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Captain Simon Banks sighed as he put the phone down.
More figures to wrestle with, more questions about numbers. Got to hit those arrest targets. Sheesh. Always someone on his back about something. He was a policeman not a politician, but you had to know how to play the game. He still had friends and a few tricks up his sleeve. Reluctantly, he picked up the phone again.
“Rhonda, could you bring me this months arrest figures, please?”
While he waited, he carried on searching through the database for a particular name, or a case file. So far, nothing beeped back at him.
There was a light knock at the door.
“Thanks, Rhonda,” he said, not looking up.
“Didn't think I looked that good, sir.” came Jim's voice.
“Jim! I wasn't expecting to see you.”
“I gathered that. I can go if this is a bad time...” and he turned to go.
Simon quickly said “No. You look…ah… better.”
“Thanks, Simon.”
“I could put you back on the streets now, and you can just scare the bad guys away!”
“Oh ha ha, sir.”
But Simon was right, the bruising and scrape down his face together with the stitches made him look really sinister. Babies would cry and little old ladies cross the road…
“Sit down, Jim, please” he had noticed Jim's discomfort when he turned to go. Damn military bravado was stopping him from sitting down like anyone else. He watched as Jim carefully sat down at last, he looked tired.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Something I need to know?”
“Fine, sir. I'm taking some time off like the doc said. In fact he won't sign me back on duty until I talk to someone about what happened out there. I came in to file my report on the incident, the discharge of firearms and so on.”
“Okay. That's good...paperwork needs to be done. You made an appointment with the department's counsellor?”
“On my ‘to do' list, although I don't really want to talk to them. But I can't lay everything on Sandburg despite what I said this morning.” Jim rambled.
“Jim, what's going on? There's more here than your concussion isn't there?” Simon asked.
“I need to go to Georgia in the next couple of days, so if I could just tidy up a few ongoing files while I'm here…”
“Why what's in Georgia ? Detective are you investigating a case in secret? Is that it? For god's sake you're on sick leave!” exploded Simon angrily.
“No, sir. This is something else that's cropped up”
“Does this have anything to do with Krasky?”
“What? “ Jim looked shocked.
“Krasky died first, no chance. That's what you said.”
“When?”
“Last week- at the hospital when you first came round.”
“Don't remember.”
“Is it something to do with Sandburg?”
“No.”
“Well, what then?”
“It's me. ” And Jim got up stiffly and wandered over to the big window and stared out, hands linked behind his back at parade rest. Simon waited for the detective to come round to whatever it was he was going to say. He never volunteered information about himself. And, he realised, Jim had never answered his question about Krasky…
“You know I was in the army…” Jim began tentatively.
“Yes.”
“All sorts of stuff …then Peru ”
“Yes.” This is worse than getting blood from a stone Simon thought. Tell me something I don't know.
“Ah, I've been having a few… problems since I got hit on the head last week.”
“Well, that's understandable.” replied Simon soothingly, but still wandering about in the dark.
“Simon, I can't go back on the streets yet. I don't know what I might do.” said Jim patiently.
“Do?”
“My senses are okay, it's me that's a little off,”
Simon waited.
“I'm ... remembering … stuff… events from Peru and maybe other ops. I need to get my head sorted out before I trust myself again. I've already scared the doc and Blair, and I don't like it. So I'm going to sort this thing out, and we never talk about this again.”
“Okay.”
“That's it? Okay?” said Jim.
“Yes. Don't look so surprised. I wasn't sure, but I've been in this job a while, and I've seen similar things. Sooner or later, people come to the boil. Sometimes the kettle switches itself off like it's supposed to and occasionally the kettle keeps on boiling.”
Jim stared at him.
Simon continued, waving his unlit cigar for emphasis,
“I'm sorry- I'm not sure what I said just there but I'm sure the department counsellor will know about flashbacks and dealing with it. And if Sandburg is helping as well then you're luckier than most people I'd say. But if you ever do want to talk to me any time, you know where I am, right?”
“I'm worried about losing my job, Simon.”
“I'm sure it'll be ok, once you've been cleared by your doctor and the counselor. Trust me, it's not the first time Cascade PD has come across this situation. It's just that nobody mentions it. “
“Thanks, Simon I appreciate that. I'll be getting on then.” And Jim got up and went to the door.
“Fill me in on the details when you have them” said Simon
“Will do, sir.”
Rhonda came in with his paperwork after Jim had left, but Captain Banks ignored it for the moment typing quickly at his computer.
