The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters) by Sheehan-Miles, Charles (reading well .txt) 📕

Colton was still running on adrenaline and rage, and he slammed his rifle crosswise into my chest, knocking me back. I started to charge forward again, and then found myself facing Hicks’ rifle.

“Don’t fucking move, Sherman,” Hicks said, his voice deadly. “This is all fucked up, and you’re not gonna make it worse.”

“How the fuck could it be any worse?” I shouted.

“Take his god damn rifle,” he shouted to the two survivors of his fire team. I stood there, disbelieving, as Gruber stepped forward and took my rifle out of my hands.

Colton’s breathing had slowed down, and he stared down at the body, muttering under his breath. His eyes darted to Martin, who was bent over in a near fetal position. “Martin?” he said.

Martin didn’t answer. Hicks walked over to him and checked the arm, then said, “It’s not bad. Let’s get that bandaged. Gruber, Reynolds. Put the kid in the woods. I want him out of fucking sight.”

The two men moved to do just that, but Reynolds paused for just a second. What the hell was he doing? Quickly, he snapped several pictures with his camera.

Colton lost it again, hyperventilating, his face a bright red. “What the fuck are you doing, Reynolds? Do what Hicks ordered!”

“Yes, sergeant,” Reynolds said. The two men lifted the boy by his arms and legs, Reynolds cringing back from the ruin of his head.

I was completely numb as the men returned. By that time Hicks had bandaged Martin’s arm and covered the blood on the ground with more dirt.

Hicks looked around and said, “Let’s move out.”

We marched in silence. Gruber had my rifle slung over his shoulder, and I felt naked out here without it. My own fire team marched behind me, in shock, as we made our way to the woods. We had just reached the tree line when the rain started, a cold, wintry rain that chilled to the bone.

Half an hour went by, my mind repeating over and over the chaos of that scene. Sergeant Colton had been my friend, my mentor. I couldn’t get my mind around what had just happened. I couldn’t think about it, couldn’t feel it, couldn’t ... anything. Nothing but march, numb, as we finally came to a stop in the woods.

Colton slumped against a tree, muttering, “I don’t fucking believe that.” His voice was hoarse as he said it. “I just fucked us all.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Martin said.

“We’re fucking war criminals now,” I muttered, and Colton approached me, rage in his eyes, and screamed, “If you fucking say anything to anyone, Sherman, I’ll kill you.”

His eyes were bugged out as he said the words, and I just stared at him.

“No,” Hicks said. “Colton fucked up. We all did. We’re a platoon, and no one is going to say anything, to anyone. That kid would have ended up dead or in the Taliban anyway.”

I turned away from them, wanting to vomit, wanting to cry, wanting to cry out.

Behind me, Hicks kept talking. “Nobody even saw that kid. Martin was shot by an accidental discharge. You understand me? We’re going to walk out of here, and not a fucking thing happened.”

I leaned against the tree, hiding my eyes. But I heard it. Hicks went to Martin. “Do you hear me, Martin? It was an accidental discharge. We’ve done three tours together. Are you gonna see Colton go to prison because he screwed up?”

“No,” Martin said.

“You fucking swear it?”

“We didn’t see the kid,” Martin muttered. “Accidental discharge wounded me.”

“You got that fucking right,” Hicks said.

One by one, Hicks went to the other members of the squad. And one by one they swore.

“What about you, college boy?” Hicks said behind me.

I let my shoulders slump and turned around.

“What about me?” I said.

“What happened out here?”

“Colton murdered that kid. And that’s exactly how I’m gonna report it.”

Hicks’ face screwed up in rage. “You’re gonna die out here, Sherman.”

I swallowed and stared at him. “Maybe that’s what we fucking deserve,” I said.

He stared at me. “Maybe you. I got kids at home. So does Martin. So does Colton. You gonna fucking explain it to them? You gonna be the one who goes to Colton’s kids and tells them why he can’t come home when the war’s over?”

I shook my head. “We’re supposed to be here to protect those people.”

“Too fucking late for that.”

I closed my eyes. And then I felt a cold dread, when I felt the rigid, forceful push of Hick’s rifle against my head. “Your last chance, Sherman. You’re not walking out of here if you don’t fucking swear.”

Jesus Christ, I thought. How the hell were any of us going to live with ourselves after this? Why didn’t I move faster? Why didn’t I stop him? Everything I’d ever believed in, everything I wanted to believe in, it was all gone, dead and dumped in the woods with the body of that little boy.

“All right,” I finally said, and when the words left my mouth I wanted to start sobbing.

“All right what?” Hicks said.

“I didn’t see the boy,” I said.

“Fine,” Hicks replied. “You’re doing the right thing, Sherman.”

He put his rifle down and walked away from me. But I knew he was wrong.

It’s … a letter (Carrie)

As Hicks testified, Ray slumped lower and lower in his seat. His knuckles were white as his fists clenched. My attention was riveted on Ray, so I nearly jumped in my seat when I felt a hand gently touch my shoulder. I jerked, and looked up. Stephanie Hicks was standing beside me, and tears were running down her face. She whispered, “I’m sorry. But he’s not telling the truth,” and she handed me an envelope.

That was when Hicks stood up, shock on his face.

“The witness will have a seat!” Colonel Martinez ordered.

Military discipline took its toll. Hicks sat down, a shocked, horrified expression on his face. I looked at Stephanie Hicks, but it was too late. She ran out of the room, her heels echoing