Ricks looked a little pale.
“You gonna be okay?” Hufham asked.
Ricks took a breath and nodded. Hufham reached into the belt of the dead soldier and grabbed something long and straight. “This should work,” he whispered as he unsheathed the bayonet.
“Do the same thing I did, but put it through his back, kind up upwards, like this,” he said demonstrating the technique. “It’s good for stabbing, not cutting,” he said. The boy nodded in understanding but still looked a little pale. Hufham smiled at Ricks and placed a hand on his shoulder. Ricks gathered himself up and followed Hufham along the wall.
There was a call out — probably for the dead soldier. Hufham said something in Korean changing his voice so that it sounded higher and echoing it off a back wall. Ricks looked at him questioningly. Hufham leaned in and whispered, “Told them I had to take a shit.” Ricks almost laughed. They even heard laughter from the shack. A couple of minutes later they were well concealed behind another building and Hufham whispered to Ricks, “Stay here and be ready. I’m going to sneak around to the left. If any come by, you know what to do.” He then eased around the opposite corner and was gone.
There was a call again. This time, there was no answer. More laughter came from Charlie’s shack and one of the soldiers walked around to check on his friend. Ricks heard the footsteps getting nearer. He gripped the bayonet tightly in his hand and pressed himself into the wall. He could hear his blood racing in his ears and hoped no one else could hear it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the shoulder of a man appear walking along the building. Just like Hufham, he reached out and slapped his hand across the man’s face while shoving the bayonet deep into the man’s back. This time the man’s voice could be heard through his fingers and he was desperately trying to get his hands around to grab Ricks. Instinctively, Ricks pulled the bayonet out and shoved it forcefully in and up again. This time the man tensed and in only a moment went limp in Rick’s hands. Ricks could feel the life leave the man as his arms finally dropped and he took all of the weight. He swore he could even feel the man’s heart stop beating. Ricks pulled the man back into the shadows and laid him on the ground.
The click of a rifle bolt was heard and Ricks turned to see another soldier aiming directly at him. Then something suddenly came at the soldier from behind. The soldier dropped like a rag. As he fell forward, Ricks saw a machete embedded neatly through the spinal cord in the man’s neck. Hufham eased down and gently rolled the soldier over. He was still breathing somewhat, and his eyes darted back and forth at Hufham and Ricks. It appeared he was trying to say something. Hufham gently patted the man’s face and said something to him in Korean. The young man appeared to calm a little. Hufham spoke again and the young man smiled slightly, though the fear in his eyes gave evidence he knew what was happening. Then Ricks came over and reached down, taking the man’s limp hand and holding it for both to see. The young man smiled weakly again and closed his eyes. In a moment, the breathing stopped.
After a moment Hufham stood. “He’s just a kid,” he said sadly.
Ricks could not keep his eyes off the boy. “What did you say?”
“I told him I was sorry and that we would no longer hurt him. At the end I said to be at peace.”
Ricks nodded. Then an overpowering urge swept over him and he lurched to the side and vomited into the sand.
Hufham watched as the young man heaved violently. His first time had been not that long ago in Iraq. The young man he killed had been dressed almost in rags and so young he had trouble holding the assault rifle that lay beside him. The youthful face had been contorted in the pain of the bullet in his chest from Hufham’s own rifle. Even in death he could tell the young boy had been in agony his final moments. That was when Hufham understood that it wasn’t the kids’ fault they were fighting. It was the fault of some other person — a leader, a cleric, or a group of men — that had forced them to take up a rifle or some other form of destruction. Since then, that was the real person the Master Sergeant wanted on the end of his knife.
Hufham walked over to a water bowser and filled one of the water cans. Ricks had finally stopped heaving and was sitting exhausted in the dirt. He took the can over and poured some water over Rick’s head. Ricks held out his hands and washed off the blood before filling them with water and washing his face. He then took out his canteen and washed out his mouth.
“Don’t worry,” Hufham said quietly. “I did the same thing my first time. Stand up,” he ordered.
Ricks did as he was told. Hufham poured the contents of the can over Rick’s uniform, washing most of the blood away. When he was done, Ricks looked like a drown rat. Hufham then grabbed another can and did the same for himself.
Ricks looked around. “I thought there were four.”
Hufham motioned for him to follow. They walked into Charlie’s shack. The soldier was sitting in a chair leaned back against a table. His head was sitting back on his shoulders at an awkward angle. “That’s why we tell you not to sleep on watch,” he said. “That last one left him here and I had to take care of business. Lucky it didn’t take but a second.”
Ricks looked at Hufham almost in disgust. “You must have enjoyed yourself. Three in one morning.” You could tell he was disgusted with himself and anyone else that could kill with such disdain.
Hufham chuckled. “If you think I enjoy it, you are sadly mistaken. I remember the face of every man — and this is the seventh that I have had to kill up close. I keep telling myself that I didn’t start whatever war I happen to be in, but might just be the one to end it. Just keep in mind — these guys would not hesitate to put that same knife through your heart if they had the chance. You are a soldier, and a soldier’s job is to kill people and break things. It may not be the fun you think I am having, but it’s a job that’s up to us to do. So soldier, you are stuck with it. Now grab your weapon. We’ve got a job to do.”
In a Senate office building a meeting was going on. Senator Dan Williamson was visibly upset at the more recent turn of events. It was bad enough that his party had lost the recent election, but now they were getting blamed for the inability of the government to either detect or stop the attack. Now O’Bannon was crusading down a path of war and no one dared to stand in his way. He couldn’t let the party be run over this way. Three close confidants in his office listened to every word.
“We have to derail this effort. Even though the President hasn’t said so publicly, the people are blaming our party for all this. More than that, if he succeeds in restoring the services in a short amount of time, I guarantee he will be hailed as some Caesar and we will be out holding the bag. I want us to find some way to change all that. So I need ideas.”
Frank Fallon sat back in his chair. He had been dreading this meeting, but he had to give his best advice. As a thirty-year veteran of the political system, he had been instrumental in getting two presidents elected and keeping the party one step ahead of the game. Unfortunately, the last man elected had been a bone head that ignored his advice and had pulled out some pretty whacky ideas before being drummed out in a landslide election. Now the party was once again trying to get him to pull their proverbial nuts out of the fire. Senator Williamson was not a bad man, but he was an opportunist. He could smell out a weakness a mile away and exploit it. Now even he was grasping at straws. Williamson was up for election in two years and wanted the backing of both the party and his constituents. It was obvious he was starting that campaign now.