Within a few moments he had found the News article- the one with that haunting picture of Jim on the cover that been part of the whole Switchman thing …
“On the 14 th March 1989 an Army Ranger unit was lost the Peruvian jungle. The eight man unit were all presumed dead, until satellite images picked up only 7 graves near the remains of the helicopter. Captain James Ellison not only survived the crash but had continued to work with the local tribes for an extraordinary 18 months before being extracted by the Army. The bodies of the crew were returned to the States, and reburied with honour at Fort Benning , Georgia , GA.“ Simon read the list of the names…
Sarris
Brown
Evans
Krasky
Clements
Brodinsky
Colman
He picked up the phone. “Sandburg, Simon here. What's all this about Georgia ? Is Jim going to be okay”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Joel Taggart parked neatly outside Prospect Place and looked at his passenger. Jim hadn't moved. “Jim, we're here.”
“Oh, thanks.” and he pushed at the door.
“You're ok, right?”
Jim paused. “I've been better.” Jim mumbled as he got out and limped toward the lobby doorway.
He watched Joel drive off, and raised his hand in farewell. Blair would be back from campus soon, and Jim had a lot to tell him. Jim had had a busy day. Remembering they were short of some foodstuffs, he turned round and headed for the corner store.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blair opened the door and was surprised not to smell dinner or see Jim in front of the TV. He put his rucksack in his room. In the kitchen there was a bag partially full of food, and a six pack of beer with a couple missing sat on the counter top.
“Jim? Are you here?” Blair was getting anxious, Jim should have heard him.
He checked the balcony, the bathroom, fire escape, nope. Maybe he was asleep. He went up the steps to Jim's room. An Army foot locker was open on the floor, photos, letters and other items rested on the lid and on the bed. Two beer bottles sat on the bedside table, one empty, one half full. Jim sat on the edge of the bed, eyes half closed, a handgun in one hand, a cleaning cloth in the other. A faint smell of oil hung in the air.
Blair swallowed hard. Something was very wrong here, what had he zoned on?
“Jim?” he said again softly trying not to startle him as he stepped closer.
“That's some shine you got going there.” he said slightly louder. Great conversation, Blair.
“Huh? Blair!” slurred Jim at last, gazing fuzzily at him.
Oh, boy ' thought Blair plastered, with a gun “What's up?”
“I's thinking. Stuff. Whole lotta stuff in the box. My box.” Jim said expansively gesturing with the gun.
“You want to tell me about it, Jim?”
“Buddies.” said Jim
“You mean us…or…?”
“Just photos an' letters. All for what?” Jim sighed.
“Did you take your medication this morning, Jim? Can you remember?”
“Umm, pro'lly. Seen Simon, seen counsellor, Joel gimme a lift. Seen everybody, man.”
“Wow, you've had a busy day, partner.”
“Yeah.”
“That loaded?” asked Blair nodding at the gun.
“This?” said Jim as he peered at it. “Nope, jus' cleaning it. Gotta look after stuff.”
“Quite right. Jim, listen to me, please put the gun down anyway.”
“Why?”
“Just because.”
“'kay.” and Jim leant forward and with exaggerated care put it back in the foot locker. He was still holding the cloth.
“Cloth?”
“Oh.” and that went in the locker too.
“Jim, how many beers have you had. Did you buy it round the corner?”
“Yeah, roun' corner. Jus' a few I think. Weird.” he smiled and then slowly fell backwards on the bed eyes closed.
“Jim! Talk to me. What's weird?” asked Blair frantically.
“Tired, so tire…” mumbled Jim.
Startled, Blair checked him over; he was breathing... just passed right out after one and a half small beers. He had no way of knowing if he needed to call an ambulance or just let him sleep it off.
His Sentinel metabolism might mean that whatever this was would knock him for six, but would be processed quickly so he could be back on ‘duty' soon. Or… Blair didn't want to think about other possibilities right now. He undid Jim's shoes and eased his legs up onto the bed, and covered him with the rest of the duvet. “I don't do this for just anybody, Jim.” he muttered to himself.
He picked up the photos and letters and put them back in the locker, closed the lid, and slid it under the bed again. He didn't want Jim waking up forgetting it was there and taking a header down the stairs. Finally he grabbed the beer bottles and made his way back down stairs.
Back in the kitchen, Blair unpacked the food, and while the pasta was coming to the boil he peered at the beer label. Was this the usual stuff Jim bought? Or was it an ‘improved' blend? Different brewery? There were lots of possibilities. He'd have to check it out.
Damn, but he really wanted to talk to Jim about his day, seeing Simon; the counsellor- was that what had tipped him into buying the beer? Was looking at his past that bad? Well, yeah stupid, that's why he's in this mess in the first place, Blair; he berated himself angrily as he added the sauce and put the result on a plate.
After he had eaten, he went upstairs to check on Jim. Still conked out, he hadn't moved a muscle. He wasn't seeing a panther so everything must be ok. He went back downstairs and returned with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol for the morning, or whenever Jim surfaced. He might want it, he might not.
