Page 79 of The Man I Hate

He lowered his arms to his side. “What did he say?”

“Uhhm. He said. Let me see. He said, ‘Hold on Pratt. That bird. The bird is coming, can you hear it, Brother?’ Something like that.”

He swallowed heavily. Sweat burst from every pore in his brow. He began to speak several times but paused on each occasion, just before the first word passed his lips. I thought for a moment that he might break down.

“That was a long time ago.” He wiped his brow with his forearm. “Seems like. Hell, it seems like yesterday, now.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” I asked. “Can I ask? If I’m overstepping—”

“Sniper caught us while we were on patrol.” He cleared his throat. “Fucker waited for us to all get where he could see us. Then, one by one, he started picking us off. Shot up the entire rifle squad pretty bad. Rourke was our Platoon Sergeant. I took one in the chest and went down, but I didn’t realize Rourke—”

“One what?” I asked.

“A round,” he said.

I stared blankly.

“A bullet.” He pounded his clenched fist against his chest. “Right here. Missed my heart by about a centimeter.”

I couldn’t believe he got shot in the chest by a sniper and he’d lived to tell about it. Modern protective gear had probably saved more lives than I could imagine.

“But you had on a bullet-proof vest?” I asked.

He laughed. “Bullet-proof vests don’t stop sniper rounds. Small arms fire? Sure. But not a rifle round. SAPI plates are designed to stop them, but they’re too fucking heavy to wear, so we toss ‘em.”

Confused, I stared back at him wondering how he could have lived if he didn’t have a bullet-proof vest.

I shook my head in disbelief. “How then. How did you live?”

“Rourke,” he said. “Crazy fucker dragged me behind a burned-out Toyota. Was the only thing on that entire street to hide behind. Wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.”

Everything clicked into place.

“Oh my God.” I gasped. “The ‘bird.’ That’s your lingo for a helicopter, right? He said he needed a medevac. You were that guy, weren’t you?”

“Correct. I was one of ‘em. By the time it was over, six of us were shot up, Rourke included. He was the first one. Took a round to the shoulder right before me. Never said a fucking word. Then, while we waited for the medevac, he took another in the back of his thigh. Refused to leave me, though. He got us all out of there. Every one of us. We didn’t have one casualty.”

“Was he in charge?” I asked.

“Who? Rourke?”

“Yeah. Was Braxton in charge?”

He laughed. “He was the one we listened to. I can tell you that. Our LT was a shit hat. Rourke made all the calls. Without him, we would have lost our entire platoon. Man’s got a sixth sense. He knows things. About people. About situations. Kind of eerie the way he does it, too.”

“He guessed my underwear color,” I whispered. “I’ll tell you about it some time when this is all over. Right now, I need to get him some water.”

“Got any scissors?” he asked.

It seemed like an odd request. “Sure,” I replied. “What do you need?”

“Scissors.” He made a scissors motion with his index and middle finger. “I don’t know. Do they come in different kinds?”

I laughed. “No. I meant what do you need them for?”

“I’m going to cut a mask out of my shirt,” he replied. “Left my house so fast I forgot mine. Not looking to get infected if that fucker coughs on me.”

“The pharmacist gave me a few masks and some rubber gloves. I’ve got some scrubs, too. I doubt they’d fit.”