Luminary (Expanded Edition)

  Chapter 2: The Nightmare

  He was tired, sweaty, his clothes were dirty and he stunk. But Corporal David Bowen was outdoors and in his element, plodding forward, putting one foot in front of the other.

  Coming off a twelve hour patrol, he wasn't thinking about the rebels they had encountered in the mountains, nor the firefight that had followed, nor the six dead bodies of the enemy insurgents that had been the end result. His unit was well trained and did their duty protecting the villages at the base of the mountains while coalition forces took the battle forward to the upper elevations.

  His platoon was entering their section of the camp on Forward Operating Base Kopet-Dag. They'd have ten hours before their next patrol. Most were eager to get some shut-eye or a shower.

  Neither appealed to David.

  His stomach leading him toward the mess hall. He'd heard there might be pie. He didn't know what kind. Hell, pie is pie, he thought. It had been a long time since he'd had a slice, hoping maybe there would be enough for him to have two. Those kinds of little indulgences made all the difference to David.

  "Where are you going?" Second Lieutenant James asked one of the soldiers who was not heading in the direction of quarters.

  "Shower... sir," replied the private.

  "Save some water for the rest of us," chided the lieutenant, as two more soldiers followed him.

  Several others headed straight for their bunks, not David. He had a one track mind. And that mind was focused on food, besides if he waited until he cleaned up, they might run out of pie.

  "You going for chow?" asked the lieutenant as he saw David turn in the direction of the mess tent.

  "Yes sir."

  "Hang on a minute... I'll come with you."

  He handed his pack to another soldier, "Drop this off at my bunk." It was not a request.

  "Yes, sir," replied the private first class.

  The lieutenant gave David a light smack on his backpack, fell into step beside him and glanced over his shoulder before saying, "I heard they have pie...I wanna get a slice before it runs out."

  Two hours later David had finally stowed his gear and was heading to the showers. He was stuffed. He'd had a good meal and yes, there had been pie. It was apple and it was delicious. Wonderful crust, nicely baked, satisfying filling.

  The lieutenant had managed to get his hands on a whole pie and they'd split it.

  David didn't feel one bit guilty. Not a man who worried about his weight, at least not anymore. He'd been a husky kid but had grown into a natural athlete.

  He’d entered the U.S. Army with a lean, muscular body. All the training Uncle Sam dished out had bulked him up and turned him into a weapon, as a result, he viewed food as fuel. On the next patrol he'd march off that pie and then some.

  By the time he was clean, the sun had set and it was dark outside. An easterly wind was blowing across the valley bringing a chill to the night air. David spotted Specialist Hunter Sims and another soldier, Private Todd Dupree, they were standing around a blue oil barrel outside of their sleeping quarters.

  There was a shimmer of heat rising off of it from the fire inside. It was built in the lower third of the drum, big enough to generate warmth but deep enough not to be observed from a distance.

  Hunter was drinking a Corona.

  "Man how can you stand it ...that tastes like horse piss," argued Todd.

  "It’s not that bad... Honestly," replied Hunter, tilting the bottle back for another swig.

  David grunted, honest was not a word he associated with Hunter.

  The man was a specialist alright, in acquisitions -- meaning he got anything the unit needed through some dubious back channels; extra ammo or gear. A couple of additional RPG launchers, one time a flatbed truck, even the occasional contraband items. That made him popular with the guys.

  David did not care for him.

  Every time Hunter opened his mouth, some tall tale would tumble out.

  David would grunt with disdain, roll his eyes and not call him on his bullshit. Sometimes.

  He tried to keep the peace, valuing candor and integrity, two things he felt certain that Hunter knew nothing about. Needless to say, the two were not close. So he was surprised when Hunter called out to him, while lifting the lid of a nearby cooler with his boot.

  "Hey Bowen, want a beer?"

  Eyeing the label in disbelief, David snorted, this time not with disdain but curiosity. Corona was his favorite beer, David wondered briefly if Hunter knew that? It was hard as hell to get here. Unwilling to look a gift-horse in the mouth, he grabbed a bottle and popped off the top. "All right... Thanks man."

  By the time he was on his fourth Corona he was feeling no pain. One of his best friends in the unit, John Ross, stopped by and tried to talk some sense into him.

  "Bowen... what you doing man? We got patrol in a few hours... You gonna get some rest or what?"

  "I hear ya...lemme finish my beer," he replied with a slight slur.

  "Yeah, let him finish his beer," urged Hunter.

  When David didn't finish it right away, Ross walked off, pissed.

  "Ah, man... don't be like that."

  David was eyeing the number of Coronas left in the cooler, by his calculations there were seven. Hunter must have gotten two six-packs, he thought. He didn't want to leave just yet, not knowing when he'd get the chance to enjoy another one.

  As the evening wore on, the number of bottles in the cooler dwindled to none. David didn’t drink them all but he made a valiant attempt.

  Once inebriated, he barely remembered stumbling into his rack, it wasn't long afterwards that he woke up retching. Utterly helpless, he couldn't stop.

  Someone was smart enough to put a bucket under his face. After the latest round of puking, he laid his head on the floor, eyes closed, fearful of the next wave of nausea.

  “Not feeling well…are you soldier?” A voice asked.

