Page 112 of Walking Wounded

Will didn’t know if it was all a joke on Murray, or if the boys were really that drunk. He himself was too drunk to care either way, and could only watch, dumb and loopy, as Murray climbed up onto the wall and jumped feet-first down into the well.

There was a splash, and a yell. “It’s fuckingcold!” he shrieked, and everyone nearly died of laughter again.

“Come on,” Finn said when the arduous process of getting Murray out of the well began. “I don’t wanna be here when Sergeant chews their ass out.”

Will agreed, and they turned to begin the walk back up the hill to their tent.

Away from the others, the smile fell off Finn’s face. He shoved his hands in his pockets and grew contemplative, the full moon bright on his face. Will could tell he was in that strange limbo between too much drink to make sense, and just enough to say something he shouldn’t.

“Got a letter from Leena this morning.”

“That’s good.”

“You know what she said? She said, ‘I hope you don’t have to kill anyone, but if you do, I hope it isn’t terrible.’ She wrote that.” He turned to Will, teeth showing. “I mean, what the hell kinda woman says something like that?”

One with both feet planted on the ground, Will thought. Leena wasn’t the kind of woman who’d shrink away from the thought of blood or unpleasantness. He thought she could have been on the wagon train, splitting logs for a rough cabin with her husband. But he thought perhaps Finn saw her as more delicate than she was. So he said, “One who’s worried about you.”

“What would she even know about killing?” Finn kicked a rock that skittered off into the weedy tufts along the camp road.

Women knew all about bringing life into the world; Will figured they understood the mysteries of taking it too.

“Why isn’t she out dress shopping?” Finn continued. “She’s writing to me about killing instead.” His voice took on a bitter, angry edge.

“She’s just worried, that’s all. What, you’dratherhear about dress shopping?”

“Yes.” And then: “Maybe. I dunno.”

Then Will understood. If Leena wrote to him about mundane Leesburg business, about shopping, and the gossip at the beauty parlor, and whatever new crazy kick his little sisters were on, the letters were an escape. He needed to lose himself in her tidy script and pretend, for the time it took him to read the letter, that she was far removed from the mud, and bullets, and sweaty smelly roughness of the men. Will hadn’t realized that Finn – king of the Unflappables – had needed such an escape. He felt like a terrible and inadequate friend, suddenly.

“Finn.” He came to a halt and Finn did a half-step later, turning back to face him. His eyes were shiny. Not tears, but emotion helped along with alcohol. “Is it…are you…” He couldn’t ask if his friend was afraid, or if he regretted this. “I’m sorry,” he said instead.

Finn smiled and shook his head. “Shit, Will. Don’t be sorry. That’s just the thing – Ilikethis.”

“But…”

Finn took his elbow and shoved him the last few paces to their tent. They were the only ones inside, and the small space looked larger with just the two of them.

“Look,” Finn said, sitting down on his cot and leaning forward, tone confidential. “I’m good at being a Marine.” He wasn’t bragging; it was a simple fact. “And I think there was a part of me, back home, that always worried – even though I knew I wanted to join up, I wanted it more than anything – that I might not be as ready as I thought. That I might not be cut out for it, you know?”

Will nodded.

“But it’s – God, will, it’s soeasy. I don’t even have to think about it. I don’t…” He bit his lip. In a small voice, he said, “The killing doesn’t bother me. Isn’t it supposed to bother me?” His gaze lifted to Will’s, pleading.

“I don’t know,” Will admitted. “I don’t think it doesn’t bother you. I think it’s more setting aside the way it makes you feel for now, so you can do it.”

“What if I like it?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know.”

Will swallowed, once and then again, throat too dry. “It was different for me after we got here. After I saw what the South Koreans had been through. It’s evil what the North did to them. That’s what you’re feeling,” Will said. “You know that, and so you don’t feel bad about shooting them.”

Finn didn’t respond.

“You’re a good Marine,” Will said, firmly. “Our country needs good Marines.”

“But what happens when we stop being Marines?”

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