As the sounds of machine gun fire reverberated in their ears, Richard and David made their way to the top of the hill. From there, they had a clear vantage point. They could see groups of hostiles moving towards their convoy. The lead Humvee had taken the brunt of the initial ambush and was now just large chunks scattered in a fifty-foot radius across the desert.
“Nothing like an IED to break up your day,” David remarked as they readied their rifles.
Through his scope, he spotted one group advancing on a group of their fellow army men who were taking shelter behind one of the other Humvees, now lying on its side. He squeezed the trigger again and again, taking out the group of four with five shots.
Meanwhile, Richard began providing cover for a group of soldiers attempting to reach the third Humvee. While it too had been disabled, its radio had to still be working. For starters, it was still upright and mostly intact.
“Won’t be long until we have to pull back,” Richard remarked, their brethren safe for the moment.
David gave a slight nod of agreement. They weren’t snipers. Their position was only fifty yards from the road, the pair crouching behind a mound. It was only a matter of time before they became the targets. But, they had to make do with what they had. For now, they were making some headway.
However, the approaching forces outnumbered their convoy at least three to one and those odds were getting worse. Richard could tell at least two fellow soldiers were already dead.
Both men continued firing at necessary intervals. But then, they saw their position was compromised. Several of the assailants spotted them and began firing in their direction while charging forward. Richard felt two bullets strike his chest, being stopped by his body armor. Then, there was an explosion and his world went black.
* * *
Richard stirred. He heard someone moving, but he saw nothing.
“He’s awake,” someone said.
Moving his hands around, Richard felt sheets. He was in some kind of bed. But where was said bed?
“Sergeant Chandler?” someone asked, coming over to the bed. “Sergeant Chandler? Can you hear me?”
Reaching up and touching his face, Richard felt the gauze bandages over his eyes.
“Sergeant Chandler?” the speaker inquired again. He sounded American.
“Yes,” Richard replied. “Where am I?”
“The Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany,” the speaker explained. “You were brought here after your convoy was ambushed in Iraq. I’m Lieutenant Miles Burnette, your attending physician. Tell me…do you remember the incident?”
“I think so,” Richard replied, remembering shouting and gunfire. “How bad was it?”
“Seven dead,” Lieutenant Burnette told him. “Six more wounded, including yourself. I’m told it would have been worse had reinforcements not arrived when they did to drive your attackers back. I believe they suffered around twenty casualties.”
Richard knew the convoy, transporting supplies, consisted of twenty-five personnel in three Humvees and one truck. According to the doctor, they’d suffered a total of thirteen casualties. Richard didn’t like those numbers.
“What happened to David?” he then asked. “He was with me. Sergeant Royce? What happened to him?”
“He was among the seven dead,” Lieutenant Burnette said. “I’m sorry.”
Richard let out a long breath, taking this in.
“Sergeant,” Lieutenant Burnette said, “you’ve probably noticed your lack of sight.”
“Yeah,” Richard said. “When do the bandages come off?”
“It’s not that simple. Sergeant Chandler, shrapnel from an RPG damaged both your retinas and corneas.”
Richard froze.
“What are you saying?” he demanded. “I’m blind?”
“All tests indicate that,” Lieutenant Burnette said. “We’ll need to run some more now that you’re awake. Our opt homology department will take charge of your care.”
“Can they fix it?”
“I don’t know.”
Richard let out another long breath.
“Your wife is here,” Lieutenant Burnette said. “She would like to see you. Should I let her in?”
“I guess,” Richard said half-heartedly.
Kristen and Wendy had been living in the Kaiserslautern Military Community, a residential development for American servicemen and their families in Germany, not far from the medical center. Richard had been stationed in Germany prior to his deployment to Camp Viper in Iraq four months ago.
He soon heard someone else coming over. A soft hand then grasped his tightly. He couldn’t help smiling slightly.
“Hey,” Kristen said, her voice sounding slightly choked. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I’ve been going out of my mind. This past week…you being out…”
She stopped, trying to catch her breath.
“David’s dead,” Richard said.
“I know,” Kristen said. “I spoke to Jodi.”
“How is she?”
“She’s hanging in there,” Kristen said. “She went to stay with her parents in Florida. They’ve sent David home. I think the funeral’s next week.”
Richard contemplated.
“Can I go?” he asked, not sure how the logistics would work for that.
“I’ll talk to your doctor,” Kristen assured him. “You rest.”
She was a nurse. Despite the fact she was a civilian, she could handle “hospital talk” with the best in the medical field.
