Free Monster by Bernard L. DeLeo

into fights at first when I attended the Reservation school. John taught me what doesn’t kill me, makes me stronger.”
    “Why did you leave? I mean what made you go into the Service?” Reskova asked, completely taken with McDaniels’ background.
    “No work. John and his wife barely had enough to feed themselves. We had to hunt and poach constantly to make ends meet. By the time I turned seventeen, there really wasn’t much further to go in the reservation school. We had a big drop out rate. I passed my GED and joined the army. I had been in for almost three years while working my way up into Special Forces just in time for the first Gulf War.”
    “Did you go back to see the couple who raised you very often?”
    “I spent every leave with them. John and I would walk the old trails where he had taught me how to track. Then the three of us would sit around into the early morning hours, sometimes in silence, and sometimes talking of old times. John told me the tales of his ancestors who fought fierce battles with the Comanche, Spanish, and Americans. I don’t remember how many times I heard them but he would always remember something new.”
    “Sounds wonderful.”
    “Actually, pretty bleak. Life on the reservation was full of the good and the bad. God knows what I would have done if I hadn’t joined the army.”
    McDaniels laughed suddenly, shaking his head at a memory.
    “What?”
    “Nothing, only when I first came home in my uniform and Green Beret, John used to call me Custer.”
    “Was he mad at you for joining the army?”
    “No way! It was just his way of putting me in my place a little. I was pretty swelled up with myself. We better get out of here. Maybe the Syrian Fig Newtons will arrive soon.”
    “I think they’re on a soccer team this time. Stay in here for a little bit while I check with your friend about the seating. You stick out like a sore thumb. There’s no use in tipping anyone off.”
    “Okay,” McDaniels agreed, as Reskova stood up to leave. “Ask Ken if he has an exact head count.”
    “I will.” Reskova walked out of the restaurant. She spotted Ken sitting by himself, reading a newspaper. Reskova looked around for any sign of the Syrians. When she didn’t spot any of the Middle Eastern party she sat down next to McDaniels’ friend. Ken glanced over from his paper and then went back to reading.
    “You’re all set,” Folley said without looking at Reskova.
    “Cold wants to know if you have an exact headcount.”
    Folley chuckled. “Fourteen.”
    “Damn! Our intel was eight.”
    “I guess the State Department wants to make sure they have a small army aboard if they decide to make their move.”
    “How did you know about the Colonel’s Apache guardians?”
    “They flew out to see him at Walter Reed. We ended up there next to each other. He was surprised to see them. I guess they blew a bunch of the money he’d sent them to live on, to visit him.”
    “He was wounded too?”
    “After I got hit and my co-pilot had been killed Cold dragged me out of the AC-130 which was on fire. Just when he handed me over the outcropping his team was covering us from, a mortar round landed near us. It blew him right over the outcropping and into our position. A bunch of shrapnel made it around his flak jacket and helmet. One piece carved a furrow up the back of his neck, and along the side of his head.”
    “You guys are lucky to be alive.”
    “You don’t know the half of it. His neck and head bled like a stuck pig. Man, I thought he’d bleed out before anyone could work on him. Anyway, Cold started telling John and Sara they shouldn’t have come. The old man told him they had to come out to see how their Little Big Horn was. Those two looked ancient. Sara just held his hand the whole time while John kept riding him, calling him Custer, and asking him if the Afghans had taken his hair. Cold’s head was all bandaged up. He introduced me in between laughing at the