No Need to Talk Pt. 03: Olivia

"I think I want to do it," I said quietly. "You and well, my other dad, were both in the Army. I'd like to follow in your footsteps."

"I appreciate that, sweetheart, but you have to understand that recruiters are famous for promising one thing but delivering something else. I'd hate to see you get your hopes up only to have them dashed. Besides, you really want to be a sniper?"

"I feel like it was what I was meant to be, Dad. I can't explain it."

He looked at me for a long time, but I just looked back. "You realize that in the Army, on deployment, the targets are people, and your job is to kill them. That is a heavy burden for anyone to carry."

I nodded, remembering all the classic movies we had watched together. "The Longest Day" had been one of my favorites.

"And the targets shoot back, sweetheart. You could be hurt badly, or even killed." Dad was a lighthearted guy, though I had seen his serious side many times; but I had never seen him this serious.

I thought about it, then decided. "If something happens to me, I'll have my trust. If something bad happens, I get to decide who gets the money, right?"

His eyes were shining as he said, "That's right." Then he shook himself as if he were a little embarrassed.

"But what about college? You have enough money in your trust to go anywhere you want," Dad argued.

"I know. But I want to earn my own way in the world. You taught me the best things in life are the ones we earn for ourselves," I countered.

"You mean you really were listening to me?" Dad asked with a smile, causing us both to laugh.

"I always listened to you, even when you didn't think I was," I said. "I just want you guys to be proud of me."

"We're always proud of you, Olivia," Dad said. "And I know your other Dad would be proud of you as well. Is this something you really want to do?"

"Yes, it is," I said.

"Let's go talk to your mother then." I had the same conversation with Mom, but this time, Dad was on my side. After wiping her tears, Mom conceded that I was an adult, and able to make my own decisions. She didn't like what I had decided, but she was proud of me, nevertheless. Marie, who had just started college that year, felt the same.

Two days after that, Mom and Dad went to the recruiter's office with me and spoke to Sgt. Major Wilkerson. By the time we finished, I had signed the papers and was set to leave for recruit training after I graduated from high school.

My steady boyfriend, Larry Greene, wasn't happy with my decision at all. We hadn't made any firm plans but had discussed the possibility of going to college together. That was no longer a possibility, but I liked Larry a lot and thought we could make a go of it, even if it would be a long-distance relationship.

We ended the night by surrendering our virginities to each other. I insisted he use a condom, and fortunately, Mom had put me on birth control after I turned 18. We fumbled with each other's clothes and managed to make it happen. I can't say it was the greatest experience, but I had nothing to compare it to. Still, it was one I would never forget.

Recruit training wasn't as bad as I thought it might be, thanks largely to Dad's sage advice. I graduated at the top of my class and was prouder of the one stripe I earned than anything else.

After a quick visit with my family, I spent almost several months going from one training course to another. The advanced infantry training was a challenge, but I got through it with flying colors, even beating out some of the male soldiers who saw themselves as the modern version of Rambo. That's when I became an "11B," an Infantry soldier.

I was assigned to an infantry battalion and from there, I learned how to jump out of perfectly good airplanes and earned my parachutist badge. They put me through a battery of tests, which included psychological screening. Of course, I had qualified expert with the rifle, achieving a near-perfect score.

Physically, I was in excellent shape, owing partly to the fact that I neither smoked nor drank. I consistently scored extremely high on my physical fitness tests, and quite often beat my male counterparts. By the end of my first year, I had made PFC, finally qualifying for sniper school.

As for Larry, we had grown apart in more ways than one. He had met a nice girl in college, and to be honest, I felt as though I had outgrown him. We said our goodbyes over email, wishing each other the best in life.

I requested a seat in a Scout Sniper course, and that's where I truly excelled. That's not to say I had it easy - far from it. First off, I was the only female in the class, and second, some of my classmates were seasoned veterans, and more than one was already in the Special Forces. They all looked down on me as a "diversity hire," and it took a lot of hard work on my part to earn their respect.

Most of them thought I would wash out on the first day, which consisted of a grouping exercise to test our physical abilities and potential for marksmanship and reconnaissance. I made it, but some of the others didn't, surprising the remaining male soldiers.

