The Assignment

[sensitive topics - suicide attempt - PTSD - explosions - war]

Robbie stood on the flight line watching some friends do their work. He had just delivered a load of munitions for an aircraft. Tom loaded the bombs and installed the fuzes, and his partner, a very pretty woman, put the last of the Luu-2 flares and chaff into the countermeasures pod. He was sipping on some water. Suddenly, everyone on the plane started screaming. The plane exploded. And Robbie’s best friend, or rather just his head, hit Robbie square in the chest. Robbie saw the look on the man’s face as the head hit him. He looked down. It was horrifying. Something he would never forget. He fell back, hit the dirt, the sand, the rocks. Suddenly, he realized he was no longer lying on that sand. He jumped, tried to stand up on his bed. He looked around, with no idea where he was.

Then reality hit as his dog barked. He was home. He was safe. He was alone with his dog in his room, in his apartment. His service dog, Buckeye, lay across his waist, or tried to. Buckeye was there to help him not relive that event again and again, or at least that was Buckeye’s mission, and he takes it seriously. Having an attack again, the dreams are the worst. PTSD is terrible. You have it in the back of your mind when you are awake, but at night, it has the opportunity to stretch its legs and really get to you. It blurs the line between past and present, reality and fiction, memory and imagination.

That assignment was the best and the worst of his life. Recruited by the CIA, top-secret location, job, people. At the time, he was 20 and thought it was just plain cool. Now, well.....

He needed to find a new therapist. His current therapist at the VA hospital was basically taking time to let him talk. Not interacting or offering advice, just listening and making notes. Nothing was going on, nothing happening. Even his dog was getting bored of this guy. As he walked through the VA hospital to his next appointment, which was blood work, Buckeye looked happy. The docs wanted to make sure that his medication levels were correct. He passed someone in the hallway and stopped dead in his tracks; Buckeye assessed his state and relaxed. The person walked past, stopped, and they stared at each other. Recognition?

As they began talking. She asked him if they knew each other. He was about to say something to her when the recognition kicked in.

“I know you.” He said, “You were on the plane in North Africa? My name is Robbie Martin.”

It took her a minute. “The name is Brianna Bryant. We rotated into that classified assignment together, on the C-140. CIA Spooks and all told us never to say our real names. Just our code name they gave us. We talked on the plane with sign language, right? You delivered the munitions to the plane that day. I was loading the countermeasures pod, and that was the day Tom set off the 2,000-pound bomb on the wing of the F-16.”

Changing the subject, “I see you have a puppy angel too.” She reached down and stroked her dog, a pure white German Shepherd. She stroked the dog’s head and neck. “This is Blizzard.” Blizzard perked up, knowing her friend was talking about her.

Robbie bent down and put his hand on his friend’s neck, just behind his head. Buckeye seemed to stand a little taller when Robbie said, “This is Buckeye.”

The dogs sniffed each other and sat side by side, with mutual respect, watching over their owners, as if they each knew the other had an important job.

“Can we hit the café and get a coffee? I was on my way there; where were you heading?”

“Vampires. But I can do that after coffee.” Robbie said.

They walked to the café and chatted. “I have not talked to anyone in quite a while.” She said.

“About that day?”

“Yes. But more to the point, I cannot remember the last time I had a conversation with another human who was not a doctor or therapist.”

Robbie smiled. “Same here. I have no idea what to talk about, or how, for that matter. I talk to the Big B a lot,” He said, motioning to Buckeye. “But other than the occasional bark, he does not talk much either.”

She nodded. “I know. Blizzard is my salvation, my freedom. I was in the house for over a year without human contact before Blizzard came into my life.”

They got their coffee, both added vanilla creamer, and laughed. Sitting at a table away from everyone else, they looked at each other and smiled.

“Honestly,” Robbie said, “This is the first time in more than a year, maybe two, that I am finding myself happy that I am sitting across from a beautiful woman to talk.”

“Really?” She said.

“Really!”

“So, after the explosion, what happened to you?”

