BLACKOUT PROTOCOL: FORGOTTEN SOLDIER

The Lesson

Chapter 1

Ferris Street never failed to remind everyone of the neighborhood they belonged to.

Rakina learned that lesson before he could even learn long division. He learned it from the sneer of Mrs. Callahan's son who spat on the ground whenever Rakina rode his bike past their front fence, as if the sidewalk were somehow polluted by his mere presence. He learned it from the teachers who saved him for last and the store clerks who only gave the black youths in their shop the attention they required with their elbows.

At age eight Rakina had learned the lingua franca no one was willing to teach him.

His father never allowed him to feel burdened by it.

Marcus Rakina arrived home every night from working on the docks, reeking of motor oil and something else his son would not discover for another decade and a half—gunpowder and adrenalin. He would scoop up his boy and toss him around the kitchen until Rakina's mother would swat his father's hands away with a dish towel, feigning offense. Put my boy down before you hurt yourself, old man. His father was thirty-one years old.

The night the strangers came, his father should have been home

Rakina often wondered where he was that fateful evening, for he saw no reason for him to have been anywhere else. He remembered the stillness of the night before, the wrong kind of stillness that seemed to hold its breath. He remembered waking up in his bed and realizing he was not in his bed, he was standing at the top of the stairs, stark naked, watching two shadows lean over his mother's favorite dish, now lying on the floor, the ceramic surface barely broken save for a few dents. He remembered the front door opening and his father standing in the doorway

He had seen his father's eyes before when he was overcome with sleep deprivation and exhaustion, but never had he seen such a look, never had he seen the resignation that made his father look like a man who had lived too long.

It did not last.

The first stranger leveled a crowbar at his father's skull and missed by a hair, his father twisting his attacker's arm behind his back until the crowbar clattered to the floor, along with a bloodcurdling scream that ended abruptly when the second stranger drove his knuckles into his father's ribs, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling on his backside. The second stranger drew a gun from his belt and his father cracked him in the temple, sending him to his knees, the gun skidding from his fingers. Rakina's father kicked the gun away, emptying the magazine into the carpet, discarding the useless hunk of plastic with casual ease as if it were nothing more than a toy.

Both men were on the floor groaning but very much alive

"Get out of my house," his father said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You cross my family again I will be less accommodating."

They fled into the night. No one called the police that night, not even Rakina's father, who took very particular care in disposing of evidence an eight year old boy would never have to see. By morning it was business as usual except for the indentation in the drywall where his father's shoulder had connected with the nearest stranger's skull.

His mother cried into his father's chest for a long time before he gently pulled away and sat on the stairs where Rakina still stood, the foul scent of adrenalin clinging to his father's sweat.

"You scared?" His father asked.

Rakina nodded, knowing that lying to his father would have its repercussions.

"Good," His father said, studying his hands. "Means you're smart enough to live to be old. Son, you're going to grow up and become an adult in a world that will disappoint you, a world that will make you angry, make you bitter. One day you are going to have the power to make decisions, real decisions, and when that day comes I want you to remember what I'm about to say because I won't always be here."

"What?"

"We don't use power to hurt people," His father said, resting a hand on Rakina's neck. "We use it to protect them. The second you forget that, you are no better than the men who came to our house that night."

Rakina did not understand, not really. He understood it on the same level that a child understands the weather, that it will change and that it will rain and then it will stop and it will be cold and then it will be warm. He understood it the way a child knows that he will need a coat before the end of the day.

He needed the coat two years later.

The men in proper uniforms who came to his house that day did not knock the way his father had taught him to knock. They rang the doorbell once and waited until Rakina's mother answered, their faces carefully arranged in the way people who deliver bad news are taught to do.

Operational accident. There was no real explanation, only that his father had died, and apparently his country did not feel it was worth its time to explain why. His father, who had single handedly taken down two heavily armed contractors, was dead, and the only reason he had lived long enough to do it was because of his military service.

Ferris Street, which had never been very fond of the Rakinas to begin with, grew openly hostile.

His mother became the recipient of stares that curled away too soon and eyes that lingered too long. Grocery clerks failed to bag her groceries a second time before deciding her money was good enough. Rumors began about his mother's yard, about how it had grown untidy, about how her name was never spoken without careful consideration. The Christians on the block who had brought casseroles to grieving neighbors on Ferris Street realized suddenly that his mother's yard needed more time between cleanings and that her name was best kept in hushed tones if it was spoken at all.

Frank Doyle, a drunk who lived three houses down had been in a particularly violent mood every since dawn and Rakina was ten years old the day he wandered up his porch steps reeking of liquor and grabbed his mother's wrist hard enough to leave a bruise, telling her in a drunken slur that her kind did not belong on Ferris Street.

Rakina did not think about it, did not hesitate. He launched himself off the porch swing, ten year old legs carrying him swiftly over the distance until he was standing over Frank Doyle, knocking the wind out of the bigger man with ease, sending him sprawling on his backside. It was not much of a fight, but it was enough because it was what his mother needed.

Frank Doyle turned on him, balled his fist back to strike, but before he could deliver the blow a man stepped out of his house, his movements slow and deliberate like his father's and with a single motion sent Frank Doyle flying, the impact rattling Rakina's own teeth.

"That's enough," The stranger said, his voice as quiet as the breeze that rustled the leaves. He turned to Rakina, eyes unreadable. "Name's Colonel Ellison Briggs. I knew your father."

Ten year old Rakina had no idea what to think, had no idea why a stranger would come to his house, but the words rang in his ears nonetheless.

