Helltown - Jeremy Bates Page 0,47

American students could have gone as planned. But that was the thing with life: there were no second chances, no rewinding time.

Burt Jackson and Big Dave died within seconds of each other. Small arms fire erased their faces, flinging them to the ground and knocking off their helmets. Shortly after this a mortar round blew Oklahoma Eddy to confetti. The detonation was close enough to Beetle it charged the air around him and splattered him with Eddy’s blood and guts.

The rest of the platoon was slaughtered in a similar fashion. In the chaos and confusion only Beetle and two other Rangers made it to the shanties beyond the shoreline, where they escaped into the zigzag of back streets and hunkered down in a derelict café. Otter, an anti-tank gunner, had been shot in the back, Pips, a sniper, in the leg. Beetle put pressure on Pip’s wound and told him he was going to be okay, lies, he knew, because the bullet had severed a main artery or vein. Pips died listening to those lies a few minutes later. Knowing Otter was next if he didn’t receive proper medical attention, Beetle set off on his own to the nearby abandoned Russian Embassy in the hopes of finding a two-way radiotelephone. He killed two Cuban soldiers he came across with his bare hands so as not to raise an alarm and reached the embassy undetected. Inside he discovered the power was out and retrieved a first-aid kit as consolation. While leaving he turned a corner and bumped chest-to-chest into a lone Russian diplomat.

Beetle recognized him immediately. The day before the man had driven alone to Point Salines to deliver an official message from his government to the senior American commander at the recently captured airfield. Beetle and another Ranger had searched him and his car. He had been polite and respectful and thanked them when they finished their search and handed him back his wallet, inside of which he carried a photograph of two beautiful daughters.

The diplomat didn’t recognize Beetle, not bloody and dusty, his face painted in black camouflage, his eyes alight with the craziness of watching several of his brothers die and killing two men with his bare hands, all within the last hour.

The diplomat tried to run. Beetle caught him easily and tied him up with telephone cord. It took him ten minutes of agonizing before he worked himself up to kill the man. It had to be done, he told himself. He didn’t know how long he and Otter were going to have to hide out on the small island, behind enemy lines. It could be weeks or months. The man might be a civilian, and a father of two, but he was still allied with the enemy.

Beetle killed him as he had the Cubans, wrapping his arms around the man’s head from behind and twisting sharply to the right. Back at the café Beetle disinfected Otter’s wound and bandaged him up. They spoke of their families until they fell asleep, but when Beetle woke in the middle of the night, Otter was dead.

The following day US Forces took control of Grenada, the leader of the rebellion was captured, and just like that the invasion was over—and Beetle was sent home to resume life as normal.

A knock at the door caused Beetle to jump. He realized he’d been staring at his reflection for five minutes or so. Long enough, at any rate, for the mist to clear from the mirror.

Beetle exited the bathroom. The door to the hallway didn’t have a peephole.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Open up.” The voice was rough, deep.

“Who is it?”

“Open up!”

Beetle went to the bed. He tossed the towel onto the mattress, then pulled on a pair of laundered boxers from his rucksack.

“Hey!” the man shouted. “This is your last warning!”

Beetle dressed in the same jeans and woodland camouflage shirt he’d had on earlier. He slipped the Beretta into the waistband of the jeans, fitting it snugly against the small of his back.

He returned to the door. On the other side of it he heard at least two people conversing in low tones. A moment later a key turned in the lock. The door swung inward.

Two large men wearing wool sweaters and reeking of BO stood shoulder to shoulder in the doorway. The one on the left had a shaved head and a bulldog face with flaxen, almost nonexistent eyebrows. The one on the right had dark hair and a matching goatee. The family resemblance,