Chapter Six Dave watched the fish swim back and forth in the fish tank. The fluorescent lighting of the tank illuminated the salt water environment, making it appealing to the eye. Dave found the atmosphere calming. If anyone were to find out that he was here, it would hit the news headlines, and it would be more trouble than it was worth. He hadn’t wanted to come here, but his father had insisted. He knew his father was only trying to help, and had pretty much run out of alternative ideas on how to do so. This was his last-ditch effort to return his son to some semblance of normalcy. “You believe your mother’s death was the impetus for your depression?” the therapist asked, stirring Dave from his reverie. He smiled tightly. “I’m saying that’s what my father thinks.” “You disagree?” “My father blames my mother’s death for all my problems.” Dave was talking in circles, avoiding an honest answer, and he knew it. He was skeptical at best, distrusting at worst, and he was guarded as a result. The therapist shuffled the papers around on her clipboard. What was her name again? Dave wondered. Sherri? Cheryl? Something like that. She was trying her best, but Dave wasn’t interested. It was nothing personal. “Well, looks like we’re out of time.” She sighed. Dave glanced at the clock. They still had another ten minutes. He smiled at the woman. She needed a break from him. “I’ll see you next week,” Dave said, standing and briskly making his exit. Dave pulled his hoodie tightly around himself when he entered the hallway, making sure the hood covered most of his face, barely allowing himself to see. He didn’t need anyone recognizing him. He took the stairs to the first floor, avoiding the more populated elevator. He opened the door to the outside, speed-walking to his black, unobtrusive Chevy Malibu. He avoided attention at all costs these days, and despite his love for fast vehicles, that meant avoiding them, too. Sinking into the leather seat, he put the car in drive, going the speed limit back to his dormitory. Dave didn’t need to stay in a dormitory on base. He could’ve rented a spacious apartment nearby, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t need the space for just himself and his self-loathing. Of course, living on base meant that other members of the Royal Army might try and knock on his door to get closer to him, but he had managed to avoid the other soldiers for the most part. He kept to himself, and preferred it that way. People meant questions, which meant trouble. He knew his demons well, and preferred their company over other, more worldly beings. Dave started doing push-ups as soon as he entered the room, no warm-up necessary. He had an hour to kill, and working out was the best way to push away his pain. He had been constantly on-edge for the past nine years of his life. He was ready to go at any moment, not that he needed to be. He was in logistics, and men in rooms hundreds of miles away from the action didn’t usually need to be looking behind their back at all times. Regardless, he was, and there was seemingly no stopping him. Dave showered after thirty minutes of exercise, then pulled on his dress uniform. It was without honor; no medals adorned his chest. Of course, it was not like the country was at war. There was no need for heroes. He shuffled out of the room and to his car. He drove slowly to the palace, wishing he could avoid going at all. It was only an hour’s drive, even going five below the speed limit. Dave arrived early, but waited in his car until he was late, mentally psyching himself up for the meeting. When he finally felt he was ready, he took a deep breath and unceremoniously climbed up the stairs to the so-called Strategy Room, letting himself in and sitting down in the seat to the left of his father, who sat at the head of the table. Technically, as the prince, he should be to his father’s right, but that seat was reserved for his father’s closest advisor, Donald Peregrine. Peregrine narrowed his eyes at Dave when he sat down quietly. Peregrine thought, for good reason, that Dave was an insolent little kid who didn’t understand or deserve to be a part of his father’s business. Dave couldn’t blame him, really, but that didn’t stop him from taunting the poor man. He smiled at Peregrine, pretending not to notice the hostility in his gaze. “This is our third meeting discussing whether to send a small band of soldiers into Kuwait to support our allies in the United States,” Commander Alfred Smith spoke. Dave vaguely remembered the prior discussions in this room on the topic. He tended to zone out fairly quickly during these Strategy Room meetings. After all, he was more of a showpiece than anything. He was there out of obligation to his father and his country, not because he actually had anything important to add. “I think we’ve finally reached an agreement,” Smith continued, a smile almost reaching his lips. “We will send in a small band of five hundred of our most qualified soldiers. This will be a limited mission where we will largely provide support for our allies the United States, as well as following their directives.” Dave was already getting bored. 500 soldiers weren't going to do shit, as far as he was concerned. Still, he supposed it would make their country look good to the US. “Great,” Dave’s father, King Harold, clapped his hands together. He had a booming voice and a thick mustache. He was always the center of attention, and always drawing more attention in. He spoke loudly and confidently, and was quick to interject with his opinion while stroking his luxurious mustache whenever he had anything to add or any questions he wanted answered. “This will be a quick meeting, then. I have one more announcement to make. My son, Prince David, whom you all know, has volunteered to take part in this mission. We all wish him the best of luck, of course.” There was an enthusiastic round of applause from the room while Dave stared at his father angrily. He had done no such thing. Still, he didn’t say anything, not because he didn’t want to, but because even he didn’t have the gall to go against the king in a room filled with his closest advisors. He looked sharply at King Harold, daring him to continue. He bristled with anger. He would have words with him as soon as this little meeting wrapped up. Peregrine smirked, which Dave caught out of the corner of his eye. He would absolutely not be heading to Kuwait, little peace-keeping mission be damned. ⧫ Dave knew he had changed since being deployed to Kuwait, but he was stubborn and loathed to admit it. He hated the idea of playing right into his father’s hands; Harold had convinced himself that sending Dave off on a low-risk, foreign excursion would set his mind right. Actually, he felt cramped and stifled, surrounded on all sides by men every hour of the day and night. He couldn’t get a moment to himself for the past month. He exercised constantly, there being nothing else to do other than work out and sit in the hot, desert sun. The unit remained