No Mercy

NINE

The tiny foreman’s cabin was far enough away from our house that I had time to consider how many times I’d done this in my life as a sniper, slithering through the darkness in silence as elusive as smoke.

I owed a good part of my skill to the shooting basics my father had instilled in me from the time I’d been old enough to curl my small fingers around a trigger. Shooting was what I’d loved best and where I’d excelled. In basic training I’d finished at the top of my class in marksmanship.

The army noticed and optioned me to join their elite team, The U.S. Army Marksmanship Unit (USAMU). But I didn’t want to be a competitive shooter; I wanted to be a soldier. Actually, my dream was to be an Army Ranger. When I’d told my sergeant, he’d laughed in my face. A woman an Army Ranger? Never happen.

A month later his female CO, Major Martinson, yanked me out of the duty roster. She offered me an opportunity of a lifetime. For several years she’d petitioned for a chance to prove women could excel in stealth combat. With cases all over the country decrying the military’s sexual discrimination policies, General John Ehrlich relented and gave Major Martinson the go-ahead. She selected an elite group of six women, all army, all with specialized skills, all with a medical anomaly that wouldn’t differentiate us from the boys, so “female issues” when in the field wouldn’t be an issue.

The army grudgingly, stealthily trained the six of us, figuring we’d ring out.

We didn’t.

No one in our group received the official Army Ranger designation, but we completed every required training course, and that’d been enough for us.

Our troop was officially attached to the 82nd Airborne Division out of Fort Bragg, North Carolina, specifically, the 525th Battlefield Surveillance Brigade. Unofficially? We were in the murky designation of the Division of Special Troops, part of the 519th Military Intelligence Battalion, Tactical Exploration.

The bottom line was our covert group didn’t exist on paper anywhere. We still were promoted, we still bitched about the stupidity of the brass, we still spent time in the crappy barracks in the armpits of the world. We were afforded all the privileges of regular enlisted army grunts, save one tiny thing: we weren’t allowed to tell anyone-including our families-our military objective.

When military personnel of any branch, past or present, enlisted or officer, are asked about women participating in “black-ops” programs, they laugh. Or argue the ridiculousness of the suggestion, which is fine by us. Who’d believe American women soldiers were running around in the Mideast dressed like the oppressed local chattel, picking off terrorists with specialized weapons designed to stay hidden beneath niqabs and burkas? Because of religious and social traditions frowning on physical contact between men and women, we easily slipped past checkpoints.

The global conflicts-the Gulf War, Bosnia, Croatia, Afghanistan, and Iraq-kept us busy and behind enemy lines. Most of our assignments involved close-range work with smaller-caliber firearms than the standard large-caliber, long-range, heavy sniper rifles.

We were a tight-knit group, though we mostly worked in pairs. The major told us there was less competition between us than in male squads similar to ours. Extensively defined leadership roles weren’t as important to us as teamwork and finishing the job. Men had egos. That’s why there were wars.

There is a common misconception about snipers, that we are cold-blooded killers in love with the act of snuffing lives. That’s not true for me. Wasn’t true with any of the other snipers I’ve worked with. The reason we’re so good at our jobs is because we can separate ourselves emotionally from the situation.

In all the years I lived behind a scope and prowled behind enemy lines, I never rationalized that my assigned target was inherently evil, therefore death by my hand was justified. My commanding officers and the military brass had to wrestle with the ethical and moral dilemmas of who had to die, why, and what would follow in the aftermath. I just had to pull the trigger.

Once it was done, I didn’t dwell on it any more than a contractor would after successfully constructing a building according to the architect’s blueprints. Cross it off the list as a completed project and move on to the next one.

I didn’t have a montage of all the faces in my crosshairs over the years, swirling around inside my subconscious when my head finally hit the pillow. I’d be hard-pressed to describe any specific facial features of my targets-save one or two. Those instances were memorable only because I’d missed my shot the first time.

The hardest part for me is the continual sense of detachment. Hard to be part of a raucous crowd when silence in body and mind is a constant necessity in my work, not only to perform at an optimum level, but in winding down from the execution. I don’t get a killer’s high, per se, but a certain amount of adrenaline is produced and needs to be released in a productive manner. Male snipers let off steam by getting blow jobs. I let off steam by blowing uji breath in and out of my body. Different strokes for different folks.

And being a sniper was just a job for me. Granted, a job where I signed someone’s death warrant with a.50-caliber bullet made me a paid killer. Uncle Sam’s rigorous and expensive sniper training wasn’t a job skill I could put on a résumé. My contract was with the United States Army. Once that contract ended, so would that part of my life.

So why was I loitering in the darkness, holding a gun, contemplating going against everything I believed in, considering killing a man in cold blood?

• • •

In the moonless void of his bedroom, I was ready when Jake Red Leaf awoke and realized he wasn’t alone.

