay?

I’m coming around.

They nearly breached us, he says.

But they didn’t in the end, Connolly says. It was close, but we won, we fucking totaled them!

There’s a boyish triumph in his voice, as if he’s talking about a high school football game.

I say: I’m sorry I didn’t wake you guys earlier. My call. My bad.

Connolly places his hand on my shoulder. Lieutenant, you’re alive. Forget about the rest.

Okay.

It was the perfect ambush, he carries on. They caught us with our fucking pants down. There was none of the usual radio chatter beforehand.

I’ve never been in a firefight like it.

It was
intense
, he agrees, then adds: We lost the tower.

I know. I saw it fall.

But we speared a big fish. I spoke to Battalion on the telephone. They’re pleased.

Oh? Who’d we get?

He’s about to tell me when Whalen walks in. His jaw’s swollen.

Connolly and Ellison make room for him. Hello, Lieutenant, he says. How you doing?

I always wanted to be an infantryman, I say grimly. I musta been drunk as fuck.

He laughs.

What happened to your face? I ask.

I punched someone. He didn’t like it, so he hit me back. Now he’s dead.

How many of them were there, First Sarn’t, d’you know?

Well, there’s seven gents inside the wire, and a few more lying out in the field; it’s still too dark to tell. And I don’t know how many got away.

The Seven against Thebes, I observe grimly as I tally the enemy’s head count.

What was that? Connolly asks.

Doesn’t matter.

Tom Ellison says: We’re waiting for the survivors to show up and start removing the ones outside.

Someone in the back says: It’s strange they haven’t turned up yet.

Ellison laughs. They’re probably shit scared. Or we wiped them out.

Connolly clears his throat: You were talking to yourself, by the way, Nick.

What was I saying?

I dunno. It sounded like you were reciting something. Something weird about laws and gods. I wasn’t paying attention. You were delirious.

Whalen smiles at me. Musta been your Greek shit.

Prob’ly, I reply. Not that you’d know any better, First Sarn’t.

He arches an eyebrow. I aced Western Civ. 101, as a matter of fact. I went to Morehouse, remember?

I can’t resist ribbing him: How could I forget? Let me see. Class of 1900, right, Pops?

Very funny, Lieutenant.

Feeling punchy, I guess, I tell him.

That isn’t unusual postcombat, Doc says. It’ll take a while for your adrenaline to come down. Then you’ll crash and sleep.

I ask: Doc, what did I take? How bad is it?

Relax, Lieutenant. You’re going to be fine. Just fine.

My head feels like it’s gonna explode …

Concussion. And your neck’s in a brace.

Something wet drips on my face from the cot above me.

Whalen leans over and wipes my face. Sorry about that, Lieutenant, he says softly. He calls Doc over.

Who’s up there? I ask.

McCall, Whalen replies. He’s flying out with you. Chest wound.

How old is he? Twenty?

Nineteen, Doc says. He reaches up to check on McCall. His glasses catch the light and glisten.

Whalen says: You’re ancient in comparison, Lieutenant. It’s a wonder they let you in. And now look at you.

I try to crack a smile but my jaw hurts, so I whisper instead: Look who’s talking. Old Man Methuselah himself.

You want a shiner?

Technically, that would constitute insubordination, wouldn’t it?

Doc’s fussing with my dressings. He says: So a doctor, a soldier, and a politician walk into a combat zone. Trust me, you haven’t heard this one before …

Connolly stands up suddenly, interrupting him. I hear birds, he says briskly. All right, they’re here. Time to go, Nick.

He walks out talking into his radio.

Whalen helps Doc adjust my stretcher. Good luck, Lieutenant, he says huskily. Ya’ll take it easy now.

I say: I’ll see you soon, First Sarn’t.

Right.

I’m coming back, you know. Pro patria mori and all that.

He says: I bet.

My platoon sergeant, Jim Tanner, accompanies Ramirez and Pratt as they carry out my stretcher to the landing zone. There’s a Black Hawk on the ground, and a couple of Apache escorts making slow passes overhead. The Black Hawk’s rotors raise an alarmingly familiar cloud of thick brown dust. We duck through it.