Jim liked a few beers on occasion, but he didn't overdo it as a rule, especially since his senses had come back on line. But for one small beer to make him drunk and pass out was worrying. He got a pad and pen and made a list of questions and reached for the phone directory.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jim woke up with a start, he couldn't move, he felt like he was glued to the bed. What the? Okay what had happened? He felt like he'd slept for days. He rolled over and realised he was still in his clothes. His bruises and stitches still ached. He felt very thirsty and hungry.
Daylight.
Day time? Already? What time was it for Christ's sake?
He lay there trying to piece together what he'd been doing. He remembered getting the groceries, and then coming home. He came upstairs to change into looser clothes as his hip and leg were sore. His watch had fallen on the floor and when he'd painfully knelt down to get it he'd spotted the foot locker under the bed.
What next? A beer or two would help wouldn't it? Opening the locker, that is, besides if they were going to Benning he needed some names and contacts. He had some phoning to do didn't he?
Opening the box, fortified with the beers at his side, he'd been unprepared for the smell and the touch of the photos, the cloth badges, beret, and all the other stuff in there. Jim was buffeted by memories, good and bad. It took him back and he couldn't stop it. Like a runaway train screaming through a long dark tunnel he went with it.
There was a voice talking to him, a conversation. Then, nothing. Sayonara Jim.
He closed his eyes and lay quietly. Sandburg was up and about, on the phone. He tuned it out to be polite. No use just lying here forever. Move out soldier. “Yeah, yeah.” he grumbled at himself as he got up. He spotted the water and pills Blair had left. He greedily drank the water and decided he didn't feel bad enough for any Tylenol. He undressed to his boxers before grabbing his robe. He tied it up as he went down the stairs. He yawned. A shower would be good right now.
Blair was pacing up and down, phone to his ear, other hand waving articulately as he spoke.
“No, I don't think I'm being at all unreasonable. Yes, you should issue a recall notice at once. “ he listened for a while.
“Of course I'm not making it up. Talk to the Environmental health, the standards people. They've been looking into complaints for the past three weeks. Then there's the local hospital,” a pause- he glared at the phone.
“Yeah, the same to you pal.” he tossed the phone onto the table and stood hands on hips frustrated. Jim watched, wondering what was going on.
“What's up?” asked Jim. Blair whirled round, a smile on his face.
“Well you are apparently. You want a coffee? Feeling alright?”
“I feel… upright. A hot shower, then breakfast.” replied Jim yawning again.
“Um Jim, do you have any idea what time it is? I've had lunch!”
“What!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later as Jim sat with his coffee and ate a very late breakfast/lunch, he sensed Blair watching him again. He knew he should tell him what had happened when he was looking at his Army stuff.
“About yesterday…” he began as Blair said at the same moment, “About that beer…” they laughed.
Blair gestured to Jim to say ‘you first.'
“I saw Simon, told him physically I'm healing fine, but that we're going to go to Fort Benning . And that I hoped it would help me resolve some of these …issues. Then I can get back to Major Crimes.”
“Yes, I got a call from him. He's concerned for you.”
“I went and cleared some paperwork on my desk. I managed to get an appointment with the counsellor at the PD. I know I said I didn't want to talk to anybody, that you and I… and then I thought it was unfair to dump it all on you. Simon rightly pointed out that the PD sees similar cases. It'd be in the system somewhere.”
“Jim, that's great. I'm just glad you're talking at all. You know I'm here whenever you want.”
“I didn't want to feel like I was a freaky mad cop. I need to get over this, so I can go back to doing what I want to be doing, should be doing. Simon offered to help too.”
“What did you talk about? Or is that why you bought the beer? Not your usual stuff by the way.” commented Blair.
“Um, we went through me chasing the perp and getting hit by the car. He had documentation from the hospital. I told him about the blood and the oil…”
“Okay. Did it help?”
“Each time I think about it or say it- it doesn't sound quite so bizarre. It's an imprinted memory. Like you said- smell and sound can be tightly meshed with memory. It's powerful stuff. I just didn't know it was going to come back and slap me in the face so hard. It still is. I think maybe it always will.”
“We just have to let it out of the box a piece at a time, so it's not so painful then!”
“Hmm.”
“What happened with the beer and the locker, man? The gun in your hand-you had me going there for a moment.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes that. ”
“I guess because we'd been talking about the Army and things it was on my mind anyway. And I knew I needed to look for some information for Fort Benning . I drank the beer and walked around thinking about it all for a while. Then I opened the locker.” Jim stopped.
“And?” prompted Blair.
“I got run over by a train.”
“Pardon?”
“I don't know how else to describe it. I opened the locker and, God, it was weird. I was back in the barracks, I was in a jungle. I was playing cards with everyone I ever knew. I was everywhere and nowhere. It sucked me in. I could feel it pulling. I didn't want to; it was like I had no choice! It was good and bad. Shove it back in the box! I can't get the lid back on! Never go back!”
