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Chapter 17 — Dinner
I go down for dinner, and we’re at the formal dining room. I see two extra place settings. I don’t think anything of it, probably just some staff coming back.
The doorbell rings, so I go answer it. I open the door to a pair of young women. They both have tears in their eyes and are wearing brand new and expensive dresses. These dresses are way out of range for the two widows I’ve been supporting.
They don’t jump for joy at seeing me, but they do both hug me and cry. I can’t believe they even want to see me; I killed their husbands.
I can’t talk, but I open the door wide and motion them to come in. I close the door, and they follow me to the dining room, where there’s a greeting line for the two women. I introduce Phyllis and Juanita to my family, and each of my family hugs and introduces themselves.
We all sit at the table. Everyone has a large glass of wine. I suspect I will need the whole bottle.
Mom does all the talking, “I made some inquires with Sophia’s general friend. I found these two living pretty well for Navy widows. I flew them here two days ago, and Sandy took them shopping. You have been authorized by the US Navy to tell all of us what happened back on March 2. They want to know why their husbands are dead.”
This is the absolute worst day of my life. I haven’t talked to anyone, including intelligence, because it hurts too much. They busted me down for not talking, but I didn’t care. What Vickie did to me wasn’t anything compared to what this next hour will be like for me.
Mom and Sophia sit next to the two women who are holding hands. I am in a chair that’s as far away from them as I can be. I am literally shaking in my chair. I feel sick; I will need to run to the washroom at any moment. I NEVER wanted to talk about this, ever.
Yet, with these two women and official orders in my hands allowing me to discuss the day with the people present, I don’t feel I have a choice. If I were them, I would want to know. I can’t look at them, so I look at the floor.
I talk with a low, soft, and solemn voice, “We were a group of sixteen soldiers that had a few years of experience together. Each of us played ‘target’ at one time or another. Some, like me, took several turns. Your husbands were no different.
“Our orders were to kill a man at some coordinates in Afghanistan. It was a small village with a few compounds. He was in one of them. This wasn’t uncommon; we took out many leaders over the years. The compound was bigger and had better defenses than most, but it wasn’t anything too big. We had taken down bigger locations.
“I set two men up high as snipers. This is common for most teams; they’re a lookout and high cover if needed. The rest of us set up at key locations to stop others from getting behind us. We continue in silently. We all felt uneasy; there were no guards. Everything felt wrong. We burst into the room, expecting to find our man.
“He was there. He had died a few days prior, though. Both your husbands were guarding the entrance, verifying nobody followed behind us. As soon as we opened the door, we hear gunfire from outside. Half the guys are with me. I should have left more outside. I should have sent some back when we encountered no resistance.
“Twenty men come around a corner. Your husbands killed many of them. It’s only when they swap magazines that they … they … were killed. We were already running back on seeing the empty room with the first shots fired by the snipers. I find them both shot up and several coming at us. We kill them in a few seconds. There were eight of us.
“I called in an evac on our location. Flyboys hate coming in that close, but we had injuries that looked bad. Phyllis, I grabbed your husband, and two others grabbed our other friend.” I’m crying hard. “I can’t say their names even now. I let my friends down. I let them die.”
I can’t go on. My face is in my hands, tears are running down my face.
Juanita asks, “Why were the deposits anonymous?”
Trying not to hyperventilate, I say, “I was afraid that if you knew it was me, you wouldn’t take it. I ruined your lives, your children’s lives, and took the person you love the most in this world from you. I still have nightmares about that day. I am truly sorry.”
The room is silent. My grief makes it hard to breathe. The pain in my heart is fresh again. Two men are dead because I didn’t send men back or leave four at the door. There were so many things I could have done differently.”
Juanita asks me, “Did they ever catch who set you up?”
I reply, “Yes. There was a lengthy investigation. At my request, mom applied a LOT of pressure on the right people. They took interest, followed through, and found a colonel taking money to stop groups like mine that were deemed ‘too successful’ by the enemy. He’s rotting away in jail somewhere. Had we not been the best, your husbands would be alive still.”
Phyllis starts talking, “When a man in uniform showed up at my door, I knew the news immediately. I wailed and was full of grief for days. I find out that Juanita is in the same boat, but she has two children. Neither of us had a job.
“We’ve seen others that lost husbands; life gets hard. The benefits aren’t enough. I’m at a loss for words when I see my following bank statement. I’ve never had that much money. I look closer to see if it’s a mistake, and no. The government gives me a small check each month. Then there’s a deposit but no details. I check with the bank, and it’s from an unnamed foreign account. After talking to other widows, I discover that all ex-wives of Navy Seals are doing much better than all the others. We had no idea who was doing that.
“Your mother contacts us to come out here. She offers us a choice of jobs. One is working for you. It seems you do a lot of special projects and the ability to communicate is more important than a GED. Or we had a choice of jobs near where we live working for a company your mother owns. I was already working for Sophia.”
Juanita buts in, “We both choose to work with you. We will also work with charitable organizations to maximize the number of people you can help. The best part, you don’t get a choice. You must look at us every day until we die. I can see you sitting there in your pity. I know you blame yourself for their deaths. I blame you too. I must; nobody else is around. I can’t hit the Navy, a boat, or even a gun. You’re the only tangible thing I have left other than a flag I can’t bear to look at.
“If my husband were here right now, you know what he would do. He’d take that huge ass pistol of his out of his holster, bring it to your head, and pull the trigger. Nothing, and I mean nothing, pisses him off more than self-loathing. He would be furious at you for sitting there and thinking you were responsible. He would be pissed at himself for letting them kill him. Had you left four men with him, he would have punched you for treating him like, as he would have said, a fucking toddler sucking a bottle. Like he ever sucked a bottle. He wore my nipples to stubs.”