The rest of the training - at least for me - was fun, although not a walk in the park by any definition. The men in my class repeatedly gave me a ration of shit, but it ended one day when Aaron Harker, a sergeant in the Special Forces, cornered me at my locker after the day's classes.

"How is it you're so good with that M110?" he asked, referring to the rifles we were using at that stage of our training.

"That's easy, Sgt. Harker," I said. "I just pretend I'm aiming for your balls. I figure if I can hit something that small, I can hit pretty much anything at 800 yards." Harker's smirk disappeared as the other men nearby snickered. I had no more trouble after that.

In fact, by the time the course was over, several of the men came to me for tips, including Harker. By then, almost a third of the students who started had washed out, and the others were looking for any edge they could find.

After graduation, I returned to my battalion, which was now headed for the Middle East. That's when I scored my first confirmed kill. At first, I thought I was going to throw up. Practice targets don't splash blood or gore. But I managed to keep it together, and continued my mission, moving to another location to take out my next target.

Not all my targets were live soldiers, however. Sometimes, I was ordered to perform reconnaissance and relay information back to battalion headquarters. Other times, I was tasked with taking out a piece of enemy equipment. It's amazing how you can take out an entire radar installation with one bullet in a bundle of optical fibers.

By the end of my second year in the service, I had been promoted to specialist. One day after I returned from the field with my spotter, the First Sergeant called me into the headquarters tent, saying the CO wanted to see me. When I reported to the captain, he put me at ease, then handed me a set of papers.

"You've been reassigned, Specialist Coleman. You're to report back to Fort Moore," he said, referring to the Army base once known as Fort Benning. "Gather your things, your flight leaves in two hours. Any questions?"

"Why am I being reassigned, sir?" I asked.

"Not sure, Specialist. These orders come from the top, so it's not my place to ask. I've put you in for a commendation for your work here. You've done an excellent job, and you'll be missed. I hope to see you again sometime in the future," he said, shaking my hand.

"Thank you, sir," I said. I gathered my gear, said goodbye to my fellow soldiers, wished them well, and reported to the transport plane with orders in hand.

When I arrived at Fort Moore, I was immediately taken to another compound where I met the team I'm working with now. The man in charge - a bearded man in green fatigues with no markings or insignia took my orders and looked me over.

"Specialist Coleman, reporting as ordered, sir," I said with a snappy salute. The man smirked, then nodded his head.

"You're Coleman... The wonder girl Washington promised me. I hope you're as good as they say."

Wonder girl? Where did that come from? Stunned, I replied with a question. "What are my orders, sir?"

"Your orders are to do as I say. And the first thing you're going to do is drop the 'sir' bullshit. You see any brass on this uniform?"

"No... So, what should I call you?" I asked.

"You can call me, Boss. Everyone here does."

"All right... Boss. Why was I pulled from my unit? Why am I here? Really?"

"Someone in Washington seems to think highly of your work. I can't tell you more until we leave, which is first thing in the morning. But for now, I want you to get rid of anything that screams, 'U.S. Army.' Ribbons, rank insignia, dog tags, patches, anything with your name on it - everything. Got it? Leave your gear here. Everything you need will be provided, and you can gather your stuff when we return. As of now, you're a ghost."

"Where are we going?"

"South. We'll have a nice little outing, then return in a few days. You are to say nothing about this to anyone, at any time, ever. Understand?"

"I got it, Boss," I said. "May I be excused now?"

"You're not a child, Coleman. You know what you need to do. Now go and get it done." I left the tent and followed another grizzled man to a smaller tent.

"This is yours," he said, holding the flap open. "Dinner is at 1830 hours."

"Thank you," I said, entering the small tent. There was a cot, a small table, and a lantern. I set my gear down, removed my fatigues, then set about doing what 'Boss' had ordered. It took a while, but I finally removed all the patches and markings from my camouflage uniform.

When the time came, I joined Boss and the others in the main tent for dinner, which consisted of field rations. The five other men were just as grizzled and salty as Boss and said very little to me.