“Jim? It's alright. Just sit down for a minute.”
Jim was brought back to the loft by his Guide's calming voice and the smell of coffee.
“I hate this, Chief!” he said angrily as he sat back down, unaware he'd got up and started pacing.
“We'll deal with it, alright?”
“Tell me about the beer.” asked Jim suddenly
“It's under control. Just don't buy that brand again- ever. Why did you pick it in the first place?”
“Would you believe me if I said, it was on special offer?”
“Well, bargain hunting almost put you in a coma, man”
“What!”
“It was bad beer. It had been contaminated at the bottling plant. The company were a little slow issuing a recall notice.”
“Why? I thought they tested. “
“They do, it's just that this time a severely PO 'd employee changed the results hoping to get back at the company. Maybe he even tampered with the stuff in the first place. Don't know what with. It's under investigation.”
“Ouch.”
“Yes.”
“So it's not just me, then?”
“No, I phoned the ER, checked with the brewery. I asked Simon to do some background checks for me.”
“Sounds like you did all the right things, Sandburg. I'm impressed, thanks.”
“Most people seemed to shut down after a few more beers than you and then they'd be like zombies for the next day.”
“Anybody really hurt themselves?”
“A few accidents driving to work, falling asleep at work…so far no one has died. But…”
“Right. I guess that's why you were hassling them on the phone.”
“Turns out this isn't the first time it's happened, so they might get shut down. It's been taken over by the authorities now. Your beer bottles are evidence, man! The men in suits have already been for them.”
“Guess I'll have to give a statement. Great.”
“Well we were lucky this time. You do realise that we helped uncover a crime and partially solved it without even trying. See it's not just me that's a trouble magnet!”
“You did the spade work, remember. I was counting sheep.”
“Yes but, I learned it from you in the first place.”
“Yeah. So you did, Darwin .”
When the phone rang Jim reached round and picked it up. He looked at Blair after the first question. After a few minutes he put the phone down.
“That was the FBI; they're coming over to take my statement- about the beer. Turns out they are curious as to why I was affected so badly. They're still running tests on the beer to see if it's different from the other contaminated batches. It might be a bigger problem than they thought.”
“Told you that they'd already been and picked the beer up. I told them you must have reacted badly to it. They've phoned twice this morning wanting to know if you were ok and when could you talk to them. I told them it wasn't what you normally bought, which is why I suspicious about the beer and not something else. Taking your meds as well won't have helped.”
The suits as Blair called them arrived shortly after. Neat, officious, and clone like they declined tea or coffee. Straight to business. Jim appreciated that.
There wasn't that much to tell anyway. Jim knew their piece of the puzzle could be the bit to turn an investigation around, but it wasn't likely.
The corner shop had a case of beer on special offer; he'd been tired, rushed, and in need of liquid solace. Which lead to an explanation of how he'd come by his injuries- they'd politely not asked before. Jim was sure they'd run a background check on him anyway and knew he was on sick leave. What meds had he taken and when and what time had he woken up today? How did he feel now? Fine, thank you.
Blair chipped in to confirm things Jim said or to repeat what he'd already told them. Not that the FBI were suspicious of them, they were just double checking the facts.
“That's all for now. If you come across any more of this beer elsewhere in the city or anywhere, inform us please. Here's our card. Thanks for your time sir and, Mr Sandburg I guess you‘ll be at here for a day or two before going back on duty?”
“Actually, we'll be out of town for a few days.”
“Oh. Why's that?” the FBI man's curiosity or suspicion was aroused again.
“Nothing, just paying my respects down at Fort Benning .”
“Army. Georgia.” stated the lead FBI agent.
“Yes.”
“My brother's in the army. It's much cooler up here isn't it? I don't know how he did all that training in the heat down there. I visited him a few times. Have a good trip, sir.”
And with that they left.
“I guess we'll have to keep an eye on the papers for any results on this one.” said Jim shutting the door after them and coming back to the living area.
“Do you feel up to telling me about the photos and things in the locker? I know it was probably the mix of the wacky beer that made it all extra weird and set you off. Had you looked in there since you came back?” asked Blair determined not to let an opportunity pass by since the suits had mentioned Georgia .
They had to start now, before they got to Georgia . Jim might find physically going back a bit overwhelming, and coping with other material evidence could make him really ill.
“Not really, shoved things in there and closed the lid. I moved around a lot when I left the army before coming back here. Guess that's why I was surprised by it. I don't know exactly what's in there.” replied Jim slowly.
“Why don't we look at it down here in the open? It'll be quite safe.” suggested Blair.
Jim went upstairs and got the locker. It was a standard green painted locker with Jim's name, rank and serial number stencilled on it. It had some scratches and a slight dent in one corner, but otherwise was in good condition.
