Story Time -- "Reverse Engineering"
Monday, 1703 hrs
As “the home of the brave” echoed through the air, Lieutenant Joseph Sanchez would normally have been completing his daily meditation on the meaning of freedom. The young intelligence officer with the 715th Engineer Battalion sat mesmerized. Almost everyone else had already left the office - almost. Lt. Sanchez sat at his desk with his back to the cubicle entrance, immobile. He listened - he could still hear her in the office. Dress uniform day meant she was wearing heels, and Sanchez could hear them clacking across the tile floor. Joseph quickly gathered his tool belt and his paperwork, shoving them into his satchel. He kept his head down so as not to be seen.
The clacking indicated that she was in the walkway between his cubicle and the door, which was on the far side of the office. Joseph ducked out, going the long way around. He was short enough that if he kept his head down, he could walk normally and still remain unseen. Sanchez rolled his heels so his hard-sole shoes wouldn’t make noise. Turning the corner toward the door, he would see the coast was clear; Joseph increased his speed and reached the door handle uninhibited.
“Hi there, Joe,” she belted as he pulled the door back. He was caught. The desperation flooded across his face. Joseph stepped back and held the door. “Running off without me?” she asked.
“Certainly not…Alexia…” Sanchez hadn’t been an officer very long, but he still wasn’t used to addressing a non-com so informally. Alexia placed her hand on his shoulder and let her hair drape over part of his face. Joseph looked up to make eye contact with her, leaning against the door, trying in vain to put distance between them.
“I missed you today, Joe,” she continued. “You didn’t call, you didn’t stop by my desk…” she trailed off. Alexia’s hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck. “Are you trying to avoid me?” Sanchez clinched his fist tightly as she moved in for a kiss.
Joseph’s countenance changed in an instant. Her face was an inch away as he reached up to her shoulder blades. Faster than she could realize, he whipped her around to where she was suspended beneath him. A momentary look of surprise turned into a mischievous glare as she hung there. Joseph lingered an inch away for a brief pause, then his face began moving away from her. Alexia’s face turned to confusion immediately before hitting the floor beneath her. Sanchez stepped over her body and proceeded toward his car.
“Goodnight, Sergeant Carter,” Sanchez shouted. Pulling the keys out of his pocket, he also retrieved his rosary. Staring down at the crucifix, he smiled, unlocking his driver’s door. “I’m a man again,” he uttered confidently.
Sunday, 1625 hrs
John Sanchez paced around the sanctuary, moving from bead to bead on his rosary. Five more minutes and he could lock up the base chapel and go home. Father Sanchez turned around at the noise of the confessional door rattling. Someone apparently sneaked in while his back was turned. As Father John closed the door to his side of the booth, he waited for the knock from the other side. The slow knock eventually drifted through. A slow, soft knock usually indicated a hangover. Sanchez slid the door open to hear the person on the other side.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” mumbled a familiar voice. “I…failed. I failed my unit, I failed my da-boss, I failed as a man.”
“What did you do, my son?” The priest still had difficulty calling anyone “son,” even after working this job for two years.
“I let her take me…and then…I let her let me take her…”
“How long has it been since your last confession?” Father John knew the answer before asking.
“How the hell long do you think, Johnny?”
“Joe…” The priest leaned back in his booth.
“She took it from me, Johnny!” Joseph clawed at the screen separating them. “I gave it to her and let her take it from me!” The priest contemplated how long to let this go on. His digital watch now read 1635. Looking back through the screen, his brother was crying. Father John opened the door to his brother’s side of the confessional. The lieutenant sat balled up on the floor, still wearing the same clothes he stumbled home in.
John pulled his brother up over his shoulder and began to walk him out. “Let’s go, bud,” John patted him on the shoulder. “You’re not the only one she’s taken…took a lot of guts for you to come in here today.”
Sunday, 0537 hrs
Mary Sanchez shook her oldest brother by the shoulder, trying not to make noise while waking him up. “John,” the teenager whispered, “there’s someone downstairs tearing up the place, wake up!”
John lay back for a second, then shot up, realizing what she had said. He peeked out the door while Mary hung back, still uncertain what was going on below. The noises got louder when John opened the door. John inched out into the hallway and disappeared. Mary wanted to hang back where it was safe, but couldn’t bear the fear from not seeing him going into danger.
