She saw me and threw a soft smile in my direction. I heard her voice, and knew that she was trying to reassure me.
“Gentlemen, it’s too early in the day for all that.” All of what? “I haven’t even had my breakfast MRE yet.”
I relaxed a fraction as the banter dropped back a notch, but I could tell that they liked her—even more when she shared a bottle of soy sauce that she’d brought with her to try and make the MRE rations taste better. Breakfast was more noodles and unidentified meat—also known as ‘Meals Rejected by the Enemy’ or ‘Man Ready to Eat’. Whatever it was, it tasted like ass and was about as chewy.
I was surprised when Grant sent for Caro to join the morning briefing. She wasn’t going to hear anything particularly interesting—I’d already had my main orders from Jankowski.
The small ops room had gotten pretty crowded with all the officers and gunnery sergeants when Caro arrived. I could see the fuckers looking her over with appreciation. I wanted to blindfold every bastard there. Even Grant almost smiled at her.
“Right, men: this morning we’ll have four patrols moving out. Sanders, I want you and your team with me heading northeast along the river bed wadi. Romero, northwest by the edge of town. Jankowski, your men take the old market area with Holden flanking you at 100 yards.
“Hunter: you’re in charge of the terps—brief them before we go. The population here are Sunnis. Are any of your men Shiite?”
“Two, sir,” I answered quickly. “I’ve told them to stay behind today.”
“Does that leave us short?” asked Grant, frowning.
“No, sir, but one of the teams will have to have Angaar: his English is so-so.”
“Then send one of the others with him.”
“They don’t get along, sir. Could cause problems.”
“Then damn well make sure it doesn’t!” Grant snapped.
I didn’t argue the point further, but I wasn’t happy with the order.
As the meeting broke up, Caro raised her hand.
“Which team would you like me with, Captain Grant?”
He looked up, clearly irritated, but Caro’s expression stayed neutral.
“Perhaps ‘like’ was too strong a word, Captain,” she suggested coolly.
I had to try really hard not to smile at that, and I saw Jankowski and one of the other officers grin openly.
“You’d better come with me, Ms. Venzi,” Grant muttered, somewhat unwillingly. “And you, Hunter.”
“I feel like Fox Mulder,” Caro murmured loud enough for Grant to hear, but not loud enough that he’d feel the need to reply. “The Marines’ ‘most unwanted’.”
Grant frowned, but I could tell he admired her being ballsy. I was so fucking proud. I had to leave the room or I’d have given myself away.
The dawn patrols left the compound on foot: the overt mission was to scout out the area and get a hands-on idea of the terrain. The two patrols checking out the marketplace had the most dangerous job. Those old bazaar buildings provided plenty of places where IEDs could be planted. Snipers were also a concern.
But my patrol was heading up the river wadi to try and find some locals to talk to. I pulled on my body armor and helmet (40 pounds), before shouldering my day pack (35 pounds) and picked up my M16 (nine pounds loaded). Gunners and radio operators carried more. The temperature was already in the high-nineties: it was going to be brutal.
I didn’t usually get nervous on patrols—not since the very first time—just more aware. But having Caro with me, I was about ready to shit myself, even though she’d been positioned in the middle of the patrol for safety. I was up front with Grant so I couldn’t even keep an eye on her from this position. I kept telling myself that the best way to keep her safe was to do my fucking job.
Grant grunted at me.
“Hunter, you’re the terp—you take point.”
We’d walked about a mile up the trail to the wadi when we saw our first locals.
Four kids, aged about eight or nine, were sitting in a patch of dirt. They stood up in a hurry when they saw us, looking scared, but I called out a greeting to them, grinning when they stared at me in surprise.
I directed all my questions to the oldest boy. Afghans were big on hierarchy and it was easy to offend if you didn’t follow their rules.
I asked him if he’d seen any Taliban lately. I didn’t really expect him to answer truthfully, but he pointed up into the foothills.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Caro taking a photograph. I hoped like fuck the boys didn’t see her; if they knew we had a woman on patrol, the news would spread through the area like wildfire.
I asked the kid how long they’d been there, and Grant wanted to know what we were saying.
“He says there are Taliban up in the hills, sir. They moved into position during the night. He doesn’t think they’ll come out in daytime. Not sure I’d take that as an ironclad guarantee, but it could mean they’ll hit us at dusk or first thing in the morning.”
I couldn’t help glancing worriedly at Caro.
“Anything else?”
I sighed. “He said his father has promised to get him a rifle like mine when he’s ten.”
There was no chance that this fucking war would ever be over when kids were being used to carry it forward. And it was a tribal country—I wasn’t sure a dose of democracy would work here, but I left that shit to the politicians.
Then one of the kids spotted Caro and gaped, openly pointing her out to his little buddies. They immediately started asking a ton of questions, and I couldn’t help smiling as Grant asked me to translate.
“They want to know if Ms. Venzi is your wife, sir, or if you just brought her to do the cooking.”
Caro threw me a dirty look and some of the guys laughed, but Grant looked worried. I could guess why.