Jim placed it on the floor in front of the couch and sat down, grunting in discomfort after his efforts. Blair moved and sat near him, so that he too could see what was in the locker.
“We can stop any time you want, Jim. Just tell me about what's in there, whatever comes into your head.” Blair said reassuringly.
“Alright. But this feels so stupid. It's only bits and pieces.”
“Your bits and pieces, your life, Jim. That's the point here.”
There was a pause as Jim calmed himself down. He reached down and opened the box. Nothing leapt out and bit him on the nose. He didn't know whether to feel disappointed or not.
There was a black beret with a cap badge; a lighter with the unit motto on it; letters, some looked unopened, others were battered with re reading; a pack of well used cards, judging by the cover; a small sewing kit; a mini first aid kit; photos; his dog tags; official paperwork in US Army envelopes; his passport; an address book and notebook; and the gun and cleaning kit.
He picked up the notebook and flipped through it. Some names and addresses were listed. Beside each name was a date and a tick. Mr Organized. Of course the Army bureaucracy would have notified next of kin that the status of their loved ones had changed from MIA to KIA, but Jim had written to them as well. As he tried to explain it to Blair, he had no recollection what he'd written all those years ago. Only the notebook confirmed he'd done so. How many ways are there to write to someone and tell them their son, husband, father, lover, boyfriend is dead?-especially when Jim hadn't been the only survivor of the crash. There had been several of them for a good few days. But Jim ended up being the only survivor of the jungle.
The lush green foliage crowded in on him. He felt ill; the air was thick and heavy. The smell of the newly turned earth…
“Jim, what about the letters?” asked Blair.
Jim jerked back to the present and realised he was still holding the notebook. He put it on the lid. He reached down and moved some things out of the way to sort through the opened letters.
“These are from some of the guys in various units I've been in. While they were away on R & R -yanking my chain- the schmucks. Ah, this one's from a kid thanking me for getting him home ASAP when his folks were hurt in a car accident; we were halfway across the world at the time. Guys telling me about some course they'd been on and thought I should go for. Nothing much really.”
Blair listened fascinated as Jim slowly revealed another part of his life as Jim opened up the army letters next. Paperwork.
Deployment to different bases, units, training, promotion, merit commendations. Medic training, refresher courses. Discharge from the army.
“These dates don't add up though, there are gaps. Were you back home at all- did you visit your family?” asked Blair.
“Didn't go home. And I can't tell you where I was a lot of the time I was in the army. Of course, there were training accidents that kept me out for a while here and there.” explained Jim.
“Okay. Let's see if I understood that. You didn't see your family at all? Did they write?”
“No, we don't get on, and yes, there are letters.”
“Better than nothing, I suppose.” said Blair relieved.
Jim didn't reply.
“These blank times were when you were doing special ops stuff?” continued Blair.
“Sometimes. And that's as far as you're gonna get.”
“What do you mean by ‘training accidents'?”
”A well known Forces euphemism for getting injured on a mission that you can't tell anyone about. I could tell you, but then I'd have to shoot you.”
“Ha - ha, very funny.” said Blair smiling until he looked at Jim and realised he meant it.
Jim may only have been a Captain, but it was obvious he'd been through a lot in his career. Which also meant he'd been good at it and had expected to keep doing it for as long as he and the Army were on the same page. And that had changed after Peru, big time. He'd left his second family and support system.
Jim was looking at some letters that looked like they had followed Jim around before finding him and still remained unopened. Jim restlessly shuffled them in his hands, as though he could somehow absorb the information that way without actually having to open them.
“Who are they from?” asked Blair quietly. There was a pause before Jim answered.
“Some are from the families of the men in the Peru unit.”
“Why haven't you read them?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time! Because I couldn't bear to read about them thanking for me for looking after the men, when I did no such thing. That they'd want the ‘real' story how they died that's why!” said Jim explosively. Blair kept quiet waiting to see if he'd say any more.
“Because I wasn't dealing real well with anything after I left the army. I thought I was going nuts hearing, and seeing things no one else could. Even my clothes hurt! After merging with the jungle for so long, normal real life was hard to deal with. I drifted around for a bit. Met up with an old buddy and he helped straighten me out.” continued Jim wearily.
“What about your family letters?” asked Blair suspicion growing as he heard Jim's explanation, and knowing now that Jim hadn't sought sanctuary with his family or other loved ones.
“What about them?”
“You didn't read them either?!”
“Nope.”
“Because…?” said Blair not understanding.
“Because we have nothing to say to one another that's why!” said Jim curtly.
“All the time you were in the Army? Not even after they thought you were dead and came back after 18 months!”
“I guess not.”
“Unbelievable!” said Blair.
“Not everyone gets on with their family Sandburg. It's not all cosy like yours.”
“Hey, you know nothing about my lifestyle as a kid. Sometimes it sucked too you know!“ replied Blair hotly.
