The Fear That Haunts Me

CHAPTER 19

The Box

"I don't know, Kelly. Do you have a problem with this? I mean, shit—I should have really thought twice about getting involved—humanity and all."

As I unfolded the page and scanned it. I hurried through the sections: Name Of Accused, Unit, the Charges, and Specifications. I even looked at the affidavit.

Frustrated, I read aloud.

"Before me, the undersigned, authorized by law to administer oaths in cases of character, personally appeared the above-named accuser this third day of December, two thousand and."

They had the wrong day. I looked back at section one and the date imposed. "Two December," I whispered. "Staff Sergeant, the complaint's wrong."

I handed Theo the charge sheet. He met my gaze as he lifted it from my hand. Then, studying the sheet, he smiled, shaking his head.

"Wow. I can't—"

"Does that mean we're in the clear?" I stood next to him and looked at the sheet over his shoulder. He handed me back the paper and went into his front pocket. He pulled out his tin of Copenhagen, opened it, and held it out.

"Some cope?" he asked.

I took a large pinch, shook it loosely over the tin, and put it into my mouth. He did the same before closing it and putting it back.

"Gonna be a good day, Corporal. Things will be fine."

I put the charge sheet in my pocket, then wiped my mouth. I spat some loose tobacco and waited for Theo to react. Instead, he said nothing. His eyes were absent—he looked very preoccupied with his own thoughts. Instead, he stared at what was now the staging area, halfway between the berm and the village. Doc, Aaina, and the boy wounded in the firefight were on litters, surrounded by other corpsmen, caregivers, and injured villagers. The area had gone from a killing ground to a makeshift care center—a hospital—as infants, small children, and adult villagers received whatever care they could get.

Headquarters and Service Company came in with the column and immediately began setting up a trauma station and distribution center. Three Deuce-and-a-half supply trucks were being swarmed by hungry and needy locals. Word had spread quickly.

Theo spat.

"Go get the team."

"Where are you going?"

"I just need to check on something. So go ahead, it's fine."

I watched him walk over to the staging area. He moved past the wounded, pushed by other Marines aiding the needy until he reached Doc. Their conversation was brief, cut short when Doc rushed to the aid of one of the village children brought in the arms of a Woman Marine.

Dead bodies still littered the ground, and we launched a humanitarian effort. Awesome.

"Holy shit," said Viking. "Are those WMs?"

I turned to find Chief, Red, and Viking walking toward me.

"God damn POGs, dude," said Red. "H&S Company wannabes. Women Marines."

"Yeah, well," said Viking. I smiled in anticipation of his response. "You won't give a shit who they are when you're balls deep in one of them."

We stood together, the three of us, and spat almost simultaneously. All but Chief. He had a pad and pencil in his hand. He squinted and strained his neck as he watched the staging area.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Huh? Oh. I'm drawing. You know, keeping the sights fresh, keeping 'em alive. Figured I might write a book or something." He continued to sketch. "You know what? Maybe a graphic novel. That would be cool—call it OFP—The Box."

"Afghanistan sounds better, chuck-nuts," said Viking. "Who's gonna know what The Box is?"

As we walked back to the Humvee, their debate faded as my thoughts went to a distant place. One where Pirates fought Lost Boys and the Jolly Roger ruled the seas. It was Jas Hook and Peter at its end.

What sort of form was Hook himself showing? For we have come to his last moment.

He did not know that the crocodile was waiting for him; for we purposely stopped the clock so that this knowledge might be spared him: a little mark of respect from us at the end.

At last, Hook had got the boon for which he craved.

"Bad form," he cried jeeringly and went content to the crocodile.

Thus perished James Hook.