“Dreamscape Conspiracy” – PTSD Between Breaths
It’s been months since I’ve had a dream significant enough to wake up and add notes on my phone. That’s where Between Breaths came from last night at 3:10 AM. I had a dream about one of my favorite characters in the Dreamscape Conspiracy Series – Russell Carter. He mostly went by Russ, except for AIMEE, the in-house AI who had imprinted in his mind when she spoke with him. His wife, Dr. Cara Williams-Carter, the only other exception, used his full name when she’s about to scold him or when he reminds her how slow-is-smooth feels. There’s a lot of backstory in my last sentence about Russ, a former Marine Force Recon Scout Sniper, as an amazing husband to Cara, and his fight against the ever-present PTSD he earned for being a deadly one-shot-one-kill marksman.
I did a great deal of research on the power of intense discipline and concentration required to master the art of being an effective sniper: lying prone in all kinds of weather, remaining motionless for hours, and staying vigilant enough to press the trigger and render an enemy to the feet of Allah for further processing. Much of Russ’s success came through his spotter, Peter (Pete) Druthers, who coached the shot: distance, wind speed, confirmation of the intended target, and the right moment to order the shot. As the shooter, Russ had to listen to his spotter, adjust his scope for elevation and windage, breathe out, slow his heartbeat, and press the trigger when the shot was ordered.
As a team, they were flawless: 87 kills on 87 shots, providing reliable overwatch for Marine squads hundreds of yards away. Pete’s call sign was Set, and Russ’s was Spike; neither played volleyball, but firmly believed it took a good set to execute an accurate spike; they were that kind of team for over 18 months. The Marine brothers they protected knew them only by their call signs, and they knew with confidence their backs were covered by their invisible protectors. They were a flawless team, lethal until the 88th kill.
I learned a great deal about Russell Carter when they faced #88. The squad, 325 yards away and below their hide, worked their way slowly down an abandoned street, hugging either side for cover to approach an intersection for a final turn toward a suspected house occupied by bombmakers. Just beyond the turn, and unseen by the ground team, stood a woman in a black chador in the middle of the street. Pete spotted her first and described her as hinky-looking. Russ silently questioned “hinky,” but searched ahead through his scope and found her, whispering to Set, “Hinky as fuck! What’s she doing in the middle of the street?”
Dressed head to toe in a flowing black robe, her chador left only her face exposed. That exposure was what earned Russ his personal PTSD and every night terror from that fateful day forth. In his high-powered scope, he saw her face, the face of a little girl, maybe 10 or twelve years old, with the most beautiful brown eyes, filled with terror, tears spilling forth and leaving tracks down her dirty cheeks.
Russ’s breath caught in his throat. “Sweet Jesus, no! She’s a fucking child, Set. I can’t… I can’t…”
Pete hissed. “Spike, an entire squad is counting on you not pussying out. Listen to me! Wait for the go, brother, then do your goddam job!”
Pete did his job as his spotter, showing no emotion or partiality, at least none that Russ could discern. When Pete saw the detonator in her raised hand, he gave the “Go.” Russ pressed the trigger on Pete’s fire command between slow breaths and heartbeats, never hearing his M40A5 sniper rifle’s discharge, not feeling the resounding kick.
She disappeared as he watched her evaporate into shredded rags on the street through his scope; he never knew if his round struck before she detonated the suicide vest. Had he saved her a split second before deciding to depress the detonator? It didn’t matter what happened first. In his mind, the script he had been a part of was seared in, and he knew in his heart it was his finger that pressed the trigger. A split second either way mattered little when all he could see was her eyes pleading for rescue.
As good sniper teams do, they left their hide immediately and headed to the next hide prepared earlier. A firefight ignited in the street as the team rounded the corner to head toward the bomb factory. A stray 3-round burst from a Taliban’s AK-47 found the team as they moved. Two of the rounds struck Pete Druthers in the neck and upper chest, killing him instantly. The third round struck Russell Carter, shattering his right shoulder, spinning him around to land face down, unconscious on the sandy ground of the hilltop.
When Russ regained consciousness, he was gulping air in shock, asking between breaths why God had taken Pete when he was the one who pressed the trigger. It didn’t matter if she blew herself up or his round sent her to Allah; he knew what he did. Why had God spared him?
This memory behind Russ’s PTSD surfaces in several ways in the first and second books of the Series. I fight tears every time because I feel for Russ, and I cry his tears. I’ve never been a sniper, but I did have a chance to fire a few rounds through an M40A5, so I knew what it sounded like when the trigger is pressed and how it kicked. I pray I never have to use one with a life hanging in the balance.
This five-book series is one heck of a read, and I encourage you to feel it with the characters I’ve created to show you the way.
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Book #1 – Dreamscape Conspiracy – Video – Review
Author Thoughts are posted on my website – Learning by Living.
Feel free to reach out to me directly at gdogwise@live.com
Peace!
