Shrapnel's Kiss

Prologue:

Junie:

I’m not really sure why I did it. Nobody forced me or even tried to convince me. And I don’t think I had a death wish. I was outside myself and compelled to do something. The loneliness made me restless. I was finally able to put a name to the ache in my chest that was a constant. It needed an outlet and the hole needed to be filled.  There was something missing besides my family—an uncontrollable desire to get away and even help others if I was able. Sometimes we have to leap and not look down to move forward, especially if we don’t know why we have to.  My blind leap led me to war... in Afghanistan.

I’m not stupid.  I watch the news and I hear the stories. I totally understood I was not going to a luxury resort—but even my wildest dreams or nightmares wouldn’t have prepared me for what lay ahead. My father always said with good things come bad, and I had that filed away in my memory bank of important advice. I looked at it the other way: with the bad things, come good. It’s the old glass half-full, glass half-empty scenario. But I wasn’t thinking as deeply then as I am now. I was clouded with grief and I didn’t know it.  My family was gone.

Chapter 1

August 17, 2014

Junie:

The heat coming off the tarmac was enough to melt the contact lenses on my eyeballs. I had to keep blinking to moisten them. My shoulder ached from the weight of my carry-on bag. The crowd I was standing in included people from all walks of life—younger, older, thin, short, tall, brown hair, blond hair, no hair—but I think we all had one very important thing in common: loneliness. I already have a bitter loneliness sitting like a cement slab in my stomach, why not be lonely somewhere I can help people.

We are doers with nothing to do. We are people who misplaced something. Something is such a generic word. It could mean you lost a pack of gum, your heart to a lover, or your sense of being. To find what you are missing is another story. Maybe it’s better to leave it lost.

I shifted to stand under the shadow of the wing of the airplane for some relief against the blazing sun. Praying the soles of my Skechers don’t stay permanently mounted to the asphalt from the heat. This is not my first airplane ride, but I’ve never been on a plane like this. It reminds me of a fattened turkey painted army green, its belly thick and rounded. I am a far cry from a physics major so my brain can only guess how this extremely large, bulbous plane is going to get off the ground. I am an ant in comparison. Orange-vested workers buzz around the belly as I ogle its immense size, checking its integrity, loading compartments with whatever important military equipment was coming with us.

I let my bag slip off my shoulder and thud onto the concrete. How much longer are they gonna make us wait?  My beads of sweat have beads of sweat multiplying.  A drop falls down my forehead, past my nose and into my mouth, salty. Ick!

Today is the type of day that would make my father muse, Whew! It’s hot, Junie girl! I can hear my father in my mind and a pang of aloneness hits me.  It’s so hot you could fry an egg on the cement. This is probably the hottest August day I can ever remember in my twenty-one years.

I am the NCOIC, Sgt. Davis. For those of you who don’t know, that stands for Non-commissioned-officer-in charge. His digital camo uniform has lots of patches, badges, and doohickeys and he motions with his arms authoritatively to move us along. He extends three fingers to point to the unmistakable mountainous metal steps that are pushed against the fuselage. I need you all to line up facing the ladder!

I come out from under the cover of the wing and sling my bag over my shoulder with a grunt to line up with the others.

There are two rows of seats on the left side of the plane for you. This is a full flight. Do not leave any seats empty, the man-in-charge bellows. Does the army teach them how to be that way, automatic and efficient? The way his hands move and his stance is so... so... militant.  I shrug absently at my own thoughts and play with my fingers by my side, mimicking his.

Waiting, I tip myself to the side to glance at the person at the head of the line—a man about thirty with a crew cut.  Maybe he was in the military. He looks like it. I catch a glimpse of the cylinder-style bag on his back. It’s a duffel bag that matches the color of the plane.

Stupidly, I glance up at the sun, wishing it away. I need water. I pray that this flight has a crisp Diet Coke. I could use one right about now, fizzy and cold. I’m edgy and my feet want to dance in place despite the heat.

