WAR NOVEL

Memorial Day

Chapter 13: “Hi, Maldo. I waited for you. Got you a lava flow..”

A man walks into a bar. He orders two drinks and leans the chair next to him against the bar. It sounds like the start of a bad joke, and yet I did it every year. On the last Monday in the month of May, I walked into a bar, I ordered a drink, and I waited.

Wishing against all odds that she will show up.

And knowing deep down that it would have to be me who finds her in the end.

“What will it be,” The bartender asked, a tired-looking woman with fading tattoos on her face and arms. She smelled of cigarette smoke and wore a tight black leather vest over tight black leather pants that no doubt looked great on her twenty years ago when her body was once tight as well.

“One whiskey neat and a lava flow.”

“A lava flow?” The woman says with a slightly arched eyebrow.

“Pina colada with grenadine.” I explained, “It’s for a friend of mine. She should be here soon.”

The woman stared at me for only a moment before she shrugged and went about making the drinks. I grabbed the back of the chair next to me and leaned it against the bar. Not that any crowd of people would have any trouble finding seats in the empty bar.

The Huntridge was a shithole of a bar. During the first few months of my career as a cop, I had been here countless times, breaking up bar fights and more than once to clear the bar out for an overdosed addict found half-dead in the bathroom. No reasonable person came to the Huntridge, especially during the morning shift.

It was one reason I had chosen to drink here instead of the cop bars I usually spent time in before. Today wasn’t about that. Today wasn’t about blowing off steam after a long day at work. Today was about something more. A tradition. A promise.

Today was about her.

The bartender set the drinks on the table, and she left them without a word. I appreciated it. I wasn’t looking for small talk. I sipped my whiskey, and I waited. When the first glass emptied, I would order another. And then one more. I looked at the door, at the lava flow sweating lightly on the bar, and I waited.

The waiting was the worst part.

The worse part of a promise I had made to a woman I loved in a time and place where love should never have existed at all. Love made you weak. It made you human in a place where being human got you killed. I had known this to be accurate, and yet I had fallen in love all the same.

I looked at the door once more, knowing she would never walk through it. I closed my eyes and prayed to every god I knew did exist. I pitched deals with every devil and demon. All were welcome to take a piece of my soul as long as she would just walk through that door.

And when I opened my eyes, she still had not appeared.

“Come on.” My whiskey-soaked tongue let the words whisper out as I blinked the tears from my eyes. “Come on, Maldo.”

I stared at the glass of half-drunk whiskey. I could see a distorted reflection in the amber fluid. A reflection of a man, almost a decade older than the one she had known. I picked up the glass and toasted it to the man I once was. To the man, she had fallen in love with.

And I remembered the feel of her skin against mine. Remembered those nights spent in medical, a bootleg of some movie that we would throw on but not watch. I remembered the closeness of her body against mine, her heavy breathing as she slept curled on my chest.

I sat, and I drank, and I remembered that final night together.

“I don’t get it.”

We were lying on the couch, listening as the strong desert wind snapped the canvas of the tent against metal poles. We lay there, dressed in our BDUs and tan undershirts, some shitty Bollywood Rom-Com playing in the background.

We were ready, as we had always been since our affair had begun to disentangle ourselves from the couch. It was a necessary precaution, if not an unlikely one. The other Corpsman was out on patrol, and our unit had other things to do than hang around medical.

It was one of those many long periods where the world seemed to slow, and for the briefest of moments, we could almost forget we were at war.

“What’s not to get. It’s like the alcoholic beverage of choice for people who don’t like alcohol. It’s a super sweet pina colada, topped with more super sweet grenadine. You can’t even taste the alcohol.”

“But, like, why the double sweet.” Maldo asked, “Seems like overkill.”

“You got to try it.” I said, giving her body a shake, “I’ll buy you one. You know when we are allowed to drink again. When we’re back in the real world?”

“Oh, don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Maldo said, slapping me lightly on the arm as she pushed herself away from me and toward the other end of the couch.

Maldonado smiled at me with the same smile that had once made my heartache that now filled me with nothing but joy and desire. She brushed her dark brown hair away from her light brown eyes and cocked an eyebrow as I pushed myself off the couch.

I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close, my lips finding hers. She giggled as I lifted her and placed her in my lap, pulling away only a hair’s breadth away, so close that my lips still brushed against hers as I spoke.

