Gooseberry Island (6 page)

The row of cars circled the track and then lined up. The green flag was dropped, and they roared by with a fury unlike anything on God’s green earth. The sound was humbling. It gave Lindsey more goose bumps. Denis threw his second elbow. “Unbelievable, huh?” he said.

You have no idea
, she thought.

As the sun beat down on them, the lead car got a five-car jump and stayed there for almost two hours. For every ten laps completed, Denis replaced another “dead soldier” with a full beer, making Lindsey cringe. It didn’t take long before he was through his cooler and already into the one under Lindsey’s seat. The elbows started flying faster than the stock cars.

Just like basketball, the race was going to be decided in the last few minutes. It was exciting. People got to their feet. Denis swayed. Seconds later, it was over. Jeff Gordon won—mass exodus.

As they left the stadium, Denis stumbled along like a blue crab, skirting sideways until hitting something that would right his bearings. Somehow, they all made it back to the campsite.

The grills were fired up, and everyone settled in. They got caught up with their old friends, while Denis slurred his words beyond recognition. It would have been humiliating, but everyone knew Denis Wood. As marinated venison smoked, the conversation led to drugs and alcohol. Someone should have steered it in a different direction.

Denis screamed, “So you’re saying that if a man had one year to retire and the poor bastard tested positive for drugs, you’d get rid of him?”

His words were so garbled that Lindsey could hardly make them out. “I’m saying that there are rules, Dad, and as long as everyone knows the rules, everyone should be held accountable,” she answered, surprised that she was arguing with the same man who’d raised her. The role reversal felt very uncomfortable. Lindsey only talked to him like this because he was loaded and wasn’t going to remember a word of it.

The old man went off. “What the hell…”

Lindsey stood. “Dad, let’s talk about this when you’re sober,” she said and headed off.
A quick walk might help me get through the rest of this nightmare.

When Lindsey returned to the site, everything appeared to be the way she’d left it. The grill was smoking. Seven different conversations were going on at once. The radio blared with country twang. Then she saw him. Her dad was sitting alone on a fold-out chair. He had a plate of food in his lap, but his head was down. A sick feeling gnawed at her gut. She approached him. “Dad, are you all right?” she asked. When the old man lifted his head, Lindsey lost whatever air was left in her lungs.

Denis’s face was blue, and his eyes were bulging out of his head. He tried to speak, but nothing would come out. Instead, saliva oozed out of the corner of his mouth. He looked at Lindsey. Even though he was completely obliterated with alcohol, his eyes were struck with terror.

He’s choking to death!
she realized and scrambled to get behind him. She started yelling, trying to get everyone else’s attention, while she wrapped her arms around him and gave one squeeze into his gut from the seated position.
No good
, she thought, while a sense of panic was quickly filling her. Tony, the only other sober one in the bunch, hurried over. The rest of the drunks stood paralyzed, staring. Tony and Lindsey yanked Denis to his feet. Lindsey got her hands interlocked under his rib cage and gave another thrust.
Still nothing
. She did it again. The old man’s legs turned to rubber under him, and Lindsey felt her panic overflow; she was losing her father in her arms.
Oh God, please…
She jammed his abdomen hard again and heard him let out a slight gag. As he tried to reclaim his feet, she looked down and noticed a chunk of chicken marinated in saliva and mucous lying on the ground.
We got it out!
she realized and felt her own legs go limp.

Lindsey spun in front of her father to watch two feet of snot swing from his nose to his knees. He gagged and choked, but he took in air. He coughed up a few more pieces of the dinner that had been lodged in his throat. His bloodshot eyes looked like they might actually explode. She patted his back twice more. Her head felt light and her legs began to quiver.
He’s just erased two years from my life
, she thought and took a seat.

Her father, on the other hand, cleared his throat and spoke for the first time. “That was the best damn chicken I’ve ever tasted,” he joked, trying to reclaim some of his dignity.

Everyone laughed—everyone but Lindsey. This grown child of a violent alcoholic understood that while they all froze, she and Tony were the only ones sober enough to take action. For that reason alone, her father still lived. For the first time that day, she thought,
Thank God I was here.