"Your father was one of the best men I served with," The Colonel said, kneeling to where Rakina stood. "I see it in you already, the same temper. It's going to get you killed on the streets or it's going to make you a leader of men."

"Point it where?"

"Somewhere it can do some good." The Colonel's gaze was steady, not leaving Rakina's eyes. "You want to know what happened to your father?"

Rakina, ten year old and with his mother's wrist still smarting from where Frank Doyle had grabbed it, nodded before the Colonel had even finished speaking.

Fifteen years passed and the boy who had fought in his mother's defense now stood in his father's place, the same emotions carefully banked behind years of military discipline. The sand did not care that it was there, only that the sun was shining and the water was coming. Only that his daughter was screaming with delight as the waves chased her up the beach.

"Look Daddy!" Maria said, holding up a shell the size of her palm, the center cracked and, somehow, that made it even more beautiful than it would have been otherwise. "It's broken but it's still pretty!"

"Everything broken can still be pretty, baby," Captain Rakina said, scooping up his seven year old daughter and setting her on his shoulders, her laughter mixing with the sound of the sea. She gripped his hair like it was a reins, holding on for dear life.

Juliet watched from the blanket, her sunglasses pushed up into her hair, a smile on her lips that was not even remotely fake. Seventeen years of marriage and she still looked at him like that sometimes, like he was something wonderful and surprising and not at all expected.

"You two are going to give me a heart attack," she said, feigning hurt. "You know that, right?"

The phone buzzed in his beach bag before he could set Maria down. He almost let it ring out, one of the many privileges of his position.

"Captain Rakina, you are being recalled to base immediately," The voice was efficient, gave away nothing. "General's orders."

"I'm off duty," Rakina said, carefully modulated voice giving away nothing. "I need this time with my family."

The phone went dead and then rang again only this time it was not his aide. "Captain Rakina," General Kone's voice was colder this time, less inclined to pleasantries. "Report to your post immediately. It is not a suggestion."

"Sir, yes sir," Rakina said, already standing as he set the phone down. He turned to Juliet, eyes softening. "Base is calling me back."

Maria's smile slipped away the second she heard the words, her small fingers tightening around his hair.

"I know, baby. I'm so sorry. I promise the second I'm back we're going to see that movie just the two of us."

"You promise?"

"Always," He kissed her forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy."

Juliet crossed her arms, feigning offense. "You only love your daughter?"

He pulled her close, kissing her fully, tasting her laughter on his lips. "I love you so much, baby."

"I love you more. Please be careful."

She did not mean to sound like she was threatening him but it came out that way nonetheless.

They bowed their heads on the sand, little Maria's hand curled around her mother's, and he prayed the way his father had always prayed. Not loudly or ostentatiously but with a sincerity that rolled from his heart to his throat and out his lips. Keep them safe. Bring me back to them.

He pulled out of the parking lot, Juliet and Maria waving him off from the sand, both small behind the windshield but smiling that brave sad smile all the same. The gate guard was already raising the barrier when Rakina pulled up, recognizing the truck.

"Hey James, how you holding up?"

"Doing great, sir," The young private said, leaning against the open window. "Thought you were off duty."

"Guess duty calls," Rakina said, flashing a grin that was mostly show. "Thanks, buddy."

"For what? I didn't do anything, did I?"

"For your service to this country. I wish we had more men like you."

James snapped a salute, half tease but mostly not. "I'm just a humble soldier trying to serve and follow God a little better everyday. Appreciate you, Cap."

Rakina pulled forward, already noting the look on James's face in the rearview.

"That reminds me, General came through earlier looking pretty angry,"

"Guess we'll find out why," Rakina said, already dreading the conversation. The drive through the base was slow, Rakina acknowledging the few soldiers who recognized him, most saluting him in respect. He pulled into the parking lot outside General Kone's office and stepped inside, cover tucked beneath his arm. He knocked once before stepping inside.

"Good day, sir," Rakina said, snapping a salute.

General Kone did not return it, something in Rakina's gut twisting at the look on the man's face.

"Captain Rakina, you've made quite a name for yourself as one of the most decorated and well rounded soldiers in this country," Kone said at last, wasting no time. "And yet you seem to have rather a disregard for military protocol."

"What, Sir? I've never disregarded military protocol in my life."

"One of our IT specialists brought to my attention that several attempts were made to breach the firewalls of certain restricted files in the database," Kone said carefully. "And those attempts were traced back to you."

"Sir, I swear I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't be so damned foolish, Captain," Kone said, voice dangerously low. "You've been prying into your father's death."

"With all due respect, general, I don't see what's wrong with wanting to know exactly what happened to my father,"

"I'm sorry, Captain, but you know too much. For your own safety, I suggest you refrain from prying into matters that don't concern you." Kone said coolly. "Sergeant."

With all due respect, Sir. I will not be escorted anywhere. I have a family."

"Oh, I think you will be, Captain," Kone said almost kindly. "I'm afraid there are certain procedures that must be followed. Don't worry, your family will be taken care of while you're gone."

"You are not taking me anywhere." Rakina said, pushing himself off the wall. Without thinking, he drove his shoulder into the nearest guard's ribs, twisting his wrist until the rifle clattered to the floor, the instincts his father had drilled into him coming out without his permission. He took two more steps for the door before a sharp pain blossomed at the back of his skull.

The last thing he heard was General Kone issuing orders for the Blackout Protocol to be initiated before falling unconscious.