"Son, I've been in worse." Jim picks up Matt's gun. He dusts it down and checks it over.
Matt says, "Hey, you signed up for that. I'm here in the middle of this cluster fuck because, because—" His voice trails off and he shakes his head. "—because—I don't know—I don't know why the fuck I'm here."
Jim tries to return Matt's M16.
"Keep it. I'm done here." Matt looks away.
"I don't think you are, Son."
"Yes, I am. I'm finished—fuck it."
Silence.
Jim says, "I was drafted in nineteen forty-five. I was barely nineteen. Up until then, I'd spent all my life in Yellow Springs, Ohio. I grew up in a little piece of American paradise. I was in love and just got married, then my name gets picked out from a glass jar by some Washington politician. I'd never even been over the state line until then, and now, here I was, leaving my beautiful new wife to join ten million other good ole American boys on the other side of the pond. I ended up fighting in places I couldn't even pronounce and killing people who could have been my best friends in another time and place."
"You got through it, though," Matt says.
"I had no choice. I had to. I did things, things that weren't human. Things I still hate myself for. Even now, I wake up in the middle of the night and see the faces of the men I killed. They haunt my soul, and they will as long as I'm still on this Earth, and you know what? They have every right to."
"Does it get any better?"
"No. It was war. It's a terrible thing. Always has been and always will be. I guess it's not much different to us here now, except, time's a bit more against us today."
"Were you scared?"
"Every waking hour."
"I'm scared." Matt stares at Jim.
"So is everyone else here. They'd be lying if they told you anything different," Jim says.
"Doesn't make me feel any better. I'm fucking over it."
"It won't. All brave, good people get scared. They're just good at hiding it."
Matt sits down and leans against the Humvee. "I'm not hiding it. I'm just having a moment here."
"For a civilian, you're doing real good. I don't think you have the look of a man who's gonna take a bullet today."
"Look?" Matt asks.
Jim tells his story, "I ended up in a landing craft. We're pounding through waves—about to land on Omaha Beach. Those German machine gunners had us lined up. Then they opened up and the noise was"—Jim shakes his head—"terrifying. My heart's pounding like it's going to slam right out of my chest. I'm looking around the boat, staring into a lot of frightened men. Some are looking back at me. These guys are like brothers to me. Some were praying. Some were joking. Some were, just like me, quiet. Others were shouting and hollering, getting themselves ready to kill. That's what war does to some people—they become animals."
Jim pauses, frowns as he recalls the traumatic events, then continues, "I glance over at a soldier called Buck Coleman. He was from Louisiana—all six foot eight inches and three hundred pounds of him—he was a mountain of a man and the nicest guy you could ever meet. He smiles at me and then looks down at his feet. I knew in that instant he wasn't gonna make it that day. I think he knew it too."
"What happened to him?"
"He was the first soldier to hit that beach. He was cut in half right in front of me. I ran through what was left of him."
"Shit."
"So do you feel you're gonna die today, Son?" Jim asks.
"No—no, I don't, but if I do, I just don't want to be around when it happens," Matt says.
Jim laughs. "Then I think you've just increased your odds of living today."
Matt nods. "Okay. Right—I think I get it."
Jim hands him back the M16.
This time, Matt takes it. "Thanks."
"You'll do fine—I know you will."
"Yeah. I'm gonna be okay."
"That's it, Son. You look like you're gonna be okay."
Matt nods again. "Sure."
Books has wandered away from the South American Humvee and inspects another set of tracks on the salt pan floor.
"What you got there, Books—Route Sixty-Six?" Sophia asks.
"I wish," Books says.
"The South Africans' tracks, right?" Jim asks.
"Yeah, looks like they drove right past here."
"They're doing like us, tracking down codes. Do we follow them or go with the South American tracks?" Sophia asks.
"Why don't we just flip a coin? Kinda takes the guesswork out of it." Lloyd shakes his head.
"I got a better idea," Jedi says. "Say we backtrack the South Africans' route. Find their container. Get another code. Quick win city?"
"Makes sense to me, Books—safer option too," Sophia says.
"Yeah, gives us four codes. Happy days," Cutter agrees.
"If we're heading away from the guys who fucked these guys over"—Lloyd nods down at Marcos' dead body—"then it gets my vote."
"Okay, then, let's go and find that South African container," Books says. He turns to Jedi. "You lead it, kid."
The Americans walk to their vehicles. Jedi looks pleased with himself. He saunters over to the Humvee.
"Hey, kid," Matt says.
"Dude?"
"How come you look like you're walking like John Wayne now?"
"Like the man said, I'm leading it, so I got me a big middle swinging man stick to walk around with."
"I see." Matt reaches the Humvee first, and he opens the driver's door for Jedi. "Allow me, Cowboy."
"Thanks. Good to see some respect at las—"
As Jedi jumps into the Humvee, Matt punches him hard on his arm. It's a friendly buddy punch, but hard enough to keep him in his place.
"Ow—holy flip—what was that for?"
"Teacher's pet!"
"They didn't call me the gold-star kid at kindergarten for nothing." Jedi rubs his skinny arm to relieve the pain.
"Yeah, I always had you down for one of those precious little Mozart-listening angelic types," Matt says.
"Let me guess. You were the brat in the play pit looking up the girls' skirts and eating all the sand?"
"Happiest days of life, kid."
"Jedi." Books calls down from the Humvee's gun turret.
"Yeah, Books?"
"Let's GO!"
"You heard the man," Matt says. "He said, let's go."
Jedi starts the truck, rams it into gear, and takes off. He looks in the side mirror, sees Matt and flips him the finger.
Matt hops on the dirt bike, sees the insult, shakes his head and smiles. "Touché, kid."
He opens up the bike's throttle and roars off to catch up with the American Humvee.
