Psycho and the rear security SEAL from LT’s squad popped their smoke grenades. Soon the smoke blocked the line of sight between the insurgents and the SEALs.
“Leapfrog back to the primary extract,” LT said. “Second squad, to the helos.”
Chris pulled Young up from the ground. “Run to the chopper!” Chris shouted.
Young didn’t have to be told twice. He ran with Chris’s squad to the Black Hawk and didn’t stop until they arrived safely inside. Doc attended to Beanpole, who was still alive.
Two or three AKs broke out on full auto behind them, but LT’s squad silenced them.
“First squad, back,” called LT. LT and his teammates rose and dashed to the helo. The AC-130 overhead continued to pound the terrorists with 40 mike-mikes.
Immediately after the rest of the men loaded onto the helos, they lifted off the ground. They flew with the doors open because that was the quickest way to enter and exit, especially during emergencies. The helos turned east and pulled forward. “RPG, six o’clock!” a voice came from the rear of Chris’s helo.
“RPG, six o’clock!” others in the middle of the chopper echoed.
“RPG, six o’clock,” the pilot acknowledged. He banked the helicopter hard and turned south.
Gravity pulled mercilessly on Chris, and somebody bumped into him, almost knocking him off his bench. It was Young: unable to hold on with one arm, his feet slid out the door and kicked Chris. He had remembered to connect a tether to Young, securing him to the helo, but in all the excitement, he couldn’t remember if he’d secured himself.
Chris strained to hug the helo, but gravity continued to pull at him, and the wind continued to whip his body mercilessly. He was losing his own grip. If I can hold out just a little longer — until the RPG passes and the helo straightens out.
Boom! The RPG blew up, shaking the helo. Chris slipped. His heart leaped just before Psycho caught him, stopping him from falling off.
The Black Hawk leveled off, and Chris no longer had to fight with gravity. He noticed that he had attached his tether. He looked around and was glad to see that no one appeared injured. Now they were in the homestretch. More importantly, Young was free. Chris exhaled long and hard.
Psycho put his mouth close to Chris’s ear and shouted above the wind, “When we get back, are you really going to give Mordet that piece of your ear?!”
“Are you on meth?”
“It wouldn’t be very reverend-like of you to break a promise!”
“Mordet can eat my badonkadonk!”
Psycho laughed. “Be careful what you wish for!”
“I’m finished!”
“What do you mean?” Psycho asked.
“I mean I’m finished with this shit! I’m not going to re-up!” The words came out of his mouth so naturally. It was what he had to do.
Psycho’s face became serious. “Really? What are you going to do?”
“Become a preacher!” Chris said.
“You’ve got to be shitting me!”
PART ONE
…Lord, I believe; help thou my unbelief.
3
The darkened sky dumped rain on the roof of a church in Dallas while Chris stood behind the pulpit and opened his Bible to St. Mark 9:14–29. As he looked out across the congregation, a beautifully familiar figure entered the church and took a seat at the end of a pew near the back.
Hannah. It’s been years.
She lit up God’s house with a devilish grin.
He smiled, too, wanting to run to her and greet her, but he had a sermon to finish. “Jesus approached his disciples,” he continued, “where they were gathered around arguing with a group of people. A father explained that his son was possessed by an evil spirit. The boy had seizures — foamed at the mouth, scratched and bit people. Sometimes the evil spirit caused the boy to throw himself into fire and water. The father asked Jesus’s disciples to cast the evil spirit out—”
Chris’s parents had told him about the terror they’d felt when he was held hostage in Damascus. As he gave his sermon, he thought of their pain. And his own.
“—And so it is with us,” Chris summarized. “With a little bit of sincere faith, we can perform stellar miracles.”
The head minister had given Chris the useful advice to include personal anecdotes in his sermons, helping the listeners connect to his messages more easily, but now only the horrors of war came to mind, and Chris dared not share them, so he concluded his sermon.
Three women, including Hannah, lingered to talk to Chris. In the back, men and women socialized with each other, and the rest filtered out the door. “I really enjoyed how you explained the story of the father and his son,” a not scantily endowed woman in a lemon-yellow jumpsuit said.
Chris politely thanked her. Her husband was an alcoholic and had frequent brushes with the law. Chris and Reverend Luther had helped her out more than once when her husband was incarcerated. Many of the members had come to Chris and Reverend Luther for counseling regarding personal challenges. Some people have the misconception that only good people attend church, but churches are like hospitals — they are for the sick and afflicted, and in this world, everyone is sick and afflicted.
A second woman, wearing a flowery rose-red dress, also complimented Chris on his sermon. She was a single mother struggling to raise her teenage son, Ben. Chris’s peripheral vision spotted Ben. Todd Koak, a middle-aged member of the congregation who never minded his own business, cornered the kid. On any given day, Ben was a little awkward, but now he seemed particularly uncomfortable. “Excuse me,” Chris interrupted Ben’s mother then walked to where the young man and Todd stood.
“When are you going to talk to a recruiter?” Todd asked.
“I don’t think I want to,” Ben replied
“It’s your duty as an American to serve.” Todd spoke loudly with a voice full of pride and authority.
“I think we’ve already done enough,” Chris said, patting the boy’s shoulder.
Todd ignored Chris. “We have to—”
“How many days did you serve in the military?” Chris interrupted.
Todd took a step back. “I think you know.”
“But does Ben know?”
Todd was silent.
“Todd, tell Ben how many days you served.”
Todd looked at his watch. “I almost forgot. I have to go.” He lowered his head and wormed out the door.
“How many days did he serve, Pastor Chris?”
Chris held up his hand and gestured: zero.
“I want to go to college,” Ben said.
“You’ll be a kick,” Chris said, stopping himself before he uttered a word that wasn’t very pastoral. “You’ll be a kick-butt college student.” Chris gave him a friendly fist bump that brightened Ben’s countenance as if he’d just found a hundred-dollar bill. It seemed Ben hadn’t experienced much of that type of male camaraderie, so Chris made a mental note of engaging Ben like that more often.
After most of the congregation cleared out, Hannah strolled over to Chris. Her smile radiated like a supernova. “I thought it was some kind of sick joke until now. You really did become a preacher, didn’t you?”
Chris basked in her warmth. “Long time, no see.”
“Doesn’t seem like so long ago.” Then she whispered, “You can’t really enjoy being with these people.”
“I’m happier than I’ve been in years.”
“I can see they aren’t too into reality, a lot of them are overweight, and they waste what little money they have in that wicker basket that was passed around.”