I nearly choked when the boss threw Caro a salute and she waved back. Only my gal. Damn, I was proud. Yeah, I may have mentioned that before.
The patrols that day were kept short. At least I had the satisfaction of knowing that Caro would be safe in the compound—well, as safe as Helmand Province got. I was sent out with Sanders and an EOD operator to check out if there was any unexploded ordnance from the night’s RPG attacks. The guy wore his dog tags on his boots because he said that those would be the only things left if an IED took him out.
I hadn’t been there long when Jankowski arrived with orders to join him and his unit in another patrol to the foothills. I left my best terp with Sanders, a 17 year old kid named Gawhar. I trusted him more than the others; he seemed solid, but that wasn’t saying much.
We pushed further into the hills, only turning around when we started losing the light. We’d stopped for a five minute break to give us a chance to drink some water and eat an energy bar. Chiv had been listening in on the portable radio when he waved me over.
“Fuck man, you need to hear this.”
As I listened, all the blood drained from my face. A Taliban cell was gloating that they’d killed an ‘Infidel’ journalist. I thought I was going to be sick. It was only when I heard the words ‘Kandahar’ and ‘Bastian’ repeatedly, that I realized that they weren’t talking about Caro.
Chiv radioed back to the compound when he saw the look on my face, just to check Caro was safe.
We booked it back quick march anyway. Seeing her sitting outside in the quad was the best fucking sight ever. I breathed out a deep sigh of relief, hating that I couldn’t go to her, and stood with the other guys as the kitchen re-opened to heat up some shitty chili-flavored MREs.
I’d just started eating when Grant ordered me into the office and told me to sit down. That was a first.
“Seb,” he began. Fuck, if he was using my first name it must be serious. “You met the journalist Elizabeth Ashton. Correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I understand she was a friend of Ms. Venzi’s.” Was? “Ms. Ashton was killed by sniper fire near Camp Bastian today,” he said, his voice cold and angry. “It’s a publicity killing. They know she was a journalist and the fact that she was a woman makes it even more newsworthy. The locals know that Ms. Venzi is here—I wouldn’t be surprised if the Taliban have already put two and two together and figured out she’s journalist.”
No! NO! NO!
Then Grant looked at the radio operator.
“How soon can we get a helo in?”
We waited while a flight was arranged for oh-six-hundred hours, then Grant turned to me.
“Send Ms. Venzi in. She should know that her friend … she should know.”
“Yes, sir.”
When I went to find her, Caro could tell by the look on my face that something was wrong.“
What is it? What’s happened?”
“Grant wants to see you,” I said, ignoring the curious gazes from the other men.
She stood up stiffly and followed me into the office.
“Please take a seat, Ms. Venzi,” Grant said gently. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you … I told you yesterday that we picked up some veiled threats to you; well, it’s become much more direct. The Taliban have heard that you’re with us—and they’re viewing you as a prize kill.”
For fuck’s sake! Did the asshole have to say it like that?
“They’re aware of the value of publicity,” he continued, “and I’m afraid earlier today, they killed another journalist—a woman. I’ve called in a helo to evacuate you back to Leatherneck as soon as possible first thing in the morning. Ms. Venzi? Ms. Venzi?”
Caro looked up at him, stunned. “Who?”
“Excuse me?”
“Who was the journalist they killed?”
Grant glanced over to me.
“Liz Ashton,” I said gently.
Caro dropped her head into her hands, and I could see her fighting back tears.
“I’m sorry,” Grant said uncomfortably.
Caro looked up and nodded slowly. “She was my friend.”
“I’m sorry,” Grant said again, “but we can’t risk our mission here and…”
He bit off what he was going to say.
“How did she die?”
Grant looked away, leaving it to me to give her the gory details.
“Sniper,” I said. “She died instantly.”
I didn’t know if that was true, but it’s what we always said to families and friends. No one needed to hear that their son or brother had died screaming in agony with his legs and arms blown off and his stomach lying on the floor in front of him. You didn’t forget that shit. Ever.
Grant tried to say something comforting, but I don’t think Caro heard him. She walked out of his office, and I started to reach for her but she ignored me and walked past.
I wasn’t sure what to do—what she’d want me to do. But Grant made the decision for me.
“Give her ten minutes then check on her, Seb.”
“Yes, sir.”
I’d never been more happy to obey an order.
I gave it five minutes, then headed for her room. When she didn’t answer, I tapped on the door and pushed it open.
Caro was curled up in the corner, her arms wrapped around the knees, muttering the same words over and over again.
“Put out the light, then put out the light.”
It didn’t make sense to me at first because there weren’t any lights in her room. And then I recognized it as a line from Shakespeare. I didn’t know which play and I didn’t care. My girl was hurting and there was nothing I could do.
I shut the door behind me quietly, then sat down next to her, pulling her into my arms. I didn’t speak, I just rocked her gently, dropping soft kisses into her hair.
After a while, I felt her body relax against me, curling into my chest.
“I’m so sorry, Caro,” I said quietly. “I know she was your friend.”
She didn’t reply, so I just held her.
