Midnight by Anna Dove (books for new readers .TXT) 📕

Elizabeth shifted. “I have read a few reports on these for a project. It’s never certain. It depends on the altitude and location of the explosion and if there were many explosions or just one. As for timeline, well, at shortest months and at longest years.”

Carlos buried his head in his hands.

“Who would dare do this,” he asked softly, almost as if he were asking himself.

Neither Elizabeth nor Haley said a word.

Secrets, like vinegar, must age.

7.    Tehran

“The harder the conflict, the greater the triumph.”

-George Washington

         “Cigarette, Rick.”

“Almost out - slow down there.”

First Sergeant Jack Hoffman pressed the fresh cigarette between his lips, lighting it with a red lighter, and inhaled as the tip glowed in the falling dusk.

“Gotta get some more, then,” he mumbled with the cigarette clenched firmly.

“Yes sir, planning on it.”

Rick, or Richard Armand as he was fully named, pocketed the pack of cigarettes.

The two Marines sat down at the table in the bare room. The Tehran Joint Base, utilized as one of the main bases during the US occupation of Iran, was not known for its comfort.

Jack withdrew the cigarette from his lips and blew out a stream of smoke over his right shoulder, twisting his head slightly as he did so.

“How’d today go,” he asked, as Rick leaned back in his chair and pulled another cigarette from the box.

“Fuckin’ fantastic,” said Rick dryly.

“See your friend?”

“The kid? Yeah. He tried to sell me another magazine.”

“You said no?”

“Of course. Can’t get too close to the fuckers. Smile one day and blow you up the next.”

Jack took a drag and shrugged. He traced his boot in a little circle on the floor.

“Up to you - I know some guys like the human interaction.”

“I’ve got enough of that on base.”

The distant sound of machine gun fire interrupted them. Both darted to their feet and Jack opened the door. Silence, and then returned fire, from within the base.

“Shit,” mumbled Jack, and slipped out into the evening light. Rick followed.

A group of Marines approached them from the left, around the corner of a dormitory building. Jack held up his hand.

“Who and where?”

“Sir, Hezbollah group. Probably the same as was six months ago under Saddam Al-Bassar. Firing on the east side by the gate.”

The deep blue desert sky faded as they made their way quickly towards the eastern end of the base. They could hear the machine guns unloading. Jack had also been present for the attack six months prior, in which seven Marines were killed and eighteen critically wounded. He did not want the same to happen again.

Then, a whistling sound came from above them and they looked upwards. Too late. There was no time - no time to breathe, or move.

The explosion hurled them all sideways, sending bodies into the air. Two men were flung into a brick wall, and crumpled to the ground. Several surrounding walls cracked, and fell. Dust rose rapidly as the displaced air moved upwards in a vacuum.

Jack lifted his head from the ground and pain shot through his chest. His eyes took in the scene - Marines lying in the dirt, face up or face down, some moving, some not. He could not hear. He touched his fingers to his ear and drew them away sticky and red. His fingers sought the ground again and the dust coated them.

To his right lay Rick. The man was very still. In the deafened silence, as the dust rose into the desert sky, Jack forced himself to his knees and moved over to Rick. He pressed his fingers to Rick’s jugular artery and felt the steady, if faint, beat of his heart. Although sharp pain stabbed through his ribcage, Jack hoisted Rick under his arm and rose to his feet, crouching and dragging his friend to a nearby wall. He propped Rick up against the wall and slapped his face. Rick opened his eyes, stared at Jack unseeingly, and then closed his eyes again. Jack looked back at the others. Some were crawling over to where he was. Others lay still.

One man, Private Jennings, was crawling under the shadow of a wall that had been loosened by the explosion. His left leg seemed to be immobilized. He was yelling something at Jack, but Jack could not hear. He watched as the man’s mouth opened and closed. Jack’s chest shot more pain inwards and Jack winced but moved towards Jennings to pull him out.

The wall above the man suddenly collapsed, a ton of brick falling, slowly, slowly, as Jack watched in horror, and then there was no Private Jennings, only a great pile of rubble. Jack stopped, stooped over, and fell to his knees. He picked up a brick and held it in his hand. There was no sound. No sound of gunfire, no sound of yells or screams, no sound of missiles. Jack held the brick for a few moments. Jennings had been through basic training with him. He had raced against Jennings, eaten every meal with Jennings for two months, shot targets with Jennings, gotten drunk off bourbon with Jennings. Jennings had a wife and three children. They lived in Arkansas.

There were other men. There were other men besides Jennings. Jack looked up, dropped the brick, and stumbled over to a man who lay unconscious, the nearest man to the explosion. Blood dripped from the man’s ears, mouth, and nose. Jack felt for a pulse, and feeling nothing, moved to the next man. He dragged the next man, who was alive, to a propped position next to Rick. Back and forth went Jack, panting, taking short breaths that fit into his broken ribcage. Sweat dripped off his brow but he did not feel it. Like a machine he stumbled, back and forth, back and forth, until