“I'm sorry. You're trying to help and I'm being a pain in the ass.” apologised Jim.
~~~~
“Want something to drink before the next bit?” Jim asked awkwardly, defusing the slightly tense atmosphere.
“There's going to be a next bit?” asked Blair.
“Sure, like a rotten tooth, one big tug and it's out, rather than festering away in the background.” continued Jim.
“Yuck!”
“Oh, yeah, it's gonna get nasty. Why stop now, just when I'm hating it?”
“Can't wait” said Blair as he went to the kitchen area to make some tea for himself.
Definitely no beer for a while for either of them. Jim brought back a glass of water and put it on the table. He sat on the couch and leaned back closing his eyes for a while.
He felt the couch dip as Blair returned minutes later, the smell of his tea drifting over. Jim opened his eyes as no questions came. Blair was looking at him.
“What?”
“I thought you'd be directing, saying something.” said Jim.
“When appropriate, but it's up to you what you look at next, what you tell me. Your pace. You're in control here. I'm here to help when you need it.” said Blair.
Jim cleared his throat and drank some more water before going back to the box for the photos.
Some were of army camps and barracks, bits of machinery. Others were of formal groups of soldiers, some with a younger version of Jim, others where he had taken the photo.
There were photos of them in much less neat combats, in all of them the background was non descript. Sometimes the background was open woodland, others with bare sand no other details, some in hotter climates with the men sweaty, but assured. Some where they were obviously goofing around or drunk or maybe both. Jim explained each one to Blair as best he could without having to shoot him.
There were photos of the soldiers with their families and friends - pool parties, barbeques, and days out on the beach. Sometimes Jim was with a girlfriend, sometimes not, but he was there. Blair had never seen Jim like this. Jim handed the last photo to Blair without a word.
It was a color picture of an army unit. The unit was formally arranged, some on seats and some standing. There was a parade ground in the background, grass under their feet. Berets on, just so. All spit and polish. All fire and determination. He picked Jim out, next to another officer. He hadn't seen a picture of Jim in his uniform before. He was quite imposing.
“Major Dickerson, my CO,” said Jim to Blair's unasked question.
“Then these are…?”
“Yes,” and with his finger he pointed to each man and named him.
Sarris, Brown, Evans, Krasky, Clements, Brodinsky and Colman.
Here at last , thought Jim as he did so. They'd made it this far in one piece, no mess on the floor as yet. But what the hell it was early yet. Still plenty of time for the brown stuff to hit the fan.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jim seemed to be holding up okay, Blair thought as he kept an eye on his Sentinel. Blair had found out so much in the last few days that he wondered if he could cope with Jim actually telling him about what happened in Peru . Well, they were both just going to have to deal with it as the moment was here now.
“Jim, you want to explain what you meant by ‘Krasky died first no chance'?”
“Simon asked me about him yesterday. He thought I was working on some case, which was why I'd said it at the hospital.”
“If you think it's going to be too much. Just tell me the beginning, and we can talk tomorrow, on the way to Georgia , whatever. Or we can stop now.”
“No pressure, huh?” said Jim letting out a breath as Blair handed the photo back to him.
He looked at it carefully again, one finger tracing over the faces looking so formal when he could remember them with so many other expressions…
Laughing madly at some bad or rude joke, teasing the new guy, when someone had done or said something really stupid.
Ecstatic when they won a competition, when they were going on leave, when they came back from leave, back into the fold. Back into the brotherhood.
The indescribable comfort of being a team, meshing together like clockwork. Mad, bad and dangerous to know. Hoo-ah. Nobody messes with us. Wanna live a little, die a little…?
Business like when ‘in country'. All focus was on the mission, making sure they knew their job. Looking out for each other especially when it went FUBAR as this one had.
Pain, fear, regret, dying, death- he'd seen those expressions too. And the mess it made.
Time to leap into the darkness. No more running away, he was a soldier for Christ's sake. Jim leaned back on the couch, let out a deep breath and let himself free fall. He knew exactly how far he was going to go. He had back up; Blair was here to pull the emergency rip cord. Red light, green light… GO…
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“We're hit, look out!”
“We are *so* going down! Mayday, mayday! Brace yourselves.”
“Captain!”
“Yo.”
“Get strapped back in!”
“Can you see a clear space? Beacon! Pilot!”
“Canopy's too dense! I'll do the best I can Cap. Fuck! The beacon's screwed. Don't know if it'll…”
Tortured whining from the engine, black smoke pouring, stench of fuel, and the smell of fear. The chopper was wrenched down, it viciously snapped from side to side.
Lurching, crashing through the trees, hitting, sliding, wrenching, whump thump, screech. The slick, slither of thick foliage. Smell of wood and leaves, damp earth. Flying to one side, down and out.
Blackness. Time passes.
