The Watch by Joydeep Roy-Bhattacharya potx

We gotta ride it out somehow, Whalen says, but his voice lacks conviction.. Back on the ground, I run with Whalen past the brick-and-mor-slow down by the shelter of the mortar pit where

Jacket images: (Chinook helicopter): © Pool/Reuters/Corbis; (U.S Marines with the

Female Engagement Team): Lynsey Addario/VII; (Afghan shepherd girl): Reuters/

Arko Datta; (U.S soldier): Reuters/Goran Tomasevic; (members of the security

detail for Eikenberry in front of Chinook helicopter): Reuters/Tim Wimborne

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First Edition

It ’S a beautiful day. The temperature’s in the upper sixties, the 

sun’s dipping in and out of cottony clouds, the sky’s an iridescent blue. I’m canoeing down the Hudson, following the river’s slow, wide course as it navigates between gentle slopes. Occasionally, 

a  wooded  copse  spills  right  down  to  the  waterline:  green,  brown, 

yellow,  clad  in  camouflage  colors.  I  can’t  see  a  single  house,  but  a 

to where Espinosa is in a bright yellow canoe just like mine, water 

He attempts to maneuver his canoe back, but bumps against the man behind him. I raise my hand and signal to the last man to reverse, 

light up. The rounds that hit us tear through flesh, canoes, and gear. 

Christ. What time is it?

Just past 0100, Sir. The sandstorm’s outta control and the ANA guards want to come inside. You better get up

How bad is it?

Bad. Visibility’s  near zero. And the storm’s made our detection systems friggin’ worthless

mal sights. I’ve never faced a situation where that’s happened before. 

I try to absorb the news that the storm has knocked out our ther-Gimme a moment, I tell him. I’ll be there

You  better  tie  a  cloth  around  your  face,  Whalen  warns  as  he goes out

fet the flimsy plywood walls that separate me from the storm outside. 

We gotta ride it out somehow, Whalen says, but his voice lacks conviction

Mitchell  and  Folsom  are  on  guard  shift  at  the  Entry  Control Point. Mitchell’s bleeding from a cut above his eye, although it’s prob-

No way. I’ll go talk to them

I turn to Whalen as we make our way along the Hesco wall that runs around the perimeter of the base, where the Afghan National 

Army  soldiers  are  crouching  miserably.  What  do  you  think,  First 

Sarn’t? I ask him. Should I let them go?

He squints through his bandana. The Hadjis would be crazy to attack in these conditions—but then again, the Hadjis are crazy! So: 

The relieved ANA slither down

I watch them go and shake my head: You’d think they weren’t in their own country

Back on the ground, I run with Whalen past the brick-and-mor-slow down by the shelter of the mortar pit where Manny Ramirez 

and Pratt have secured the gun with canvas. Pratt has his M-4 tucked 

inside  his  poncho  liner,  while  Ramirez  stands  some  distance  away, 

You okay, Pratt? I ask

M’fine, Suh, he says. This ain’t nuthin’. I worked through worse storms in the fishin’ fleet

Snowstorms?

Yeah

I try to see the analogy, then give up. 

Ramirez shouts: You expecting an attack tonight, Sir? I’m sorta goin’ crazy doin’ nuthin’. I haven’t fired a shot in days, I swear to God

face again

Fuckin’ sand in my eye! he yells

You’re an open target, Ramirez, Whalen says calmly, stating fact

Like hell I am. Aah! Fuck this

I don’t like it

Me neither

We’re completely blinded, he says. They can take us out any way they please

How? If we can’t see anything, neither can they

They could surround us and we wouldn’t even know it, he says tersely.  It’s  my  nightmare  scenario.  Three-hundred-sixty-degree 

catastrafuck

Whalen’s  thirty-seven,  a  career  soldier  and  another  veteran  of Iraq, like Espinosa, and I listen to everything he has to say because 

he’s always sound. All the same, I rib him now

You’ve been watching too many movies, First Sarn’t

He laughs. You asked

I say: At the same time, I don’t know what else we can do in this situation but wait it out. I’m clean out of ideas

