Читать книгу A Land Divided - Jack Wills - Страница 10

Chapter 4

Silencing Lawrence

The common room in the barracks where Shawn Bryant’s SEAL team unit was located while the investigation was in progress was a mess. The team had moved into this small barracks over a week ago, and no one was taking responsibility for organizing or cleaning. Food wrappers that had missed the basket were strewn over the floor, dishes, attracting flies; and clothes were everywhere but where they should be. Chief Petty Officer Sam Trotter, the team’s neat freak, had been in sick bay for the entire time with an infected leg wound. The wound had festered and become dangerous. After brief surgery, a significant round of antibiotics, and rest, his condition improved, and he was released back to the team.

The team, which was a subunit of the larger SEAL Team Six, was composed of eight sailors: Chief Trotter and seven other enlisted men. Shawn was in the brig, Lawrence was in the hospital, and Trotter was just returning. Trotter arrived and entered without knocking. Every member was still in the sack at 0800 hours. Trotter’s wiry torso was usually taut, but when he saw the condition of the barracks, he became rigid. His roman nose was nearly touched by his pursed lips, and his eyes bored holes in the dozing bodies of his men. The remaining five team members were oblivious, but not for long. Shortly after examining the damage, Chief Trotter started bellowing.

“Get up, you slobs! A few days away, and you forget how to keep your space.”

He went from bunk to bunk, shaking them violently. Chief Trotter did not wait for a response.

When he had roused each SEAL team member, he stood at the door with a deep frown.

“I am going for a walk. When I return in one hour, this place will be in order, or I will be taking names and kicking asses!”

As he walked out of the door, he could hear plaintive, “Oh, Chief,” “We’ll need more than an hour,” and “This is not my mess.”

He turned back to the door and exclaimed, “Get it done! We will have a meeting when I get back. There are things we need to discuss, and this pigsty needs to be presentable. Get it done! You now have fifty-eight minutes!”

Trotter turned brusquely and marched off, moving his arms back and forth with clenched fists. He hated dirty and unkempt places. At times, he felt like all of Afghanistan was dirty and unkempt, but he wasn’t responsible for that. The messy barracks was an affront to him and an embarrassment if one of the SEAL team officers or, God forbid, a high-ranking officer should see the building’s condition. At the same time, Chief Trotter knew there were bigger concerns. He didn’t realize that those bigger concerns were making him more sensitive to the mess in the barracks. In fact, the whole day was feeling messy. He felt better physically, but after his conversation with Lieutenant Commander Carl Stevens, he was having difficulty managing his emotions. He had a lot to talk about with his team. After he had the meeting, he would have to communicate with the officer in charge of the unit, Lieutenant Jeff Walters. Chief Trotter dreaded that conversation.

When Trotter returned from his vigorous walk, he felt better. The team had made progress in cleaning the barracks. Although it was not up to the chief’s standards, he was feeling less volatile about it. Some team members were still scurrying about when he walked through the door. He watched Third Class Petty Officer Sam Deppard shove the dustpan in the closet and then stand up, saying, “Well, we did it.” As far as Chief Trotter was concerned, it was not done, but it would have to do.

“Okay, Sam, tell everybody to join me in the common area here—immediately,” he ordered.

“Got it, Chief.”

Two minutes later, all the remaining members of the sub-SEAL team were seated or standing in the common area of the barracks. Chief Trotter cleared his throat and began to speak.

“You all know that our team has been held off any actions in the field because of the fight between Lawrence and Bryant. This incident has created problems for us, but also for headquarters. I just spoke with one of the representatives of the officers participating in the incident investigation. They plan to interview Lawrence next and then each of you who witnessed the fight. You may know that Lawrence is still in the hospital and recovering from a fractured jaw. He is expected to be able to verbally answer to an investigator in about two weeks. He won’t fully recover for some time, and it is unclear if he will be reassigned to this team when he does get well enough.”

There were groans among the team.

Trotter paused. “What’s that all about?”

At first, no one spoke. Then Second Class Petty Officer Trevor Richards started to talk. “This has been really shitty,” he said. “It’s making us crazy around here.”

“I know it’s been hard,” Trotter commiserated.

“I don’t know what to think about this,” Richards added. “I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to one of us, even Lawrence, but if he wasn’t a SEAL, I wouldn’t spend two minutes with him.”

There was a consensual nodding, and one other team member said, “That goes for me too.”

Richards seemed to be the informal spokesperson for the group. He continued, “I think I can speak for the group when I say that we really hope that Bryant is not railroaded on this.”

“That’s about it, Chief. I feel the same,” Petty Officer Third Class Sam Deppard said. “Is there anything we can do to get Bryant back on the team?”

From the subdued faces of the team members, Chief Trotter sensed that the team knew that they had little control over the outcome of the investigation. Having no control over a situation was uncomfortable for SEALs, and this was clearly impacting the group.

