Page 2 of Dove
Ah, there we are. No rank. No respect. Just the last name my father gave me, and nothing more.
And for the first time in years, he's given me an order I actuallywantto follow.
I leave the office, stepping over the line between that box and the hallway outside it–still beige and depressing, but at least offering an exit to the outside world–and slam the door behindme, knowing as I do so that I'm putting a barrier down between me and my past.
Me and my career.
Me and the only real meaning I've ever felt in my life.
They get me on an immediate flight out of there, direct from Baghdad to JFK, and I'm grateful for that much, at least. I walk through the airport with my eyes straight ahead, ignoring the arched lights above and the gorgeous architecture of this building in favor of letting my mind jump through what I need to do to get on this plane as quickly as possible. This is a large enough airport to take and send out international flights, so I have quite a walk ahead of me, but it's also the middle of the night, and the place is largely deserted. Business people are looking at phones, families are hustling toward their gates, and a few single travelers are greeting each other or saying goodbye, with all the tears that includes. The few restaurants are quiet, their lights extinguished, and though some of the booths still have people working, they aren't doing much business.
Pity. I could have used the distraction. Instead, I'm left with nothing but my thoughts, and those are...
Grim.
Christ, this has been a long week.
Strike that; it's been a long fucking month.
A long year.
A long fifteen years, full of blows to both my ego and my body, men screaming in my face that I wasn't worth anything, and growth in a system that should have hated me. Achieving promotions before I should have had them courtesy of my absolute obsession with being the best.
Being put in charge of men before I was ready.
Running missions before I should have, and with an absolute lack of belief in following orders.
The problem is, I've always had the heart of a rebel, and yet here I was in a system that believed in absolute obedience. A chain of command that left no room for personal decisions. A commitment to mindless following of orders without regard to ethics or personal morals.
Fuck, it's no wonder I'm being kicked out.
I'm just surprised it took this long, if I'm being honest.
After all, I have a long history of disappointing the people who depend on me to do what I'm supposed to.
I huff out a laugh at that, my mind flying through a million and one memories of being a kid and going against my father–or my brother, or my older brother, or my teachers–and I let the laugh stretch into a full grin. It's not a charming grin, though, and I'm sure I look absolutely insane, walking through Baghdad International by myself and smiling at nothing in particular.
I don't wipe the smile off my face, because I don't give a fuck.
After what this week did to me, I fucking deserve this crazy grin and the bubble of isolation around me.
I close my eyes for a moment and remember where it all started: a set of orders for a new mission, to be run in the desert of Iraq right up against the border of Iran. The target: an obscure Iranian base that sat just over the border. A few easy steps from a country that was friendly into one that wanted us dead.
An hour, at most, in the black of night.
Less than a mile between safety and danger, with all the mechanized vehicles I needed.
A group of ten men, all of them experienced enough to know exactly what they were doing and how to do it. Young enough to be strong and agile; old enough to have the hours and training we required.
The mission was simple. Get to the base we'd been assigned, plant a bomb under a specific building, grab any guards we could find, and get the hell out of there. When I asked why this required boots on the ground rather than a targeted strike via missile, I was told that we needed POWs to find out more about the base, and that a missile was likely to be intercepted, thereby showing that we knew where the base was and wanted more information about it.
On the surface, it made sense.
Once we were across the border and into Iranian territory, though, things went wrong so quickly that I started doubting everything they'd ever told me.
We were driving through pitch-black night when we hit the first mine. Sudden flame exploding out of the ground, the surge of sound that meant the explosion was large enough to destroy entire vehicles. Bright orange heat rearing up against the night sky. Armored vehicles flying through the air and hitting additional mines when they came down. Gunshots. Men shouting.
Planes that weren't our own tearing through the atmosphere above.