One three-finger point from the man-in-charge and the line starts moving up the steep steps. I climb and with each tread I feel weaker. The sun is torturing me and draining my energy which usually is unending. I hope the A/C is already on in the airplane. An older woman behind me bumps my butt with her bag.

Sorry, she mumbles; clearly the heat is affecting her as well.

At the top of the stairwell, I am blocked by the bodies of the others in front of me.  Slowly, they filter away and I am assaulted by thick stale musty air. I cover my nose with my hand. Oh, no! It is even hotter in here, like an oven. The air is drier but definitely hotter.  Shit!  I follow to the left side of the plane. Holy hell! Where are the seats!?

Um... excuse me. I watch people sit down and stow their bags but I’m having trouble comprehending how this works. Excuse me! I call out louder, my eyes darting around searching for the guy. Where is army man-in-charge? I stand on my tiptoes to see around the others getting settled.

Can I help you?  I look down at the guy from the front of the line sitting patiently.

Yeah. Where are the seats? I ask.

"These are the seats." He points to the empty one next to him.

No, these are messed up hammock lawn chairs attached to the plane, I inform him.

He laughs. I’m not friggin’ laughing.

This is a C-130. These are the seats. This type of aircraft is made to carry equipment or troops. He puts his hand on the olive green bar running through the mesh webbed strips that make up the chairs. These fold up.

A bunch of uniformed soldiers with solemn expressions on their faces board the plane and they file to the right side of the plane.

OMG... I mutter. I thought twenty hours on a regular plane and a regular seat was going to be tough. Twenty hours in a suspended freakin’ lawn chair is going to be torture. I drop my carry-on and kick it under the cloth straps that make up my chair and sit down, with a long sigh leaving my lips of hot stale air I had just sucked in. My ass cheeks are squeezing through the spaces in the suspended webbing. Freakin’ great! My ass is going to be asleep before I am... Another sigh escapes.

I’m Richard, the guy next to me states.

Junie, I grumble, which is uncharacteristically rude for me.

Not what you expected? he wonders.

Nope, I respond with a sarcastic pop on my P.

Sounds like you got the wrong brochure. Richard chuckles while reaching under to his bag and pulling out a copy of USA Today from the pocket.  He snaps the newspaper open. Nice to meet you.  We’re neighbors for the next twenty-three hours.

I tilt my head back, making contact with the steel wall of the plane, and groan. A rumbling ticking whirs to life and a heaviness pulls at me as the plane takes off into the atmosphere—a perpendicular line of ascent. Pressure tugs the weight of the sky-monster I’m riding in and gravity has its own little war with physics. I am sitting sideways, against the grain, instead of forward blindly catching the horizon. The brash hum of the engines and wind are married together in a dance that at one time only birds knew. We bounce on wind shears that try to tear apart the unnatural fowl.  An Army’s bird of prey headed off to a country that is ungrounded in a philosophy we Americans hold dear.

The plane is deafening and it’s giving me a headache.  I am finding it hard to even think. I let my head fall into my hands in anguish. What the hell did I do? Did I do it because I knew that had my parents been living they would never allow me to go? Am I trying to get back at them for leaving me in this loneliness? Ugh!

Tyler:

Date: August 19, 2014

From: Kandahar Special Operations Support

To: Tyler Alexander, Captain, Joint Special Operations Commander

ODA Operational Detachment Alpha team 8: Convoy Civilian Escort Mission

I. Situation: Friendlies in area. IED’s in area. Three enemy groups have been identified in area, i.e. roadside, mountain range. High capture area.

II. Mission: Peace Corps stateside volunteers are to be escorted to the Northern Afghanistan Orphanage, Kunar. Mobilize team to Kabul. Pick up civilians at Hangar 1a.

III. Execution: Three vehicle escort convoy, full armament. Civilians/Non-governmental officials in vehicle two.  Tight formation, gunners on all three vehicles.  Vehicle one 50 cal machine gun.  Vehicle two MK-19, 40mm grenade launcher.  Vehicle three 7.62 machine gun.

IV. Command and Signal: Capt.