“Tell them she does the cooking,” he said hurriedly.
I gave them the answer and the kids nodded knowingly. I passed out some hard candy, telling them to eat it right away and to toss the wrappers. They were probably too smart to get caught with Western goods on them, but it was worth reminding them. If the Taliban found them with the candy on them, they wouldn’t care that they were kids.
They continued to watch us until we were out of sight.
Caro snapped another photo of them waving, then hurried to catch up with Grant.
“Would you like to explain that to me, Captain Grant,” she said mildly, while secretly giving me the stink-eye.
“I don’t want word getting out that we have a journalist with us,” he said shortly.
Caro looked worried, then glanced across at me. I tried to smile reassuringly, but I probably just looked sick.
We moved slowly next to the dried riverbed when I saw a tell-tale flash in the sky and the guy next to me yelled, “Incoming!”
There was a loud roaring overhead as we half-dived, half-fell into the wadi. I craned my neck up, but I couldn’t see Caro, which meant she was somewhere in the riverbed with us.
The rocket propelled grenade shook the ground as it exploded, and the percussion from the blast was almost deafening.
“RPG, sir!” shouted the gunny. “Bastards missed by 300 yards. Up in the foothills, sir. They’ll have us in range any second.”
He was right: we were in their sights. The wadi gave us good protection but we were pinned down.
Keeping low, I made my way toward Caro and crouched down next to her.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly, her voice shaking only slightly. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t move. Promise.”
It was the best I could do: the thought made me sick. I made my way back to the radio operator in case I was needed to listen to any comms chatter.
The gunny and another guy moved forward with a mortar and fired off a couple of rounds.
“Hewitt,” shouted Grant to the radio op, “call in air support. I want the shit bombed out of those fuckers. Give them the coordinates—now!”
Two more RPGs came in, each landing closer, although not close enough to worry me too much.
Fifteen minutes passed before we heard a couple of F15 fighter jets streak past overhead.
There was a massive explosion followed immediately by a second, and the mountain shook. I looked up to see a thick cloud of dust and smoke hanging over the foothills, lazily drifting down into the valley.
Caro was already sitting up to take a quick photo. God, she was fearless. The other men noticed too, grinning at her with admiration in their eyes.
“Was that your first time under fire, ma’am?” one of them asked.
“First time it was that damn close,” she smiled. “I almost peed my pants.”
They laughed easily. “Well, you looked pretty cool, ma’am. We should make you an honorary Marine.”
“I’m sure Captain Grant would be delighted with that suggestion,” she laughed.
Then she looked across at me and pressed her hand over her heart. I badly wanted to kiss her, but all I could do was smile back.
After waiting to see if there would be any further RPG attacks, we slowly made our way back along the dried up riverbed.
An hour later, we got back to the compound, hot and tired but alive, which meant we were one up on the enemy. Caro immediately ran toward the make-shift bathroom that Grant had designated for her private use. The guys were laughing at her crab-wise run, and it made me proud to realize how much she lifted morale just by being here. She hadn’t been scared enough to piss herself, unlike some men I’d seen under fire for the first time. My woman was fucking brave. My woman.
I decided I wanted to do something to show Caro how I felt about her—and I’d do it under the guise of her impressing the shit out of everyone. Yeah, it probably wasn’t keeping things on the down-low, but I was going to make her a camp shower.
I rounded up a couple of volunteers and explained my plan. They all wanted to help do something ‘for the ballsy writer chick’.
I’d noticed a bunch of jerry cans earlier, so I filled them with tepid water while we rigged a shower unit by punching small holes through a rusting bucket and hoisting the cans overhead.
When we’d finished, I strolled over casually and squatted down next to her.
“How you doing, baby?” I asked quietly, making sure my voice didn’t carry.
“Pretty damn good,” she replied calmly, “considering I nearly got my ass shot off today.”
I couldn’t help grinning at her. “You are so fucking amazing, Caro.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Sebastian.”
Some of the guys were staring at us speculatively, so I stood up and pointed behind me. “We’ve fixed you up a makeshift shower, ma’am.”
“Excuse me?” she gasped.
“The guys wanted to do something for you—they think you’re a ballsy woman. So they’ve made you a shower. You’ve got about two-and-a-half minutes of lukewarm water. How’s that sound?”
“What? How?”
She gaped at me in amazement.
“I just left some cartons of water out in the sun. They got pretty warm: all we had to do was hoist them up and make a shower head. You’re good to go. Except you won’t be able to take off your clothes, but it’s better than nothing, I guess.”
“God, I love you!” she smiled. “But I think I love them, too!”
I knew she was joking, but I’d be a lying bastard if I said I wasn’t as jealous as fuck.
She waved at the shower-building team and they cheered her loudly.
“I’ll be right back!” she smiled.
The gunny who’d been on patrol with us slapped me on the back.
“Get in line, buddy. We’d all like to tap that.”
I don’t think he knew how close he came to losing his front teeth as he strolled away. Luckily, Caro reappeared, and the sight of her wearing just a t-shirt and pair of short yoga pants, redirected my attention immediately. She looked happy, and that was enough.
