Authors: Denise Kahn
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MILITARY BASE OUTSIDE OF BAGHDAD
CHAPTER 28
It was a rare occasion that the Marines had a break from fighting, or from patrolling parts of villages and city blocks, and they took the opportunity to relax. Some read, others wrote letters home and to their sweethearts, others still like Max and his buddies spent a couple of hours playing spades and a little poker. They set up of one of their bunk beds as a table and sat around dealing cards, their antes cough drops of different colors.
Jock Stapleton burst into the tent. “Hey, guess what?” He asked excitedly.
“What?” The men said in unison. They worried that maybe they would have to stop everything and rush out.
“We get to go to a concert!” Jock drawled.
“A concert?” Colin asked.
“What musician or singer in their right mind would travel to this fucked up place?” Max said. He suddenly thought of his mother and a cold sweat trickled down his back, but then shook his head. Not even Mom would be that crazy, he reasoned.
“A bunch of really cool and good people,” Colin answered.
“Yeah? Who’s coming, Jock-Strap?” Honey asked.
“Couple of country singers, rappers, and some lady named Davina Walters…”
Max’s cigarette almost fell out of his mouth. “Did you say Davina Walters?”
“Yeah, you know her?” Jock asked.
“Yeah, man,” Honey chirped, “she’s just probably one of the most famous women in the world right now.”
“Ah, can we get back to the game?” Max asked, trying to steer away from the subject.
Shit! His mother had found a way to get herself to Iraq. Why wasn’t he even the tiniest bit surprised?
She always seemed to figure things out, he thought. She must have pulled some pretty big strings for this caper.
“Hit me.” Jock said.
“Sure, Honey, in the face or in the stomach?”
“A card, asshole, I need a card.”
“Wow, a concert,” Colin said, daydreaming of the upcoming event. “That’s really cool.”
“Hey, I’ve got to go to the can, don’t touch my fucking shit,” Jock announced.
It was the common language of the military, translation: ‘Please watch my stuff.’
♫
CHAPTER 29
In the early dawn Davina’s limousine drove onto the tarmac at the air base near Washington. The Hercules C130 was majestically and patiently waiting for the civilians to board. The equipment for the entertainers was meticulously stored and fastened, courtesy of the airmen, who were understandably excited and somewhat star struck as they helped the celebrities, road managers and film crew to board. The military team from the base and from the aircraft were moved and humbled as the famous stars gratefully and graciously thanked each and every one present for their service. The backup singers, who were absolutely lovely in every way, made sure they kissed each one of the men present. Davina and her entourage took their seats as the immense rear door of the aircraft began to close. They didn’t mind the accommodations. They were, after all, on a military plane going into a war zone. On the contrary, there was an excitement in the air. They were now part of a team, part of a mission of sorts and were a piece of the ‘bigger picture’. They felt and heard the immense four engine turbo propellers come to life and they shook and vibrated in their seats. They were surprised and amazed at the ease the flying fortress left the earth and headed into the crisp azure of the morning sky. Davina looked out of the window, one of the very few of the Hercules C130, and thought it was a perfect day for flying.
Several hours into the flight the novelty of the Hercules was wearing off and the performers were getting bored and a little antsy. Davina remembered the stories her grandmother Valentina told her about the bombings in Athens during WWII and how, at night when entire neighborhoods were hiding in basements, cold and scared, how she would sing. Her mother, Melina, just a young teenager at the time, would do her part and help her mother. In just a small amount of time the people would join in. It helped them warm up and forget the horror and misery they were going through, at least for a little while. Although the conditions were not the same, Davina thought it would alleviate some of the boredom and she started to sing. The camera crew was instantly out of their seats and filming the diva. The rappers were giving her a beat and the country and backup singers joined in as well. Even the Airmen were clapping and singing as well. Jacques thought this was all brilliant. The documentary would be a great hit.
A couple of hours later they were on their final approach into Baghdad. They were still singing when the Captain announced they were about to land. Davina and a few others who were standing took their seats. She could see the flaps extend and feel and hear the landing gear locking into place. She was suddenly forcefully pushed into the side of her seat as the plane banked sharply. She saw a flash pass her window.