It’s all that college learning, Lieutenant, Suh, he says mockingly

You’re prob’ly right, I tell him, thinking for a moment. Then I make up my mind: Wake up Grohl and Spitz and send them out to 

He hesitates. As First Sergeant, he answers directly to Evan Con-ly’s not the best leader in a crisis, so Whalen’s had very good reason 

to seek me out first, and I’ve the same good reason to avoid waking 

Connolly

Whalen continues to look worried. I’ll wake Lieutenant Ellison, then, he says

I hear a whimper behind me and turn around. Shorty, the pla-Shorty’s a misnomer: he’s already massive, a cross between a mastiff 

and some kind of Afghan hound. I can’t imagine how big he’s going 

darkness  is  a  single  muzzle  flash.  Then  a  fan  of  red  tracers  begins 

arcing  through  the  haze.  Grohl  and  Spitz  come  running  up  just  as 

a turbaned silhouette darts through an inexplicable gap in the wire. 

Whalen  hollers:  TAKE  COVER!  WE’RE  BEING  BREACHED! 

He dives behind the sandbag walls that surround the ANA’s position. 

Something shrieks over our heads and detonates against a B-hut: it’s 

an  attack  under  these  conditions.  From  the  guard  tower,  Espinosa 

goes  cyclic  with  an  Mk-19  belt-fed  automatic  launcher  grenade—

firing  without  stopping.  Almost  immediately  I  hear  the  retaliatory 

crump  of  a  rocket-propelled  grenade,  and  the  guard  tower 

slumps to his knees. I grab him by the vest and pull him down. The 

ground is littered with empty shells. Things are happening too fast

The air clears momentarily, and I glimpse Connolly to my left standing  behind  Mitchell  and  Folsom,  screaming  grid  coordinates 

into his radio. I shout to him and race over through incoming rounds. 

He stands up, fires a round, ducks down. 

We’re in a fucking shooting gallery! he screams. And I can’t even call in the birds! 

bles, catches himself, and runs on. White phosphorus residue from the 

A mortar shell thuds into the Hescos just as he takes off. He stum-shell washes over the ground. I watch him disappear from sight, then 

take up position beside Mitchell and Folsom. I’m seething from his 

rebuke, partly because he’s right. I should’ve had Whalen wake him

I glimpse a dark silhouette dart past the wire. Mitchell screams at the same time: THEY’RE PAST THE WIRE! 

Folsom  starts  cursing.  Their  M-240’s  jammed  up.  The  barrel’s smoking

Come on, come on . . . he says urgently. Frickin’ come on . . . 

He manages to get the gun working again. 

I aim and empty my M-4. The silhouette staggers back and falls against the wire. I realize I’ve run through all my ammunition save 

one magazine

I hear the distinctive snap of a bullet inches away

Folsom jerks back, then turns almost lazily and crumples into my arms. There’s a hole where his nose used to be. Blood spews out. I try 

Before I can fire, one falls, claimed by a Claymore, but the other seems 

to  float  right  through  the  sandstorm  while  coolly  firing  an  AK-47 

with  one  hand.  A  jagged  line  of  bullets  rips  up  the  Hescos.  Dirt 

packs  the  bloody  wound  cavity  with  Kerlix,  then  straps  a  bandage 

around it and slides an IV into the other arm. It’s a miracle he hasn’t 

been hit yet

He eyes Folsom. Is he . . . ?He’s gone, I tell him. Now take Mitchell and get out of here!

He ignores me and crouches over Folsom

I yell at him: Go, go, GO . . . Mitchell gets up on his own and staggers away

The LMG team start retreating as well

Doc takes Folsom by the shoulders and drags him past me. At the last moment, he turns to me and yells: You better drop back, Lieuten-

. . . Hello . . . Emily?

. . . Nick? I can’t hear you . . . You’re breaking up . . . 

. . . breaking up . . . We’re breaking up . . . I’m sorry, Nick, I’m breaking up . . . 

. . . with you . . . you . . . 

Emily?

Hello, Nick

Emily, I love you, baby. I got your letter. Please don’t do this to me! Please

Why are you calling me, Nick? I asked you not to. It’s only going 

to make this harder

You send me a letter telling me you’re breaking up with me, and I don’t even have the right to ask you what the hell is going on?