in one spot, and Dave got the feeling they were waiting for something, like sitting ducks waiting for a hunter to walk by on a day he’s feeling peckish. “I miss you too, buddy,” Dave spoke into the phone. Peter was ten years old, and had little to no concept of what was going on. Dave was eighteen. He just wanted to tell Dave about his newest Spider Man toy, and the most recent episode of his favorite show on Nickelodeon. Dave missed him dearly. He hadn’t realized how lonely he would feel being away from his family. “Yeah, and then I got an A on my spelling test,” Peter continued in the squeaky, high-pitched voice of a child. “That’s great, bud--” Dave was cut off by a loud noise, which caught him off-guard. Momentarily, he thought it had come from Peter’s end of the phone, but he quickly realized, based on the shouts of the men around him, that they were under attack. Dave dropped the phone, leaving it dangling by the cord, as the ringing of explosions sounded around him. He picked up his AR-15, hoisting it up onto his shoulder and aiming it haphazardly around him. He made eye contact with a young man he worked out with regularly, and they both gained understanding in the split-second moment that passed between them. The man, Lakes, swiftly pulled up next to Dave, and they started walking through the debris, towards the sound of gunfire. Dave hadn’t had any time to process what was happening, but his body reacted as if on autopilot, and he and Lakes walked slowly towards the sounds of artillery firing. There were a few wounded men around them, but Lakes and Dave didn’t have time to pay attention to them. Dave didn’t notice any casualties, but being bombed without warning was certainly not a good sign for their fate. Why hadn’t logistics known this was going to happen? It didn’t matter now. Dave noticed his sergeant up ahead, and they ran towards him, guns ready. The sergeant already had two men with him, bringing their party to four. The sergeant gestured for them to follow his lead. He led them into the outside air, and they hugged the wall closest to them, maintaining a few feet between each of them. The air was quiet, which Dave knew was a facade. His heart raced. He was officially in a warzone. The sergeant took one step forward, away from the wall, and Dave watched in horror as his head exploded in front of them, the sound of a gun going off in the air. He turned and threw up, with one of the other men following suit. He straightened himself up quickly, then looked around. Up. The bullet had come from above. He noticed an open window with a sheet covering the top half, and he wasn’t sure how he knew, but he knew. Dave gestured to the open window. The sniper would have been able to see the sergeant as soon as he stepped away from the wall, as far as Dave could guess from his vantage point. He tested the theory by pulling his wallet from one of his pockets and tossing it in front of him. It was shot through the middle while still airborne. Damn. The sniper was good. Dave looked back at the three men, and realized they were all waiting for him to make a move. He had just unintentionally made himself their leader by proving the location of the sniper and having his wallet destroyed. He sucked in a sharp breath. He guessed he had less than a minute to make a move before a move was made for him, and he had no idea what to do next. With his eye on the open window, he began walking in the opposite direction. The men followed trustingly. He tentatively stepped in the opposite direction, away from the wall. Nothing. The sniper didn’t have a clear vantage point this way. Dave exhaled. He motioned for the men to follow him, then led them cautiously into the building. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing, but he had identified one enemy target, and had a vague idea he might get a shot at him from the top floor of the building opposite him, if they could be quiet enough not to let on what their plan was. The building was an abandoned home, or seemingly abandoned; at once, an enemy combatant sprang from the kitchen, guns blazing; the terrorist missed them, and Lakes shot him in the chest, causing him to stagger back. Lakes had his gun still raised to the enemy, but he hesitated, his face pale. Dave made eye contact with him and nodded, and Lakes shot him once more; the enemy went down. Dave put a finger to his lips, but knew it was probably pointless; there was no way the noise hadn’t alerted everyone around to their location. Dave and the men canvassed the house, busting down the door to every room, finding no one, and eventually reached the top floor. Immediately, shots rang out, and Dave hit the floor, the others following suit. He had a faint idea one of the men had been hit, but he was still moving, so Dave ignored it. He ripped off his jacket and held it above his head; it was torn through immediately. The sniper was on his game. Dave allowed his jacket to be blown back to who knows where and lifted his gun in front of his eyes. Dammit. Not only was he already not a great shot, he also couldn’t see shit. He’d have to shoot blind. Dave forced his hand to steady, which was no easy task, and quickly raised the gun, blindly shooting through the closed window and through the wall, praying the enemy would be somewhere in the line of fire in the building directly opposite them. Shots were not immediately returned, but they were shortly thereafter. Dave figured the enemy had been hit enough to throw him off his game, but not to stop him from firing altogether. He slithered out of the room on all fours, the three men still following him, before walking down the stairs and out of the house. Outside, they were met by three more men. Thank God. They immediately fell into line behind Dave, who by this point had become the clear leader of the group, whether he wanted to be or not. He felt an obligation to these men, and they followed him blindly, like sheep being led by a shepherd. He didn’t know whether they could tell he was making shit up as he went along. He threw a Hail Mary and sprinted towards the door of the building opposite them, the building he knew at least one sniper was inside of. They followed, miraculously not being hit. The sniper hadn’t realized they were out of the other building yet. Dave tried the door, but it was locked. He gestured to the largest man in the group, who stepped forward and willingly kicked it in. The moment the door was open, gunshots rang out all around them. Dave dove into the room, caution thrown to the wind, and tackled the nearest enemy combatant. The other men followed him inside, guns responding to the several fighters in the building, all of whom were making their way to the room, except the sniper. Dave had no idea why he had tackled the nearest breathing body, but he had knocked the guy’s gun out of the way, and they were now wrestling on the ground. The enemy pulled out a knife and slashed at Dave, hacking a long tear through his clothes and deep into his thigh. Dave saw red.