Before his hand inched from beneath the covers to reach for the light on his nightstand, a click echoed at the foot of the bed. A click signaling my gun was cocked.

“No quick movements. Sit up. Put your hands where I can see them.”

“Mercy?” His bare feet dug for purchase as he scrambled backward.

“Do as I say. Don’t make me shoot you, Jake.”

He shrank away from my clipped, icy tone. Or maybe it was from the gun.

“What are you doing here? At”-the whites of his eyes were huge in the dark as he glanced at the clock-“one in the morning?”

I let deadly, ugly silence linger.

Jake reclined against the headboard, his hands white-knuckling the star quilt. “What’s going on?”

I sensed it spooked him that he couldn’t see me or hear me breathing. It was almost like I wasn’t there.

But I was. My anger poisoned the air. “Why, Jake?”

Even if I hadn’t aimed my gun at his head, he knew better than to play dumb with me. “Why what? Why Hope?”

“Yes. Was it because she was here?”

“No.”

“Did my father know?”

“Know what, Mercy? That Levi was actually my son?”

“No. Did he know you were fucking my sister?”

Jake flinched. “Don’t be so crude. There was more to it than that.”

“More than betrayal by the man my father trusted above any other? Did he know you screwed him over by knocking up another one of his daughters?”

“Yes. He knew.”

I wondered what other secrets this family had kept from one another.

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, I understand, all right. You blew your chance with me, so you set your sights on Hope. The poor, confused girl didn’t stand a chance against your strong, silent Indian charm, did she? How long after I left before she crawled into your bed? Did you pop her cherry, too?”

“I’m telling you, you weren’t here. You don’t know nothing about it. And I don’t owe you any explanation.”

Before he blinked, I pressed the barrel against his forehead. “Wrong. Tell me. Give me a reason not to blow your fucking brains all over the wall, Jake. We both know Dawson won’t do a goddamn thing to investigate. You’ve got three seconds.”

Perspiration snaked down his temple.

“One.”

It was as if he were paralyzed by fear and his mouth was wired shut.

“Two.”

The snick of me thumbing the safety untied the knot in his vocal cords.

“I was with her because I loved her.”

The gun stayed in place; I ground the muzzle deeper into his skin. “You loved her? Is that what you told her, or what she believed?”

“It’s what I told her because it is the truth.”

“You are a liar. The only thing you’ve ever loved was the idea that someday you might own this ranch.”

“Not everything revolves around this piece of earth.”

“Were you with her to get back at me?”

“Not everything revolves around you either.”

My neck flashed red-hot. “I never pretended it did, but that’s not a good enough answer.” I shifted, so did the gun. “Why did you love her?”

Jake wasn’t stupid; he read between the lines. He knew I’d never stoop to ask the real question: why he’d loved Hope and not me.

“Because Hope needed me in a way you never did.”

“She couldn’t have needed you that much because she bailed on you, too, didn’t she?”

He winced.

It didn’t faze me. “If she needed you so much, why’d she marry someone else, Jake?”

“I wanted to marry her. She told me she was getting an abortion. Instead, she came back five months later married to Mario Arpel. Still pregnant, and I knew it was mine.”

I taunted him into giving me an emotional reaction, just to see if he would. “Weren’t you pissed off? She left you and wouldn’t admit Levi was your child, then she returned to rub it in your face.”

“After she left me and came back, she was happier than I’d ever seen her. She deserved a chance at happiness, so I didn’t interfere.”

“How noble.” I removed the gun and tried to stay disconnected.

“Noble? At least I’m not pretending to be superior. You’re not any better off now than you were when you left twenty years ago. What is it you’re searching for that you can’t seem to find here or anywhere else?”

“This isn’t about me. This is about you and my little sister. And the secret love child you fathered,” I added with a sneer.

“Is that why you’re here? To tell me I don’t get to mourn my son?”

I felt his fury. But it was too little, too late. “You didn’t see fit to acknowledge him during his short life, so you sure as hell don’t get to act the part of anguished father now that he’s dead.”

Even as the words left my mouth, I knew I’d struck a blow equal to gut-stabbing him. Was this what I really wanted? To be at odds with everyone in my life?

Yes. If only for tonight. If I could keep the rage boiling on the surface, I could keep the grief at bay.

“What’d they do to you in the army, hey?” he asked softly.

Jake knew how to get to me. I almost broke down.

“Mercy?”

Almost.

“They taught me to hold my emotions in. To be cold. Kind of like you, huh, Jake?”

Evidently he’d had enough. He snapped, “Either kill me or get the hell out.”

My answering laugh was decidedly mean. “Maybe you have grown a backbone after all, kola.”

Pause. “We’ve been many things, Mercy, but never friends.”

I’d made my point; it was time to make my escape. From the doorway, I said, “Night, Jake.”

I wasn’t sure, but as I passed by his open window, I thought I heard him retching.

And I didn’t feel a bit of regret.