"All right," Boss said when he finished eating. "Wheels up at 0430. Pack light. Only enough for a couple of days. You can leave your makeup and perfume here, Wonder Girl. By the way, are you on the rag?"

"No, are you?" I shot back, irritated at this man's condescending attitude. He smirked and the others snickered.

"Just be here at 0400. Don't be late."

"I won't." I stalked back to my tent as Smitty, one of the other men, caught up to me.

"What do you want?" I asked angrily.

"Nothing," he replied defensively. "Just don't take it personally, okay? Boss has lost quite a few men on these little missions, so he doesn't get very friendly with anyone. I thought you might like to know."

"Thank you for the info," I said. "I'd better get ready and grab a few hours of sleep."

"Yeah, okay," he said before leaving. I took the patches and insignia from another set of fatigues, then undressed and cleaned myself as best I could under the circumstances. There wasn't a shower in this little compound, and I was starting to feel somewhat grubby. After I cleaned up, I put enough in my pack to last two days, then added Dad's letter as an afterthought.

I was at the main tent at 0355 the following morning waiting for Boss and the others to show up. When they arrived, Boss handed me a sidearm and two fully loaded magazines, then took a scoped rifle out of a box and handed it to me, along with a handful of shells.

"I don't like using a weapon I've never fired before. How do I know it'll even work right?" I asked.

"Because I said so," he snarled before tossing a wide-brimmed camouflage hat in my direction. "Leave the Army hat here. Let's go."

We climbed into two Humvees and roared off toward the airfield where an unmarked transport plane waited. We climbed aboard and the plane took off before veering south. After the plane reached cruising altitude, Boss gathered us together to brief us on the plan.

"This is your target," he said, handing me a photo of a middle-aged Latino man. I felt my face flush when I looked at the photo. I've seen this man before, but I was only an eight-year-old girl at the time. He looked much as he did before, except he was older and had gained some weight.

"You okay, Wonder Girl?" Boss asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Who is this man?" I asked, determined not to let these men know I had seen the man in the photo.

"His name is Julio Cabrera. He's into all sorts of nasty things - drugs, human trafficking, you name it. They've been trying to get him for the last 20 years, but he's always managed to elude capture. This time, they're taking the capture option off the table," Boss said. "Think you can handle that? You're not squeamish at the sight of blood, are you?"

"No, I can handle it," I said coldly.

"You'd better. Smitty here will be your spotter. The rest of us are counting on you to take him out. He likes to take a swim early in the morning with one or more of his playmates. We don't want any friendly casualties, so you'll need to take some extra care. Once he's out, the rest of us will move in and rescue the hostages."

"How many do you estimate, Boss?" one of the other men asked.

"We estimate about five women and up to 20 children," Boss said.

"How many guards do you think he has around that hacienda?" another man asked.

"Intelligence says up to 15. Which is why we need to move in fast, hit hard, and get the fuck outta Dodge. Study these photos. I'll go over the details tonight when we arrive."

I slept off and on during the trip, as did the others. When we arrived, two Humvees carried us to our temporary quarters, where we split off and set up for the night. Boss gathered us in the common area and briefed us on the operation.

I was impressed with the level of detail that had gone into this. I was even more impressed when I realized my position was not only higher in elevation than the hacienda but that my back would be to the sun. Looking at the map, I estimated my target would be about 750 meters away. We ate a small meal after the briefing, then went to our separate rooms.

Laying here on my bed, looking up at the rotating fan above, I began to feel a little bit like the Martin Sheen character in the opening of "Apocalypse Now." I didn't freak out and punch a mirror the way his character did, but I did begin to wonder what things would be like after my service and if I would ever be able to live a normal life, with a normal relationship.

Boss wanted me to study the photo of Julio's face, but I didn't need to. His image had already been burned into my memory from the month I spent in Cancun with Mom and her boyfriend. I couldn't recall him performing any specific act against me, but I remembered feeling creepy around him. Finally feeling tired, I set the alarm on my watch and drifted off to sleep.

We gathered in the main area the following morning and ate a quick breakfast of eggs, bacon, and coffee. When we finished, Boss issued his final directions and asked if anyone had questions. No one did, so he nodded his head.

