Chapter Sixty-Seven
It was late the next evening when Kermit and Holt stood side by side, Holt with the camera in his hand, watching as Larsen tried to talk to one of the adult prisoners.
“If Larsen thinks this one will tell us anything, he’ll send us out of the room,” Kermit said quietly. “The camera isn’t the greatest encouragement to talk, and it’s safer for everyone if no one knows how much we know.” He strongly suspected that the viewers would not appreciate that policy, but everyone on this side of the ocean felt better with it.
…Although, the terrorists probably weren’t fond of being kept in the dark.
Larsen sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as he spoke Arabic with an eyebrow raised and a challenge in his voice. The prisoner shrugged and looked him straight in the eyes as he answered.
Larsen’s reply was immediate, and whatever it was made the prisoner quickly look away. Larsen continued to speak as the man slowly rolled his shoulders back, sat up straight, and met the Marine’s eyes again… only to quickly look away again at something else that was said. Larsen straightened up and pressed on, but his voice was gentler now. Then it was quiet before the prisoner, still staring down at his lap, gruffly gave a short answer.
“I don’t know what they’re saying,” Kermit softly told the camera. “This looks like progress, though.”
Larsen’s voice was still gentle, his face almost sympathetic as he continued with his questions. The prisoner refused to look at him now, and his answers were fading away. He finally straightened up and said something very firm. Larsen shrugged and said a little more in Arabic before he turned to the two guards by the table and waved his hand. “Alright. Take him back. Bring the next one.”
The guards helped the man to his feet and led him away as Kermit approached Larsen. “So?” he asked.
Larsen sighed and stood up to hastily write something at another, smaller table. “Don’t tell him I said so—” and he managed a wink, because all Kermit could say in Arabic was ‘hello’—“But he’s thinking about it.” His voice softened considerably. “He has a son. And he’s seen… this kid we captured, and others like him. Frog, do you know a single loving father who would want this for their son?”
Kermit cringed and shook his head. “Larsen, I can’t figure out why
anyone would want this for
any child,” he sighed.
Larsen nodded. “It’s impossible to get anything out of the kids,” he said. “But having them around makes the men more willing to talk.”
“Who’s next?”
Larsen almost said the prisoner’s name, but glanced at the camera and said, “The teenager. I don’t know how that’ll go. I’ve never tried to talk to a teen before, Frog. He’s a little old for them to draft him as a kid, and too young to join on his own. I have no idea if he’ll talk.”
Kermit carefully assessed Larsen’s face. “…You don’t look hopeful,” he said softly.
Larsen let out a heavy sigh. “…I don’t think it was his
choice to fight,” he said. “Which means he would’ve been drafted… And if he was drafted, he’s been brainwashed.”
Kermit nodded grimly. “And we won’t get a word out of him.”
“Exactly.”
The teenage prisoner was led into the room, and Larsen met him at the table. The teenager immediately eyed the camera suspiciously. His face was dark as he talked to Larsen in hushed tones for a few moments. Then he leaned across the table and whispered something.
Larsen straightened up, nodded, and immediately turned to Kermit. “Get the camera out of here,” he said, waving for them to go, and Kermit and Holt immediately left the room.
Over half an hour had passed before Larsen came out after them, looking utterly dumbfounded.
“What happened?” Kermit asked.
Larsen took a very deep breath and slowly let it out. “…Blur his face, and disguise his voice if you can,” he said. He closed his eyes. “He enlisted in exchange for his mother’s safety. And as they took him away, he heard her scream and turned to see them—” His voice caught and his fists clenched.
Kermit swallowed hard as the Marine beside him remained silent. “…She’s not safe, is she?”
Larsen slowly shook his head. “Not at all,” he whispered, and he opened his eyes and turned to look at Kermit. “He wants revenge.”
Kermit nodded slowly and shifted his weight, hoping his dizziness wouldn’t show. “He’s helping us, then?”
“Telling us everything he can think to tell,” Larsen said softly. “Told us a lot today… He’ll tell us more tomorrow.” He took a few more deep breaths before he turned to go back inside. “C’mon, Frog. Time to talk to the kid.”
Kermit sighed as they turned to go in. “It’s sickening, what they do to these people,” he said. “I think it’s gotten even worse since I left.”
“Really, Frog?” Larsen said. “I can’t quantify anything they do as ‘worse’ than anything else. They crossed the line when they started taking children from their beds and handing them guns.”
“Some say
we cross the line by shooting at those kids,” Kermit said. He could feel The Eyes creeping up on him.
Larsen spun on his heel. “And what are we
supposed to do, Frog? Wag our fingers at the Taliban, tell al-Quaeda ‘shame on you’? Yeah, that’ll go over great. See how well it works with North Korea.” He shrugged as if he were trying to push something heavy off of his shoulder. “I hate it as much as you do, but hel—
heck if I’m gonna sit around and watch while they—Frog, you’ve
seen what they do here! With all we’ve seen and heard them do, this last thing from this poor teenage kid shouldn’t even faze us.”
