We stayed in each other’s arms, peaceful and silent for now.
Suddenly, an explosion erupted outside, rattling the windows of the hotel. Even as I was yanking Caro to the floor, on the side of the bed away from the window, I was calculating the likely distance of the blast, what kind of IED it might be, and whether there would be more explosions or gunfire. I counted to ten, but all I could hear was the sound of alarms from cars and buildings, voices shouting. I stood cautiously, moving to the side of the window and pulling the curtain open a fraction so I could peer out.
“Probably a car bomb—about half a mile away.”
Caro was still shivering on the floor, her eyes wide, but she didn’t look like she was going into shock.
“It’s okay, Caro. We’re okay.”
And we were, for now, but we both knew that luck could run out—especially in a warzone. Soldiers died every day, hundreds of civilians a week, and journalists, too. Lady Luck was a callous bitch.
I wanted Caro out of here, I wanted…
Caro stood up hesitantly, her naked body hardening my dick even as the sound of ambulances tore the night. But she was staring toward the window, and even though my body was reacting to her, I knew that wasn’t what she needed from me now—I wasn’t a fucking caveman. Well, not all of the time.
“Caro, are you okay, baby?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Just knowing that out there … you’ll be facing that soon.”
I held her in my arms, tight against my chest, willing to lay down my life for this woman, here and now.
“Christ, I know that, Caro, and it kills me to know that you’ll be out there, too. Please, baby, please, go home while you still can. I’m fucking begging you, Caro!”
I buried my face in her hair, breathing in her scent, glad to hold her but wishing she was gone.
“Please, baby. I need to know you’re safe. If anything happened to you now…”
Her arms crept around my neck, pulling my head down for a kiss.
“I have a job to do, Sebastian, you know that,” she whispered as her lips brushed across my cheek. “So do you; and I will worry about you every day. I pray to God that you’ll come home to me. Please, tesoro, promise you’ll look after yourself—no unnecessary risks?”
I sighed. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear—I wanted her to tell me she was catching a flight back to the US. I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
“I promise, Caro,” I said, my voice resigned.
“Then come back to bed with me,” she said, tugging my hand.
The night was slipping away too fast.
I let her lead me to the bed, then rested on my back as she wrapped her body around me. I was aware of every ticking second, every beat of her heart. When I felt her fingers brushing over my chest and stomach, I knew she was trying to distract me from my morbid thoughts. It was working.
My dick hardened again. Always again with her; it was never enough. She glanced down and her lips turned upward in an amused smile.
“Sebastian, if that’s what I have to imagine every time you look at me, I’m not going to get any work done.”
I smiled and kissed her hand.
“Let’s go back to Signora Carello’s place for our honeymoon, Caro. We could fuck for days without getting out of bed.”
If she wanted to pretend that the morning would never come, I’d do my damndest to hold onto the night.
She smiled and raised her eyebrows.
“What, you think she could just push food under the door so you can keep your strength up, because I have to say, Sebastian, you were getting a bit out of breath just now. I really thought the US Marines had higher standards of fitness: I might have to write about that in my next article. Of course, the research is incomplete—I’ve only documented one Marine’s fitness levels in detail…”
“And it’s going to stay that way,” I said firmly.
She laughed, and it sounded almost real.
“Feeling threatened? Me alone with all those horny Marines, I’m quoting, of course.”
“Not funny,” I grumbled.
“Okay, I won’t tease you. Yes, we could go back to Signora Carello’s, but there are lots of other places I’d like to see in Italy. Florence, the open air opera in Rome—I’d love to do that. But you know, I really like the idea of taking your old motorcycle and seeing upstate New York. What do you want to do?”
“Other than have a lot of sex?”
She laughed out loud, raising her eyebrows at me and shoving on my shoulder.
“My God! That’s exactly the same answer you gave me ten years ago when you were a horny teenager!”
“So? I’m consistent: I thought women liked that in men?”
Yep, she couldn’t argue with that.