By the time Mary reached the door, John was leering around the corner of the stairwell for his first glance at the intruder. “Joe!” he shouted, and the noise stopped. John emerged from the safety of the wall. “Geez, Joe, what are ya doin?”
Mary hurried down the stairwell. The living room was a mess. Joseph had chucked three screwdrivers into his new flat screen TV, ripped up the couch with his razor knife, and now stood still, breathing heavily, tightly gripping his claw hammer.
The three stared at each other without speaking for a brief moment. Joe lowered his eyes as he move in the direction of his siblings. Immediately before passing by, he stopped. John and Mary looked at each other. Joe looked back and hummed his claw hammer across the room, knocking a picture frame off the coffee table.
Joe’s siblings stood aside to let him stumble up the stairs to his bed. Mary ran to John, hugged him and broke down crying. John did his best to calm her, sitting her down on the shredded couch. Mary picked the shattered picture frame up off the floor as she wiped away her tears. John wandered around the living room, trying to figure out where to start cleaning.
“Hey, it’s okay…Dad’s still outta town,” John whispered to comfort his sister. “He’d go crazy if we saw this mess, but we’ve still got time to clean it up.”
“Johnny?” Mary called. “Have you seen this picture?” She turned the cracked frame over, showing a picture of Joseph with their father, Lt. Colonel Michael Sanchez, and First Sergeant Alexia Carter in between.
Wednesday, 2235 hrs
Lt. Colonel Sanchez opened the front door to see his sons watching the evening news. “How my boys doing tonight?” he announced.
“Doing well, sir!” Joe shouted, mocking the dialogue they had been taught from boyhood.
“Where ya been, Dad?” John asked, standing up to hug his father.
“Don’t you worry bout that, boy…I ain’t confessing to you here.” Michael plopped down next to Joseph. “Son, I’m real proud to have you in my unit. Generals don’t let you hand pick your staff officers every day, you know.”
“Yes sir, I do appreciate it. Hey, check out what I got today.” Joe passed his dad a framed 4”x6” photograph. “From the Change of Command ceremony on Monday.”
“Hey, it’s Alex-” the senior Sanchez cut himself off. “I mean, Sergeant Carter.” He paused before setting the frame back on Joe’s lap. “Sergeant Carter,” he repeated, trailing off.
“She gave me that at the office today,” Joe interjected.
“Yep, I bet she did.” Michael paused again. “Quite a woman, ain’t she? Now…now, don’t you let that Amazon intimidate you boy, or…” Michael shook his finger, muttering, “Or…she’ll own you.”
The men sat silently while Michael rubbed his knees, nervously glancing around the room. Finally, he stood, produced a cigarette, and made for the front door. “Or she’ll own you,” Michael muttered as he closed the door behind himself.
Monday, 1648 hrs
“We don’t make overtime at this unit, Colonel,” Alexia called, leaning into her new commander’s office. Lt. Colonel Sanchez was still setting up his workspace, the first opportunity he had since taking command earlier that morning. “Care for a little celebration?” she asked.
Sanchez looked back as she waved a bottle of brandy. “Hell, why not,” he replied. Carter ducked out of the office to get two glasses, checking to make sure everyone else had left after the party. She returned with the glasses filled three fingers high. While Sanchez turned his back to adjust his bookshelf, she dropped the contents of a small white capsule into his drink.
“To our new commander!” Carter raised her glass.
“To our men - and women!” Sanchez replied. He lifted his glass and drank, savoring the alcohol’s particular bite.
“Anything you need from the men, sir, you let me know - I got this unit under control.” Carter winked at him. “Anything.”
“How…” Sanchez started, “do you…” he paused again, “…know what I was gonna ask?”
“That’s my job, sir.” Carter leaned across the desk. “And I do it well.”
“No, do you know what I was going to ask?” The officer looked at his glass. “Pull out the good stuff on me?” Carter lit a cigarette as she perched on his desk. “Wait…you…can’t…”
“Can’t what, Michael?” Carter took a long drag and blew the smoke in his face. She pushed her commander and his chair back from his desk as she sat on his lap. “I just want you to know, I run this unit, Michael.”
“You won’t get away…” Sanchez tried to move, but found himself paralyzed.
“Your glands still work, Michael,” Alexia finished her glass. “I drank, we screwed,” she drew closer to whisper in his ear, “In a rape case, if I say I didn’t want it, I’ll win hands down.”
Michael’s eyes glazed over as the National Anthem’s drum roll played across the loud speaker. “O say, can you see?”