C. Brown - Compromising

“Fuck off!” I yelled, tears burning my eyes and threatening to spill. “We don’t give up on our brothers!”

He sat back and watched me work, knowing full well that there was nothing more to be done. I heard the chirp of the radio as he called in for transport.

“They’re coming for him, Staff Sergeant. You did everything you could do.”

My tears hit Vega’s face as I let him go, mixing with the blood that had splattered it only minutes earlier.

“Fuuuuuucccckkkkkkk!” I yelled, standing and kicking the wall repeatedly. I hated everything and everyone. I hated Iraq…I hated that kid…but most of all, I hated myself. I had lost my fucking cool out there, and if it hadn’t been for Vega trying to calm me down, he would have never been standing where he stood, and I would have been the one to take that bullet.

Anger and guilt swirled through me, causing me to kick violently at the walls, the rocks, and anything that I could get my boots on.

The bullets subsided as the transport crew made their way inside of the corridor and wrapped Vega up before loading him into the back of the vehicle. My head hurt as I struggled with my new reality. The vision of Vega taking that bullet…his stunned eyes and the blood splattering from his wound played over and over in my mind as I walked behind the crew. This would haunt me as long as I lived, and the guilt of it all had already begun to consume me.

“Stay on alert,” the Staff Sergeant from the crew called out.

I sat in the back of the vehicle next to Vega’s body as we navigated through the now darkened city. Shots were fired as we made a right out of the neighborhood, giving the shooter’s positions away. They were wholly inaccurate now that it was dark, and we were moving, but we fired back in hopes that we’d hit one or more anyway. I grabbed for the radio, calling into base and reaching one of Keating’s Comm guys.

“We’re taking heavy fire!” I yelled over the commotion. White had moved over to cover me and Vega as I placed the call. “We see the direction of the fire. Should we engage?”

“No, Staff Sergeant. Return back to base. That is an order. Air strike is being sent out.”

“Roger that.”

I dropped the radio and joined in on the fight. Before long, we were back at the base gates, pulling in with one less guy alive and in one piece.

The crew dropped all of us off at the front tent area. I didn’t immediately exit the vehicle, instead staying behind with Vega and resting my hand on his lifeless body.

“I’m so sorry, man. I’m so fucking sorry,” I cried out. My heart hurt more than I comprehend, and I did nothing to stop the tears from flowing. “I’m going to personally make sure your girlfriend knows just how much you loved her. Rest in peace, brother.”

My stomach rolled with the thought of what she had done for him and how she would never see his face again. The familiar and agonizing smell and taste of blood filled my senses, making me sick with grief and guilt. I looked down at Vega’s covered body and placed myself there, realizing that it should have been me in his place.

“We need to get his body off, Staff Sergeant,” one of the crewmen calmly said.

I turned and looked at him, empty and stunned. Vega had died right there in my arms, and no amount of anything I did stood a snowball’s chance in hell of bringing him back. Christen finally pulled me away, and the crew took off in the opposite direction with the body of one of the best fucking Marines I had ever had the pleasure of serving with.

“It’s okay, Staff Sergeant. It’s okay—”

“It isn’t fucking okay!” I cried out, clenching my bloody fists at my side. “It’s not motherfucking okay. That man is dead. We lost a fucking brother out there. Nothing about that shit is okay.”

First Sergeant Keating walked out from one of the tents and strolled right up to me, grabbing me by the head and pulling me into his chest. “Let it out, son. Let it out.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted from me, but my anger was already boiling out, and I was close to going on a fucking rampage, destroying everything in my line of sight. I grabbed and held tightly to the back of his cammie blouse, tears once again burning and threatening to spill from my eyes. I sniffled a couple of times, working extra hard to keep my tears firmly inside.

“Go get yourself cleaned up, then come and see me.”

White took me by the arm and marched me into my tent, then over to the showers. He stood outside the shower the entire time, listening to me wail on the walls and on myself, cursing myself for allowing and watching my fucking brother die in my arms. As badly as I wanted to cry, I was much too furious to do so. Instead, the frustration of the day’s events settled into a sitting, but pounding headache that left me with blurry vision and the urge to vomit.