I ran my hand between her breasts, toying with the chain that held her engagement ring.
“You have the most fantastic breasts, Caro. I can’t stand those fake ones, they just feel so…”
Ah, shit. Being in bed with one woman, and talking about others—not the smartest thing I’d ever said.
I wanted to bite off my damn tongue. But she just smirked at me.
“Hmm, I was thinking, maybe you should be one of those men who are strong and silent. You know, nice to look at, not so good at the talking.”
I nipped her shoulder then twisted around, pushing her into the mattress, letting her know exactly what I thought of that comment. And although she didn’t know it, she wasn’t the first woman to say something like that. I knew she didn’t mean it—but it stung all the same.
“Is that right?” I asked, keeping my voice light.
“Yes. Hearing you talk about your conquests when I’m in a state of post-coital bliss isn’t going to earn you round two.”
“Huh, so I can’t earn round two—does that mean I can pay for it instead?”
She slapped my ass, hard. Hot.
“You couldn’t afford me,” she snarked back.
“You sure about that, baby? What’s your price?”
“What have you got to offer, Sebastian?”
I used my hips to pin her down, my chest hovering over her breasts. “An orgasm?” I suggested.
“That’s just quid pro quo.”
“Fuck, I love it when you talk dirty. What about two orgasms?”
“Two? Beginning to sound interesting, but do you think you’re up to the job?”
I brushed my fingers against her clit and she gasped. “Maybe I’ll let you answer that question,” I said, as I slid down the bed, lowering my face between her thighs.
Over an hour later, we were collapsed on the bathroom floor, flushed and breathless.
“I’d forgotten you had a thing for bathrooms,” she gasped.
I kissed the back of her neck as I tugged her against my chest. “I like the mirrors.”
“You know, that’s a bit kinky, Sebastian.”
“You think? I’d like to get kinky with you, Caro,” I said, nipping her earlobe and running my fingers over her hipbone.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked curiously.
How long had we got?
I decided to start with the basics. “You could tie me up again: that was hot.”
She giggled.
“Hmm, well, I could talk to one of the MPs at Leatherneck—maybe I’ll see if I can borrow a pair of handcuffs, Sebastian.”
I swallowed several times, my mind very much enjoying the thought of fucking Caro while she was cuffed, of her riding my dick while I was cuffed. Fuck me!
I guess Caro was still waiting for my answer, because she nudged me in the ribs with her elbow.
“Yeah, if you like, Caro,” I said, my voice hoarse.
Her eyebrows shot up.
“If I like? What do you like?”
I hesitated, wondering if she’d go along with some of the scenes I imagined when I was jerking off. “There’s some stuff we could try,” I began.
“Such as?” she asked, her expression curious rather t
han appalled, which was a good start.
But then there was a soft tap at the door and I heard the Brit’s voice.
“Oh, hell,” Caro muttered, sounding disappointed and irritated. “You’d better get dressed, Sebastian, unless a three-way with Liz was one of your fantasies?”
I shuddered. “Fuck, Caro! I’m going to have that image in my head now.”
She grinned and tossed my uniform onto the bed. “Better get your pants on then, Marine.”
I dressed quickly, cursing the number of buttons involved wearing the Blues. I was still sitting on the bed tying my shoelaces when Caro opened the door.
“Lee, I … oh, is he still here?”
“He’s just leaving, Liz.”
The Ashton woman marched into the room, and I winced at the sight of her enormous tits moving independently of each other, reminding me of a camel’s ass.
“There’s a curfew on, Hunter,” she said, crossing her arms and staring at me hard.
“Thanks,” I said coolly.
I already knew about the curfew, but it had probably been brought forward a couple of hours because of the device going off earlier.
“You must have heard the car bomb,” she snapped. “Three dead, multiple injured. Bastards packed the bomb with nails.”
“So evil,” murmured Caro, shaking her head.