“Holy shit!” One of the country singers shouted, “was that a fucking missile?”
A cold sweat trickled down Davina’s back. Would there be another one? Would they be hit? An Airman was walking toward the flight deck.
“Uh, excuse me,” Davina said, catching the man’s arm.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
The aircraft began spiraling downward.
“What is going on?” She asked, digging her nails into the armrests, the G-forces keeping her off balance and pushing her into the side of her seat.
The young man looked at her. He didn’t want to worry her. “Did you see that flash, Ma’am?”
“I did. That was a missile, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Should I be worried?”
He looked at her, weighing the level of fear in this stunning woman. “Naw, it happens all the time.”
“It does?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Why isn’t the plane straightening out? Were we hit? Why are we spiraling downward?”
The young man listened attentively to all her questions and answered her with just one word: “Corkscrew.”
“I beg your pardon?” Davina asked, not understanding what the Airman was referring to. Surely it wasn’t a bottle opener.
“That’s a maneuver. The aircraft is right above the airport and is going to continue in that pattern until we land. It’s typical when flying into Baghdad. Instead of starting our decent twenty miles back we get above the city and do it in a spiral. It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. Just enjoy the view, Ma’am, you’re on the good side of the plane.”
“Thank you. I’ll do just that,” Davina said, still a little unnerved. She looked out the window and didn’t see any more flashes, but she did have an amazing view of Baghdad and its surroundings. She was also glad that she was on the side of the aircraft where she could see land and not sky.
♫
BAGHDAD
CHAPTER 30
“Hey Haf, we’ve got orders to pick up a Marine that was at the hospital. They fixed him up and he’s good to go,” Max said.”
“You mean at the CSH?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, right. Okay, that’s fine, let’s go,” Colin answered casually.
Max looked over at him. “I didn’t think you’d mind,” he said. He smiled. The colossus was in love.
“Stop smiling or I’ll have to hurt you, Music Man.”
“Uh, huh.”
When they arrived they watched a helicopter hover overhead and almost didn’t see the jeep rushing straight toward them. They swerved out of the way a split-second before they would have been hit. Both jeeps stopped in front of the hospital ER tent. The one that almost hit them had two wounded, bleeding soldiers on the stretchers strapped to the vehicle.
“Hey, guys, I’ve got six more coming in on that chopper,” the driver shouted, “do me a favor and carry these two in. I think one of them is dead.” Colin and Max looked at the men on top of the jeep and each grabbed one of them.
“Your guy looks awfully familiar,” Max said to Colin, “like I know him from somewhere.”
“Yeah I noticed that too, but I can’t place him either.”
They carried the injured men in their arms like small children and rushed into the ER. Max looked at Colin’s guy and kept trying to place the face under the caked blood and dirt.
“Some help here! Anybody! Wounded men!” Colin shouted. Nurses and doctors ran out. Chantal and Sam were among them.
“Follow me,” Sam said to Max as she led him to an ER room. Chantal ran up to Colin’s injured man and put her fingers on his neck.
“Sweet Jesus,” this one’s dead. Bring him this way,” she said. Colin followed her. They entered a room and Chantal motioned to one of the dozen empty tables. “Please put him on this one,” she said. Colin did as he was asked and gently put the limp body on the cold table. She leaned over and pulled out his dog tags to read the name. She gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh, my God, oh no!” Chantal looked at the dead man’s face and started to cry.
“Are you alright?” Colin asked. She couldn’t speak. “Chantal?”
“I’m sorry,” this man’s is her fiancé, Robert. “Oh, my God, how am I going to tell her?”
“Isn’t there someone who goes to the family’s home to do that?”
“No, no, you don’t understand, she’s here.”
“Who’s here?”
“Sam.”
“This is Sam’s fiancé? Oh, shit. Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, shit, is right. Col, would you do me a favor and come with me? This is going to be bad, and I’m not a hundred percent right now. He was a friend of mine too.”
“I’m very sorry. I’ll be right there beside you, whatever you need.”
