Semper Fi

  “And you’ll wear the bikini?”

  “Only if you promise not to punch anyone who looks at me.”

  “Can’t promise that, baby,” I answered honestly.

  Time passed too quickly, and it felt like moments later that we were sitting in the back of a cab taking us to Naples airport.

  We were both quiet, lost in thought, when Caro suddenly spoke.

  “Sebastian, when do you think you’ll tell Ches about us?”

  I shrugged.

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  She hesitated. “Well, I just thought I could get all your belongings sent over from the west coast, but it’s going to make it tricky to organize if Ches doesn’t know about me.” She stammered out the words, then hurried on. “And there are some beautiful places in upstate New York that we could ride out to on your other bike … if you want.”

  God, she was amazing. How the fuck did I get to be so lucky?

  “You’d do that?”

  She seemed puzzled by my question. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I? You’ll need your things when you come home.”

  Home. Fuck, I was going to have a home! She didn’t understand how much her words meant to me—she couldn’t.

  “Okay,” I agreed quickly. “I’ll email him tonight. He’ll be pretty fucking surprised.”

  She laughed, but it wasn’t a very happy sound. “Yes, that probably about sums it up—to say the least.”

  I pulled her into my arms, kissing her with a raw hunger, not caring that our driver had a grandstand view in the mirror. I wanted the whole world to know this woman was mine. She had to know that I didn’t give a shit. If Ches or his bitch of a wife had a problem with us being together again, fuck ‘em—I didn’t need them in my life. Not that I thought Ches would be like that. He was my friend—we were solid.

  “What was that for?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Caro, all that matters … all that matters is you and me. Nothing else is important. We lost ten fucking years because of other people. I’m not going there again. I won’t let us. Understand? Nothing and no one will ever come between us again.”

  She sighed, curling her body against mine, holding on too tight, because she didn’t believe me either.

  The cab driver dropped us at departures, but we got separated by security. I was taken to one side, questioned and patted down. They definitely weren’t happy with the €6,000 in large denomination notes I was carrying. Once I showed them the receipt and forced my US Marine ID in front of them, they reluctantly let me through.

  Caro’s anxious expression immediately eased as I strolled over to join her.

  “Guess I’ve got a criminal face or something.”

  “I could have told you that,” she laughed. “I’m just glad they didn’t get one of the female security guards or you’d never have gotten away.”

  There was only one way to answer that, so I rolled my eyes as she snickered quietly.

  The flight was short, less than two hours and we were back in Geneva, carless, bikeless and sunless. It was cooler, too, but I didn’t mind that, not when I knew Kabul would be in the high nineties and more.

  We took a taxi back to the apartment and I threw open the shutters, letting in what was left of the daylight. I saw Caro studying my room, a frown on her face. I guess it did look pretty basic next to the luxury of Il Saraceno.

  “We can check into a hotel, Caro.”

  “No, this is fine. It’s not the room…”

  Oh.

  “Don’t say it, Caro,” I begged. “Please, baby. I can’t bear it when you look at me like that.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered, and I could see the effort it cost her to put a small smile on her face. “So, single bed, huh? That’s going to be cozy. We’ll have to improvise.”

  I smiled at her, grateful that she’d play along for a few more hours. It was going to be hard enough to say goodbye.

  “I just gotta pack my shit, baby, then we’ll go find somewhere to eat, okay?”

  “Sure, go ahead. I’ll write up my notes and check my messages.”

  I’d gotten rid of most of my things already, in preparation for deployment. Anything I wanted to keep was already on its way to Ches’s garage. I knew Amy gave him hell for storing my stuff, but he didn’t listen to her. A few more things needed to be shipped out—I’d kept my iPod and laptop until now, but the laptop could go. I sent Ches an email that gave him the basics and told him I’d be out of touch for a while. If he had any messages he could send them to Caro.

  What was left went into my sea-bag, except my Dress Blues which I shoved into a garment bag for now.