"Time to move out. Saddle up, everyone," he ordered.

When we arrived at my drop-off, Boss motioned for Smitty and me to head out. We got off the truck and headed out without another word. I had studied the map and knew where to go, so I led the way. It was a steep climb through the jungle, and Smitty was breathing heavily when we reached our objective.

I immediately prepared for the shot as Smitty set up his scope. The rifle Boss gave me looked well-used, but the optics were more advanced than anything I had ever used before and came complete with a laser rangefinder. Not that I needed it, but it was nice to have.

"I have my range at 746 meters," I told Smitty.

"746 meters, copy that," Smitty replied. There was a slight breeze coming down off the mountain, but nothing that should affect my shot. I loaded my rifle with five rounds and prepared to shoot.

"This one's for you, Dad," I whispered.

"What?" Smitty asked.

"Nothing," I said. I looked at my watch and saw I had about a minute before the team was onsite. I looked back through the electronic scope and saw a naked Julio climb into his pool, unaware that his life was about to end. There was a guard at each corner of the pool but with rifles slung. Obviously not expecting trouble... or expecting a show. A curvy nude woman with long dark hair climbed into his lap, and I saw Julio smile as she impaled herself on his cock.

She wriggled this way and that, and it crossed my mind that Julio would get to experience the "joy" of coming and going at the same time. I mentally demanded the stupid bitch get out of my way so I could get a clear shot.

As I watched, Julio threw his head back as he thrust into the woman in his lap, giving me a clear shot. I mentally timed their rhythm and saw him open his mouth as his head went back. This was it. I pressed the trigger and a second later saw the bullet strike between his eyes, spraying the poolside with blood and brain matter.

The woman jumped up, screaming, as Julio's lifeless body slumped into the pool. One of his bodyguards turned around and brought his weapon to the ready. I chambered another round and put a bullet in his head, then repeated the action two more times as the idiots panicked and scanned the surrounding jungle instead of taking cover.

The final guard fled, vanishing into the fronds overarching the path back to the hacienda. By then, I could hear gunfire coming from the hacienda and knew the team had arrived. Smitty reported on the net that one guard was headed back from the pool.

"We'd better get going," Smitty said.

I scanned the scene. There was too much foliage for any reliable shots around the building, and the road was almost totally invisible from here so I couldn't provide any covering fire.

"Copy that," I whispered, policing my brass. Smitty reported in. We quickly packed up and headed back to the rendezvous point. I saw the lead vehicle approach our position when we arrived. We quickly jumped inside when it slowed momentarily. Nothing was said as we sped to the airfield where the transport awaited us.

I did a nose count. Half the team and no one looked wounded, though one of the guys had two pockmarks in his body armor that he picked at with annoyance. Two women and seven children huddled in the middle of the floor, as protected as we could make them without armor.

The women were silent, bewildered, while the children whimpered in fear. A flashback to my eight-year-old self stung my heart as I imagined what they had been through.

Boss and the two others herded the hostages inside the transport and the rest of us set up a protective perimeter. It wouldn't do to have any avenging followers put a round in someone's back or into one of the engines.

As soon as the last civilian was in, we followed. The engines rumbled like an earthquake, and the aircraft lifted off and veered north. We stayed low and moved fast. Even a stealthy transport avoids radar when it can. Every bump brought gasps from the hostages. Boss sat down next to me as I looked out the window at the countryside below.

"Not bad, Wonder Girl," he said with a slight smile. "Not bad at all. For the record, you're welcome on my team any time."

"Thanks, Boss," I replied.

"Name's Jackson. Ryan Jackson," he said, holding out a hand.

"Olivia Coleman," I said, accepting his hand.

"Good to meet you, Olivia Coleman," he replied.

"Good to meet you, Ryan Jackson. So, how did we do?"

"Everyone got out and no one got hurt. Except for the bad guys, thanks largely to you," Ryan said. "By the way, when we get back to Moore, there's a transport waiting to take you to D.C. Your gear has already been secured on the transport. I understand someone wants to meet you."

"Oh? Who?" I asked.

"My boss," he said. "And yours, now. Get some rest, Olivia. You've earned it."