THE DARK SIDE OF THE BROTHERHOOD
“HEBERT!”
No answer.
Crushed flat, knees throb. Hands dug deep in soft turf.
Turf?
I can’t move. Hebert’s deadweight keeps me pinned on my knees and hands.
“Hey, you okay, Dog?”
“Kraft … help me!”
My eyes are open now. No Kevlar weighting my head. I see a solitary blade of grass standing high among a fresh cut lawn. Every muscle burns from overuse.
Am I back in front of the house?
Hands reach for me.
“Get Hebert!”
“What? Who’s that?”
An unfamiliar face stares at me. He looks shocked and concerned, and I don’t recognize him at all. Whoever he is, he pulls me to my feet.
I’m not back at the house, I’m behind the barracks. A discarded rake lies a few feet away.
“Come on, let’s get you inside.”
“First sergeant’s office,” I mumble.
Arm around this stranger, we limp inside the barracks.
The fight doesn’t end at the Kuwaiti border. It just changes form.
“First Sergeant Lewis!” the stranger calls as we get upstairs. Lewis steps out of his office and sees me. “Workman! What happened!”
“… Don’t know,” is all I can manage.
Staff Sergeant Edds appears at my side. He eases me into a chair.
“Jesus, he’s beet red!” I hear someone say. Was it Allen? I’m not sure.
“Staff Sergeant Edds, get him some water on the double.”
“Roger.” Edds runs off and returns with a couple bottles of water. Shakily, I take one and down half of it with a single gulp.
“Workman, what’s going on?” the first sergeant asks again.
“I feel like such a fucking failure,” is all I can say.
“Okay, everyone, clear the room. I want to talk to Sergeant Workman.”
Boots shuffle behind me. A door closes. My eyes are set on the ugly government-standard floor.
First Sergeant Lewis swings his chair out from behind his desk and slides it in front of mine. He’s close, in my personal space, and it makes me uncomfortable.
“Sergeant Workman, look at me.”
Slowly, I raise my head.
“In the eyes, Dog. Better. I’m only gonna say this once, because you only need to hear it once.”
He puts his hands on my shoulders. We’re practically nose to nose.
“You did everything you could over there. Nobody could have done more. NOBODY. Got that?”
I can’t bring myself to agree with him. He shakes my shoulders roughly and says, “You saved lives. There are men here today that wouldn’t be without you. You need to remember that.”
“I can’t see it that way, First Sergeant.”
“There’s no other way to see it, Workman. It’s just a fact, already written down as history.”
“I loved them.” That slipped out, and the shock of what I’ve said crumples my self-control.
“I know. I know. I loved my guys, too, from the Gulf. I think about them every day.”
Sobbing now. I’ve never cried in front of a Marine. “… loved them. Brothers …”
“Listen to me, that Band of Brothers stuff—yeah. When you’ve been in it, you know what that means. And it ain’t that Hollywood version. It’s a blessing and a burden—a huge one that can and does kill weaker men.”
I nod and wipe my nose with the back of my sweaty hand.
“There’s a cost. And you’re paying it right now. It’s a two-edged sword. It can be the most intense thing you’ll ever experience. But if things go bad, it’ll damage you like nothing else. Only survivors like us understand that.”
Like us.
“I haven’t seen any of them since we got split up at Pendleton last year.”
The first sergeant’s been through that, too. “When it happened to us after we got back, I felt empty, like somebody scooped the better part of me out.”
“Yeah. There’s just this big hole now,” I agree. “Don’t know how to fill it.”
“Time. Lots of time. Hollywood doesn’t tell you that, either.”
I take another long pull of the water bottle, finishing it. The first sergeant hands me another. “Keep drinking. You look like shit.”
I guffaw. “That’s the least of my worries.”
“What happened, Workman?”
“I was almost finished cutting the grass around the barracks. Turned around, saw I’d missed a spot.”
“So?”
“At first, all I could think was that I am so screwed up I can’t even mow a lawn right.”
“Come on, that’s bullshit and you know it.”
“Next thing I know, I’m on the lawn, trying to drag one of my wounded Marines to our vehicles.”
“A friend?”
“A brother.”
“It’s a double-edged sword.”
Isn’t that the nature of love? It uplifts you, binds you to another human, then when you’re at your most complacent, most comfortable and vulnerable, it saws your legs off and leaves you bleeding in a heap.
“I couldn’t move.”
“Why?”
“The war’s going to throw curveballs at you. Even here. Even years later. I saw it in my own unit from the Gulf War.”
“So what matters, then?”
“The fight. That’s all you got to keep you going now, Workman.”
“What do you mean?”
“Other guys’ll give up. They’ll eat a bullet or take some pills. That’s the easy way out. You know what? It disgraces the men we lost.”
I flush with guilt. He senses it.
“They didn’t have a choice. We do. We either man up and fight for this gift—time, living, breathing, having kids—or we fucking pussy out. They didn’t have that option. And to do anything but fight for what they didn’t have is like pissing on a grave at Arlington.”
I feel like I’ve been smacked. I wish I had the first sergeant’s clarity.
“I feel so lost.”
“Then stay on your feet until you find your way.”
“How?”
“Did you risk your life that day?” he asks harshly. “And don’t bullshit me. It’s just the two of us in here.”
I drop my eyes to the floor. “Yeah. I suppose.”
“You either did or didn’t, Workman.”
“I should have died.” I didn’t mean for that to come out. It slipped through my lips like an oiled snake.
“No, goddamn it! Nobody should have died anywhere. It’s pure luck of the draw. Fate … God. Whatever.”
“I wanted to stay and fight.”
“Were you ordered out?”
“Sort of.”
“Did you pussy out and run away?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then you have no reason to be guilty. None. Did you give everything you had?”
“And then some, First Sergeant.”
“Then hold on to that. Take pride in that.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“That’s the way it shakes out sometimes. Nobody’s best could have saved those men on the second floor. I’ve heard the story. It was a terrible situation, but that’s war. Men die despite our best. We can’t train for it, we can’t be prepared for it. It just is. All we can do is accept it.”
I don’t want to believe that. The randomness of it all makes me feel out of control, and I hate that sensation. Marines—we dominate. We own land and we take what we want. To think that fate can deal us an unwinnable hand is to admit a level of human frailty we’ve been programmed to reject.
I finish the second bottle of water and feel more alert. “So now what?”
“Now what? You get back on your feet, Workman. You get the help you need and you keep moving forward. If you stop—if you punch out on me, so help me God, I’ll kick your ass.”
We both start to laugh. “Roger that, First Sergeant.”
“You getting any counseling?”
“Yeah, over in Beaufort.”
“Wanna go over there now?”
“Probably should.”
“Okay, take the rest of the day, but then I want to see you here first thing in the morning, ready to go, got me?”
“Yes, First Sergeant.”
We both get to our feet. Just as I turn for the door, he steps forward and engulfs me in a fierce bear hug. It almost cracks my fragile self-control again.
“Keep fighting, Workman. That’s all we got. You hear me?”
“I promise, First Sergeant.” The words sound hollow.
“Don’t let those men down.”
Again.
Now that’s the rub, isn’t it?
“Don’t let me down.”
As I leave his office, I feel his eyes heavy on the back of my head.