Page 16 of PSYCHOlogical

“Yet they have an expectation of freedom.” I shook my head. “They have no idea what it costs to maintain that freedom.”

“They don’t want to know,” she said. “They want to tell themselves it comes from securing our borders and fighting wars.”

“Fighting wars.” I scoffed. “That’s a ‘my dick’s bigger than yours’ contest.”

She laughed. “What do you mean?”

“That crazy fucker in North Korea says, ‘I’m going to test nuclear weapons.’ In a sense, he’s whipped out his dick. Our president responds with, ‘If you do, I’m going to come down on you like the wrath of God.’ Now, our president has whipped out his. If the Supreme Leader of North Korea proceeds with his threat, and we don’t react, he’s got the bigger dick. If he proceeds, and we do react, it’s a tie. If we win the war, the bigger dick is in the Oval Office.”

“That’s funny.”

“Funny, but true. Wars are never about what the public thinks they’re about. Weapons of mass destruction, my ass. That war was about oil. And Osama bin Laden? The CIA could have found him and sent a team in to execute him without fighting a war. Hell, in the end, that’s what they did. The war was a little man wanting to prove he had a big dick.”

“I never looked at it that way.”

“It’s the only way to look at it. The last war that accomplished anything was World War II. Korea? What did we accomplish? Vietnam? Same thing. Iraq? Afghanistan? Nothing’s changed in any of those countries.”

“Does it frustrate you?” she asked. “That there’s no measurable improvements made?”

“It frustrates me enough that I do this,” I said. “Because I know this makes a difference. Our targets are immediate threats to the Nation, and the people who live in it. Eliminating them saves lives.”

“Was your first person you killed difficult?” She covered her mouth with her hand. “I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m sorry.”

Killing in a kill-or-be-killed situation wasn’t difficult at all. It was more a reaction than anything.

“It’s okay,” I said. “The first time? We were clearing buildings in Iraq. One building would have a family eating dinner. The next might be filled with men armed with AK-47s who were shooting at the same men we were. The third may have men armed with AK-47s that wanted to kill us. We had an instant to decide if the occupants were a threat. When your options are to kill or be killed, it isn’t a difficult decision to make.”

“What’s the most difficult part of your job?”

“Convincing myself at the end of the day that I’m normal.”

“What have you concluded?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Normal is a moving target,” she said matter-of-factly. “Considering all things, I think you’re normal, yes.”

“Are you saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear?”

She scowled. “I’m saying it because it’s what I believe.”

“Are you normal, Doc?”

“Normal is a moving target.” She coughed a dry laugh. “Considering all things? Yes, I think I’m normal.”

I didn’t believe her. About me, at least. That night, while we sat in her office talking until midnight, I allowed myself to believe she was right. About both of us.

It felt damned good being normal.

Even if it was only for one night.