if the Dam Breaks?” was the front-page story the next morning. For a week people on the street, his teachers, and even other students, complimented Charlie on the story. Charlie finally found the catalyst he needed to keep writing, and fell into a good rhythm in his storytelling. This “Charlie rhythm” helped him succeed in publishing more articles and closed the gap in his relationship between him and Percy Pascoe.
One day, as Charlie was sitting in Percy Pascoe’s office, he noticed an index card taped to the bulletin board on the wall among pictures and newspaper clippings. Written upon it were the words, “Six Million.” Charlie got up the courage to speak and asked about its significance.
“Six Million stands for how many Jews the Nazis murdered during World War II. I keep it there as a reminder of the evils of man.”
Percy Pascoe continued talking about his experiences in the war. His infantry company had liberated a German extermination camp and he had seen first hand the living skeletons peering through the fences at him. The editor explained that he saw bodies piled six high and open trenches filled with the dead.
Charlie and Percy Pascoe never talked about the atrocities again.
Two years later, Charlie decided to take a hiatus from the journalism field to pursue a career his father, the missionary, was staunchly against. Charlie joined the army. His dad had thrown out several objections, most reinforced with detailed Bible scriptures.
Charlie soon found himself in basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia. Here, he shed his camera for an M16A1 rifle and concealed his nerdiness with olive green fatigues. The army suited Charlie well. When he was young, he traveled with his missionary parents and his younger adopted sister, Shade, to places where they often went without food or struggled to find a place to stay. His father always reminded the family that it was God’s plan and that their needs would be provided for by God. In the army, Charlie found that he usually had three hot meals a day, a rack to sleep in at night, and a roof over his head. These luxuries changed when Charlie applied for and was accepted into the Army Ranger program. Out in the woods and swamps around Fort Brag, he slept in the rain, warded off bugs the size of poodles, ate C-rations, learned the art of combat, and earned the Ranger badge.
Charlie got his first taste of battle in 1989 during the invasion of Panama, that ousted dictator Manuel Noriega. Panama was a fairly easy operation for Charlie’s unit. He and a company of troopers had choppered in and captured a small airfield the CIA thought Noriega might use to try to escape. When a convoy of Panamanian Defense Forces – really, Noriega’s thugs – arrived, Charlie’s squad tore them to pieces in an ambush of rifle and grenade fire. The survivors threw down their weapons and ran into the surrounding jungle faster then a raped ape.
In 1993, Charlie experienced his second and bloodiest combat action in a corner of the world barely known to most people, Somalia. In a botched snatch-and-grab operation targeted at war lord Mohamed Farrah Aidid and his lieutenants, Charlie was one of eighty wounded in a night-long battle against Aidid’s followers. The battle would later be the subject of the movie, Black Hawk Down. Charlie would refer to it as the night an RPG rocket tried to blow his balls off.
Raising his arm up, Charlie was checking the time on his watch when a voice interrupted him.
“They already shut the cell service down,” he heard Maggie say. He turned to find her standing beside the pocket doors going into his bedroom. She wore one of his light blue button-down shirts, her legs long and bare.
“I’m sure we . . . well, probably every American . . . got the same message blast right before they flipped the switch back to off,” Maggie said, snapping her phone closed. She looked at Charlie staring back at her, and it took a moment for her to register her lack of clothing.
“I’m sorry,” Maggie said making a playful curtsy. “I’m a very bad guest. First I steal your bed, leaving you on the couch, and next I’m helping myself to your shirts. Soon I’ll be asking to borrow your debit card.”
Charlie rose with a smile, and walked up to her, leaning close. For a moment she held her breath and crossed her arms over her breasts, thinking Charlie was moving in for a kiss. “One hell of a time to begin acting romantic,” she thought to herself. However, typical of Charlie, he merely reached around the open door and stepped back, holding a bathrobe he apparently had hung on the bedroom wall. It was three times bigger than Maggie’s thin frame, but at least it covered her up completely. “This should keep you warm,” he said. While it seemed a gentlemanly thing to do, Charlie was not only trying to protect Maggie’s modesty, but also eliminate the temptation for him to stare at her sexy figure.
Maggie slipped her arms into the robe and followed Charlie into his kitchen, tying the belt into a loose knot. As Charlie began making coffee, Maggie crossed to the living room window and looked out onto the street below. Charlie’s second-floor apartment gave him a bit of a view, but there wasn’t much to see. The normally busy street was ominously empty. Further down and across the street was a bus stop where a small group of people sat on a bench or stood around waiting for the next bus. Some were talking with others. One man, holding a gym bag and wearing bright red sweat pants and a hoodie, kept looking at his watch. He would then lean across the curb and look down the street, waiting for the appearance of his bus.
“Black with a little cream, if I remember right,” Charlie said, placing a mug of coffee on the table next to her.
Maggie gave a “thanks” and then turned her attention back to the people at the bus stop. She saw a big, black SUV pull up next to them. Maggie noticed its black-tinted windows and counted six different radio-type antennas sprouting from its roof.
Red sweat suit guy approached the driver’s door. The SUV was between Maggie and the man so she couldn’t see the occupants. But she could see that red sweat suit was being told something by the driver. The man began shaking his head, as if irritated, and as the vehicle pulled away, he turned and kicked his gym bag across the sidewalk. He began talking to the other people at the bus stop and then, picking up his bag, began to walk down the street. Maggie sipped her coffee, watching the others slowly disperse, until the bus stop sat empty. A loud thumping began, the distinct sound of a military helicopter’s rotator blades cutting through the air. Charlie walked over to the window and stood next to her, their eyes scanning the sky as the sounds came closer. Suddenly they came into view, a flight of four Black Hawk helicopters flying in perfect formation just above the trees. Just as quickly as they appeared, the four heavily armed machines crossed out of sight behind some trees.
Maggie and Charlie both sat silently for a moment before Maggie spoke. “Are we at war Charlie?” she said, sitting back and crossing her arms.
Charlie took a sip of coffee from his mug, which sported a big US Army Rangers logo. He sat, thinking. Maggie felt it was time for her to stop throwing questions at her friend and let him come up with some answers. Maggie knew Charlie well enough and was aware of his thought process. The military man in him was assessing the situation, putting the pieces of the puzzle together. Maggie understood all too well. Her father was a retired navy officer. As a SEAL, he had led men in combat in Vietnam and later during the invasion of Grenada. Throughout the years of her childhood, her father had always had the same philosophy. “Get the facts, remain calm and make a quick, prudent decision,” he had instructed Maggie a thousand times. Charlie was doing the same thing now.
“It’s something big Maggie, that I can assure you,” Charlie said, his tone serious. “My first thought was a government coup. That can’t be right because President Barakat is addressing the nation at noon, so that means he’s still in power.”
“How does the nightmare we witnessed last night play into all of this?” Maggie asked, shaking the spoon from her coffee cup at him.
“Historically,
