Dwelling Read Free Page B

calling his name, calling for him and for Ricky.
    “ Shit , Steele…hold on.”
    Johnathan recognized Sergeant Cobbett as he peered into the ruined Humvee. “High there, serge ,” he said dizzily.
    The tubby father of five yanked open the back passenger door. He heaved himself toward the gunner’s platform. Carefully avoiding the fleshy mess of what remained of Johnathan’s leg, his boots rested underneath him as he surveyed the damage done to his gunner.
    “Everything is going to be okay. Hang in there,” croaked Cobbett. His freighted eyes said everything his words would not. His lips looked parched, his tongue lashing out in nervous licks.
    “I’m fine, serge . Check on Smith. He isn’t answering me,” Johnathan pleaded, grimacing against another surge of molten pain. He watched Cobbett’s eyes. The robust team leader glanced toward Smith, lingering for only a moment, and then fell back to Steele, apologetically, sad, telling the gunner the tragic truth of his friend.
    “What the fuck happened? What’s wrong with Smith? Ricky? Ricky! Can you hear me? Answer me, damnit! God, answer me…please… please …” Johnathan cried out.
    “The medic is coming. Hang on.” Cobbett did his best to sound reassuring. Holding Steele down, he took out his first-aid kit and began to put pressure on the gunner’s mangled leg.
    Johnathan screamed out in pain and then started to sob, touching his face to hide the tears. Pulling back he saw red. Dark, dripping crimson covered his glove. What the hell? He looked down. For the first time, he realized the extent of the damage. His right boot lay somewhere unseen in a nightmarish scene of flesh and bone and pulsing sinew. Chunks lay exposed. His uniform torn and drenched in gore.
    “My leg! My fucking leg! I can’t move it. I can’t move it.” Johnathan began to thrash. His head spun with searing pain. He clutched at his wound. “No! Save it, save my leg. Don’t make me a cripple, please, please, please!” he screamed. “ Smith? Ricky, can you hear me? Smith, answer me, you asshole.”
    Darkness approached. Johnathan could feel himself fading in and out of consciousness.
    Cobbett could do nothing but hush him gently, as a father would comfort his teething babe. Until the medic came, it was all he could do. It was all anyone could do as the insurgent attack ended and the Renegades stood by, watching the horror show unfold. They waited for the medivac. Those that believed, prayed, and even those that didn’t joined. One of the gunners, Smitty perhaps, was on the ground, pushing one of the Iraqi policemen, yelling at him, calling him every vulgar word there was. He smiled at this in a dreamily, sleepily kind of way. Smitty always had a temper.
    “Smith…Ricky…please say something…” Johnathan fought to sit up. He needed to see his friend again, just again, just one more time.
    “Sit still, dammit,” Cobbett hissed, fatherly.
    Outside Johnathan could feel his squad mates watching him, praying for him, but those prayers meant nothing. In the sudden quiet, he knew his best friend was gone. He knew, and in the moment, wanted nothing more than to join him on the other side, wherever that side may be.
    “Where’s that fucking medivac?” yelled Cobbett over his shoulder.
    “Ricky…?” Johnathan lifted his head, peering past Cobbett’s large ACU clad form. He could see Ricky still sitting in his seat. A noxious fume came off him in rolling waves of rotting stink. He could see the singe marks. The soot. The blood. He could see everything. His childhood friend, limp and smoldering dead.
    There was more shouting. Jubilant, almost. Johnathan could hear the muffled swirl of fan blades, whipping at the air, but still did not care. Let me die. Just let me die . The sound was meaningless. Nothing. Mere echoes. He reached out with weak arms. And fought to touch Ricky, feebly so, then thumped back down.
    He closed his eyes and turned away. He stared with grey eyes through