“Who says I can’t keep my promise?”

A look of worry passed over those pretty brown eyes of hers as she pulled back just slightly, biting her lip. Our relationship had started as anything but ordinary. We had fallen in love at war while my wife had waited for me overseas. Three months into my second tour to Iraq and I had finally seen too much. I had known men who had taken their own lives to escape the toll of a life of service. I had lost friends at sea. I had seen friends die. Children die.

My marriage died with a whisper. There was nothing I could say to make Leah understand what I had seen and nothing she could say to make it right. The divorce papers had come a month later. I had signed and sent them back.

All the while, I didn’t allow myself to feel. To process the horrors I had seen. I had become what I needed to be. Hard and unyielding, ready to fight and kill. Ready to work through all the hell that war can be, without being affected. I was a machine — another cog and nothing more.

That was until Maldo.

It had been a late-night after patrol as I sat in the smoke pit, the last of my Bidi cigars in hand. I could still see the tiny thumbprint of blood on the crinkled package. The last bit of Amir I still carried with me.

Maldo didn’t smoke, but she stayed by my side. She held my hand without a word and ran her fingers over the ugly pink scar from the day in the village. She looked me in the eyes and asked me if I loved her.

I didn’t answer.

I never said the words aloud.

I only pulled her close and kissed her. I clung to her, part of me believing that I was just satisfying some base need while another part knew it to be a lie. I held on to her with the desperation of a man about to lose his soul, and with every passing day, she brought me back from the belief that I should have died that day instead of Amir.

With every kiss thereafter, she had brought me back from the dead.

“Come see me when we leave. Come visit me in Hawaii.” I said, kissing her again. “Come see me, and I’ll buy you that drink.”

Maldo hesitated and then kissed me back, her kiss soft and hard at the same time. I pulled her on top of me, and my fingers ran gently up her back and through her hair. When we finally separated, we were both breathless. Still, she whispered a single word.

“Promise?”

“Always,” I answered.

We fell into each other, and the night passed as Indian actors danced their feelings away on the fuzzy television screen. There was no more peaceful place in that whole country than there was on that small beat-up couch, with the woman I loved in my arms.

It was the last peace I would have known.

The sound of blaring sirens and screams woke us from our momentary peace. In the dim light of the TV, I could see the panic on her face as she pulled herself off of me and frantically got dressed in the near darkness. I did the same.

We knew what the sirens meant. Their meaning had been drilled into our heads long before we had even left the country. The shrill scream of the sirens called forth an almost instinctual fear in us as we ran toward the medical tent, where rifles and battle rattle were staged, ready for a moment’s notice.

We were under attack.

“Where the fuck were you two?”

The Marine Corps Sergeant and the six other Marines that made up the Quick Reaction Force stood in the medical tent, checking their gears as Maldo and I ran toward our gear lockers. I threw on the heavy Kevlar vest and ballistic helmet hurriedly, doing my best to ignore the telling hint of fear in the man’s voice. It was a fear that only increased the sinking feeling in my gut.

The situation was bad if the old Sergeant was worried.

“We were checking on the trauma kits, sergeant,” Maldo answered, her voice respectful but firm, “Seems like we might need them.”

If the sarge thought there was any falsehood in her words, he didn’t let it on as we joined the other, medical bags strapped to our backs and rifles slung. The Doc, a full bird navy captain, jogged into the doors, his eyes wide with panic as he looked at the men in front of him, waiting to be briefed on the situation at hand.

“Ok. Here’s what’s going on.” He said, nervously licking his lips as he made his way to the center of the small row of empty cots that would all too soon filled,

“The convoy was attacked a mile outside of the base. A roadside IED took out the lead truck, and the rest of the convoy was raved by gunfire. We got some Army units and some Aussies coming to back them up.”

“Why ain’t we going? Those are our fucking guys.” A corporal snapped, going quiet as the Sergeant fixed him with a withering gaze.

“I know who is out there, Rivera. I know damned well that it is our guys trapped in a firefight.” The Captain said, his eyes narrowed in poorly contained anger,

“They will have to hold their own for now, though. It seems the ambush was just a small part of these assholes’ plans, however. We got word of at least a dozen other vehicles headed our way. If we want these guys to have a base to return to, we have to take care of shit on our end first.”