“Thank you. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”
Colin followed Chantal out of the room. They went to find Sam.
They found her talking with Max in a hallway.
“Hey, Sam,” Chantal said.
“Hey, my guy’s going to make it, probably won’t walk for a few weeks, but he’ll be just fine. How about yours?”
“Not good, really not good, DOA.” Chantal answered.
“Oh, no.”
Max looked at Colin. The big man had a strange look on his face, almost as if he were going to break down in tears, yet seemed to be ready for something. Max wasn’t sure what was going on. Colin beckoned Max over with his eyes. He went over to him and Colin whispered in his ear. “Get ready, this is going to be bad. The guy I brought in is the fiancé.”
“Sam’s?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, fuck,” Max whispered. “By the way I figured out who he was. The reporter we had with us on our way to Baghdad on our first tour.”
“Oh goddamn it, you’re right. He was with us when we lost our first guys.”
“Yeah, he was a good guy. This is going to be ugly, poor girl.”
Chantal walked up to her friend, the knot in her stomach growing by the second. “Sam, the DOA, it’s… he’s… Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry, it’s Robert,” she sobbed.
“What? What are you saying? Robert?
My
Robert!?” Chantal could only nod. The two men stared at the women, Marines waiting for anything, men fervently wishing they knew how to help with the worst pain a human has to endure. Sam leaned against the wall, slowly sank to the floor and sat down. Chantal knelt in front of her. The men stood there, watching.
Sam looked at them. “Guys, thank you, I’ll be okay. If I need anything Chantal will help. Thanks again.”
“Are you sure, Sam? Is there anything we can do for you, or get you?”
“No, Max, you guys go on.”
The men headed out of the hospital. At the door they turned around. Chantal was helping Sam to her feet. They could see and were impressed by how stoic her comportment was, but wondered when the tears would become a river.
Sam went to the barracks and sat on her bed. She was alone, didn’t move and then: “You stupid son-of-a-bitch!” She hollered. “Didn’t I tell you not to enlist? And why hadn’t you confided in me? We were engaged, a team—you’re supposed to tell me things, to talk to me, to let me know what you’re thinking. Why were you so selfish? Was it because you were afraid I’d talk you out it? Well, yeah, I would have, or at least tried like crazy. And I would have been right! See? Oh, Robert, damn you. And then the deluge finally happened and the tears poured out of her eyes down her lovely face, for hours, until she finally and literally cried herself to sleep.
At some point during the night Chantal entered the barracks. She looked over at Sam and saw her sleeping. Best medicine, she thought, and let her be. She watched her for a while, cried a few tears for both Sam and Robert and fell asleep herself.
In the morning Sam woke up and sat up in bed. Chantal heard her and looked over at her friend.
“How are you, Sam?”
“I think we should get posted in different hospitals,” Sam announced.
“What do you mean?”
“Just that we shouldn’t be together, simple.”
“I understand that you’re upset, Sam, but…”
“No, you don’t!” Sam yelled.
“Yes, I do. You seem to forget that I’ve had tragedies myself. I’m from New Orleans, remember,” Chantal said very calmly.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, but we should still split up.”
“Sam, be reasonable, why would we do that?”
Sam was getting more and more agitated. “You don’t understand!”
“Try me.”
“Because everyone I love dies around me! First my parents, then Robert. I love you, Chantal, and I don’t want to lose you too!”
“Well, if that’s your reasoning, its plain old silly. No one has control over when we die, well maybe the good Lord, but I firmly believe that when it’s your time to go then that’s when it will happen.”
“It’s more than that. I’m a jinx.”
“Sam, for someone so intelligent and worldly that’s totally stupid. Now, let’s forget this splitting up thing, take a nice shower and get some of this fresh desert air.”
“Chantal, I’m serious, people around me are dying.”
“We’re in a military hospital in the middle of a war zone. Kind of comes with the territory.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. And I also know that’s it’s not your fault. Now move, you need a shower.”
“Are you telling me that I stink?”
“As I said, we’re in a war zone, and Coco Chanel is about five thousand miles away.” Chantal waived her hand in the direction of the showers.
“Okay, okay.”
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