Night fell and the room was filled with shadows and darkness. Outside, I could hear the sounds of men changing watch and I sighed. “I’d better go, or Grant will wonder what the hell we’re doing.”
I shifted her off my lap and started to stand up, but she grabbed hold of my hand.
“Don’t go, Sebastian, please. It doesn’t matter who knows about us now—I’m being sent home anyway. Let me spend my last few hours with you.”
I sank down again. “I was hoping you’d say that,” I admitted.
I didn’t care if it fucked up my career: Caro needed me, that was what mattered
We lay on the mattress, fully dressed, our arms and legs tangled together.
“I’m not very good at gardening,” she said thoughtfully.
I was confused by her random comment.
“What’s that, baby?”
“I can’t grow things,” she muttered into my chest. “Plants seem to wither when they see me. Can you grow things?”
“I don’t know, Caro. I’ve never tried.”
“I’d like to plant something,” she whispered, “see it live and grow.”
Now I understood: she wanted to make a garden, create life; a way of evening up the balance of loss in some small way.
I pulled her against me more tightly and stroked her hair.
“Does your place in Long Beach have a backyard?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “It could be pretty. Remember Signora Carello’s bougainvillea? Maybe we could grow something like that.”
I kissed her hair again. “Baby, I can’t even spell bougain … whatever it is, but I guess I could try. Was that the purple stuff?”
She nodded.
“Okay, baby. We can grow purple stuff.”
“And pink?”
“Sure, baby, with yellow fucking stripes if you want.”
“Okay.”
I was hoping she might sleep after that weir
d-ass conversation, but she didn’t. I lay watching her, but every now and then I’d see the glint of moonlight in her eyes and know that she was awake.
As dawn started to filter through the compound, I sat up slowly, pushing the tiredness away.
Caro didn’t speak as she packed up her gear, so I watched in silence.
“I’ll miss having you here,” I said, at last. “But I’m glad you’re getting the fuck out of this shithole.”
She wrapped her arms around my waist and leaned into my chest.
“Just come home safe, Sebastian. No heroics, please.”
“The only thing you’ve got to worry about is when I self-combust, especially if you’re going to send more letters like that one you wrote me yesterday.”
My dumb joke fell flat, and she tugged at my uniform.
“I mean it. Stay safe.”
I sighed and nuzzled her hair, treasuring the scent that was all woman, all Caro.
“I’ll do my best, baby. Promise.”
Then I lifted her chin with one finger and kissed her soft lips.
“Fuck, I’m going to miss you, Caro.”
“I love you, tesoro. So much.”
I held her face between my hands and gazed into her eyes so she’d know that I meant what I said. “Sei tutto per me.”
You mean the world to me.
She smiled sadly, so much love in her tear-filled eyes. But our moment was over, and it was time to go.
I carried her bag out to the quad, ignoring the stares of the other Marines. Grant and Sanders came out to shake hands with her, and several of the other guys that I’d seen her talking with over the last few days lined up to give her awkward, one-armed hugs. Probably the first and last time that I wouldn’t mind other men touching her.
As soon as we heard the helo, eight armed Marines escorted her to the pickup point 200 yards outside the compound.
Touchdown was less than five seconds and Caro was yanked inside before the helo offered too easy a target to the Taliban squatting in the foothills.
I stood and watched the bird leave. I didn’t wave.
Grant called me into his office immediately. I thought it might have been to ask me how well I knew Caro, but I guess now she was out of sight and not his responsibility, she was out of mind.
“Seb, we’ve got to move up the mission. I want you ready to move out in an hour. The Taliban know way too much about our movements. Jankowski and 14 men will go with you. Daypack for three days—leave everything else here.”
“Yes, sir.”
I saluted and headed back. I hadn’t really unpacked, so it didn’t take long to lay out what I needed for the next few days. But when I felt the crinkle of paper in my pocket from Caro’s letter, I knew what I had to do.
I was going to try my damndest to make it back, but it was never guaranteed and this mission .... I wanted to come back, I wanted to live, more than I ever had in my whole life. But if I didn’t…
I pulled out a small notebook and stub of pencil and started to write, the words coming painfully, not just because I was out of practice with putting lines on paper.
Caro, my love,
Just writing these words makes me happier than I can remember being for a very long time—ten years, in fact.
I’m not one for words—I leave that to you—my beautiful, talented Caro. But we’ve had the news we were waiting for and soon we’ll be heading out. I hope you never read this letter, but if you do, it means I’ve gone on to the next big adventure.
Knowing that you are in the world and wearing my ring, makes me the happiest man alive, and the last two weeks have been the best and happiest of my whole life.
Be happy, Caro, because that’s what you deserve.
I love you, I have always loved you, and wherever I go after this world, I will always love you. Sempre e per sempre.
Sebastian
Then I folded it up and went to the comms room to scrounge an envelope from Chiv.
He was checking over his portable Satcomms radio.
“Are you coming with us, man?”
He nodded, his face serious. “And that ain’t all. The boss is steamin’ ‘cause some ANA just turned up and he’s been ordered to send them with us.”
