Killed in Action - A Spy School Story

Chapter 8: Mourning

CIA Academy of Espionage

Washington, DC

Armistead Dormitory

February 10th, 2018

1700R

Mike POV

I'm fairly certain I froze my ass off sitting on the roof of the Armistead Dormitory—no, not near the ledge, just on the roof. I tried recalling happy memories, happy feelings... only for the memories to push me back into my pit of self-loathing and despair. Repeatedly, I thought the entire situation through. Every part of my mind was focused on Ben and what I could've done to save his life.

I should've been there.

But you weren't selected by the brass.

I could've gone rogue.

That would've been disastrous for everyone.

I could've made them take me along.

But at the time, you thought they were called in for a career counseling meeting, not a counterterrorism op.

What could I have done?

Nothing.

I wouldn't have been able to do anything... but that still counted as a failure on my part. My whole purpose as his best friend was to watch his back and do whatever it took to pull his ass out of the fire. Even if I couldn't do anything, there had to be a way for me to pull some strings and effect change from afar... right?

You're just some random kid, not Alexander fucking Hale.

Even if what I'd heard about the man's prior ineptitude was true, it was still difficult to believe, especially after his heroism during Operation Fox Hunt and the Brezinski Pizza Bash: the time I nearly died in a clash between MS-13 and the DC Blacks—yep, that's an actual gang... and apparently, they have some activity outside of the prison system—while on a pizza run, with Alexander taking down fifty-seven bad guys to save my ass.

Long story short, he ran some over with his car, shot some with his CCW, and blew up the rest with their own pipe bombs and Molotov cocktails. He proceeded to yank me from the situation, scold me heavily, then get some pizza and Gatorade (the first pie was lost in the chaos and he was hungry) and take me back to the Academy. An FBI friend of his who was involved in the subsequent investigation ensured any trace of us was scrubbed from the crime scene, and Alexander later followed up through other means to destroy any link between us and the gang violence.

Yeah, you fucked up a pizza run. How could you have saved your best friend, dumbass?

"Mike."

"What the—" I gasped, jerking my head around to find an impassive-looking Nate. "Oh. The hell do you want?"

"We're doing a thing. Let's roll."

"Listen, Potato Head—"

"You don't want pity. I get it, okay? I really do. You wanna wallow? Have at it. But c'mon, man... we all feel the same way right now. A distraction will do us all good, 'specially you. And this isn't outta pity, but necessity."

"Really? And where'd you get this from?"

"Bing."

Pausing, I glanced at my friend, whose emotionless face was steadfast as he stared right back at me. And for the first time in a while, I cracked a smile and let out a chuckle, both of which he returned.