Chapter 1 - Recon

'You know, the smallest thing can change your life. In the blink of an eye something happens by chance, when you least expect it, that sets you on a course that you never planned, into a future that you never imagined. Where will it take you? That's the journey of our lives. Our search for the light. But sometimes, finding the light means you have to pass through the deepest darkness. At least, that's how it was for me.'

Sgt Justin Taylor sat in his makeshift hooch attaching the last of his tactical gear to his DCU’s and indulging in a final moment of calm before heading out to perform what could very well be his last mission. This was his third deployment so he was no stranger to the eminent danger that lay outside the wire. The sounds and smells of a wartime desert were all too familiar; he desperately wished this wasn’t the case. He felt that the smell of death and the pleading sounds of injured innocent people shouldn’t be familiar to anyone. When it came to executing his duty, he knew that those feelings were best pushed to the back of his mind. This is what he’d signed up for when he enlisted in the Marines ten years ago wasn’t it?

He pulled himself from his thoughts as he heard the soft crunch of boots on sand come to a stop in front of his tent’s opening.

“Convoy’s leaving in five minutes Sarge, but Gunny wants to give us our safety brief first so you better get moving.”

Justin raised a questioning eyebrow at the subordinate delivering the message. Pvt McDowell noticed the disapproving look on his face and immediately went to parade rest (which he had failed to do initially) and amended his statement.

“I meant that with all due respect Sarge.”

“It’s all right McDowell you can relax. Where are we forming up?”

“In front of the TOC on the west side of the FOB.”

Justin gave the young troop an understanding nod and released him to join the rest of the platoon. A few moments later, Justin put a fully loaded magazine into his ammunition holder, secured his M-16 and, after saying a silent prayer for the protection of his comrades, Justin made the short trip to receive his marching orders.

The Gunny Sgt., Grant, stood before the Alpha Co. second platoon ‘Death Dealers’ tasking each squad to specific posts at the evening’s mission site. This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary in these situations, but the mission itself was anything but ordinary.

“All right gentlemen, this isn’t your first run around the rodeo so I shouldn’t have to tell you how to conduct yourselves out there. You know the rules of engagement and you damn well know to stay within the parameters of the Geneva Convention,” he barked out in a voice that brooked no argument.

“HOORAH!”

While Gunny Grant continued to dole out instructions and position troops where the need was most critical, Justin listened intently, knowing that the slightest miscalculation in judgement could mean the difference between life and death on the battlefield. As a respected squad leader among the ranks, the need to keep his head on a swivel was much more important. Once his team went outside the wire, coming back without his initial number of boots on the ground was not an option.

After they were thoroughly briefed, Justin pulled his squad aside and checked to ensure that each man was properly equipped with ammunition, water, CLS (first aid) bags, protective gear, and working communication devices.

“Don’t try to be a hero out there tonight, but don’t leave your buddy behind either,” Justin cautioned and the group responded with a customary “HOORAH!” then dispersed to board their assigned HUMVEE.

The drive to the mission site was made in nervous silence; even though neither of the four men inside really wanted to admit to their sudden trepidation. Truthfully, one was never really emotionally prepared to be potentially placed in situations where they would have to take a life. Those memories haunted and weighed heavily on even the most seasoned and jaded devil dog; unpleasant amenities that came with the job that could never be returned.

After an hour of slowly traveling in the mile long vehicular procession, the platoon finally reached the abandoned building in a remote part of the desert they would call home for the next few days. This was the part Justin despised the most, sleeping in the desert was a virtual open invitation to enemy infiltration and a cess-pool for various diseases due to less than sanitary conditions. Nobody had time to think about that crap right now though. It was just part of the job.

Justin exited the vehicle, stretching his tired limbs and surveying his current surroundings. It seemed as if the area was completely barren save the few derelict dwellings and decimated remains of old cinderblock hovels. Down the street, the locals had used some of the shrapnel from the rubble to build a swing set for the neighborhood children. It all looked so unthreatening, but Justin knew that was only a facade. The appearance of innocence in these conditions was very much deceiving.

“No matter how many times I perform this dance, it never gets any easier,” Justin sighed, the thick dank air burning his lungs as he inhaled deeply, and the guy next to him nodded in complete agreement with the sentiment.

The local residence of some minor official or petty potentate had been appropriated as the command center for this mission. The officers were making themselves comfortable inside while the rest of the squadron was still arriving and being briefed. The contrast between the military uniforms and full combat gear next to the elegant decorations on the walls of the room was surreal.  