With that, the Captain began assigning roles. The QRF was to respond anywhere at a moment’s notice, half the team standing by the Humvee while the other stood ready in the medical tent. Each group consisted of a team leader, three marines, and a corpsman. The Captain formed the teams. One to the man at the gate, while the other readied more cots for the wounded.

Maldonado flashed me a look of worry from across the tent. The other Corpsman were out with the convoy. That meant one of us would have to stay in medical.

While the other would have to fight.

I made the decision long before I met her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but I was faster.

“Sir, I’ll go out with the QRF.”

The Doc only nodded in response, too busy in his preparation to give the request anything but a fleeting response. Maldo hurried across the room, ignoring the eyes that followed her as she made her way to my side. I knew the interaction would draw rumors.

I didn’t care.

“You don’t need to go out there.” She whispered, “God damn it, Cory, you almost died last time.”

“Which is why I am going, and you’re staying here,” I said, my eyes firm on hers.

“Why because a woman doesn’t belong on the battlefield?” She snapped.

“No,” I said, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder, “Because I already proved I don’t die easy. Especially when I got a promise to keep.”

Maldo looked at me with a mix of confusion and concern.

“Tell me you’re going to get that drink with me,” I whispered. “Tell me you will find me after the war.”

She didn’t answer. Not until I had already turned and made my way to the door to the tent. Only then did her hand grab mine. I spun around, and I looked into the tear-filled eyes of the woman I had fallen in love with.

“I promise.” She whispered. “After the war. We will go on.”

I finished the last of my whiskey and looked at the half-melted remains of the lava flow. She wasn’t going to come. I had known she wouldn’t, and yet every year, it hurt all the same. I closed out the tab at the bar and walked out of the bar. The summer heat was oppressive, a record high beating out the last ten years. I only stumbled a little as I made my way to the gas station.

If Maldo wasn’t going to come to me, I would have to go to her. I paid for the six-pack of cheap beer in cash and called for a cab. I had gotten a taxi to the bar, having done this tradition long enough to know I would not be in any state to drive after all was said and done.

I gave the driver an extra ten dollars to let me ride without any poorly attempted small talk. I held onto the six-pack, letting my mind drift as I looked out the window. I passed through the city I now called home — Las Vegas, the city of sin that had been the birthplace of someone so good.

And the place where she was laid to rest.

The cemetery was just north of Downtown Las Vegas, a beautiful patch of grass filled with flowers and tombstones. To the west of the graveyard was a homeless shelter. To the east, a row of bars and casinos are known as Fremont Street. The cemetery stood in between, a silent expanse to remember those who once were.

The piece of carved Granite bearing the name of Jennifer Maldonado was to the far corner of the graveyard, surrounded by fresh flowers and a small American flag.

“Hi, Maldo.” I said, “I waited for you. Got you a lava flow, as I promised, but I guess a beer will have to do.”

I took a seat next to Maldo’s grave, using the bottle opener from my key chain to pop the cap of both beers.

“It’s been a tough year. A lot happened. I-I don’t know what I am doing anymore. Being a cop, it’s easy if you look at it from the outside in. You stop the bad guy; you save the good. You fight until something breaks, and there is peace. Even if only for a moment. But lately, Maldo, those moments are getting less and less. The bad guys, they just keep coming and the ones you try to save-”

My voice broke as I thought of Desmond. A junkie who I had gotten killed by a monster I couldn’t put away. A kid, not unlike Amir or Donkey. I took a swig of my beer as I forced the emotion back down. No, I wasn’t here for that. Today wasn’t about me.

This day belonged to Maldo and all the others who hadn’t made it back.

As far as attacks on the base went, the one we faced that day had gone well. The extremists were split between us and the convoy. Reinforcements arrived and cut down the extremists. Even as we held off the encroaching vehicles, the convoy was speeding its way back to the base, ready to squeeze the attackers between two fronts.

We held at the ECP (entry control point), lighting those who approached with fifty-cal fire. I stood behind a cement barricade, firing side by side with Marines I swore to protect. As battles went, this one was as straightforward as it got.

All battles are, in a way.

Until they aren’t.

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!”

