Ashes in the Darkness

Chokehold

"Sir, may I ask a question?" I asked.

"Go 'head," he said with polite nod. Both of the boys behind him made themselves busy with the line of guns on the range table.

"I'm a helicopter pilot, I thought that was the reason that Laswell recruited me, why teach me combatives and how to shoot a sniper rifle?" I asked, trying to sound as respectful as possible. Questioning authority wasn't the best way to make any kind of impression on a commanding officer.

Price scratched his beard, "that sounds like a question for Laswell." I nodded and decided against pushing the subject, reminding myself that I was only here to not go to prison, clear my name, and get my father some help. He saw the dampened look on my face "there is a lot more to these operations than getting in and getting out, Hendricks. You'll be expected to know how to be a part of this team, helicopter pilot, guide, overwatch, point, it doesn't matter your role," his words like a match to a flame, not scrutinizing me but reminding me what I was expected to do. I looked at Ghost and Soap at the range table, glaring back at me. "We had been tracking those Russian helicopters we saw at Kootenai for over a week. We need people we can rely on, no matter the mission."

"Understood sir," I confirmed.

"Good," he said before looking down range at the target I had been practicing on, "you're improving."

"Thank you, sir," but he was already on his way back out the way he came. Leaving me with Soap and Ghost in the range. I looked at both of them who exchanged awkward glances at me. Ghost was leaning against the table, arms crossed over the front of his chest like he was going to start throwing punches if he didn't lock his hands away under those enormous biceps. Soap seemed to get increasingly uncomfortable with the awkwardness of the room, finally breaking the silence.

"What's with your tattoos?" Soap asked, pointing to the sleeve of floral designs that covered my right arm. I had gotten several portions of the sleeve done over the years in the Air Force, but I never fully completed it. I had numerous depictions of wildlife between the roses, a deer for my father, a harrier (bird of prey) for Hayes. On the back of my arm, I had the ancient pottery portrayal of Athena, goddess of war and wisdom for my mother. A revolver marked the inside of my bicep, artistic but also a memory of another life that I had almost forgotten. My favorite was on my thigh, which was covered at the moment, it was a skull surrounded by an open pomegranate. 'Death and desire,' Jackie, my co-pilot, had once called it.

"I, uh..." I shook my head, trying to think of the right words to say, "I guess I liked the pain."

"I got some too," Soap said, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a sigil on his forearm. I tried to look interested, but I didn't know the right thing to say. Yesterday this man had called my weak in front of the entire team, now he was showing me his tattoos. "Ghost has a sleeve as well."

I looked up at the man, only to be met with the same disapproving glare he had held on me in the conference room, "right," I said after he didn't move to reveal his artwork. The room fell into an awkward silence again before Soap dismissed himself from the tension, leaving me with the menacing, hulking Ghost.

His stare was deadly, "Don't question me again," he said once the range door closed behind Soap.

"Sir?" I asked, genuinely confused on what he was talking about.

"I told you to watch your six," he stood up from the table and placed his arms at his sides, "You told me that was my job."

I swallowed hard, I hadn't expected him to make a big deal out of the quip but then again, I was talking with a special operations lieutenant, nothing went unnoticed or unpunished with him. "Apologies, lieutenant," I said. I was trying to sound sincere, but the fact that he knew I was right, and he knew that I knew I was right was clawing at the back of my head. "I was-"