I’m sorry, Nick, but I can’t talk to you. I’m so sorry

What is this? Is there someone else?

Of course not. I’d have told you if there was

Em, I’ve been counting the days. This is fucking crazy! I’m in the middle of nowhere, entirely dependent  on a fucking  phone for my 

. . . Emily, don’t leave me, baby, please

. . . I’ve nowhere else to go

. . . It’s okay, Lieutenant . . . 

Doc . . . ?Don’t try to talk

What happened?

You took a round . . . 

. . . I can’t breathe . . . 

. . . Try putting some feeling into it, Frobenius . .   . . 

What . . . ?JoAnn walks over and looks at me as if I’m waking up

She  says:  You  gotta feel  it,  Nick.  Feel  it  in  your  gut.  This  is Sophoclean tragedy, not Broadway. You’re in the presence of the god 

of Death. Now: show it.

I’m sorry, JoAnn. I’m having trouble breathing. It’s probably stage fright

JoAnn  calls  out  crossly:  All  right,  you  two.  Enough  chitchat already

Emily laughs. We’re just getting to know each other, JoAnn. To emote better

Emote better, my ass. When you decide  to take some  time  out from flirting, I’d like to get on with the play, please

And then, before the flames of war could burn our tower’s crown,

Before he could slake his jaws’ thirst with our blood,

He was turned back

The war god screamed at his back

Thebes rose like a dragon before him.

Men of Thebes,fidence. No king can expect complete loyalty from his subjects until he

 I say suddenly, my voice already gaining in con-shows his control over government and the law You cannot know his

mind, his soul.

For I truly believe that the man who controls the state must have a supreme and moral vision for its future But if he is prone to fear and

locks his tongue in silence, then he is the worst of all who ever led this

country or could lead it now.

Captain . . . ?How do you feel? Connolly asks

I don’t know. Confused

I bet. Take it easy now

Where am I?

ils. They’re all dead

We held them off, dude. We pulverized them! Fuckin’ sand dev-Sand devils. What?

Relax.  It’s  over.  I’ve  called  in  the  birds.  They’re  on  their  way. 

We’re  having  you  medevaced  out  of  here,  you  lucky  sonofabitch. 

You’re going to be okay

What time is it?

He holds up his digital watch before my eyes. The bright green dial’s all blurry. 

0400, he says. The storm’s died down and it’s all quiet

He bends close to my face. He’s still wearing his body armor. His face is grimy, sand-caked. It makes me wonder what I look like

I always wanted to be an infantryman, I say grimly. I musta been drunk as fuck

He laughs

What happened to your face? I ask

I punched someone. He didn’t like it, so he hit me back. Now he’s dead

How many of them were there, First Sarn’t, d’you know?

Well, there’s seven gents inside the wire, and a few more lying out in the field; it’s still too dark to tell. And I don’t know how many 

got away

The Seven against Thebes, I observe grimly as I tally the enemy’s head count

What was that? Connolly asks

Doesn’t matter

Someone in the back says: It’s strange they haven’t turned up yet

Ellison laughs. They’re probably shit scared. Or we wiped them out

Connolly clears his throat: You were talking to yourself, by the way, Nick

Something wet drips on my face from the cot above me

ant, he says softly. He calls Doc over

Whalen  says:  You’re  ancient  in  comparison,  Lieutenant.  It’s  a wonder they let you in. And now look at you.

I try to crack a smile but my jaw hurts, so I whisper instead: Look who’s talking. Old Man Methuselah himself

You want a shiner?

Technically, that would constitute insubordination, wouldn’t it?

Doc’s fussing with my dressings. He says: So a doctor, a soldier, and a politician walk into a combat zone. Trust me, you haven’t heard 

this one before . . . 

Connolly stands up suddenly, interrupting him. I hear birds, he says briskly. All right, they’re here. Time to go, Nick

He walks out talking into his radio

Whalen helps Doc adjust my stretcher. Good luck, Lieutenant, he says huskily. Ya’ll take it easy now