“Well, I was unconscious for about a week, and they patched me up and carted me off to Germany somewhere. The docs there tried to do voodoo on me and erase my memories using drugs and hypnosis. It didn’t work very well. A month later, I was on an airplane heading for Denver, where I cross-trained in an electronics job.”

Brianna said, “Same here. I was out for almost a month, also somewhere in Germany. They kept me in an induced coma, and after they let me wake up, they tried the hypno-drug thing on me. It took, but a decade later, it all came back to me. Fast, hard, and at 3 AM. My rating is 100% thanks to righty,” she pointed to her leg, “and my arm is kinda working, but not quite right.”

She took a sip of her coffee. “All in all, the VA pays me for this.” She pointed to her leg and arm. “As for me, well, a few days after my memory returned, the constant recurring dream took over, and I tried to walk out into traffic. A car stopped, and it just happened to be the head of PTSD research at this VA. She brought me here, and a month later my marbles were back in my head.”

Robbie stared at Brianna as she spoke; the scenario paralleled his. “I walked to the busiest street in town, the freeway, and was about to take the walk myself. Something stopped me, and to this day, I can hear Tom’s voice in my head telling me I needed to live because someone needs me. We were bunkmates in tent city. I really hope Tom meant it was you, and Buckeye, and Blizzard.” He sipped his coffee. “Like you, a car stopped where I was standing, and a man asked if I needed a ride anywhere. I told him I really needed to go to the VA hospital. He showed me his ID; he works the calibration lab here, and when I am in the building, I stop in and say hello.”

“I would like to meet him in a bit.”

Robbie had his hand on the table, and Brianna put hers on top of his. Suddenly, he felt lighter. Buckeye sensed it too; he nudged his friend, and Robbie put his other hand on top of hers. Brianna looked at Blizzard, who wore an unmistakable grin of approval. Then settled down on the carpet, and Buckeye curled around his new friend.

“I did arrive on the C-140 with you, and yes, we spoke using ASL. I was injured in the explosion and had no idea if you survived. I do see you in my nightmare every night, and hopefully, now that I know you survived, the dream will change.” He paused for a heartbeat.

“Wait, set off? As in, intentionally?” Robbie stopped, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth.

Brianna nodded, but something in her eyes didn't match the movement of her head.

“That is what they told me. They found a note on Tom’s bunk. According to the official report, Tom could no longer handle loading aircraft with bombs and watching them return empty. He knew what those weapons were doing to people on the ground.”

Robbie slowly lowered his coffee. “No.”

Brianna leaned back. “No, what?”

“That is not what happened.” He said.

“I was there, Robbie.”

“So was I.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Around them, people continued with their day. Cups touched saucers, chairs moved across the floor, and someone laughed near the counter. It seemed wrong that the rest of the world could keep going as if Robbie’s life hadn't just changed again.

“Tom yelled for everyone to run,” Brianna said. “Thirty seconds later, the aircraft exploded.”

“I know. I heard him.”

“Then what are we arguing about?” She said.

Robbie looked directly into her eyes.

“You said Tom intentionally set off the bomb.”

“That is what happened.”

“No. That is what someone told you happened.”

Brianna’s hand tightened around her cup. “I saw him, Robbie.”

“Saw him do what?”

“I saw Tom running away from the aircraft.”

Robbie stared at her. “That is impossible.”

“I know what I saw.”

“Tom’s head hit me in the chest.”

“I did not say he made it.”

The words hung between them.

Buckeye raised his head from the floor and looked at Robbie. Blizzard stood and pressed against Brianna’s artificial leg. Both dogs sensed the change long before either human was willing to admit that something was wrong.

Robbie leaned forward. “You said they found a note.”

“Yes.”

“Did you see it?” He asked.

Brianna opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Did anyone show it to you?” he asked.

“No.” She said, looking directly at the table as Blizzard hopped up and put herself on Brianna’s legs.

“Did anyone who actually knew Tom confirm that he wrote the note?”

She looked away. “I was in a coma for almost a month. By the time I woke up, the investigation was over. They told me what happened and then started pumping me full of drugs so I would forget it.”

