The weight of eyes on the back of his neck lifted the hairs on his arms. They’d all felt it, each member of his team, the way that the crowd’s energy changed like a discordant note rippling through a piece of music, changing the tone irrevocably.
‘The glass bottle, thrown near the steps of the centre, was just a test.’
The glass had shattered suddenly on the dry ground, but a community ravaged by decades of violence and tension needed barely a spark. They knew what was coming. Screams echoed in his ears as hundreds of people scattered into chaos, making it impossible to identify where the threat was. The unit spread out, each soldier knowing their individual role. Four of his team took up defensive positions around the execs and students in the community centre, while Enzo and six others spread out into the seething mass of the crowd.
One shot. Then two, then three, the tattoo sounding his ears. The dry wood of the community centre shattered and splintered around the bullets.
‘There were at least two enemy combatants in the crowd, but a third holed-up in one of the buildings off the square was pinning down a small section of the civilians Enzo and the others had managed to corral behind some of the market stalls.’
He’d caught Enzo’s eye across the chaos, gesturing sharply with his hand, the communication clear, but not to the other man’s liking. They never went off alone, but there wasn’t time to debate. He repositioned himself and when Enzo lay down covering fire, Kjell slipped out from behind the vehicle and covered the space between him and the corner building in a heartbeat and a prayer. Training kicked in—clearing the entrance, the first room, the second and into the stairwell he knew would lead up to the third man.
Enzo and the rest of his team would handle the two rogue militia that had lodged themselves into positions in the marketplace, of that he had no doubt. But the civilians in the square had no chance with this man in the equation. Backup was far enough away for him to pick them off one by one. On silent feet, Kjell timed his steps with the gunshots coming from the room one floor above to his right.
‘You killed him,’ Freya said, a statement rather than a question.
‘It took me seven of his bullets to traverse two floors and get him in my sights. Seven bullets that wounded two women, three teenage boys, and killed one child and one man. A man who had used his body to shield six young children who had been on a day trip with their class to the community centre.’
From the corner of his eye he saw Freya press a shaking hand to her lips, but in his heart he saw dust and blood.
‘Enzo died instantly, protecting children who survived with nothing more than cuts and bruises.’ Backup had arrived, the oil execs were rushed into waiting vehicles, while he and his team... It had been a terrible thing to be united in. A shared moment of horror. And then training and duty had kicked in, the area split into quadrants and searched for any sign of the rebel militia. His team had stayed in the market square, guarding the injured until the medics arrived.
Guarding the dead.
Freya’s breath hitched, drawing his gaze to hers, the haunting pale amber of her eyes filled with a sorrow so pure he was humbled by it. She anchored him back in the present, picking up his hand and placing it over a heart that beat for him, the rhythm stuttering, hurt and somehow matching his own. He closed his eyes, savouring the moment, the feeling. The comfort she gave allowed grief to fill the spaces in his heart that had been consumed with suchanger.
He fisted his hand, remembering his return to base. ‘I was called in to discuss the fallout,’ he said bitterly. ‘It was just me and the top brass.’ He shook his head, biting down, hearing again the way the situation had been presented to him. ‘Everything that was reported ...the order, it was all perfectly correct. But...’ He steeled himself, his body flexing, his shoulders squaring and his back straightening. ‘I am agoodsoldier. Dutiful. Ibelievein the mission. I believe in the chain of command. I understand it. But I’m not sure that I...trust it any more. And if I can’t do that...’
He shook his head, unwilling and unable to follow that thought to its logical conclusion. It wasn’t just a job for him. It was an identity; his units, his placements, they’d become his family, his home.
‘I haven’t questioned a command since—’ He snapped his teeth together.
‘Since me?’ she asked, her eyes glowing in the dim lighting of the cabin. His answer was in his eyes. She seemed not to need more than that. ‘What is stopping you from writing the AAR?’ she asked gently.
‘I can’t see the situation dispassionately. I can’t outline the events without bias, without anger, without the clarity to know whether what happened could have had a different outcome, because every time I think about it, it makes me question everything I know. Everything I’ve given up for this job, this life.’ It was the first time he’d finally said it out loud. Finally put his fear into words that explained, that made coherence from the chaos of his feelings. ‘I don’t know whether command made the right call. I don’t know whether they should have sent another unit, I don’t know whether I should have waited... I just... Enzo was...’
He hated that the words he needed to say were getting caught in his throat. That he couldn’t speak for his friend, for himself.
‘Enzo was a hero.’ Freya’s reverent voice slipped around his soul.
‘Yes, he was,’ he said, refusing to acknowledge the dampness pressing against his eyes. ‘But,’ he said, turning to Freya, ‘Iam not. So your brother can keep his damn medal.’
He stood up before he could betray himself any more and went to step away when he felt Freya’s hand sneak around his thigh, gently holding him in place better than any restraint could have ever done.
‘What would have happened if you hadn’t gone after the third man?’
‘What?’
‘If you’d not been there to do what you did?’
He looked down at her, unable to lie. It would have been a massacre. He didn’t need to say it to know that she heard his silent response.
Freya let him leave. She knew he needed time and space, but was worried when she heard the door to the outside open and close. Looking through the window, she was surprised to see that the snow had stopped again. Clouds still blanketed the sky, airbrushing the finer details from the view.
Her inhalation was shaky from the way her heart still trembled for him. Kjell’s pain and grief for his friend was beyond anything she knew or had experienced. She could only hope that talking about it had drawn the poisonous pain from his soul.
But even if she had helped him somehow, she knew that the damage had been done. In his exile, Kjell had found a family and found a place he could lay his head. But Enzo’s death had changed that for him. Once again, his family, his support, had been stolen from him.
She had believed him when he said he’d had cause to question his decisions, his job, himself. And she knew how that could be—how painful, disruptive...how damaging. But, oh, she wished he could see what she saw when she looked at him.