  When I’d finished, Caro was still checking her messages. I realized she didn’t have a place to stay for the next few days, unless she went back to the hotel. I could tell she wasn’t comfortable in the apartment, but like she said, she’d been in worse places.

  “You can stay here if you like,” I offered. “It’s paid up till the end of the month. The owner is Madame Dubois. Just leave the key with her when you go: she’s cool.”

  When Caro looked up, her eyes were distant. “Thank you, I’ll do that,” she said quietly.

  We were both trying to hold back the weight of the next 12 hours before it crushed us.

  “Any interesting emails?” I asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “All my girlfriends are drooling over your photograph,” she smiled, sounding more like her old self. “They can’t quite believe you’re real. Neither can I sometimes.”

  I grinned and pulled her into a hug. “I could prove it to you now if you like.”

  She didn’t answer, but ran her hands across the front of my jeans and squeezed, not very gently. My eyebrows shot up, and she laughed.

  “Sex instead of food, Caro?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, kissing my neck, “I don’t know what’s come over me—you must be a bad influence.”

  Then she grabbed a hold of my t-shirt and ripped it over my head. Things were just getting interesting when my damn phone rang: my fuckin’ CO trying to cockblock me again.

  Caro raised her hands in defeat, and re-tucked her shirt as I answered.

  “Hunter.”

  “Back in the land of cuckoo clocks?”

  “Yes, sir. Just got back to Geneva.”

  “Good. Slight change to your orders: a car will pick you up at oh-five-hundred hours for transfer to Ramstein. Space-A to Kabul, report to Ryan Grant at Camp Eggers. There’s a Press liaison dinner where your presence has been requested—Dress Blues. Now, somehow the ANA has got wind that we’re going after Gal Agha, which is not good news. They want to send ‘tactical support’ whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. I’m hoping you and Grant’s team will be in Now Zad before they get their shit together. If not, skills and drills and watch your six. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want your first report from Leatherneck. Good night, Hunter.”

  Caro was looking at me intently. I think she could see from my face how serious the situation was. I’d be walking into an administrative nightmare between ISAF and the Afghan National Army, intel that was leaking worse than the Titanic, with so-called colleagues I couldn’t trust. Plus I’d be working on a very sensitive mission with a detachment of Marines who didn’t know me. Yeah, nothing to worry about.

  “Pick up 05:00,” I said.

  She wrapped her arms around my neck and clung to me.

  We stood together, unmoving, needing that closeness for as long as we could.

  Eventually, I leaned down to kiss her hair.

  “Let’s go get some food,” I said quietly.

  She nodded without speaking.

  We stepped out into the gray evening light, and Caro shivered. It might have been from the cooler mountain air, or because she could sense what was coming. She gripped onto my hand as if she’d never let go. We both knew that she would—and soon.

  I took her to a small, family-run bistro that I’d used ever since arriving in
Geneva. I didn’t have anything more than a kettle in my room, not that I knew Jack shit about cooking anyway: I could burn some eggs and unwrap a MRE. That was about it.

  Caro looked surprised when the owner nodded at me familiarly.

  “I come here most days,” I admitted, although I’d never brought anyone with me before.

  “Hmm, seems to me you need some cooking lessons, Sebastian,” Caro said with deliberate lightness. “When you come home—to Long Beach—we’ll have to have some fun with food.”

  Home. The word pulled at my gut again. But she wanted lightness—I could give her that.

  “Yeah, that would be great!” I grinned at her. “Remember that chocolate sauce you bought that time? That was amazing—and I don’t even like chocolate that much. Although it tasted damn fine on you.”

  “Don’t use language like that with me, Sebastian,” she scolded, almost serious. “Chocolate is not something I joke about.”

  “Okay, I get it. How do you feel about peanut butter?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll buy some for you: crunchy or smooth?”

  “Crunchy,” I said, raising my eyebrows suggestively.

  She smiled and agreed that crunchy would be good.