The Brit nodded silently, and for the first time I saw the same compassion that drove Caro to report from war zones. I wouldn’t say I liked the Ashton woman, but I could respect the job she did. Although it was pretty clear that it wasn’t mutual; I knew what she thought of me. A week ago it would have been true.
I stood up and fastened the buckle on my white web belt, then pulled Caro into a tight hug, ignoring the Brit’s noisy huffing.
“Remember what I said, Sebastian,” whispered Caro, running the tips of her fingers down my cheek.
“I’ll try, baby. And you remember what I said, what I’m thinking about when I look at you.”
I kissed her softly, unwilling to let her go, hating that I had to, desperate to know that she’d be safe, hating that she wasn’t.
“Never take my ring off, Caro,” I said.
“Ti amo tanto, Sebastian.”
I smiled painfully. “Sempre e per sempre.”
I glanced briefly at the Brit, and then quietly left.
At least I knew I’d see Caro tomorrow.
We were heading to Camp Leatherneck, 350 miles away along the Kabul–Kandahar Highway, one of the most dangerous roads in the world.
The Russians, the Taliban, and now us—it all added up to three decades of war and neglect, leaving the road that connected Afghanistan’s two main cities in ruins. Uncle Sam had funded the rebuilding of three-quarters of the route, with Japan chipping in another chunk of cash. It was currently in slightly better repair than it had been, but it had become a favorite target of the Taliban again—ambushes and IEDs were common.
The guys on point were heavily armed and supported by Explosive Ordnance Disposal Techs whose job was to spot devices before one of our Armored Personnel Carriers rolled over them. Metal detectors weren’t as much use as you’d think because the Taliban used as few metal parts as possible. But tell-tale signs included depressions in the road where a hole had recently been dug and had sunk when it was recovered, or any wires sticking out that might lead to pressure plates.
Being in the middle of the convoy was no picnic either: if a device functioned, we’d be pinned down, prey to ambush. We also had to make it through checkpoints manned by ANA, keeping a covert eye open in case they weren’t as onside with US or International Security Assistance Force as they were supposed to be. Green-on-blue attacks were escalating to the point where each ISAF unit had appointed at least one soldier as a ‘guardian angel’ to act as a lookout—to keep an eye on our Afghan allies. I hoped like hell we made it in one piece.
I saw Caro briefly from a distance, flashing her a quick smile until I remembered that I was supposed to ignore her. But she smiled back briefly before she turned away.
It was comforting and scary as fuck to think that she was just a few vehicles back. I had to force myself to forget that she was there or I wouldn’t be able to do my job—but it was hard. I wasn’t needed on point because the regular terps were being used; instead I had a lot of hours to get to know the guys in my team: the five Afghan interpreters who’d be my responsibility.
As soon as I walked towards them, I knew there was tension in the air. It didn’t take a genius to work out the problem.
“As-salaamu’ alaykum.”
I introduced myself, noting their shock when I spoke their language. It took only a couple of minutes to work out that two of them were Shiite and the other three were Sunni. Both groups prayed to Allah, but that was about all they had in common. Oh yeah, and they both hated Sufis.
Well, this was going to make my job that much harder. I’d have to keep them apart whenever possible. Grant was not going to like it. And I had a feeling it would end up being my fault—definitely my problem.
Aabadar and Fazel were brothers, and very insistent on telling me that their father was Mujahadeen and fought the Russians. Jee-zus—two or even three generations of Afghans who’d known nothing but war.
The noise when we were seated inside the APC made it almost impossible to talk much, which was something of a relief. I separated my guys, distributing them among the leathernecks riding with us. I got some shit for that, but it was all muttered because I could pull rank any time I wanted. Didn’t mean I would, but these bootnecks didn’t know me, so they were ready to show who was boss. Fine by me. I’d come up through the ranks and I knew every trick in the book, and then some.
We all enlist for different reasons. For some, the Marine Corps was a chance to have a real family for the first time in our lives; for others it was a means to an end: learning a trade, or getting a college education; several said they wanted to serve their country, motivated by the events of 9/11. And for a few, it was the last chance to do something that wouldn’t end with a prison sentence.