“Want something to eat?” Lindsey’s friends asked, but she couldn’t. Her hands were shaking too much. Instead, she dumped out the rest of her father’s meal and told him, “You’re all done drinking for the day.” Everyone froze again. No one could have said that to Denis Wood unless his life depended on it. For the first time in Lindsey’s life, the old man didnt’ argue. He nodded once, grabbed a bottle of water and took a sip, trying to get rid of that bad feeling in his gizzard.

Lindsey thought,
My father gave me life, and I’ve repaid the gift by giving him a second life.
Part of her wished they were even. She looked at him and felt equal amounts of love and hatred.
But we’ll never be even,
she realized.
We’re family.

It was decided that Ruggie would stay the night at the campsite and sleep his buzz off, while Denis would go home with Lindsey.

“That was fun,” Denis said on the ride home, trying to make light of his recent brush with death.

Lindsey never replied.
You’re just lucky I was there
, she thought, and then filed the nightmare away with the rest of them.

A few miles up the road, she thought,
I hope there’s an email from David waiting for me at home.
While the rest of the trip was traveled in silence
,
she directed her thoughts to dwell on more hopeful relationships.

The following day, Ruggie called Lindsey to apologize.

“It’s okay,” she told him, letting him off the hook.

“I just got off the phone with your dad,” he said. “He says he can’t remember too much of what happened. He doesn’t remember choking, and he only knows that you saved his life because I just told him.”

There was silence. They both knew. Along with a couple thousand brain cells, the old man’s
life and death
lesson had been lost in an ocean of beer.

“Great,” Lindsey said, “I can’t wait ’til the next time we do a little family bonding.” Spending time with her father was like showering with a cheese grater—it got more painful each time.

Ruggie laughed. “Next year, I’ll stay sober,” he said, “and you can get drunk.”

“Then you’d better get your CPR card updated,” she joked.

“Nah, your dad says he probably choked because he was sitting down. Next year, he says he’ll stand up…if he even eats at all.”

They both stopped laughing.
The old man isn’t kidding
, Lindsey thought.

The telephone rang again an hour later. Lindsey picked up.

“Miss me, beautiful?” David asked.

“It’s you!” she said, excited. “I didn’t know you could call home!”

“It’s like getting locked up. We only get one call, and you were it.”

“Good. Now where do I go to bail you out?”

“I wish,” he said. “But you never answered my question. Do you miss me?”

“Not at all,” she said, giggling.

“Good. I don’t miss you either.”

“I went to a race yesterday with my dad,” she told him. “A NASCAR race.”

“How was it?” he asked.

“Interesting,” she said, sparing him the stupid details.
He has enough to worry about
, she thought. “Jeff Groban won.”

“Jeff Gordon or Josh Groban?” he asked, chuckling.

“Yeah, one of them,” she joked. “They put on quite the patriotic show. You can’t believe how many people are behind you guys.”

“That’s good to hear.” He paused. “More than you can imagine.”

“Still bored over there?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t call it bored…just monotonous. We’re on patrols almost every day. It’s gotten so that I’m beginning to know the locals. They even wave at us as we search through their neighborhoods.”

“Are you being nice to them?” she asked.

“Of course I am.”

“Any bad guys?” she asked.

“A bunch of them,” he said, “but thankfully, they’re on our side.”

She laughed. “I’m glad it’s going well, David, but please be safe.”

“I will.” He paused. “So the Sox look like they’re out of the race, huh?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, the math doesn’t work anymore for them to get into the playoffs.”

“That stinks.”

“There are worse tragedies.”

“Very true,” he mumbled.

“I put your care package in the mail a few days ago. I hope the postal service is kind enough to deliver it in one piece.”

“That’s awesome. Thank you so much. Any sweets?”

“Of course, plus a few books, some of my favorite music, a juicy love letter…”

“A love letter?” he asked, interrupting.

“Yup,” she said, “and you’ll have to wait to read what’s in it.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Well, from what I hear, life’s not fair.”

“I thought you said that life was
better than good
.”

“Exactly! See, now you’re getting it. It’s all about attitude, and I’d rather choose a positive one.”

“Good attitude,” he teased.