“What the fuck? Seriously? This is supposed to a fucking top secret mission!”
“I know. Grant ain’t happy, but the orders have come from HQ, so we’re stuck.”
“Shit!” I rubbed my forehead.
“Well, yeah,” he sighed. “Fuckin’ top brass for ya.” Then he glanced across. “You need an envelope for that letter?”
My gaze dropped to the sheet of notepaper in my hand.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t need to ask why I wanted it, he just handed one over.
I thought for a moment about what name to write on the envelope. And then, with a small smile on my face, I wrote, Carolina Hunter.
I really liked the sound of that.
We headed out twenty minutes later, two ANA guys following us. Neither seemed interested in talking and we were also moving too fast for conversation. We were all uneasy at the thought of having them with us, knowing that Grant didn’t want them anywhere near this op.
We were in Now Zad in the first place to make contact with Gal Agha. If I could get him onside, he’d bring us to one of the Taliban leaders so we could take him out. For all we knew, the ANA men could be spies.
That’s why Military Intelligence wanted me, because they were worried about using local interpreters for a sensitive op.
We headed out into the mountains, prepared for it to take a day to meet the contact, another half a day to meet with our contact, and if things went well, take out the target, too. Then a day and a half back—that was the plan.
As soon as we were past the foothills, the path rose steeply. We couldn’t go as fast as we wanted because we were still checking for IEDs or ambushes ahead of us. The safest route was usually to follow goat tracks, but the rest was down to dumb luck. And then our ANA colleagues kept stopping for prayers, rolling out their mats, facing east and telling Allah what good guys they were. Okay, that sounds shitty, but we were in a hurry and being out in the open made us all nervous.
We spent the first night an hour’s walk from the village where we’d meet Gal Agha. The ANA kept to themselves and we had a cold camp, not wanting to risk lighting a fire.
Then we woke before dawn and made the last three mile hike into the village.
I knew right away that something was wrong—it was just too damn quiet. There was nobody in the fields, no one sitting outside their houses, no one getting ready for the day. We were all on edge.
I went ahead with the ANA guys and they were calling for Gal Agha to come outside. I mean, what the fuck? Not what anyone would call stealthy!
Then this skinny old guy came out from behind one of the buildings and he was talking really fast and he looked fucking terrified.
He stuttered and stammered, and I realized he was quoting from the Qur’an.
“Those who disbelieve, theirs will be a severe torment; and those who believe in the Oneness of Allah and do righteous good deeds, theirs will be forgiveness and a great reward of Paradise.”
His pupils were dilated with fear, and then I noticed that his robes were covered by a heavy winter coat in the middle of the fucking summer. And I knew—I just knew that he’d been turned into a human bomb.
“Get back! He’s a fucking suicide bomber! He’s…”
But then I felt like I’d been punched in the shoulder. I stared in disbelief as my M16 fell in the dust, and blood started to spread across my shoulder and chest. I sank to my knees and saw Chiv running toward me.
“Medic!” he yelled. “Medic!”
More shots punctured the air, and I stared up groggily to see that one of the ANA guys had tried to take me out, then shot his colleague and turned his rifle on the rest of the squad. The firefight started and I could hear Jankowski yelling at the contact to get down. I tried
to say the words in Pashto, but nothing came out.
Jankowski aimed his rifle at the guy, flanked by a kid called Jez. They both took aim.
Without warning, there was an explosion and I felt a blow on my leg that flung me through the air. I hit the ground and all the breath rushed out of my lungs. I felt like I was drowning. As I stared up, Chiv and Jankowski disappeared in a haze of blood and tattered flesh.
That was the last thing I saw.
I was dreaming about her again.
That was nothing new. I dreamed about her every night. I tried to wash away the memory in whiskey. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes I woke up in bed with a woman I didn’t remember meeting, let alone fucking.
Shit, this was one helluva hangover: everything hurt. I tried to move my head, but it felt like someone had filled it with concrete and then encased it in lead. I tried to move my right hand, but I couldn’t lift it. Then I tried to move my left and a bolt of pain shot through me.
Flashes of memory flickered like an old black-and-white movie, but I wasn’t sure if they were memories or dreams. Had Caro really come back into my life, or was I hung-over as fuck in my shitty apartment in Geneva?
My eyelids shuttered open and I blinked in the harsh light. Nope, definitely not Geneva.
The room was white and sterile, and I was surrounded by screens and monitors. Huh, a hospital room?
I gazed down at the thin sheet covering me. I had a box-like frame over my legs.
There was a beeping noise that was annoying the shit out of me.
Suddenly, like a door opening, I remembered: the village, the bomber, being thrown through the air.
And I knew I was in a hospital, in Afghanistan and nothing had been a dream. I guess that when real life decides to smack you between the eyes, you don’t have any fucking choice.
Chiv? Jankowski?
I closed my eyes with one clear thought in my mind: Caro.
When I woke up again, an older guy in green scrubs was standing over me.
“Welcome back. You had us worried there for a while. Do you know where you are, son?”
Semper Fi Page 31