The clink- tink - tink…slow ticking of a cooling engine, dripping of fuel, smell of blood.
Quiet. Jungle noises creep back in, chirps and whistles, and rustling through the trees.
He came to, he could smell fuel and something else, and slowly sat up. That action made him suddenly turn to the side retching painfully. Finally he finished and spat. He wiped his face and found his hand covered in blood. Where was all the blood coming from? He looked down and found his fatigues had splashes of blood and oil across them.
His ribs hurt, his head hurt, and his left ankle wasn't too happy either.
“Heads up, any body hear me?”
“Captain! “
“Sir!”
Relieved to hear some voices he staggered over to the wreck of the chopper, he must have been thrown clear. For a moment his vision wavered. He knew there was only one chopper not two…
Painfully he pulled himself inside. Evans and Clements were still strapped in their seats.
“How are you doing?”
“Peachy sir. Look I can't hear Mustard or Tet, check em first,”
“Ok, where does it hurt?”
Evans answered first “Belt's digging in too much and my leg hurts bad.”
Ellison bent down to see, and was horrified to see a big chunk of metal stuck in his leg there was a big pool of blood on the floor already. He ripped open a pressure bandage from his vest and applied one, opened a second and applied that one the other side of the wound.
“Still there, Evans? Talk to me.”
“I'm ok. Cap.”
“Clements. keep an eye on him for me will you? You know the drill right?”
“Sir, yes, sir. Looks like something whapped you good, Captain”.
“I'll sort myself out in a minute when there's another pair of hands free.
"Clem, how are you doing? Talk to me.”
“Fine just wedged in real tight here. Not sure if the arm's broke or the shoulder. Frickin painful sir.”
“Alright, nothing else? Hang in there. I'll get you something for it soon. I'm going to see what supplies I can muster. And something to get you out. Yell if anything changes. I'll be back in a few.”
He checked the cockpit and found Krasky, the pilot very dead. He hadn't stood a chance. He had to ease the crushed and split body so he could get at the first aid kit. He looked at the control panel. The switch for the emergency beacon was damaged. There was blood and …bits everywhere and flies were beginning to feed. He went to the back of the chopper, passing the other two who said “Okay,” as he passed.
Sarris was lying on his back with part of a seat crushing him.
“Buddy, can you hear me?”
Nope, he was out of it. ABC's okay for now. Pupils responsive. No open wounds, possible internal or spinal injuries though. Not looking good. He was going to need help getting him out.
Ellison moved carefully round the chopper to check on the others.
Brown, he found at the very back of the Huey, neck broken. He got his tags and put them in his pocket. As he made his way forwards, the chopper slowly slid a bit more. As he grabbed onto something his ankle turned over again with agony, and he clutched at his ribs with his other hand. He closed his eyes and hung on. Come on! Your men need you…
He realised he should get everybody out; she might go up any moment.
“Cap! She's gonna go!” cried a voice, echoing his own thoughts.
“Keep calm I'm coming. It's gonna be okay.”
He came forward and began trying to free Clements as he was the next most able bodied. Cutting the seatbelt webbing he helped him up and over the back of the seat. After fitting a sling for his broken collarbone and giving him some pain pills. Together they pulled Sarris out of the chopper on makeshift back board and he set up an IV and neck brace. He wrote details with a marker on Sarris's arm so he'd know when and what his condition was last. He mentally reminded himself to check back on him within the next 15 minutes.
Evans they carried out after packing his leg again. Jim knew he couldn't remove the metal without him bleeding out; chances were he'd do that anyway, if infection didn't get him first. Don't think about it . He fixed up IV's and morphine. Jesus, it was hot here, making his head swim. Dashing his arm across his forehead, he realised then it wasn't sweat but blood. In a minute, he would….but first he had to…
They pulled all the Bergens from the chopper. They got all the ordnance as well. Don't think about what was left of him as he removed Krasky's tags- sticky with blood they joined Brown's in his vest pocket. Just in case the Huey went up before he had a chance to bury them. There was a big gash in the side of the Huey, the other seats were gone. That's where he must have come out nearer the ground. There was hope for the other two.
Check Sarris again. Wake up, buddy, I need to talk to you . 15 minutes.
They could all smell fuel; Jim crawled along looking for the breaks and smeared damp and dry earth where he could. He didn't think it was going to go up after all.
Satisfied at last that the survivors were okay for the moment, he patrolled looking for Brodinsky and Coleman. He left Clements keeping an eye on Sarris and Evans. He'd been thrown clear, maybe they had, too. Ten minutes later he found them. They were dead too. Shit, in one stroke he'd lost half of his men. This was not good.
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When Jim came to himself again he was still sitting on the couch in the apartment. He felt tired. Damn, he was always tired lately. His stomach rumbled. How long had he been sitting here? He could feel Blair's hand warm on his arm grounding him, reassuring him that he was here too.