“But it does,” Kermit said.
Larsen pushed his hair back. “Sometimes, Frog,” he said, “That’s all we’ve got to know we’re any better than they are.”
With that, they went into the room to face their youngest current prisoner.
“Got any tactics in mind for this one?” Kermit quietly asked as the prisoner was led in.
Larsen’s face was grim, his arms folded across his chest. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I think I might ask him about his mother.”
The ten-year-old glared at Larsen with his arms across his chest. As soon as the questions began, Kermit didn’t need to speak Arabic to know that the kid was dishing out attitude. They hadn’t been talking for long when something Larsen said wiped the smug look right off the prisoner’s face, and suddenly he was angry and defensive.
“That might’ve been about his mom,” Kermit quietly told the camera. “We get letters from home and e-mails whenever we can, but none of them are allowed contact with their families. It’s mostly because of the Childs Corps. They’re worried a letter from mom might un-brainwash the kids, or something. And since the kids don’t get letters, neither do the adults.”
Larsen looked completely calm as he spoke. His words seemed entirely conversational. His face lit up as he talked, and he reached into a pocket and pulled out a picture. Kermit recognized it as one Larsen’s father had just sent, showing off the size of the biggest catch on the latest fishing trip.
The boy across the table looked scorned. He tried not to be interested, looking away to glare at the guards as he sharply answered Larsen.
“He probably hasn’t heard anything about his family since he was taken from them,” Kermit said softly. “That’s what Larsen’s trying to force him to face right now. It’s hard on the kids, but it lets them know that it’s okay to be upset about what happened to them, and that it’s okay to miss their homes and their families…” He sighed. “They’re trained to lose all emotions but hatred.”
Larsen tucked the picture away and continued talking, gesturing with his hands. The boy eyed him warily, slowly forgetting to look disinterested. Then Larsen smiled at him, gently asking him something, and the boy acted like he had been slapped. He pulled back, answering angrily. Larsen said something else, and the boy screamed at him and tried to push the table at him. The table only budged a few inches, and the boy crossed his arms and hunkered down, glaring at his feet as they dangled down from chair.
Larsen very calmly stood up. “Go on,” he said to the guards, gesturing for them to take the prisoner away. “Keep an extra eye on him tonight. Expect a tantrum.”
The guards nodded and tried to lead the boy away, but he refused to budge. After five minutes of prodding, they finally picked him up by his arms and dragged him away as he tried to fight free.
Larsen stretched. “That went better than I expected,” he said as he turned to write something at the other table. “Might’ve actually made progress.”
“You used pictures from home?” Kermit asked, even though he knew the answer.
“From the last letter, yeah. Good thing Pop went on this last fishing trip. Usually Julio sends all the fish pictures, and none of these kids believe he’s my brother.”
Kermit grinned as they turned to leave the tent. “With all due respect, Guss… You and Julio don’t look at all alike.”
Larsen shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “We’ve got the same color hair.”
“Sure,” Kermit said cheerfully. “If you’ve got a broad enough definition of ‘dark brown,’ then yes, you and Julio have the same color hair.”
“He’s my brother, Frog,” Larsen said firmly.
“Yes,” Kermit agreed, his face and voice suddenly solemn. “Yes, he is.”
Larsen nodded and sighed. “I’ve gotta go report to Major D. You and Holt better get to bed. We’re right back in the battle tomorrow.”
“You get some sleep, too, Larsen. When you can,” Kermit said, and they parted ways.
Holt kept the camera trained on Kermit as they walked. “Sir?” he said quietly. “What was all that about Larsen’s brother?”
Kermit smiled. “None of Larsen’s siblings look alike,” he said fondly. “I’d explain, but I can’t figure out how to do it without implying that they’re not really family. And they’re definitely family. When we were still in training, Larsen gave Casper a bloody nose for saying otherwise. Nobody’s questioned it since.”
They walked in silence for a moment as Holt tried to figure it out. “…Adoption?” he asked.
“Something like that,” Kermit said mildly. “You can turn the camera off, Holt. We’re just going to bed now.”
That brief conversation between them probably wouldn’t air.
For two days in a row now, they had been up with the sun, fought all day, and gone to bed late after dealing with the prisoners, so when Holt crawled into his sleeping bag that night, he only had a few seconds to wonder what “something like” adoption was before he dropped off to sleep.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It took three and a half days to capture the Mina Al Ahmadi oil refinery. There were many fine details that needed to be figured out—things like which divisions of the Army and Marines would hold the refinery and who would escort the prisoners to the Navy. There was also the matter of
running the refinery and determining how the resulting gasoline would be distributed. And all of that was just the beginning.