“They’re saying I’m blind,” Richard said.
“I know,” Kristen said, squeezing his hand. “I know. Don’t worry. I’m here.”
Richard took this in.
“Hey,” Kristen said. “Wendy’s here. You want to talk to her?”
“Yeah,” Richard said. “Sure.”
Of all people, his daughter might understand.
Kristen released his hand and stepped away. He soon heard her encouraging their young daughter to come over.
“It’s okay,” she was saying. “Go and say ‘hello’.”
Richard could soon catch that familiar scent. His baby girl had used the same shampoo since she was three. The aroma felt strangely comforting now.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said in her usual shy voice.
“Hey, Kid,” Richard said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. “How’s school?”
“Fine. Mommy says you got hurt.”
“Yeah. It’s just a few scratches though. I’ll be out of here real soon.”
“Did the bad guys hurt you?”
“Yeah, they did. Don’t worry. I got a bunch of them first.”
He felt Kristen take his hand again. She guided it over until he was brushing up against their child’s tiny fingers.
“Daddy’s gonna come home with us soon,” she explained as Richard grasped the little hand. “Things are gonna be a little different. But we’re gonna work together and be a family.”
As she spoke, Richard thought about David and the other six men who’d died in that ambush. He thought about those who’d survived and, with many more, would be returning to combat. He hoped this wouldn’t last much longer.
* * *
Breathing heavily, he took several puffs from his inhaler. Pocketing the apparatus, he put his mask on and exited the car.
He’d parked near the end of the lot so he’d make it back to Skyline Boulevard in just a couple minutes. He moved across the parking lot, glancing around for any sign of anyone. It was almost 11:00 and it was pitch dark, but he needed to be sure. He needed to be alone.
Streetlights well-illuminated the street behind him … was that Franklin Avenue? … or was it 3rd Street? He couldn’t remember now. He paused, thinking. Turn right out of the lot. Yes, that was the way back to Skyline Boulevard. He was sure of it.
A few exterior lights illuminated the front of the motel. The Manor Inn. Approaching, he studied these blue letters on the door’s window. A manor was like a mansion, right? This place didn’t look like a mansion. The five-story rectangular structure looked plain and somewhat disheveled. It really needed fresh paint. He thought one of the windows on the third or fourth floor was broken. Maybe this place just dealt in volume with the visitors not concerned as long as they were indoors. Maybe most of the customers were of the short-term, illicit type. That would make sense, though the thought gave him new concerns about witnesses.
His instructions had been clear … eliminate the existing witnesses and don’t create any new witnesses. That’s why he’d only agreed to do the job late at night. He wanted to avoid massive bloodshed. He hadn’t gotten into this for overkill.
He blinked and took a deep breath. He pushed the door open.
The girl behind the counter was pulling her own mask on as he entered. He paused, studying her. She looked to be around her late teens, maybe a young college student. Studying her long, brown hair and tan skin, he thought she was pretty. He was not prepared for this. He swallowed, steeling himself. It would be her or him.
“Can I help you?” the girl asked as he approached the counter. Even her voice sounded pretty.
He coughed.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m here to see Mr. Ferris. I was told he was still here.”
That was all technically true. He could even hear voices coming through the doorway behind the girl. It sounded like a man and a woman.
The girl turned her head away from him.
“Mr. Ferris!” she called in the direction of the doorway.
They both heard the sound of a chair’s feet dragging across the floor. A few seconds later, a short, balding man emerged. He recognized this man right away.
“What is it?” the man asked, sounding tired. There was no recognition on his part, and why would there be? They’d never met, let alone considered one another’s existence, before.
“This guy says he’s here to see you,” the girl reported.
The man studied him. There was still no recognition in his weary eyes. Good.
“What can I do you for?” the man asked.
“Mason Ferris?” he asked in return. He needed to be sure.
“Yeah.”
He’d practiced this many times. The pistol slid out of his jacket pocket just like before. Even the man’s stunned reaction was right on cue.
The girl screamed as he fired. The man collapsed behind the counter. 
“Mason?!” someone, a woman, asked.
He took a deep breath, knowing he had only seconds.
The woman emerged in the doorway. Their eyes met as she realized what was happening. He couldn’t ask, but he thought she looked right. He raised the gun and fired.
But the woman had turned and began running, so his shot missed. Just as he’d done at the stores, he leapt over the counter. What he didn’t anticipate was the blood on the other side. He hadn’t needed to shoot before. He slipped as soon as he landed.