“I hope you like the books I sent. You like to read, right?”

“I do. In fact, I was just thinking about all those bookshelves inside the lighthouse.”

She giggled. “So what else do you like?”

“I like all types of music, especially ‘The Dance’ by Garth Brooks. And I also enjoy all types of movies.”

“Now who’s being random?” she teased. “I was hoping you would say me.”

“You,” he said.

She laughed. “Good.”

“What’s your favorite song?” he asked.

“I have lots of favorite songs, but Sarah McLachlan’s ‘Angel’is my best favoritest.”

“Best favoritest?” he repeated.

“Well, it is,” she said and laughed.

There was a pause. “I hate this part as much as you, beautiful,” he said, “but I gotta go.”

“Don’t go far,” she whispered.

“Not where you can’t reach me,” he said. “And I’ll stay safe, okay?”

“Above all else,” she said. “And thanks so much for calling me. It was great to hear your voice.”

“Thanks for answering,” he said. “Bye, beautiful.”

Unlike the weather, which had turned bitterly cold, the daily foot patrols were starting to get comfortable.
David was even taking the lead on some of them now, searching out anyone who might like to greet them with a rocket-propelled grenade.

“What are your plans after we’re done over here?” Billy asked Lieutenant Menker.

“I’ll be getting into the family business,” Kevin answered nonchalantly.

“And what’s that?” Billy followed up.

“I come from a long line of cops, and that’s the next stop for me.”

David nodded.
Makes sense
, he thought.
Kevin’s the perfect backup when the world gets all dark and scary
.

“What about you?” Kevin asked Billy.

Billy laughed. “I’d like to do another tour right here.”

Everyone looked over at the young buck, cross-eyed.

“Where else can you lay down a beating like we do and get paid for it?” he asked.

Shaking heads traveled down the line.

David glanced over at Nathan, who was looking at the photograph of his sons—and trying to conceal it from the rest of them.
That sucks
, David thought.

“Not me,” Max chimed in. “I want to get home to Max Jr. I’ve missed that kid something terrible from the moment we left.”

“I hear that,” Nathan agreed, tucking his photograph back into his cap.

David shook his head in sympathy.
Both Nate and Max have been tortured every minute we’ve been here.

The patrol walked quietly for a while and, as he occasionally did, David pulled his father’s note out of his pants cargo pocket and read it.
Keep your head down?
He shook his head, thinking,
I’m not sure that’s such great advice, Pop
. Fifty yards down the road, his thoughts of home shifted to Lindsey’s beautiful face, and he recounted their most recent communication.

“How was lunch with my mom?” David asked.

“Great,” Lindsey said. “She’s such a sweet person, but…”

“But?”

“Considering that you and I only had one date before you left, I…”

“I’ve been writing my mother about you for weeks, Lindsey,” he interrupted.

“That’s exactly what she said. Believe me, I didn’t have a problem getting together with her, but I was worried about what she would think of me.”

“And?” he asked.

“We hit it off very well.”

“I knew you guys would.”

“We’ve made a pact to share any information we get about you,” she added.

“Not everything, I hope?” he teased.

“Well, not the good stuff of course,” she said, giggling.

Back in the present, David smiled and began to tally his own options, once his twelve-month tour was wrapped up.

I decided long ago that the military life suits me fine
, he thought. While others complained about the early wake-up calls, along with the work that followed, he was content with all of it. “You probably just signed ’cause you wanted to wear shoes,” they’d joke, but David only laughed.

You have no idea,
he thought. His desire to join the service had gnawed at him since his first walk down Sesame Street. It was a yearning that had always needed to be fulfilled.
If not for me, then to prove my father wrong. Either way, I needed to do it.

But Lindsey’s not in the military with me
, he thought, challenging his earlier convictions.
She’s home on Gooseberry Island.

The friendships made in the Army were forged from sharing hard times with others. David cherished the camaraderie created by those experiences. There were three squares a day, a warm bunk and few choices that needed to be made. The Army would even decide when a man should relieve himself. Besides breakfast, dinner and supper, David’s favorite time was mail call. Mom, Craig and Aunt Jeanne would write, keeping him up on everything that he wasn’t missing on Gooseberry Island. Occasionally, even Captain Eli’s chicken scratch showed up in the pile. David responded to each one.