The camera watched as the men who served under Major D, tired from physically and emotionally draining days of battle, slowly sagged to almost immobile lumps as the adrenaline faded away. After only three and a half days of actual battle, they looked like they’d been fighting for months. If they had just arrived overseas, Major D. might have whipped them into shape for wilting so quickly. In training, he would have.
But he had been overseas with these men for almost two years now. After that much time, and with the state of this war, he didn’t much blame them for having this reaction as soon as a battle of any length ended. Besides, he knew they were only wilting because they
could wilt. If the battle had lasted three and a half months, his men would have lasted three and a half months, too. And if the camera had any doubts about that, well, there were two words that would show anyone just how much get-up-and-go these men still had.
“MAIL CALL!”
Yup. There they went.
Major D. watched as his men all raced to get their mail. He slowly strolled after them, but truth be told, he was just as excited for the mail as they were.
Pine was the first to snatch his envelope and tear it open. His eyes immediately went wide. “Oh—did we miss Valentine’s Day?” he asked as he pulled out something pink.
The men stopped dead in their tracks. “…Did we?” Larsen asked hesitantly.
Pine held up something pink. “Looks like it.”
The men rushed for their mail twice as quickly as before, and Pine clutched the construction paper to his chest as he tried to dodge the stampede. Once he was out of the way, he plopped down to the ground to admire the red scribble on a heart-shaped piece of pink construction paper.
“What’d ya get, Pine?” Plank asked, stopping to stall a bit before approaching the chaos where mail was being distributed.
Pine beamed as he held up the valentine. “From my little Eva!”
Plank gave the heart a critical look. “Eva’s… old enough to use scissors?”
Pine defensively pulled the heart to his chest. “So Laurel helped! She’s sixteen months old. Give her a break.”
Plank held his hands up in feigned surrender. “Just asking… Man, it’s not like I’m insulting her drawing.”
“God I needed this,” Larsen said as he plopped down next to Pine with several envelopes, eagerly tearing the first one open. “Let’s see what all my siblings sent me…”
“Look what I got from Eva!” Pine said, showing him the scribbled-on heart.
Larsen chuckled. “How old is she now?”
“Oh,
brother… Here we go,” Plank groaned, and he walked away to get his own mail.
“Hey Larsen! How many of your siblings did
you get letters from?” Kermit called as he emerged from the mail-receiving chaos with his own stack of envelopes.
Larsen checked the pile in front of him. “Four. How many of
your siblings did
you get letters from, Frog?”
“
My siblings take
turns,” Kermit said nobly as he sat down.
“That’s not what I asked, Mr. Sesame. How many?”
“Frog, look what I got from Eva!” Pine said, interrupting the usual competition to show off the paper heart.
Kermit grinned at the red scribble. “Aw… How old is she now?”
“Sixteen months.”
“Aw, that’s a cute age.” Kermit checked his own envelopes. “
Two siblings, to answer your question, Larsen.”
“Ha! I win.”
“Only ‘cause Scott and Julio are trying to see which of ‘em can send you the
most letters,” Kermit said, shaking his head as he started opening his mail. “Get something from Nattie?”
“Of course I got something from Nattie. This is Valentine’s Day mail. Didn’t you get something from Piggy?”
“Of
course I got something from Piggy.”
“Then shut up and let me read my mail.” They were both grinning.
It wasn’t long before quite a group of them had gathered to sit on the ground and read their mail, showing off cards and pictures their loved ones had sent and quietly admiring the letters from their own sweethearts.
“You boys look just ridiculous,” Major D. said as he marched towards the group. “Bunch of wimps, sittin’ around, sniffin’ yer perfumed little love notes…”
“And what did you get from the missus, Major?” Plank asked with his eyebrows raised.
The Major looked indignant. “My Betty does NOT give in to this NAMBY-PAMBY business of—”
“Sir? There’s something red and white in your hand,” Kermit said with a smug grin.
Major D. immediately softened and chuckled. “Alright. Yes, I do. You boys know my Betty…”
“Yes we do, sir. She makes even better chocolate chip cookies than my mom does,” Geraldson said.
“She makes the
best chocolate chip cookies. And don’t you
dare argue, Frog!” Major D. said, pointing at Kermit.
“Yes sir.” Kermit gave a rather mild salute and looked at the camera. “Sorry Mom. Orders.”
“You boys wanna know what my Betty wrote?” Major D. asked, holding up his valentine. “She wrote, ‘Dear Major D. Do you like me? Check the box. Yes or no.’ ”
The entire unit howled with laughter.
The Major turned the paper for them to see and pointed at it. “There’s only one box,” he said. “Anyway, she sends her regards to all the fellas. Dam—” He glanced at the camera. “Darned if I know who the ‘fellas’ are, but she sends her regards every time.”
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