“Okay, so the upshot is that this unit is likely going to be reassigned. We may even be merged with another unit. It is possible we may be broken up and sent separately to other units. You all know this is a reality of our situation. Most likely, we will stay within the same SEAL team but will be assigned to a different unit. It is highly unlikely that Bryant will return to this unit, and it is a possibility he will face court-martial,” Chief Trotter explained.

A collective groan erupted from the group.

“That’s bullshit!” was heard from at least one sailor.

“Bryant had every right to pound Lawrence into the dust!” Richards shouted. “I wish I could break Lawrence’s jaw again.”

Chief Trotter raised his hands. “That’s enough! We are SEALs. We don’t have to like what the brass does, but we have to accept it. We are committed to what we do, and that’s all. We will be stuck here in the barracks until the investigation is over. After that, we will be getting back aboard a ship. We will see how that turns out. Meanwhile, I want us to act like a team. I don’t want to hear you bellyaching, and this place will be shipshape. I will let you know when you are to be interviewed. They should start in a couple of days.”

After Chief Trotter left for his separate quarters, the men began to talk. Initially, it was to complain about their circumstances. Then it became more of a condemnation of Lawrence.

“He’s the reason we are in this situation,” Rick Allen, the radio carrier, stated. “I don’t blame Shawn for taking him out.”

“If only there was a way to prevent Lawrence from claiming it was an assault. Maybe that would change the outcome here,” Richards opined. “If only there was a way to let Lawrence know that we were ‘uncomfortable’ with the consequences of his interview,” he continued, using air quotes to emphasize the word uncomfortable.

The room got quiet. They began to look at one another with the sense that their minds were working on Richard’s idea. Deppard looked at Richards with a Mona Lisa–like smile.

“You know, I met a nurse at the Acey-Deucy club two nights ago. Not bad-lookin’ either. I wonder if she could get us in to see Lawrence and let him know how fucked up we think this is,” Deppard said.

“That would be fucked up,” Richards argued. “If the brass found out, we would be in such deep shit we couldn’t breathe.”

“Maybe we could use your nurse to get a message to him though,” Rick Allen chimed in. “It couldn’t be written down. It would have to be verbal.”

“You mean ‘oral,’ don’t you? Verbal just means about words,” Richards corrected.

“Oh, Mister D-I-C-K-tionary, don’t you know every fucking thing!” Allen countered sarcastically.

“Okay, can we agree that we could at least get a message to Lawrence? And that it should be o-r-a-l,” Deppard replied.

Everyone chuckled as they nodded approval. “Sounds good to me,” Richards said.

“So what’s the message?” asked Allen.

“It can’t be anything too blatant, and it should be something simple that he will know is a veiled threat,” offered Richards.

“How about some Navy slang?” suggested Deppard. “Something like FUBAR,” he added.

“I don’t know. That doesn’t convey the message that we will be unhappy and might take it out on him. It feels too general to me,” explained Richards.

After a while negotiating, the team came up with “another fine Navy day,” a phrase that represents the opposite of how it sounds. They followed it with, “It could get even finer, so hope you get better soon so you can enjoy such a fine Navy day!” The team agreed that if they got the same message under the same circumstance, they would recognize it as a threat. They also knew that Lawrence might imagine all the possible things that might go wrong in future missions. Negative events that might be personalized for him.

Later that day, the message was delivered by the nurse to Lawrence. The nurse did not really understand the underlying message, but when she whispered in his ear, the look in Lawrence’s eyes and his furrowed brow suggested it was not all that positive.

Lawrence wanted to swear, but the doctors said he would not be able to say anything for another week. Images of the SEAL team unit floated through his mind. He imagined that he would not be welcomed back to the team if he said something that damaged Shawn Bryant’s chances of being exonerated. He gritted his teeth and grimaced in pain. His thoughts whirled back to Bryant, something that had been occupying his thoughts every minute from the time he awoke from his surgery.

Bryant really needed to have his ass kicked! There is no way that fucking dog was worth what I am going through. I want another shot at that son of a bitch! Internally, he smiled at his double entendres. It would be so simple if I just told the investigator that Bryant attacked me and that I didn’t try to fight back. That would be the end of Bryant’s military career. Very appropriate. It’s what Bryant deserves! But if I read the message right, those jerks in my unit will set me up if I give the investigator what he needs to fry Bryant. What will they do.? There have been stories of teams that abandoned a team member to the Taliban. That’s a death sentence, or worse! Fuck! I can’t even imagine that.

Lawrence recycled those thoughts over and over. The tension in his body increased, and the pain in his jaw was becoming unbearable. Eventually, he thought, I’ll find another way to fuck Bryant up. If I get the chance, I’ll screw them all, one at a time if I have to.

The pain became too much. He hit the nurse’s button. When she arrived, he noticed it was not the same nurse that had delivered the message. He asked for more pain meds, and he was soon feeling more relaxed and drowsier. I’ll get them. Payback is a motherfucker, he thought as he slipped into a hazy oxycodone slumber.