  Caro ordered a risotto and I ordered the ravioli, but neither of us felt like staying long. We ate without tasting, and then we were out of there. I left a larger than usual tip. I didn’t do goodbyes, so it was my way of saying I wouldn’t be around.

  When we got back to the apartment, Caro was shivering.

  “Cold, baby?”

  “A little. Can we turn the heat on?”

  I smiled at her. “No heating.”

  She stared at me in amazement. “None? Not even a space heater?”

  I shook my head, amused. “Don’t worry, Caro—I’ll warm you up.”

  I’d chosen the room for the view and because it was in a part of town that was away from other Americans stationed here. Nothing against them, but I preferred to be by myself.

  Caro disappeared into the bathroom, then reappeared dressed in one of my old khaki workout shirts. She threw herself into the bed, shivering under the covers. Jeez, it wasn’t that cold.

  To make my point, I wandered around naked, although I usually wore green skivvies in case Madame Dubois walked in, which she had, soon after I moved here. I thought she’d made a mistake, but when it happened a second and then a third time, I decided the old lady had her eyeballs on my junk too often. But for Caro, I’d make an exception, although I kept the tighty whiteys for under Deltas—the khaki slacks. Man, I hated those.

  I washed up and finished brushing my teeth, before I slid into the narrow bed next to Caro.

  “You know, Sebastian,” she said, “while I really enjoyed the floor show, you’ll have to wear more clothes at home.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” she said, as if talking to a five-year-old, “I live in a bungalow—and I have elderly neighbors. We have elderly neighbors, and I don’t want you giving them a heart attack.”

  “Okay, boss,” I smirked.

  I pulled her against my body and kissed her slowly and deeply, trying to show her without words how much she meant to me, how much she’d always meant to me.

  My body reacted to her instantly, but I took my time, pushing away the night, pushing away the moment when we’d be apart again, touching, always touching, tasting and feeling. Her hands traced the muscles of my back, and her tongue tracked across of every ridge of my chest and stomach, dipping down to take me in her mouth, until I had to beg her to stop. Then I made sure I took to her the edge and back before she exploded against my mouth, her breath harsh in her throat. And only then I allowed myself to slide inside her, filling her inch by inch, circling my hips, so I could feel her tightening around me. I rolled onto my back, pulling her with me, and I laid my hands across her flat stomach as she arched up over me.

  Then she covered my hands with her own.

  “Can you feel yourself inside me?” she whispered, her voice husky.

  She’d said those exact same words to me the very first time we’d made love after I’d been bruised and beaten by my father. And she’d taken care of me; she’d taken me into her arms, into her bed, and into her body. She healed my body, mended my cuts and bruises, but more than that … she healed my soul. I’d never stopped loving her.

  “Yes,” I said, staring up at her, “I can.”

  We loved each other all night, but it couldn’t stop the clock from ticking.

  I’d set the alarm, even though neither of us had slept. I’d sleep on the transport out of Ramstein; I wasn’t going to waste a second of being with Caro.

  We showered together, speaking with our hands and our bodies. And then she watched as I dressed in my desert cammies. Her face remained calm, but her eyes had already told me what she was really thinking.

  She held out one hand toward me, and in her palm rested a small pebble of white quartz, shaped by the ocean into a tiny heart.

  “Tesoro, go with my love, but take this with you. It’s just silly, but I always carry it with me when I leave home—I found this the first time I went to Long Beach. But now I have your ring to wear.”

  I closed my eyes and leaned down to kiss her hair.

  “I’ve never had something to come back to before, Caro. Don’t worry about me—just take care of yourself.”

  I kissed the piece of quartz and tucked it into my pocket.

  “I love you, tesoro. Stay safe for me.”

  A car horn sounded in the street below us.

  “Time to go, baby. Love you.”

  I kissed her once more, tasting her for the last time in God knows how long. Then I scooped up my sea-bag and ran down the stairs. The car was one of the featureless black sedans that Military Intelligence used around the city.

