A Hard and Heavy Thing (20 page)

He did another quick scan of the field. Then he unclipped his rifle and leaned it against the Humvee. He grabbed one of the heavy cargo rings on its bumper. He wanted to take advantage of the covering fire from the gun trucks as he once again began scaling the Humvee to enter through the passenger door in case maybe, just maybe, someone in that mess of blood and limbs was still alive. He hadn't gotten halfway up when Gassner caught his eye, and he noticed the blood still leaking from his leg.

He dropped down and ran back to him, sliding down into the crater on his bottom. He cursed himself for wasting valuable time with indecision. He looked at Gassner's right shoulder and didn't see the combat action tourniquet that was supposed to be there according to their unit SOP. “Gassner,” he yelled. “Where's your CAT?”

The only response was a wide-eyed stare accompanied by Gassner's incessant bawling.

“Your CAT, Gassner. Your tourniquet. Where is it?”

He rolled Gassner onto his side so he could access the first aid kit attached to the side of his vest. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the tourniquet inside. It meant he would not have to use his own, which he very well may have needed sooner rather than later. He ripped open the plastic, undid the Velcro, and loosened it enough to slide it to the middle of Gassner's thigh. Levi had to lift a piece of mangled muscle to get the tourniquet up the leg. He was not as much surprised at the slickness of the mangled flesh as he was by how cold and lifeless it already felt. When he had the tourniquet a few inches up onto what remained of Gassner's leg, he stopped.

Before he started tightening, he thought back to their pre-deployment time at Great Plains Joint Training Center in Salina, Kansas. While going through Combat Lifesaver class, Levi, Nick, White, Hooper, Gassner, and even the LT played a game with their devices. They had each cranked their own tourniquets onto their legs as tightly as they could until they could no longer bear the pain, the twisting of their skin, the pulling of their body hair, and the total occlusion of their blood vessels. The first person to say Uncle lost and had to buy drinks that night. Levi did not lose, but it was a Pyrrhic victory. He had a deep cherry bruise for weeks, which made him wish that he had lost.

In the crater he told Gassner, “This is going to hurt,” and as he cranked the windlass, he realized how stupid he sounded telling a man without a leg that a tourniquet would hurt. He twisted until he could twist no more and until the stream of blood turned into a trickle and then an ooze, before finally, it stopped.

Gassner screamed. It was shrill and it was loud. He only stopped to take a breath so he could continue screaming.

Levi stood and grabbed Gassner under his shoulders. “Shut up,” he said. He propped Gassner's back up against the side of the crater so he nearly sat upright while still enjoying the scant cover provided by the hole and the Humvee behind it. “Quit screaming, okay?” He looked down at Gassner's nine mil holster, but was not surprised to see that the weapon was no longer there. He climbed up out of the hole and scooted over to grab his own rifle, which was still leaning against the Humvee. He thought to himself as he moved to grab it, I'm an idiot. God, why am I such an idiot? He jumped back down and unholstered his own pistol for Gassner. He looked up at the Humvee and changed his mind. He placed his rifle in Gassner's lap instead, taking his hand and forcing it around the grip for him. “Shut up and take this,” he said. “I'll be right back.”

Gassner shook his head with wide eyes. “I don't wanna go out like this. Not like this,” he screamed.

“Shut up,” Levi screamed back. “Just shut up. You're not going out. Do you understand me? Your leg is gone, but you're not dying. Okay? Now take this. You can still shoot. Now shut up and watch this sector.” Levi leaned over him and placed his own face next to Gassner's to see if he could see over the edge. He had a clear line of sight for twenty meters ahead, up until the tall grasses fanned out before the grove of palm trees.

“I don't want to.”

“I don't care what you want,” Levi hissed into his face. “You're getting out of here today. Look out this way. Shoot anything that moves. Anything. You hear me?”

Levi ran around to the back side of the Humvee again and peered around. The gun trucks had shifted their fire farther east, but Levi didn't see anyone in the field. He waited a moment to see if anyone would pop up again, and when he saw no one, he took the opportunity to heave himself back onto the truck.