  David cracked an eye open. A medic was kneeling beside him, hand reaching down trying to take his pulse.

  Damn idiot, he thought grumpily, why would he be on the floor if he wasn’t sick as a dog?

  “Here…let’s get you on your feet,” the medic said soothingly.

  The thought of standing made David’s stomach lurch. With a growing sense of alarm, he tried to tamp the sensation down before he hurled again. When he did open his mouth, it was to let the medic know what he could do with his suggestion. The string of profanities apparently had no effect.

  Rough hands grabbed him on either side. The medic and someone else took him to the aid station. Astonished that he’d reached it without dying, he curled up in a ball, knees pressed to his belly in a futile attempt to stop the ache and passed out.

  David awoke after midnight with an I-V in his arm which he promptly pulled out. His mouth tasted funny. Swinging his legs over the side of the cot, he sat up. Head pounding. He blinked. Hands gripping the bed frame on either side of his thighs to keep himself from falling forward. After a minute or two the pain seemed to let up, a little.

  Putting both feet on the floor, he eased himself forward.

  The doctor on duty, a Captain Vincent by the look of his name tag, tried to stop him from leaving.

  "Hold on there, don't do that... you can't simply leave...you're sick... You might have food poisoning," said Vincent.

  "Is Second Lieutenant James here?” David asked in a hoarse voice.

  "No, he left on patrol two hours ago... Don't worry soldier, he knows you're here...relax," coaxed the captain.

  Standing to his left, the doctor tilted a pitcher over a paper cup.

  David felt thirsty and watched the captain’s actions with interest.

  “Here,” the man said offering the cup to David.

  He drank the water then got out of bed. "I gotta catch up to my platoon."

  "You don't need to do that."

  "With all due respect sir, I ate the same food as the lieutenant, if he doesn't have food poisonin
g, neither do I. I guess I had one too many beers,” David admitted feeling a trifle shamefaced, pausing for several seconds. “I feel okay...please let me go."

  Giving the doctor his most earnest look, David pleaded with his eyes. He truly wanted to be out with his team.

  The doctor could clearly see how determined David was.

  “I only mentioned the possibility of food poisoning due to the severe symptoms you displayed when the medic brought you in. I won't know for sure until the lab results are back. That might not be for another twenty-four hours.”

  The pleading look intensified.

  The captain sighed.

  "All right corporal... but if you experience any more symptoms... come right back here."

  "Yes Sir."

  David left the aid station, grabbed his gear and hit the trail. He knew the area his squad was patrolling well. They'd been rounding up or engaging insurgents there for months. He raced to catch up with his team while battling the demons in his own thoughts, not wanting to let his guys down. The idea of being unreliable bothered him much more that the lingering effects of nausea.

  In his haste, he wasn't as careful as he should have been. He ran through the village outside the base, then through another up into the foothills where the houses were fewer and more spread out.

  It was early morning and everything was dark; the houses, the dirt road that served as his trail. He was breathing heavy with exertion then he heard it. Somewhere ahead in the distance, a scream, a girl was screaming.

  He ran forward into the darkness, more cautious now, he was exposed.

  There were no structures to take refuge behind if the enemy opened fire. Was it a trick? he pondered. Looking around, trying to see what was happening while advancing his position. The screaming stopped. Had it been an animal? A wildcat? A feral one? His platoon had encountered such strays in the foothills.

  As the trail climbed, he rounded another bend and saw the outline of a small house with a light on inside. He crept up beside it and carefully looked through a dirty window. Cringing at the scene, he felt the bile rise in his throat and feared that he was going to start vomiting again.

  A gas lantern was sitting on a wooden table in the room, which was sparsely furnished with an old iron-framed bed, a chest of drawers and a couple of wooden chairs. The level of poverty among the villagers was often gut-wrenching to see. A young woman, not much older than a teenager was sitting on the bed sobbing. A trickle of blood coming down the side of her swollen lip and a bruise forming on her cheek. She was naked. Hunter Sims was beside the bed pulling his pants up. Another soldier whose face David couldn't see, was gathering up their backpacks and gear.

  It was obvious to David what had happened.

  Rage welled up in him as he ran around the side of the house looking for a way inside. He wanted to rip them both apart.

  A volley of gunfire halted his steps and he dropped to the ground a yard from what he realized was the front porch. Bullets whizzed by, striking the wood frame of the house.

  He scanned the darkness looking for the gunman. Perhaps he too had been drawn by the screaming, David thought. That didn’t mean he was a friendly. The house went dark. David heard rather than saw the front door open, Hunter and the other soldier came out.

  "It came from over there... by the rocks I think," whispered Hunter.

  "Stay down... Go left by the trail... I'll go right... We'll get him," whispered a second voice.

  David recognized it as Todd Dupree.

  Another volley of gunfire had both soldiers jumping off the farside of the porch and scattering into the darkness.

  From his vantage point David could tell that the shooter was about a quarter of a mile ahead, somewhere in the hills. The terrain there was rocky, plenty of big boulders to hide behind.

  David mentally worked out a route to get to the gunman, even as he heard more gunfire and explosions in the distance, maybe a mile or two ahead. Was his unit in trouble? He feared.