  The driver saluted.

  “Your orders, sir.”

  He handed me a packet of papers, then popped the trunk, stowing my bags inside.

  I glanced up at the window, and smiled when I saw Caro looking down at me, then the door closed and I was heading for the airport.

  The flight was a charter and once I was through security, I was directed to a small room with other US military personnel scheduled on the same flight.

  I scanned the faces—no one I recognized. I wasn’t expecting to, but you never know.

  I checked my orders, but there was nothing different since I’d talked to Cardozo last night. I had forty minutes before my flight, so I shoved my bags under my seat, and stretched out to take a nap.

  As soon as my eyes closed, I could see Caro’s face. I imagined her lying in my bed, her hair spilled out across the pillow and … oh fuck, not a good idea thinking about her if it was going to make me hard. Not here and definitely not now. Instead, I tried to reprogram my brain to think about the mission. It wasn’t working: every time I closed my eyes, Caro’s face swam into view.

  I nixed the idea of sleeping and sat up, rubbing my eyes. I had a copy of Paulo Coelho’s ‘The Alchemist’. I’d read it before, but now I had a new insight into its message: ‘Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself.’ I wasn’t sure I agreed, especially now. But as a book, it was still the shit.

  The flight was called and I found a seat near the bulkhead next to the window. It was a short flight—90 minutes depending on the head-winds—but I didn’t want some fucker crawling all over me if he had to take a piss.

  I guess I did manage to sleep eventually, because the next thing I knew my head thumped against the window as we landed, waking me up and pissing me off in the same breath. My next conscious thought was of Caro. I knew that I’d have to get a grip on that, because having my mind on her instead of the mission was going to make me fuck up, a situation that could be slightly terminal. I smiled to myself, thinking how pissed she’d be if I got myself killed. I patted the pocket over my heart a little self-consciously, feeling a slight bump from the little pebble she’d given me.
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  Must be getting soft in my old age. And yeah, 27 could feel fucking old at times.

  Most of the guys on the flight were PCSing. Their Permanent Change of Station were to bases across KMC—or Kaiserslautern Military Community—to give it the full name, and Ramstein was the air force base.

  I managed to find a café that was selling coffee and found a few Euros in coins to pay for it. Then the waiting started. That’s the military for you: hurry up and wait. Happens all the time, so there’s no point getting your panties in a bunch about it.

  I glanced out to the runway and saw a parked airplane: a C-130 turbo-prob. If that was my ride, the flight to Kabul was going to be a bitch and noisy as hell.

  It wasn’t long before the flight was called, so I showed my orders to the wing nut in charge, wondering if he could read, the way he scrunched up his eyes scrolling down through the papers. Eventually, he nodded and waved me through. I tossed my sea-bag on top of the baggage cart, praying it would arrive with me on the same flight. It didn’t contain anything that couldn’t be replaced, but I wasn’t looking forward to getting tied up in red tape the second I landed. I made my way to a seat at the back and stuck in my ear-buds, listening to Lifehouse, until I got to the song ‘You and Me’ and then I had to fast forward. Fuck, I really was getting soft. I switched to Linkin Park.

  I rolled up my uniform jacket to use as a pillow then closed my eyes, seeing her face smiling behind my eyelids. I’d been dreaming about her for 10 years, but now it didn’t hurt quite so bad.

  I wasn’t really asleep—I was just resting my eyes, so when the intercom crackled seven hours later and the pilot said he was prepping to land, all hands reached into the overhead lockers to suit up: helmets and body armor. It was bright daylight outside the window, so that made everyone nervous. A Hercules is a big fucking target. It’s better to fly at night because the cold air is denser, but also because the dark is some protection from enemy fire.

  So after traveling for a total of 11 hours, I landed in Kabul.

  What a fucking dump.

  There are three things you need to know about Afghanistan: one, it’s a shithole; two, it’s hot in summer; and three, it’s a shithole.