Robbie sat back and rubbed the center of his chest. The pain was still there. It was always there, waiting for the right memory to let it hurt again.

“They did the same thing to me. The CIA, the spooks, they did this to us. Same event and different memories. We need to figure out what reality really is.”

“We know that.”

“No, we know what they told us. Told us through the drugs, through the hypnosis sessions, through the …” He paused as if not wanting to say it, “Through the brainwashing.”

Brianna looked at him again.

Buckeye suddenly stood. His body became rigid, his ears forward, his attention fixed on something behind Robbie. A low sound came from deep in his chest. Not quite a growl, but close enough to make Robbie turn around. Brianna saw and heard it, but Blizzard stood next to Buckeye, protecting him because he was protecting them.

They saw someone; a man stood near the entrance to the café. He was probably in his late sixties, dressed in a gray suit that did not fit the relaxed atmosphere of the VA hospital. He was not holding coffee. He was not wearing a hospital ID. He was not waiting in line. He stood there, watching them.

For half a heartbeat, Robbie recognized him.

The aircraft. The flight line. The man who had ordered everyone to use code names and never speak your real name. He saw they were watching him; the stranger turned and walked away.

“Do you know him?” Brianna asked.

“I think so.”

“From where?”

Robbie pushed his chair back and stood. Buckeye was already beside him. “He was in North Africa.”

Brianna reached for her cane as Blizzard moved into position. She didn’t need the cane to walk, but she carried it as a weapon if she needed it for any reason, and in a few minutes, she might need it.

She added, “Then we should talk to him.”

Robbie looked toward the empty doorway.

“No,” he said. “I think he just came here to find out how much we remember.”

There was no way they would find him now, so they sat back at the table.

Robbie asked, “Tell me again, from the moment I brought the bomb tug to the plane till you remembered the events.”

She recounted the day again as she did a bit ago. But there was one difference. She remembered Tom yelling “RUN”

She nodded. “They found a note on his bunk. He was having an issue loading a plane full of munitions and having it come back empty, knowing a lot of people died between launch and return. He could not handle it. Thirty seconds before it exploded, he yelled, RUN… I did, jumped in a drainage ditch about half a second too late.” She pointed to her right leg. “A large hunk of plane removed my lower leg, shredded my arm, but they fixed that, and I have some amazing headaches and tinnitus now, but other than that, I’m here. I also lost half a tattoo, and I have no intention of fixing it. The dream, yep, me too. Every night.” She froze, remembering something new. “But he also yelled, IT’S RIGGED!”

“Same here. I heard him yell over the engine of the bomb tug I was driving and jumped out to see if I could help. Tom’s head hit me in the chest and broke a bunch of ribs and really screwed up my sternum; it hurts to breathe sometimes now and again. Headaches and tinnitus also. I still remember the look on his face when his head hit me. I swear I saw his mouth move, and the dreams seem to take pleasure in amplifying the fact that his mouth moves; all I can get from it is rigged. Same dream. 15 minutes of my life I keep reliving.”

Well-trained service dogs know their job: to protect their human's life and mind. Buckeye and Blizzard know these two need to be friends. The dogs relaxed, lying next to each other on the carpeted floor, and Brianna and Robbie realized that, of anyone on this planet, the other was the only person who could come close to understanding what they were going through.

Maybe, just maybe, they will get through it together.

“Whatever happens, I am not losing you. I feel better at this moment than I have felt since we were in North Africa.” Robbie admits.

Brianna smiles, flattered. “I feel the same way.” She said, “Where do you live?”

“An apartment complex on the East side, Braden Place.”

Her face scrunched.

“What?” He asked.

“I live there also, Building Nine.” She said

“I am in Building Thirteen. First floor.”

“Me too. Let’s talk in the apartment. Buckeye and the guy in the suit have me freaked.”

She lowered her voice. “Are they trying to cover something up?”

“No clue, but it seems that way. We will be stronger together than alone.”

She smiled. “Yes, together, we will be stronger.”