Once they figured out I was The Man, they muttered and cussed quietly behind my back. I paid my fucking dues for this rank so until they did the same, they should quit their bitching.
The journey to Leatherneck was hell. What would have been a six- or seven-hour journey back home, turned into 15 hours of heat, dust, and a numb ass as the APC ground along the highway. We stopped at several ANA checkpoints, but I wasn’t needed as a terp. Some of the ANA were good guys and I’d worked with a few of them before. They were determined to get rid of the Taliban, and several listened to rock stations on the internet when they could get a signal, which wasn’t often—the Taliban had banned music. All music. At every camp, there was a black market trade in western CDs and DVDs—all things the Taliban considered un-Islamic at best, and satanic at worst.
I was less happy when I saw men in turbans armed with AK-47s at checkpoints. They weren’t regular army, and they watched us pass with cold eyes. It made me wonder if they were phoning ahead to let the Taliban know that a convoy was en route. Hell that had probably happened the second we left Kabul.
The AK-47 was a good weapon. I preferred my M16 because although it had a long barrel, it was two pounds lighter and the magazine was half the weight. But a lot of guys tried to smuggle Russian weapons back to the US when their tour was over as souvenirs. On my last tour, one dickwad had tried to take back a live and very unstable grenade even though it was a federal offense. My flight stateside was delayed by 20 hours while EOD were called and the device neutralized.
Several of the guys on my APC were straight out of boot camp and on their first deployment. They were ready to kick some Afghan ass, so having my five terps traveling with us was unsettling for them—that and seeing the road ahead was torn up where IEDs had been planted and burnt-out cars pushed to the side, abandoned.
I closed my eyes, dozing as best I could.
Leatherneck, our destination, 50 miles
west of Kandahar, housed 28,000 British troops at the adjacent Camp Bastion, several thousand Afghan National Army soldiers at Camp Shorabak, and 20,000 US Marines. Altogether, the three sectors must have covered nearly 4,000 acres. Leatherneck, by itself, was bigger than many small towns back home. It was supported by four gyms, a vast dining area that could serve 4,000 people at a time, three chapels—or so I was told. Best of all as far as many of the guys were concerned, there were calling centers where they could phone and email their families back home. The only person I’d ever called was Ches, and that was maybe once or twice a year.
It wasn’t much, but we called it home. Ha fucking ha. That was last tour. This time, I’d be going further into the boonies, staying at Leatherneck for just one night.
I knew that the camp also housed two- or three-thousand female soldiers. In theory they were kept segregated, although I’d managed some hook-ups when I’d been there before. For a while, I’d had a thing with Lieutenant Susie Harris who worked in the spook office with the FBI. Gotta say there’s something about fucking a senior officer. Just saying.
I’d like to try hooking up with Caro, but I knew that would be dangerous for both of us. Didn’t stop me wanting it though.
Once we arrived, hot, stinking and covered in dust and dirt, Grant called the senior non-coms together to organize transit accomm. I was sharing with the two sergeants who so far hadn’t shown much interest in me beyond the basic courtesies. They knew I was on special assignment, which meant they also knew I couldn’t talk about it.
But I didn’t have time to do more than toss my bed roll onto the lumpy bunk before I was ordered to a briefing room for a sit-rep on some new intel at Now Zad.
“Nice of you to join us, Hunter,” Grant said, his voice terse.
I don’t know what had flown up his ass, so I just took a seat out of his eye-line, sweating freely in the intense heat of the old Nissan hut.
“First: you will have noticed by now, gentleman, that we have a journo on embed with us, Lee Venzi. You will extend every courtesy—but say nothing. Is that clear? Keep all interaction to a minimum. And those of you with training in obs will have noticed that she’s a woman, which means someone has completely fucked up. I’ll send her on some routine foot patrols to keep her busy and out of the way.
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