He choked on the smoke pouring up out of the door. The overwhelming smell of burnt barbecue stung his nose. He covered his mouth with his shemagh, lay prone, and peered down inside. He saw Nick directly below him. He was crumpled against the driver's door, a severed arm on his chest. His eyes were open, but they did not see. He opened and closed his mouth, like a fish, but slowly. He blinked. One leg was twisted under the radio and Duke, both of which had come detached from the mount. The other leg stuck nearly straight up, across the seat. The leg of his pants was black, charred, and still smoking.

An opening at the back hatch allowed visible flames to lick at the backseats. The popping of the extra ammunition had slowed, but each occasional burst made Levi wince and jump, hoping he would not get caught by fragments from the rounds. Chunks of deep red flesh and muscle stuck to the ceiling of the Humvee.

Two bodies huddled in the back against the rear door that now served as the vehicle's floor. Their interpreter lay on top facing down. Private Weber, who hadn't said a word until today, embraced Jellybean and stared up without blinking, his mouth agape, his flesh a sickly gray. Levi knew they were both dead, although how he knew, he could not then articulate. Nearly hyperventilating, and not sure what to do, he lay there in another moment of indecision. He straightened his helmet and pulled on a strap near the temple to tighten his chinstrap. He thought, Oh God, how do I do this? How do I do this God how do I do this God oh God how do I do this? He could not speak; he was breathing so fast and so hard.

The Sunday before Nick and Levi had left for their deployment, Uncle Thomas had asked them if they'd be willing to come to the front of his church to receive a blessing and a prayer before they went on their way. Levi excused himself by citing his integrity and his need to live an intellectually honest life, but Nick, of course, agreed.

Many of the faces in the church were the same faces he had left behind when he had joined, only now they were older, many of them sallow. There were very few new members, that is to say, young members. On his way in, Nick greeted the members of his old church family and politely smiled at the equivocal comments, noting just how much he had changed.

The night before the service, Uncle Thomas had given Nick the choice between several passages which invariably called down curses upon God's enemies and called for victory and vengeance for His people. No doubt the preacher's intentions were good with Nick going to war and all, but the crusading Psalms he had cited always made Nick uncomfortable; and though he had always believed such violent musings somehow fit into the larger plan of divine justice, retribution, et cetera, Nick preferred to leave the reconciliation between law and gospel to the theologians—or better yet, to the Judge himself. As an alternative, he requested something more uplifting and reassuring.

The next morning, he made his way to the front of the church and knelt under Uncle Thomas's long shaking fingers. As a result of Nick's discomfiture with the very book he professed, all 233 members in attendance at Immanuel Lutheran Church's early service heard Uncle Thomas provide a divine promise of Nick's safety with the words of Holy Scripture. He heard the old preacher intone the dismal and foreboding, yet strangely reassuring words from the ninety-first Psalm: “A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.”

Such memories are only recognized as significant in rewrites and retrospect. That is, if they hold any significance at all. But those words of promise did spring bitterly to the front of Nick's mind as he fought against gravity and the weight of the destroyed equipment pinning him into the burning truck.

When the smoke began entering his lungs and when the flames crept closer to his legs, increasingly desperate words flew forth from his soul. He called upon the name of his God, because this surely was his day of trouble. Yet, the longer he waited for rescue, the more frantic he became.

The flames reached his pants and they burned. They reached his sleeve and it, too, burned. Pain does not begin to describe a broken femur, compound fractures, and flames biting at every inch of exposed skin. Nick gave up on rescue and simply prayed for death. When this did not come, his previous reluctance to curse his enemies disappeared. As each second of the blinding, bleeding, blistering pain of hellfire stretched into what felt like years, other words, imprecatory words sprung to his lips. He had no compunction when he begged for the complete destruction of that place, that feigning whore Babylon. He had no regret when he cried out a prayer that their wives would be widows and all their children would be dashed against the stones.