But I’d rather be sitting beside Lindsey, talking with her—instead of looking at her on a computer screen, or hearing her voice through a telephone receiver.

On top of that, the Army can be a lonely life with too much drinking,
he thought. From the foxholes he’d dug, there were few opportunities to see the world his recruiter had promised. Worst of all, he was also required to dive from a perfectly good airplane once a month to maintain his jump status.
Still, I feel blessed I joined because when you get right down to it, the military isn’t for people who can’t do better—it’s for those who won’t settle for less.
It offered the greatest gift in life—
a sense of purpose
. This was most obvious every time the Fourth Ranger Battalion marched. In no other walk of life did sixty, a hundred, even a thousand soldiers simultaneously step in sync—each devoted to the same cause, each serving something larger than themselves. David couldn’t imagine a finer job than to awaken every morning to defend a country. Above all else, military service provided meaning to young men and women who still believed in duty, honor and courage.

But something’s changed
, he thought, and smiled.
Lindsey
. He felt closest to her at night when he looked into the sky, the North Star shining brightly.
It’s like she’s right here with me
, he thought,
but still far enough away to be safe
. He felt a strange comfort knowing that they still shared the same constellations to gaze into. On the nights that were overcast—the stars blocked out by gray hovering clouds—he actually felt alone
. Strange
, he thought.

When David awoke from his daydream, he thought,
But Lindsey’s home on
Gooseberry Island, where I should be.
Shaking his head, he quickly pushed the thought out of his mind and focused on the present.
But for now, I need to get my head back in the game
, he told himself, and checked that his loaded weapon’s selector switch was still on safe.

Upon returning to camp from Kabul-land, David hurried to the afternoon mail call. The Supply Sergeant picked up the final package and called out, “McClain.”

David quickly approached the grumpy man and claimed the stained cardboard box. The heavy package—half crushed from its long trip—was addressed to
Sergeant David McClain
in black Sharpie.

As David walked back to the formation, he immediately detected a sweet flowery scent.
It’s the same perfume Lindsey wore that night on the bench
, he thought, and remembered her promise of a “love letter.” He went to one knee and tore the cardboard package open.

Sifting through the snacks and books and other surprises, David located a white envelope, marked,
Handsome
. Smiling, he brought the envelope up to his nose and inhaled deeply a few times.
Wow
, he thought and opened it.

There were only a few paragraphs, but the letter contained enough to sustain him through two wars.

Dear David,

Thank you so much for your recent calls. The sound of your voice completely melts me. Trust that I feel everything you do. I want to be with you more than anything in this world and to share everything with you. I’ve had lots of trouble not getting lost in my daydreams of us.

I’m ready for you and wish you were here right now. Please try to believe in us the way I do because I believe with all my heart. I can’t wait to kiss you again.

I’ll be thinking of you tonight and every night after.

Life is better than good.

Love,

Lindsey

Love Lindsey?
he pondered and got lost for a few moments in the possible meaning. He hurried off to the privacy of his bunk where he could read—and smell—his love letter without being razzed.

Saturday morning found David’s ranger team on just another ordinary foot patrol. With Lindsey’s love letter in one cargo pocket and his father’s note in the other, David walked right flank in the middle of the staggered patrol, thinking about his brothers and their service.

Fourth Ranger Battalion isn’t just a band of tough guys. It’s a battalion of trained soldiers, which is much more dangerous. Unlike the ragged Taliban, we have dominant firepower as well as superior training and leadership.

Being here is justified—all of it
, he thought.
We have a duty, a mission that we’ve been trained for and sworn to carry out—defending democracy.
He nodded.
As soldiers, we don’t have the luxury to question politics. We don’t see things the way civilians do. Our world is black and white, and any shade of gray can prove fatal. Words like
honor
and
duty
and
brotherhood
are our lifeblood, not just catch phrases
. He looked down the line at his brothers and smiled.
We depend on each other completely, like a well-oiled machine with every part working in sync, the whole so much greater than each individual part.

