Piranha

“Whether she’s a Commie or not,” said Peterson, “you’re going to have to turn her over to her government.”

“She’s my prisoner,” said Da

Peterson took a long breath obviously designed to underline what he was going to say next. “Captain, you have to follow proper procedures. And if there’s a village that’s threatening our post, then—”

“We’ll survey the village to see if it’s a threat,” said Da

“For grabbing some scissors?” said Bree.

Da

“I want to talk to Colonel Bastian,” said Da

Stoner walked along the perimeter of the airstrip, letting the light rain soak his face and clothes. He knew he wanted it to purge his anger. He also knew it wouldn’t work, not completely.

Desire was the cause of all suffering. He stared into the droplets of rain, gazing out at the ocean. The furling waves had no desire; they were just drop of water pushed by physics.

Like him.

Not like him. He hated Woods—he hated all of the Navy people. And the Marines. Especially the Marines.

Irrationally, ridiculously. He had been a SEAL, and yet he hated the Navy. His assignments with the Company made use of his Navy expertise. Yet he hated the Navy. With no reason, beyond a hundred thousand insults and injuries, all to his ego, all meaningless in the great flow of life.

He would never be a true Buddhist, since he could not denounce is ego. Maybe he didn’t want to be a true Buddhist—which, ironically, would make him closer to being one. The koan of it was a beautiful, humorous circle.

Stoner held his fingers together, his arms down at his sides, absorbing the rain. He actually liked Freah for not wanting to turn the idiot girl over to the Filipino Army. He liked all the Dreamland people—Zen Stockard especially. The major had just sat there, listening, not forming a judgement. The guy knew shit every second he was awake, but he didn’t bitch about it.

And his wife, his beautiful wife …

Stoner let the idea float out toward the water. Desire was the cause of all suffering, the Buddha taught, and this was still the most difficult lesson to reconcile.

Da

“Hey, Cap,” said Powder as Da

“Yeah,” said Da

“So what’s with the girl?” asked Powder. “Tried to shoot your head off?”

“Something like that.”

“Like that girl is Bosnia, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Da

Oh, he realized.

Oh!

“Spooky replay, huh?”

Da

“You know, I hadn’t even thought about it,” he told the sergeant. “I didn’t even remember that.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Da

“Really, Cap? You blocked the whole sucker out?”

More or less. It had probably poked at him when he realized the person he’d grabbed was a woman, but he hadn’t really remembered, or thought about it, maybe because he was too focused on doing his job. Or maybe the memory was just too much.

The other woman was a Muslim too.

“Shit,” said Da

“Captain?”

“Let’s go get some coffee,” he told Powder. “Assuming these Navy guys know how to make it.”

He’d been in Italy as part of a Special Tactics Squadron, and through a series of related and unrelated developments, wound up being assigned with two of his men to accompany a UN negotiating team. The UN people were to meet with government officials at a police station in an obscure hillside town. The day before Da

Scouting the ingress and egress routes went quickly. The police station was located near the town’s biggest intersection, which, despite the Yug’s assurance, was highly problematic. Da