Jackie's mind was still active, even when he went to bed that night. The dread, the hurt, the rush of a kill. Taking a life was never nice for him. This time however, he did it so… Easily. Was this really his path? He took such a massive effort to better himself, to go beyond the thuggish brute with a rifle in hand and a smile on his face, yelling yes sir and no sir. You don't ask questions in the army. Especially if you're being asked for something off the books.
December, 2002. Somewhere in South Korea.
It was a well needed vacation. Jackie, 19 at the time, was still figuring shit out in the world. Fresh-faced, eyes full of an optimism he thought lost in that silently broken home back in New York. He joined the army in February of last year, a week after his birthday. That last conversation before leaving he'd never forget.
The White household was rather boring, screaming mundane, tacky. It looked like it never left the 70s. Not even the cooler side, just a rotting, chipping dying decade that refused to go away. That February morning was biting, with the chill unforgiving and relentless, like any New York winter should be. Jackie was in the living room, alone, looking around. It wasn't too long ago he celebrated graduating early. Well, celebrated with his friends, that is. He got a hug from his parents before departing for work and chores respectively. That was the last straw.
Mom came down first, her gown in tow. Her black flowing hair touched her back elegantly with no gray in sight, passing such good hair down to Jackie who had the same look going on even at 18. She saw the bags and looked back to her son. "Where are you going?"
Jackie, wearing his shitty winter coat, jeans, and worn brown boots, sat on a couch arm rest. "The army."
"The…" She paused, looking silently shocked at her boy. Jackie never saw her emote in such a way. "You tell me this now? What did your father say?"
"I ain't tell him."
"Did not tell him," She corrected, pointing a finger at him. "You can't just make a drastic decision like this."
Jackie shrugged. "Says who?"
"I say so." She turned away. "Oliver!"
A few minutes later, the father stepped down, as Renae frustratedly sat on the couch across from him. Oliver was balding, beard full of white, his age clear on such a weathered face. He sat with his wife as she recalled the entire story so far to him. "The army? Are you crazy, boy?"
The son rolled his eyes. "I'm crazy now? I'm surprised you all care even."
Oliver looked dumbfounded with Renae, scoffing at their son's gall. "Care? You're my son of course I care. And I'm not going to have my boy get killed in some random country."
Renae chimed in. "We talked about this, Jackie. You wanted to go to school for engineering, right? We'd said we can help pay–"
Jackie snapped. This game has gone far enough. "I DON'T! See? You don't listen. You never listen. I don't know what I want, and it's YOUR fault."
Father stood up. "Watch your tone boy…"
"You don't give a shit. You never gave a shit." Jackie's young eyes began to well up, teenage angst pouring out. "I was just a way to live the life you both wish you had. You don't want me, you never did."
Mother started yelling. "That is enough! Jackie White. Go upstairs, now."
"I'm going to the army."
Oliver stood up completely, facing his only son down. He stared at him, more like scowling. "And when you get your arm blown off, we'd be long gone. Choose wisely, Jack."
Jackie wasted no time, standing up, and grabbed his bag. "Good. You don't have to pretend to love me anymore." He stormed out, got in a taxi, and left, heading to the drop off zone to start his new life.
He hadn't heard from his parents since. He'd thought to call when the towers fell, but they lived far from the World Trade anyway. They'd be fine. Besides, they didn't call, fuck them. He even returned home to help out a few folks in the city, he never bothered to stop by. No letters, no calls. Nothing.
There Jackie was, sipping a fruity drink in some bar, enjoying the time off he earned. His previously shaven head was growing back a bit of a darker buzz, the teenage stubble had set in, and the more softer features of his face set in. The TV blared about the news in Korea. He could hardly understand the language. Jackie's understanding of Korean was only for things he needed. Like "Drink" or "Directions" or "Please fuck me."
He usually rested in the back, away from eyes. Never liked a crowd, especially when you don't understand the shit they're spewing at you. He was too busy daydreaming to see a very important man walk into this seedy establishment. Once he reached the back, the man knocked on the table to get Jackie's attention. He looked toward the direction, seeing Colonel Adam Wittman. "Ah shit," Jackie said, scrambling to stand to salute.
Wittman laughed and gestured to him to settle. "At ease, Privite." He sat on the booth across from Jackie, as he did what his superior commanded. "Jackie, right?"
"Yes sir," He replied.
"I've heard about you. You did the best out of anyone on our shooting tests. You've only been here a year and I already have some high praises from your peers."
Jackie smiled. "Thank you, sir."
"We can discuss this on base. It's a sensitive matter," Wittman said, placing a few won down on the table to pay for his drinks, and left quickly, making Jackie follow.
Back at base camp, under a tent away from leering eyes and wandering ears, Jackie started his bad habit of smoking as he looked at the slideshow presented before him. There was just him, the Colonel, and the man operating the slides. Wittman cracked his knuckles, then began his speech. "So, as you know, last year Al-Qaeda hit the towers. Almost three thousand bodies in one day. I had chats with our Generals, everyone who knows what's really going on, we're going to war sometime next year. We just have a little problem. A loose end. A major loose end."
He clicked the slide, showing the face of an African man, head wild with dreads, intense brown eyes, and a chiseled, scared face. He was posing for some mugshots, it seemed. "This is Albain. The people call him 'The Man of Freedom' or something like that. We held… Some stake in Zora for the last few decades, and he didn't much agree with our presence."
Jackie, for the first time in a while, Jackie was confused by something he was told. "Stake?"
"Stake, yes. We had some troops there, some cities would give us oil in exchange for protection. A far deal. The wars that go on there are brutal."
"Oh."
Wittman went back to explaining, the operator clicking to the next slide showing a map of Zora, resting between Nigeria and Cameroon. "On November 13th, 2001, He waged war on us. Albain was able to raise a new terrorist organization in the chaos after the September attacks, the Black Liberation Party. He attacked here, near the oil fields on the south side and traveled up to the coast. We gave them a year of fighting and bombardment, and because of that we got exposed for our involvement. They say we're imperialists. We can't have the public be against us now, especially when we're going to war soon."
Jackie piped up. "So you want me to go to Zora? Clean up and leave?"
"Not exactly," Wittman said, making the operator click back to Albain. "Our best guys are pulling out of Africa. We need proven rookies and a few veterans to take this on. The clean up is already done. Your task is to kill Albain. He can't live to see another revolution. I don't care about anyone else. I just want Albain dead. Of course, this won't be official. All under the table, records will show you'd be in Angola. You'd make America proud, son, and that comes with a lot of rewards. Are you in?"
It was a lot to take in. He was only here a year and he's already killing revolutionaries for America. With a sigh, Jackie nodded.
"Yes, sir."