“All right men, why don’t you all relax a little, get yourselves an MRE, and we can cover the particulars of tonight’s raid,” Justin addressed his men calmly while never losing the authority in his voice. “Our immediate mission is simple; we will provide 360 rear security around the perimeter of the structure while 1st platoon takes the lead. Their main objective is to search the place for IEDs and other possible WMDs. Your only worry is effectively protecting their asses.”

Sgt. Taylor’s crew were more than adequate for the assignment which they were tasked to carry out. Friendlies and Al Qaeda alike were hard pressed to test the possibility of walking away unscathed in the unlikely event there was a breach in security while his men were on post.

Darkness quickly set in and the calm that enveloped the group gave way to the beginning of the storm that was sure to unleash a wrath of epic proportions. Justin’s men began to mentally hype themselves up by chanting encouraging wartime cadences meant to psych the men up.

‘I hear the choppers hovering

Hovering overhead

They come to get the wounded

They come to get the dead….’

Their voices were strong and held such conviction. And, damnit, Justin couldn’t be any prouder of his crew than he was at that moment. He offered one last word of caution to the squad before putting boots to dirt and endeavoring to put the successful completion of one more mission under his riggers belt.

“This is it, ladies. The time for bullshitting and fucking around is over. Once we step outside that door it’s ultimately up to you whether you come back on your own two, or in a body bag. Keep your fucking head on a swivel, look out for your buddy to your left and right, and most importantly, look out for yourselves.”

With those parting words the six devil dogs headed out and were taking up their respective positions twenty minutes later.

The men were stacked along each side of the crumbling building, weapons held at the low ready, waiting for the RTO to give them the command to move in and assist with clearing the building. The blackness of the night provided low visibility, causing them to rely on night vision goggles in any attempt to see anything that was more than fifty feet away. The quiet sounds of boots against sand and the soft click-clack of battle gear could be heard as 1st platoon made a stealthy entrance into the dwelling. When Justin surmised that the last man had in fact gone in, he knew it was go time. Seconds later he got the call that would set his well oiled machine in motion.

“Listen up, you the know the drill . . . last man up,” Justin directed quietly. Following close behind one another, the squad entered the building, quickly making a visual sweep of the immediate area. After that everything was controlled chaos.

“Go! Move, move, move.”

“Women and two children here.”

“Innocents to the left at 2:00.”

“Stay calm, just stay calm.”

The noise level was getting extremely overwhelming with all the screaming and crying, the crunch of broken glass underfoot, the slam of doors being battered open, and randomly tossed out directives; but Justin knew that he had to Charlie-Mike (continue mission) despite the discomfort.

“I’m going up to clear the top level,” Justin called out. He made his way through what seemed to be a never ending maze of stairs. Upon reaching the top level Justin became aware of the sound of slight movement in the distance. Trained to always be on high alert, he pulled his weapon tightly into the pocket of his shoulder and slowly walked in the direction of the disturbance. Justin took a cautionary step around a sharp corner and was temporarily blinded by a bright light shining directly into his eyes.

He drew his weapon, fully prepared to engage on the enemy, but when his vision was once again clear he recognized his present company. It was his old buddy Aces.

“Aces?”

“Taylor, what the fuck? Stand down men, we somehow bumped heads with 2nd platoon.”

“Aces, man you can’t just go . . .”

Justin never got to finish his sentence, because at that precise moment bullets started to rain down heavily in their direction. One of 1st platoon's men went down first. Aces didn't think twice before going over to see to his man. Then, before Taylor or anyone else could react, Aces had been hit in the melee; his ACH doing nothing to stop the bullet causing him a fatal head wound. Several people instantly converged on the man down.

“Aces . . . Come on man, hold on. Don’t you fucking die on me tonight, man,” Justin demanded as he tried everything he possibly could to resuscitate the fallen troop.

“Sarge, let him go. He fought a good battle but now it’s over,” McDowell stood beside him and whispered calmly. “Let him go.”

With a heavy heart, Justin walked away from his friend for the last time as his fellow comrades secured the scene and covered Aces’ body with an abandoned blanket they found nearby. The mission was officially over but the internal war that Justin had to contend with was just beginning. Any mission that ended without everyone returning was a failure in Justin’s eyes.

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The morning after the raid, Justin took his time assessing the damage that had been done during the mission. As he walked along, studying the massive amounts of wreckage, his mind drifted back to Aces. His sudden death was a tremendous loss to the Corps. There weren’t many Marines who’d served as valiantly, or with the amount of integrity and pride, that Aces had. As a leader, he was one of the best. A no nonsense son of a bitch who was tough as iron and loyal to a fault; Justin would wear the combat memorial bracelet made in his honor with pride.