“You all right, Staff Sergeant?” White asked. I ignored him, my mouth painfully dry and unable to speak. “Staff Sergeant…”

I forcefully made my way out of the shower, meeting White’s stoic eyes. He escorted me back to my tent where I got dressed in sweats and a PT t-shirt. As badly as I wanted it to stop, the vision of Vega, alive and well one minute, then dying in my arms the next replayed over and over in my mind. It was agonizingly, slow torture, put on repeat for my torment.

“First Sergeant wants—”

“I know what he fucking wants!” I barked, then shoved the tent covers away and stepped out. We walked in slow silence to Keating’s office tent where he firmly greeted me, then waved White off. Keating and I had traded expressions—me completely devoid of emotion while he looked on with great concern.

“I’m sorry about what happened to Vega, but the rest of you boys did just what the fuck you were trained to do. Sometimes we lose some, son. That’s war.”

I looked up at him, never moving my head. I knew everything he was saying was true, but that didn’t take the sting or the hurt away.

“This is the fucking universe raining down on you all in one day.”

His cryptic words caught my attention, finally urging me to speak. “What do you mean, First Sergeant?”

“Well, I was waiting until after the mission, but there is no good fucking way to deliver the news now.”

My heart beat frantically with every word he spoke. It seemed like his voice slowed, and whatever he needed to tell me was never going to leave his mouth.

“You’re heading home tonight. A Red Cross message came in for you and you need to get back. Go and the see the Chaplin while the boys pack up your stuff.”

Red Cross? My mind raced with possibilities as my heart rate sped up even faster. The words leaving First Sergeant Keating’s mouth were falling on deaf ears as I sat there, stunned, anxious, and feeling helpless. There was nothing worse than receiving a Red Cross message from home and knowing that there was nothing you could do. My hands clenched in anger. I was overwhelmed with all of the bullshit that had taken place out in the city, and now, hearing someone back home was hurt, it was too much to handle.

Was I being punished? It was all I could think about as Keating’s words continued to fall on deaf ears.

“Who is it?” I asked, coldly with a blank stare.

“Head off to the Chaplin, son. He’ll fill you in on everything you need to know and help you deal with it.”

“Who the fuck is it?” I yelled, my mind completely lost and not giving a shit about anything at the moment. Those threatening tears that never seemed to give up began to sting my eyes once again, one finally falling and racing down my cheek. My cheeks burned with the heat of frustration, and my mouth went cotton dry. Yelling at this point was an added punishment as it seemed my throat was being shredded by sharp shards of glass.

My heart beat so hard that it hurt, my eyes stung so badly that I could no longer keep them open, and my body tensed up so badly that I could no longer contain it. I began to tremble with the chills in over one hundred degrees weather and found myself unable to think straight. As tough as I thought I was, Iraq had a nasty grip on me and wasn’t letting go.

The Chaplain finally came into the tent just as Keating stepped out. He sat down in the seat next to me and began talking. I couldn’t come to grips with what he was saying as the emotional turmoil of the day pounded me like a helpless child.

His words sealed my fate, broke me down and forced all the pent-up aggression out of me.

“This hospital is going to know you so well, Cassie.”

“I know. I really hate that.”

Dalton had been by my side ever since the little accident I’d had at PT the day before. Even though I was mad at him, he was still my right hand while Alex was gone.

Things with Angelica had gone back to being tense, and I really couldn’t say that I expected anything different. Alex didn’t trust her, Dalton didn’t trust her, and when the drugging theories were floating around, it didn’t dawn on me to defend her because deep down I felt she was capable. She’d taken offense to that, and now we were right back where we started from, only dealing with one another when absolutely necessary. I’d apologized to her for shoveling the blame at her feet, which she accepted, but the damage had been done. Unfortunately, some people just aren’t meant to be friends, and after everything we’d been through, I chalked it up to Angelica and me being those people.

Dalton had fucked up royally where his love life was concerned, and I was pissed at him about it. Sure, it was his choice to be with whomever he wanted, but that was the thing. He hadn’t made a choice. He forced Ben out of his life by stating that he wouldn’t make a choice and wanted the freedom to be with both of them when he could. I couldn’t say that I blamed Ben for not agreeing with that plan. He didn’t live in California and would be giving up his life back home to be with Dalton, but the loss and hurt in Ben’s eyes had done me in, sparking tears that wouldn’t stop and fueling an anger so deep that I couldn’t speak Dalton’s name for a couple of days. I loved him only second to Alex, so our separation didn’t last long, but my empathy for Ben made me lash out at Dalton, striking a small, but reparable rift between us.