Page 49 of Nights Without Night
How successful those tactics have been in their goal is something I wouldn’t be able to answer.
A-Teams are composed of twelve people; a ten-strong operating team under the supervision of a Detachment Commander with the rank of Captain, and a Detachment Technician. The operating team, composed of the people who actually engage in the combat missions, is led by the Team Sergeant, which Isadoro had been promoted to after the then-team-sergeant had been injured. Isadoro had been supported by the Assistant Operation Sergeant, the only woman and the now-leader of the A-team. Under them, the positions had come in pairs, with a Sergeant and Assistant Sergeant in each; two Engineering Sergeants, two Weapons Sergeants, two Medical Sergeants, and two Communications Sergeants.
Now, as we make it to the restaurant Muhafiz had suggested, we spot four of his fellow Sergeants waiting outside. Isadoro had told me plenty about them over the phone when he was deployed, and I had seen them in pictures and on Skype, but it’s striking to see them there, solid and unpixellated.
Muhafiz spots us first. Like Isadoro had mentioned, he’s a big guy, with the dark skin of Pakistani descent and a large, square head, as if a child had tried to draw a house but got a face instead. He nudges the guy next to him, Doc, the Medical Sergeant, who couldn’t be more different in appearance. With the fairer skin of inland Philippines, his face is long and narrow. Where Muhafiz is a crude drawing, Doc is painted by a traditional Japanese brush, depicting the round lines of a kitsune.
The other two people, both Weapons Sergeants, turn as well.
“Team Daddy!” Ricky shouts, waving widely. My mouth falls open, and I slowly turn to grin at Isadoro.
“Team Da-”
“Don’t even,” he cuts me off. I laugh.
“Must you with the noise?” David is saying as we approach.
“You know I’m deaf in one ear!” Ricky protests.
“That’s your own fault for not using the appropriate protection.”
“Urgh, you and your appropriate protection. You probably use like ten condoms at once.”
“Actually, using various condoms increases the chance-”
“Dorado!” Ricky cuts David off and jumps to give Isadoro a hug. Whereas David is slim and sober-looking, his serious eyes peering from a dark-skinned face, Ricky is a compact brick. He’s Chilean, explaining Isadoro’s “Dorado” nickname origin, and a very loud counterpart to David.
“Hey, Ricky,” Isadoro laughs as they pat each other on the back.
“Aren’t you glad you don’t have to deal withthatanymore?” David says as he embraces Isadoro.
“Hey!” Ricky protests.
“Kinda missed him, actually,” Isadoro says, slugging and hugging Muhafiz and Doc in turn.
I’m not left out of the welcome. Each of them hug and pat me on the back like I’m a fellow soldier too, saying how glad they are to finally meet me.
“Me too. We’ve got so much dirt to exchange on this guy,” I say, pointing a thumb at Isadoro, who rolls his eyes.
“I knew I liked you,” Ricky says.
“Let’s go to our table. I got us one on the patio, facing the beach,” Muhafiz says.
“Man, are you trying to wine and dine us? Never knew you had it in you, nerd,” Ricky says.
“I’m sorry, who is single out of the two of us?” Muhafiz says, causing David to laugh. Ricky turns to him.
“Et tu, David?” he says, clutching at his chest.
We are guided by a waitress to the patio. I’m confused for a moment when she points us to an already occupied table, but as the woman turns her head to us I immediately recognize her. It’s Callie, Isadoro’s second-in-command.
Isadoro stops in his tracks, face falling in surprise, and then lighting up completely.
“Callie!”
“Surprise!” She grins back, and they meet in the middle, embracing. Isadoro holds her tight, and my heart squeezes for him. I am starkly grateful for this trip, this moment, these people, for putting that expression on Isadoro’s face.
“Okay, okay, let’s sit down,” Doc says. Isadoro and Callie break apart with a laugh, and we all ignore its watery quality, sitting around the round table.
