The Keeper
Copyright© 2021 by Charly Young
Chapter 23
Deafening blasts of incoming mortar fire woke Quinn out of a sound sleep. The harsh glare of white phosphorus flares flickered against the room’s curtains.
“I’m hit,” a familiar voice screamed.
Corporal Bobby Durant of Beaumont, Texas was shrieking in pain.
He scrabbled frantically, searching for his Unit One bag.
Couldn’t find it.
He was unprepared, and a corpsman who was unprepared to do his job meant Marines died.
There was no worse sin.
The platoon stood in a circle watching, eyes accusing.
Quinn lunged out of the bed, lungs gasping for breath. His foot caught in the sweat-soaked sheets—tripped— and the pain of his face hitting the floor woke him.
Sanity slowly returned.
Thunder and lightning continued outside.
“Just a dream that’s all.” The hoarse sound of his voice echoed in the dark bedroom.
“Just a dream,” he scrubbed the tears from his face and walked into the bathroom to get a drink of water.
Every unit Quinn was ever attached to had a young, brash and irreverent kid. The 1st of the 5th Marines had Bobby. He was first aware of him in Helmand Province, when Bobby stepped into the squad’s tent and shouted, “Bobby Durant of Beaumont Texas is here to kick some Taliban ass.” It should have made him seem like a douche, but Bobby was Bobby, and it came off as funny and they all laughed. After that everybody, even the LT, called him by his full name-Bobby Durant of Beaumont Texas.
Quinn had kept in touch with the Gunny after he mustered out. Two months after he left, the Gunny sent word that Bobby went back home to Beaumont, Texas — by way of Dover in a casket.
Bobby Durant of Beaumont, Texas hadn’t called out to him for a long time.
Now he was back.
“I am such a fucking pogue,” Quinn muttered as he drifted back to an uneasy sleep. “Thanks to the Mother that the Gunny isn’t here to see me like this.”
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