    Sprawled out on the floor next to the dying man, he regained himself within seconds and jumped to his feet. He darted through the doorway and saw the woman running through the office behind it. Raising the gun again, he squeezed the trigger twice.
Both shots hit. The woman fell forward, the slugs penetrating her upper back. She hit the floor with a dull thud.
Blood dripped from his hair, mask, and clothes. His hip and shoulder ached. He felt relieved he hadn’t shot himself by accident.
Despite the aches, he moved towards the prone woman. Blood was seeping through her blue sweater, staining her grayish-brown hair.
Needing to be sure, he raised the gun. Lining the muzzle up with the back of her head, he fired. This bang echoed throughout the sparsely-furnished office. Now, the woman had to be dead.
He stopped, taking deep breaths. He glanced up and around. He couldn’t see any cameras. He was wearing the mask. It didn’t look suspicious, but it also prevented any viewers of video surveillance from identifying him.
He turned and headed back to the lobby. He’d have to kill the girl, assuming she hadn’t fled while he completed his primary objective.
She hadn’t. Coming through the doorway, he saw her curled up beneath the counter, her phone pressed to her ear. He could hear the operator’s faint voice. Seeing him, she froze, her eyes wide and body shaking.
He’d tried to find a way to let her live from the moment he saw her. No wisdom came. Before he could change his mind, he aimed and fired two more times.
The girl fell forward out of her hiding place. Her phone hit the floor next to her. Blood poured from her face, mixing with the dark-red pools from her employer’s body nearby.
Knowing the 9-1-1 operator would send everyone to this location now, he walked around the counter and exited the motel. He didn’t run until he was outside, where he was sure to not slip.
He could already hear distant sirens as he sprinted across the parking lot, his body aching. He jumped in his car, throwing his gun onto the passenger seat. Fumbling with his keys, he got the engine started. It had all gone as planned … even the girl’s unplanned presence. But, no one could prepare for the feelings resulting from taking a life. He had to force himself to focus.
 His hands shaking, he gripped the steering wheel and pressed on the accelerator. The car lurched forward. Taking a few deep breaths, he pressed on the pedal a little gentler. He maneuvered the car towards the street. He reached the curb and turned left, accelerating again as the distant sirens grew louder. He saw the first red and blue emergency lights in his rearview mirror as he kept driving. As long as he stayed calm, they wouldn’t notice him.
* * *
Flames shot out of windows as the thick, black smoke rose high into the air. The noise of sirens and people shouting drowned out anything else. Large chunks of glass, steel, and concrete came crashing down onto the street.
She could see all of this as she lay on the stretcher, the two paramedics almost sprinting as they hurried towards a waiting ambulance. One of them might have been saying everything would be all right while the other was speaking into a radio clipped to her shirt, all their words rendered inaudible.
Twenty-two-year-old Wendy Chandler woke with a start. She realized she was trembling all over. She was also soaked in sweat and breathing rapidly. Her heart was pounding in her chest.
Next to her, her fiancé, Chase “CJ” Jollenbeck, stirred and rolled over to look at her.
“You okay?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
“J … just give me a minute,” Wendy said, sitting up and trying to calm down. Eventually, her heart rate slowed and she stopped trembling.
“You had the dream again, right?” Chase asked, sitting up as well.
Wendy nodded, her movement barely visible in the dark motel room. She looked over at the digital clock on her side of the bed. Its glowing green numerals told her it was 3:37 a.m. They had about two and a half more hours before they’d have to get up and get back on the road.
“I’m just stressed,” she said. “Still thinking about Finals and all … I just need to relax.”
Chase nodded, not buying this but not wanting to upset her by arguing.
“Hey,” Wendy said, feeling around the bed. “Where’s Hermes?”
She sounded distressed again as she continued feeling around the bed. Chase stretched out his long arm and felt around as well, soon finding the stuffed turtle who had so long ago been christened “Hermes”. The animal had wound up near the foot of the bed, mere inches from hitting the floor, having most likely been flung there during Wendy’s dream. Chase handed Hermes back to Wendy, who hugged the little green treasure like she was three years old again.
“sas efcharistó,” she said.
“Little guy probably wanted to get himself some water,” Chase suggested. “Didn’t make it very far though. You know … turtles.”
Wendy chuckled as she clutched Hermes to her chest, letting herself fall back onto the bed. Chase had long ago accepted that, despite being in her twenties, the love of his life would never discard Hermes. Given her history with her stuffed companion, he couldn’t blame her.