And later, when he could no longer fight, when he could stand the flames no longer, and when he still had not been saved, blackness edged into his vision and closed in. The darkness did not overtake him until one sad, final question fell from his lips: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

Although each detail entrenched itself indelibly in his mind, as if he had spent hours staring at a picture of the scene, the time Levi spent surveying the inside of the Humvee could not have taken more than a second. Rather than spinning around to lower himself feet first, after his quick glance inside, he shoved off and pushed himself through the door head first. He instantly regretted it as he was unprepared to brace himself. He fell onto the radio, unable to find anything to hold onto as he plunged into the flaming truck. His neck twisted, and his helmet tilted and smashed onto his nose. He cursed and squirmed back up so he still leaned in face first, but now he locked himself into position by hooking his feet onto the bottom outside of the truck. He knew he would not have enough leverage in this position to pull Nick out, but it was the only way to reach him.

The radio did not prove difficult. He picked up the box and slid it back so it came to rest immediately behind the driver's seat. He had no real room, but he set to work pulling the heavy Duke off Nick's leg. The large electronic countermeasures console was wedged under the steering wheel, and Levi grew frustrated as he dropped it onto Nick's twisted leg again. He couldn't get it out of the space.

He forced himself to breathe, to think. If it fit in, it will fit out, he thought. He repeated this in his head as he struggled. If it fit, it will fit. If it fit, it will fit. He picked up the Duke again. He turned it and squeezed to keep it from slipping through his gloved hands. Gravity worked against him, but he finally had a chance. With nowhere to put it, he had no choice but to muscle it to the backseat. He winced as he let it drop onto the dead men.

When Levi looked down and saw the white bone sticking out of Nick's thigh, he furrowed his brows and scrunched up his face. Oh Annie, he thought. Oh Annie, you're all busted, Annie.

He stretched to pick up the arm. It was slick and the blood was cooler than the air in the burning Humvee. That coldness made it seem unreal in the same way Gassner's mangled leg had felt unreal. He knew by the freckled skin and thick curly hair, by the stubby fingernails chewed to nothing, by the garish gold ring on its pinkie finger, and by the sheer size, the sheer girth of it that it was Tom Hooper's arm. He looked in the back again to see if perhaps the bodies had moved, had reanimated. The thought crossed his mind to toss the arm in the back with the Duke, but thinking that those who loved Tom would want all of him, he turned and threw the arm up and out of the Humvee. When he looked back down at Nick, he saw that his eyes had closed.

Fighting back tears, he slid his hands under Nick's vest at the armpits. He contracted every muscle in his body and pulled with all his might, nearly bending Nick in half to raise his torso to a point where he could gain more leverage. As he pulled, he repeated to himself, don't care if it hurts. Don't care if it hurts. It was both a command to himself and an apology to his friend. Nick's neck twisted as his head rubbed against the ceiling of the truck, and when Levi could, he pushed him to the left so he rested on the side of the driver's seat.

With Nick's center of gravity higher in the truck, Levi backed himself out the door. He then climbed in feet first and was able to stand with his feet on the transmission tunnel. He squatted down and grabbed Nick's body armor again. He stood, trying to lift Nick's chest to his own, but he lost his grip and the dead weight slumped back down. Nick's right leg, however, had slipped back down behind him in the process. It no longer stuck out in front of him to impede his progress.

All Levi could hear was his own breathing, shallow, fast, and painful. Everything hurt. One lift, he told himself. One lift. One lift. One lift. He grabbed hold again and pulled his friend up. He had him in a near-standing position with Nick's legs hanging dead beneath him. Levi forced one of his arms under Nick's armpit when he had him up high enough. This allowed him to crouch down again to put his shoulder into Nick's chest. He pressed him against the ceiling of the Humvee to keep him from falling. While he had him pressed against the ceiling, he wrapped his arms around his waist and lifted him another foot. Nick's head was at the opening while Levi's face was buried at his waist.

When Levi locked his hands around Nick's hamstrings, he felt the charred edges of pants, the heat of bare peeling skin, and the slickness of blood and other fluids. He gagged at the touch and then coughed against the thick black smoke. He flexed his burning thighs one more time, trying to squat him up further. The weight was too much and the quarters were too cramped to lift him in any substantive way, but still, Nick rose. Levi almost tried pulling him down to keep him from floating away, but then he heard a voice, an American voice.