It was a selfless purpose they served, with a need to have faith in God and a belief that good could and would defeat evil. These were men who stood up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves—against the world’s most vicious bullies. Young and naïve, they faced paralyzing fear requiring extraordinary courage—heroes born in the moment out of the love for their fellow soldiers—hell-bent to take a stand and fight.

We understand that the ultimate sacrifice may be asked at any time,
David thought,
though we’d much rather our enemy be the one to make that sacrifice.

Their only requests from home were prayers and gratitude.
Home
, David thought; it was now a distant place that was safely kept in the heart but better stricken from the mind.
Family now means those who wear the same uniform
.

It’s kill or be killed over here
, he thought,
not a real difficult game to understand
—although the mind was challenged and often sabotaged by the most basic fight-or-flight instincts. And being labeled a coward, especially in one’s own mind, was a fate worse than death.
I’d accept anything but that,
David thought.

Nodding proudly, David returned to the present and the dangerous task at hand. As usual, the boys were smoking and joking.

“You want a cigarette, G.I.?” Max asked Big Al, who was walking the position right behind David.

Gooseberry Island
, David instantly thought.
I really miss Lindsey.

“Thanks anyway,” Al said, “but I just quit. It was killing my marathon times.”

Everyone laughed.

“Aren’t you ever serious?” Lieutenant Menker asked.

Big Al nodded. “I used to be, until my dad told me to dance like no one was watching.” He grinned. “I tried it at the mall a few months ago, and they asked me to leave. I’m not sure…”

There was a loud bang, high above the laughter. David spun to see a cloud of dirt and dust where Big Al had just stood. David did a double-take. Al was lying on the ground, his right leg severed clean above the knee. David sprinted toward the man, sliding on his knees to attend to his friend.

Half the patrol immediately established a perimeter—a quartering party to provide security on all sides—in case this was an ambush. In that brief time, Al had already removed his belt and begun to apply a tourniquet to his own leg. Still trying to process the grisly scene, David looked into Al’s eyes. They were distant, in shock, and struggling to focus on the painful task at hand. Al moaned, but never uttered a word. David looked at his friend’s other leg: it was a heap of raw hamburger, with splinters of white bone protruding from his bloodied pants. David applied a tourniquet to Al’s second leg, while Max administered a field IV. Billy Brodeur called in a medivac. “We need it now!” he screamed.

“Inbound in five mikes,” the radio announced, the garbled message barely understood through the heavy static.

David finished the tourniquet and placed his hand on Al’s shoulder. “Relax, brother. The flyboys are on their way.”

Al nodded, but he’d already lost a lot of blood. His face had turned ashen.

David quickly assessed the scene of the crime. It didn’t take a whole lot of investigative skills to put the puzzle together.

It was an improvised explosive device that three rangers had stepped on, myself included,
David thought, his short hair standing on end.
But we’re all smaller than Big Al, so we didn’t have enough body weight to trigger the pressure plate
. David looked back at Al, who had just slipped into unconsciousness
. Looks like Big Al tripped enough explosives to rip apart a Humvee.

David then gave more thought about stepping on the IED.
I almost broke my word to Craig,
he thought,
and all those promises to Lindsey.
He felt lightheaded.

The buzz of an incoming chopper could be heard in the distance. Lieutenant Menker popped a canister of green smoke and threw it just outside their perimeter, indicating a secure landing zone. Max had grabbed the radio from Billy and was talking to the flying medics, providing vitals. “He needs more fluids,” Max reported. “He’s lost a ton of blood.”

The shadows of the chopper blades cutting across the sun danced on the dirt road, whining loudly and kicking up a tornado of dust. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion at that point.
It’s like we’re in a movie,
David thought.

The Blackhawk chopper, with a .50 caliber machine gunner hanging out of the side door, touched down. Two medics ran a green litter out to Al, where he was carefully but quickly loaded—the old IV swapped out for a new one. Four men, David included, lifted the heavy litter and ran it back to the chopper, trying to duck as they went.

David felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked back. It was the patrol leader, Kevin Menker, screaming into his ear. “Go with him, McClain, and report back to us ASAP!”