The entire squadron was just standing around outside the structure they’d cleared the night before, waiting until the post command gave the okay to vacate the area. Men were lounging against the walls and sitting on any random piece of concrete still in a big enough piece to hold up a man’s ass. Most everyone was only on half-alert - it had been a long night and everyone was tired. They thought that the entire area was secured since they’d been through every room they could find. It was all supposed to be routine from here on out.

Justin was propped against a half-destroyed wall with a couple other guys, just enjoying the early morning sun before it became too hot to bear. There were armored vehicles patrolling the street in front of him and several Jersey barriers had been set up to keep the civilians away.  It was a relaxed scene. People were standing around smoking and chatting, trying to relieve the tension that always accompanied the end of any mission.

While he stood there, contemplating the sunrise and the losses they’d all suffered, Justin noticed out of the corner of his eye a glint of sun reflecting off something in the rubble nearby. Curious, he got up from his perch next to the wall and shuffled slowly over to where the sparkly object awaited. Kneeling down, Justin reached out and picked up the shiny object. It turned out to be a photograph, the glossy finish glinting in the early morning sun. He just found it; like he was meant to . . .

Justin wiped away the dust covering the front of the photo and saw a picture of the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. The face he saw was perfectly chiselled, with a strong jawline, aquiline nose and wide-spaced eyes shaded by just-been-fucked, tousled-looking, auburn hair. The person in the picture was smiling an enigmatic little smile that radiated humor and just a bit of snark but was underlined with sincere love. He flipped the photo over and saw that there were just two words written on the back, ‘Be Safe’.

Justin realized instantly that this picture had been a cherished memento of one of his men. It hurt so much to think that the person who’d been carrying this might not be around anymore to take comfort from the thought of the loved one waiting at home. His breath caught in his lungs and he had to pinch the bridge of his nose to hold back the tears that had threatened. This was not the time or place to give way to those sentiments. He still had to get his squadron back to base, debrief, and only then could he give way to any emotions he might be feeling.

Reluctantly, Justin took the photo and stashed it away in his LBV, standing and turning away from the pile of rubble where he’d found the relic. He looked around him, lost for the moment, wondering where to start looking to find the picture’s owner. However, before he could set on a course, there was a violent roaring noise behind him, heat and a blast of air pounded against his side and he was thrown ten feet across the span of the courtyard. His head thudded against the hard packed ground, a myriad of small rocks and pieces of metal showered down on him and all he saw after that was a profusion of electric stars against a midnight background.

When Justin’s mind finally rejoined his other senses, he found himself in the Med Evac station set up on the base. The light around him hurt his eyes, everything was a little bit blurry and none of the sounds matched up to the objects making the noises. It took most of the day before his head felt like it had been screwed on straight again. All he did in the meantime was sit, let the infirmary personnel work on him doing whatever it was they did, and look at the photograph of the beautiful brown-haired man.

“It was a mortar. Hit just where you'd been sitting. The two other guys on that wall didn't make it, you know," his buddy Elliott was saying - it was the first thing he heard after his hearing righted itself enough to match the way people’s lips were moving. “I saw you getting up and went to follow you. We'd both be dead if you hadn't got up just then. Things like this don’t just happen." He looked down at the picture of the dark haired man that he’d found earlier. "You got yourself a guardian angel, there, man. I say, you owe him!”

‘You owe him . . .’

The words never left him after that day. Justin must have looked at that picture a million times. He didn’t leave his bunk in the morning without at least a short glimpse of his lovely angel’s face. It was the last thing he looked at every single night. He did try to find out who the picture belonged to - asking around the base and mentioning it to almost every other enlisted person he came across - but nobody ever claimed the gorgeous man. However, he pledged to himself that, if he ever made it out, he would find that man and thank him for saving his life.

Justin had two more close calls before his LOD was finally processed and the powers that be decided that he was injured enough, and a short timer at that, that he deserved to be shipped home. The first time, he was simply riding along in a transport convoy between some desolate no-place and some other no-place, when their up-armour truck was hit by a stray IED. He’d been holding the photo in his hand as the bomb went off. Somehow, he was the only one in the vehicle that survived.

The next time, Justin was leaving a random civilian area, packed with women and children lining up to get whatever foodstuff was available in the market that day, when a car bomb went off. There were over a dozen casualties that day, but Justin survived with only a few scratches. He attributed his miraculous escape to again having the picture of his angel in his hand only seconds before the bomb exploded.

One time might have been a fluke. Even twice might have been just an odd coincidence. But after he was spared for the third time, Justin no longer questioned things. Finding that photo had been the greatest boon in his life. It was fate. He simply had to find this man, somehow, someday. And when he found him, he would do whatever it took to keep him.