I tore myself away to head back to the comms room, trying to ignore the boner in my pants at the thought of Caro in the shower.
I stayed on duty late until Grant allowed one of the Shiite terps to relieve me. Helmand was a Sunni area, so the theory was that the Shiite interpreters were the most trustworthy. But it was just a theory, and Grant had to acknowledge that I couldn’t man the radio chatter 24/7. I’d been awake for 41 out of the last 48 hours and I needed to sleep. With Caro.
I headed to her room and instantly felt relaxed as I heard her soft breaths. I tried to make myself comfortable at the bottom of her mattress, but she woke almost immediately.
“Hey, baby,” I whispered as she sat up. “I didn’t mean to wake you—I just wanted to see you.”
She rubbed her eyes and reached her hands toward me. “You’re too far away,” she yawned.
I knew the smart thing would be to go to my rack and sleep, but hell, you get all the sleep you need when you’re dead.
I tried to stretch out on the mattress next to her, but my boots hit the door.
“Fuck,” I swore quietly, “they’ve given you a damn hutch to sleep in.”
“At least it’s private, Sebastian,” she murmured, running her finger across my cheeks.
“Yeah,” I agreed, “that’s something.”
I leaned over her, taking the weight on my arms, and kissed her gently, just like I’d wanted to do all day.
I hadn’t planned on starting anything, but Caro seemed to have other ideas because she tightened her hands behind my neck and locked our faces together.
It was such a fucking turn on having her here, like this, in the middle of a fucking hellhole. She pushed her tongue into my mouth, hungry and determined, then she ran her hands down my back, gripped my ass and squeezed hard.
God, I wanted her, even if it was a dumb fucking idea.
“Are you sure, Caro?” I questioned.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Here and now.”
I groaned as she raised her hips, rubbing against my rock hard cock.
“But you’re going to have to get naked,” she added.
I sighed and pushed away from her, shaking some sense back into my brain which was definitely lacking any blood flow.
“It’s going to take some explaining if the Taliban attack and I run out of your room with my ass hanging out,” I reminded her.
She hesitated and I wondered what she was thinking. It didn’t take long before I knew.
“I don’t care if you don’t … time to get naked, Marine,” she ordered, rubbing her thigh against me again.
“Make me,” I teased.
Her eyebrows shot up.
“Okay, what can I trade you to get you to take your shirt off?”
It was my turn to be surprised.
“Trade?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I want you to take your shirt off, but it seems like I’ll have to give you something in return. If I agree to your terms, you lose the shirt. If I don’t agree, you get to keep it on.”
“For real?”
“Yes, Sebastian,” she stated, clearly issuing the orders. Well, okay then.
“A shirt for a shirt, Caro,” I challenged her.
This was about to get interesting—and she was wearing a lot less than I was.
Moving slowly, in a show that was so fucking sexy, she unbuttoned her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra. My uniform jacket and t-shirt hit the floor and we were both naked from the waist up.
“So far so good,” she said, her voice low and husky. “I want you to take off your boots and socks.”
I thought for a moment, considering how I could raise the stakes, especially as she had fewer clothes than me.
“Okay, but I want you to touch your breasts, Caro; touch yourself until your nipples are hard.”
She followed my instructions quickly, running her hands lightly over her tits, toying with her nipples while she stared into my eyes.
“Fuck!” I said roughly, lick
ing my lips, wanting to taste her, like now.
“Boots,” she snapped.
It took over half a minute for me to unlace my boots and lose the socks. My coordination was fucked because I couldn’t peel my eyeballs off of Caro who was now massaging her own breasts, teasing the nipples to peaks.
“I want you to take off your pants, Sebastian,” she whispered.
God, if Grant walked in now…
“And you have to lose those pajama bottoms, Caro.”
She kicked them off quickly, adding them to the pile in the corner.
I unzipped my pants, leaving the skivvies on. But she was out of clothes, and didn’t have anything left to trade.
“I want you naked, Sebastian,” she whispered.
“I want you to touch yourself between your legs, Caro. I want to see you come.”
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. I was confused—things had been getting pretty hot. Had she changed her mind?
“What?” I asked.
“Sebastian,” she sighed, “I can do that any night of the week; frankly I was hoping you’d do it for me.”
I grinned with relief. “Yeah, but it’ll be a real fucking turn on for me.”
“Alright then, but you, too.”
She’d lost me. “Me too, what?”
“Lose the briefs, get handy, and make yourself come.”
Not what I had in mind, but if that’s what she wanted... “Ah, what the hell.”
I yanked off the skivvies then folded myself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall facing Caro, and started working the head of my dick. Caro watched for a few seconds, which was pretty fuckin’ hot, then she knelt up, spreading her knees wide and began to rub her clit slowly.
That shit was so hardcore. I wrapped my right hand firmly around my dick and started yanking harder; she matched me stroke for stroke, her back arching in a way that nearly made me come. But it wasn’t enough.