He opened his eyes; the room had grown dim in the early evening. He turned to the side.
”Hi.” he said not knowing what to say.
“You did really well. How do you feel?”
“I'm…okay. Hungry.” He looked at the clock. Dammit, he'd been talking for hours.
“I can't believe that you went through all that and still think you did nothing for your men. It's clear in what you just told me you did everything, bar build a hospital!” said Blair
“You don't know everything yet, alright! I felt so damned useless every day. We weren't where we were supposed to be. We didn't know if the tribal chief or the rebels would find us first.”
“Jim, calm down, you were trained for all of that stuff. Weren't you, you made it through? You cared for your men. You and the locals kept the rebels at bay. You buried your men. You made sure all their tags would be found in case something happened to you. The families are grateful for that. I think you owe it to them to read their letters.”
“God, you keep on going, don't' you!” snapped Jim as he stood up, needing to stretch his aching leg.
“If not now, then when?” pressed Blair.
“I guess you're right, as usual. Ok, later after food, I'll read one.”
“Two, and I pick them.”
“Ok, anything! Just let me eat would you.”
“You're going to have to explain some phrases for me though.”
“Some might be unrepeatable, Sandburg.” he joked as he went back to the kitchen to make something to eat. Sandwiches, soup?
“I'm guessing Colman was Mustard. But I don't get why Brodinsky was Tet.”
“Quartet, as in music - got shortened to Tet. It was his own fault for explaining his surname like that in the first place. Still it could have been worse.” Jim explained as he opened cupboard doors.
“Really?”
“You don't want to know.”
“Could be another research paper in there…” bantered Blair carefully knowing he was on dangerous ground but trying to keep the mood light for Jim's sake.
“Don't tempt me.”
After dinner Jim made some phone calls while Blair washed up.
“Blair, can you get some time off?”
“I already explored that the other day when I knew you wanted to go to Georgia . I‘ve arranged to swap with some people, given out copies of notes. Squared it with the boss.”
“I just checked with the airlines, we can get a fight to Atlanta tomorrow morning, if that's not too soon for you. Tickets are on hold. We can hire a truck the other end. Book into a motel nearby. Stuff's available.”
Blair thought it was sad that there wasn't some army buddy that Jim felt he could stay with. Or maybe he didn't know how to explain what Blair would be doing on the scene.
“You're sure you want me to go with you?”
”Sandburg! I wouldn't ask if I didn't mean it. Beside you can do a paper on soldiers and how they get their nicknames? Of course to do it proper justice, you‘d also have to go through the other forces too. The flyboys and the squids.”
“Yes, but I wouldn't have the inside track without you. And stop distracting us from the last thing we are going to do today. Two letters.”
“Fine. Hand them over.”
“A little more respect, Jim, please.” admonished Blair as he looked at the names ands dates on the couple of unopened letters, before passing them over.
Jim looked at the first one from Clements girlfriend/ wife. He didn't know what was in it. Was it going to be booby trapped?
// “Dear Captain Ellison,
I don't know when this will catch up with you. I know that it must have been hard for you to write to us after so long. We kept hope that you were all alive. I can't imagine what it was like for you all alone in the jungle. I can't thank you enough for keeping his letter to me safe until you made it back. I know he wasn't supposed to write it and that you hadn't read it. I enclose it for you- you can keep it. If you‘re ever passing through this way, come visit us. Did you know there's a memorial stone for the guys at Benning now? We all missed you at the dedication ceremony.
Regards from Nancy Clements. December 1990.
“Honey, I know I shouldn't be writing this to you but I have to. I made the cap promise to get it to you - in case…and he's a man of his word. He won't read this either. We're down but not out. We lost Brown, Pilot, and Tet but the captain's looking after us. You should see him. He's everywhere sorting us and the kit out. Even made contact with the locals. In case something does happen tho, you know where that letter I told you about is. I miss you and love you and hope to be with you soon. Dave.” //
The other letter that Blair had picked was from his father. Jim should have known. How come Blair could get him to do stuff the drill sergeants hadn't?
This letter was definitely booby trapped, for sure. There was no way for it not to be, in Jim's experience of his father. He heard the grenade pin pull out as he opened the envelope. One one thousand. Two one thousand….
//“Son,
I don't know if you ever got the letters Stephen sent or read them. Or if you'll get this one as the army say you've moved on. Sally would love to see you. I could fix you up with something while you sort yourself out. Despite what‘s happened in the past believe me, I am glad to see you made it back.
William Ellison.”//
Boom. The grenade went off.
Crap! The old man *never* played fair. Not one damned day in his life.
Stunned but kind of relieved, annoyed and surprised all at once he handed the letters to Blair to read. He did so, and then said “Welcome home, Jim. You made it back.”