…
The others have gone to crash. It's still quite early but I figure they'll sleep right through the night. I made them power nap before we brought the 'birds home, but the weariness is far too deep for half an hour in a bunk in Two to alleviate. But Dad's held me back after the debriefing.
It's going to be a balcony job. When will he get the message I'd rather keep this formal?
Aw, hell, it has its upside. At least I get to look at one of those fabulous picture-postcard sunsets while he goes into his diatribe.
Good old Dad. At least he had the sense to build facing West…
Stop rambling, Tracy.
Jeez, I'm tired.
He offers me a scotch, which I accept. Then a cigarette. Why? He knows I don't smoke. Well, once in a blue moon. And then only to keep Virgil company.
He grunts, and lights up. I lean across the rail, trying to make it look like I'm admiring the view, not like I'm trying to keep from falling asleep on my feet. Means I don't have to look at him while he's ranting, too.
But it's worse than that.
"It must have been pretty tough out there today."
Oh, Jeez, no, he's going to be nice.
- Don't be kind. You know I don't know what to do with it -
I shake my head.
"We're okay. We got through it. They did a good job."
"You kept going with the girl longer than you should have done, you know that."
"I know."
"It can't have been easy to let her go."
"No."
He waits. He seems to be expecting me to say something.
I swallow. "It was harder on Virj."
"Ultimately you're the one who had to make the call. First time you've lost someone."
"We've pulled out bodies before."
"I know. But this is different. She was alive when you pulled her out."
I don't need reminding.
"And she was just a child," he continues.
I don't need reminding of that either. I wait. What does he want to hear?
"How are you doing with that?"
I don't even begin to know how to tell him how I'm doing so I just nod. I suspect he's feeling as awkward as I am. I wish he'd just get to the point and I could go get some rest.
"You're good with it?"
I feel the anger rise, quash it down quickly, remembering the other day. Yesterday. Was it just yesterday? He's talking about this as though it was any of the hundred and one decisions we make each day. If it isn't different it damn well should be. "I'm not good with it, no. I'd have taken the risk on moving her earlier if I knew the building was going to come down. But I didn't know. I don't see I could have handled it any differently."
He jumps in quickly. "You couldn't. That's the point. You handled it just fine, son. Virgil will get over it."
Virgil was seething at the debriefing, still accusing me of quitting too soon. What does the guy want from me? I'm not exactly thrilled about losing her, either.
Virj is my rock. He keeps me grounded in this sea of insanity. He has, since before he was born. When they told me I'd have a little brother I remember being pretty darned pleased about it. Mom had me; now this strange adult I was told to call Dad could have one of his own, and I figured it'd make him happy at last. Okay, so I was three. Kids' minds work in strange ways. Here it's just the same. We're on the edge, the whole time. Without him I figure this whole operation would have just blown itself out of the water right at the start. Virj stops the mix from getting too combustible. He and I might have our minor ups-and-downs – today being a case in point – but we have a deeper understanding. I know Dad's right. Virj'll come round. I just need to stay out of his way until he works through it.
"But I guess you're still feeling pretty lousy."
"I'll live with it."
He moves in close, and for a moment I have a horrible notion that he's going to put a hand on my shoulder.
But if he does, he thinks better of it.
"Good. This was always going to happen, son."
"I know," I say dully. It's true. I've never wanted to think about it. But today the past just collided with the future. I honestly don't know whether to run faster or slower.
"It was the right decision to quit when you did. And I know it must be tough. This must have been one of your worst days so far."
"I guess."
- Please stop this. What the hell do you want from me? -
He straightens, looks back out to sea, speaks more softly now. "I remember when you were a kid, you'd tell your brothers stories about an outfit like ours."
I look across at him in surprise. I'd clean forgotten. But he's right, I did. I got it from him of course; he'd told me those self-same stories myself when I was small.
And it stayed with me. Even when I joined up I thought maybe I'd be in this kind of work – air-sea rescue, maybe. Or maybe a combat recovery team. Where did that translate into fighter pilot? I love the speed, hell, yes, and the skill involved in flying a combat jet. I guess as I went through the academy I was seduced by the thought that I could make the grade, and then later, when they had me try out for the top team, I watched the other people drop out one by one as they hit some sort of a ceiling, something they couldn't hack, until there was just that small, super-cool, smug, self-righteous group of us left.
Did I do it just because I was one of the few who could? Downright bloody-minded arrogance?
Sometimes I feel deep down that I took a wrong turn somewhere.
But then again, One is a temperamental bitch at the best of times. Would I have landed this job if I hadn't been a pretty fair fighter pilot? I don't think so. Even Dad isn't that nepotistic.
"I guess the good guys always won in the stories," I say softly. But today has hit home hard. This is real life, not a story. We lost that little girl.
Dad nods sagely.
"Well, I can tell you, son, any leader of an outfit like ours is going to have two more days like the one you've had today."
I wait. It's clear I'm not going anywhere till he's said whatever it is that's on his mind.
"The first time is when you have to make the call between abandoning the people you're trying to help and putting the team's own lives on the line."
I think about this. I know this is true too. It's another thing I've been putting on hold until I have to face it, I guess. We've all taken risks to help people. But I haven't knowingly had to leave someone to die because it was just too darned dangerous to send in one of my brothers. He's right – it will happen. I need to think about it. Given Virgil's reaction today, I'm not going to be popular when I make that call.
"And the second?" I ask him dully.
"The second is when you get that call wrong, son."
I stare at him in disbelief. Does he really think I'd let that happen?
…