A heavy black truck sped straight toward the ECP, straight at the Humvee where a Marine stood mounted, triggers held back as fired continuously into the engine block of the fast-approaching vehicle. I raised my rifle and fired directly at the driver in a desperate attempt to stop the inevitable. The staccato of gunfire filled the air as the marines did the same.

But in the end, there was no stopping what came next.

I dove to the ground as the truck slammed into the Humvee, searing metal and glass digging into Kevlar and left shoulder as the vehicle exploded. I rolled onto my back, biting back a scream as my left arm failed to obey my commands to move.

The Humvee and truck were ablaze, joined together in a seething fire of twisted metal. The cries of dying men filled the smoke-filled air, ghostly shapes of the wounded walking in a black fog. I could hear the strained yell of the Sergeant ordering us to fall back into the safety of the cement walls of the base.

I kept my rifle buried in my shoulder and aimed toward the other side of the black smoke, kicking the ground as I pushed myself back toward the base. Over the ring of my ears, I could hear the roar of engines as more cars and motorcycles rushed at the base.

Gunfire roared overhead as the Marines provided cover for the wounded to make our way back to base. I pushed frantically as the sounds grew louder. Bloodstained the asphalt from my ruined left shoulder refused to budge. I pushed myself, passing any threshold of pain I thought imaginable. I wanted to live. I didn’t want to die in Iraq, another nameless warrior to die overseas.

I fought, but it wasn’t enough.

The roar of the engines was deafening, the gunfire more frantic. I could see the glow of headlights, farther set and broader than the last through the choking black smoke. All at once, the gunfire stopped, and I knew what the lack of sound meant.

They were getting cover. The large vehicle bearing toward the ECP was too close, too fast to stop. All that was left to do was find cover, to brace for impact. In a way, I was at peace with it. In the end, my Marines would live. That was my job, after all, to keep others safe.

I stopped. I was out in the open, exposed to the coming destruction. I raised my rifle, bury the stock deep in my right shoulder as I lay on my back. If I was going to die, I was going to die with an empty magazine. I let out a ragged breath as I aimed between the rapidly approaching light. I wasn’t scared.

I was fucking terrified. But that fear changed nothing. Few people in this world get to decide how they spend their final moments. I would spend those last moments my way.

I would die fighting.

Like my father.

If only she would have let me.

The sound of boots on pavement pulled me from the scope of my rifle as her small hands grabbed the drag handle on the back of my Kevlar. She looked so small, huddled inside the thick Kevlar vest and a ballistic helmet. She gritted her teeth as her tiny body pulled my armor-laden one through the smoke. The whole while, my eyes never left the approaching headlights.

“M-Maldo, let me go.” I coughed through the smoke. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“I won’t leave you.” She spoke through gritted teeth as she pulled back with all her strength, only a few feet at a time.

“Fucking run. We don’t have time, you stupid bitch!” My throat tore and cracked as I yelled hate at her. I needed her to go. I could die here. I had made that choice. I wouldn’t let her die. Not for me.

“Fuck you, Cory,” Maldo said, her brown eyes going soft as the lights of the vehicle lit her features one final time. “I love you.”

Her face, the light brown color of her skin, and her soft lips. The way her black hair fell in front of honey-colored eyes. She was so much braver than I had been in the end, so at peace with what came next. I looked into her eyes one last time, growing brighter as the garbage truck slammed into the cement wall of the base. She was so beautiful.

And I hated her for it. I hated her for loving me. And I hated myself for never saying the words aloud.

I looked into her eyes one last time, the pain and smoke smothering the words I so desperately needed to say.

And then she was gone, along with everything that had tied me to the present.

All wiped away by a coward who had allowed himself to believe that his loving God had deemed us unworthy to live.

The tears ran freely now as I leaned against the grave of Jennifer Maldonado. A Navy Corpsman. A woman I loved. A woman who had brought light back into my life. Who had sacrificed herself for the person she loved.

For me.

“Happy Memorial Day, Maldo”, I said, looking out over the expanse of green grass in a city of metal and neon lights. “I love you. I hope you knew that.”

More exciting reads —

Stories of Maldo and Moore.

Previous Chapter 12: Of Monsters and Healers

Merlin Troy writes fiction inspired based on his time as a police officer, paramedic, and veteran. He is working on his first novel which will be available for readers when published on Kindle. Expected release: July 2021 Subscribe to receive his stories and updates.