Yeah, I remember that smell...
Some people must think that after being
part of a covert ops clean-up crew for over 15 years, something like that
wouldn't bother us. I take it one step further, and say that it's something
that I expect to smell every day on the job. The smell of bleach and burning
remains is not a hard smell to recognize, but after a while I started to wake
up to that smell as if I were waiting for my morning coffee. That's not the
thing that scares us, not by a long shot. The thing that scares me the most is
the fact that we can't live without it. An interesting, yet awful, paradox: we
hate it, but we can't live without it. I look around at my crew and I know
we're all thinking the same thing as we prepare to clean up the mess left
behind by the field agents and arms dealers that were here an hour ago.
This is no easy gig, that's for sure. When
my crew and I get back to headquarters, we get our commendations and walk away
to wait for the next job. Even though the field agents get all the credit for
the mission being successfully executed, my crew and I are the people that make
sure that fuel isn't added to the fire of an already international incident.
Since we use kerosene and gasoline to dispose of what remains of the mission,
the irony of which is not lost on me.
Once at home, I try to relax while
remembering the "horrific things" I had seen earlier on. I've been in
the business for a while, and I'm not surprised by much anymore. The only thing
that really gets to me when I'm at home is the fact that I'm home. My apartment
doesn't really have much in the way of decoration, no family pictures because I
don't have one, a single couch, and my job posting system, also known as my
television. As I turn on the news, I can tell which catastrophic event my crew
and I will be cleaning up next. Even though I try not to think about it too
much, I can't help but relive the day's events when I'm at home. I know it's
sick, but even though I've done some really awful things under the guise of
"preserving national security," it's hard for me not to take pride in
this work. Not something I can casually bring up in conversation... thus,
adding to the things about this life that I don't like.
I especially don't like the late hours of
this job. One phone call at 2:00am, and an hour later my crew and I are on a
plane to God knows where just to make sure that the ramifications of the
operation are taken care of. Thank God that the gear is already sent to the
location where we will be, otherwise that would look pretty suspicious getting
on an airplane. I can just imagine the conversation that I would have with the
air marshal: air marshal accuses me of something that I can only assume equates
to acts of terrorism in his mind, I lie, he doesn't believe me, I lie again, he
gets irritated, cuffs me, drags me to the security office, and I wait patiently
until someone who outranks him and has clearance to know of my business
releases me. All that time passes, and at that point, an international incident
doesn't erupt because another team swoops in and takes the lead on the
clean-up. Son of a bitch just keeps me from getting paid. He doesn't actually
influence the outcome of the story. It's just the way my profession works.
After that, I would just go back home and wait for the next call, and the next
time, the plane will take off with me and my crew on it.
After the airport, I go home to splash
water on my face and look in the mirror at the man that I've become. After all
I've seen, learned, and done I don't remember the man that I was before this life.
All of the experience doesn't amount to much other than the fact that I can do
my job without flinching or furrowing my brow. The weird thing is, I can't live
without this life. I wouldn't have it any other way. There is a part of me that
enjoys the clean-up, and it's that part of me that frightens me the most. A
part that loves the smell of bleach and burning remains, and takes some kind of
sick pleasure at what all of it means. We're made to believe that all of what
we do is to keep political fires from burning out of control when the team that
is in the middle of the action is holding the match, intending to do just that.
I think the only solace that some get is the fact that they get paid at the end
of the week, no questions asked.
It's an odd frame of mind to be in; when I
know something is wrong, but I'm getting paid to do it in the name of what is
defined by the higher-ups as "justice." It makes me think "what
would other people do if they've seen the things that I've seen or done the
things that I've done?" Those questions bother me because this job can
create monsters... or maybe that was the intention all along. Either way,
remind me to thank Uncle Sam for everything I've been a part of.
You know, you've been awfully quiet
throughout my little ramble, doc. Got something on your mind?
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