The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  PFC Sullivan had given me enough material for my first article, and the dreary town of Now Zad would supply plenty more. Being stationed here was a very different prospect from the relative comfort and safety of Leatherneck. I couldn’t believe that our flimsy-looking mud walls would do much to protect us from an attack where rocket propelled grenades were used.

  After a long while of being ignored, I started to feel hungry—particularly since I’d missed breakfast, and lunch had been a strange, flatbread sandwich on the road. No one had come near me, and I suspected I’d been conveniently forgotten. But now I saw men lining up near the area which I presumed had been designated as the kitchen. I joined the end of the line and looked hopeful.

  The Marines all seemed terribly young: most were in their early twenties, a couple were only 19 or so. I remembered that Sebastian had been even younger than that when he’d first been sent to Iraq, and Fido hadn’t made it to 20.

  They were all sweetly shy around me, calling me ‘ma’am’, of course, and insisting I go to the front of the line. We were having MREs (meal ready-to-eat) ration packs. I was told the food was chicken and noodles; the noodles I recognized, the anemic-looking meat I was less sure about.

  I squatted down with the group nearest to me, and got out my trusty bottle of soy sauce. It wasn’t long before it was doing the rounds—even among the boys who’d never heard of soy sauce, let alone the tamari variety.

  I asked each of them where they came from and what had made them enlist. For some, the Marine Corps was a chance to have a real family for the first time in their lives; for others it was a means to an end: learning a trade, or a college education; several said they wanted to serve their country, motivated by the events of 9/11. And for a few, I guessed, it was the difference between a slippery slope into a life of crime, and a chance to contribute something useful and make something of their lives.

  I saw Sebastian once: he was standing at the compound’s entrance, next to one of the sangar observation posts, talking to a group of locals. He looked tired, and I wondered if he’d had a chance to eat.

  “I don’t know how he talks that Greek shit,” said Larry, a friendly kid from Pittsburgh, who was nodding at Sebastian.

  “It’s not Greek, fool!” snorted Ben, a native of Kansas City. “It’s Arabic, isn’t that right, ma’am?”

  “Whatever, man: it’s all Greek to me,” said Larry, with a wide grin.

  “It’ll either be Dari or Pashto,” I said, gently amused when Ben looked crushed by my correction. “I’m sure he’ll teach you a few words if you’re interested.”

  He shrugged, noncommittal. I understood: Sebastian was an unknown quantity—one of them, yet not one of them.

  Gradually, the men became more relaxed in my presence, and the laughter and joking attracted more people to our corner of the compound. Laughter that petered out the moment Captain Grant wandered over to see what was going on.

  I think he was mildly surprised to find I wasn’t being a pain in the ass for a change, because he was almost civil to me, my early indiscretion forgotten, or at least forgiven.

  Eventually, I decided to call it a day and despite being implored to stay and shoot the breeze, I headed to my closet.

  The bathrooms were basic, and I was dreading becoming familiar with them. But at least I wouldn’t have the incredibly gross job of burning the waste every day. I wondered if it would be reserved for a punishment duty.

  I brushed my teeth and rinsed with a mere mouthful of tepid water, swiped some of the dust off my face with baby-wipes, kicked off my boots and laid my body armor where I could reach it in a hurry. I knew I was probably a little ripe from a day of constant sweating, but I was too tired to care, and it wasn’t as if I could slip on my yoga pants after soaking in a hot tub.

  Instead, I listened to the sounds of the camp around me: men going to their sleeping quarters, others going on watch. I realized what was missing—there was no birdsong. Nothing, not a single sound of any animal at all. The thought disturbed me, waking me more thoroughly than the alarm I had slept through this morning.

  And then I heard a soft footfall outside my door.

  “Caro?” he whispered.

  I pushed open the door, and saw Sebastian crouching in the dim light. He wound himself through the narrow opening and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly.

  “It’s like a dream having you here,” he murmured. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and find I’ve imagined you.”

  I clutched him tightly. “My dreams aren’t usually this good.”

  “Mine are,” he whispered, softly. “Or they used to be. When you first left, I dreamed about you all the time.”

  “What was I doing?” I said, stroking his cheek.

  He leaned into my hand, breathing deeply. “Mostly, we were just by the ocean, walking on the beach.”

  “Mostly?”

  He grinned. “Sometimes we did other stuff.”

  “Stuff? I’m not sure I know what you mean by ‘stuff’,” and I rubbed the front of his pants suggestively, hoping he’d feel the need to elucidate.

  “Caro!” he groaned. “Fuck, I just came to make sure you were okay in here. I have to get back to the comms room.”

  “Right away? You can’t take a few minutes?”

  He kissed me hungrily. “I really can’t, baby. Grant’s waiting for me.”

  “You’re such a tease,” I said, slapping his ass. “You come in here, raising my expectations…”

  “That’s not the only thing that got raised,” he said, dryly.

  I smirked at him. “Well, I’d have been happy to meet those expectations, but apparently you have to go be a soldier.”

  “Actually, I have to go be an interpreter … I could try and come back later, Caro.”

  “Sebastian, seriously: do what you need to do. You know where I am, and I trust you to know whether or not it’s safe to take that risk. It worries me that I’m a distraction here for you. The most important thing is that you focus on your job. We’ve got the rest of our lives after that.”

  He kissed me again, then rested his forehead against mine.

  “I’m a lucky bastard—thank God for you, Caro.”

  “I’ll see you at breakfast, Chief,” I said, running my hand over his hair.

  “One other thing,” he said, looking at me seriously, “there’s been some radio chatter and the Taliban definitely know we’re here. I don’t think they’ll do anything tonight—they’re not in position, from what I can work out, but if you hear someone yell ‘incoming’, get your body armor on, keep your head down, and stay in here away from the windows. Whatever happens, Caro, stay in here. Everyone out there knows what they’re doing: we don’t need your help. You know what I’m saying, baby?”

  I hugged him tightly. “I promise. I don’t want you thinking about me when you have more important things to concentrate on.”

  He smiled briefly. “There isn’t anything more important than you.”

  Then he kissed me gently, pressing his soft lips against mine. A moment later, and he was gone.

  I settled back on my mattress, enjoying the relative coolness of the night air. I hoped Sebastian would be able to come back later, but I wasn’t counting on it. Just knowing he was nearby was soothing.

  The alarm on my wristwatch awoke me shortly before dawn. I sat up abruptly, my heart hammering in my chest. I could see a dark shadow curled up in the corner of my room. It moved and stretched.

  “Sebastian!” I whispered. “What are you doing?”

  “Hey, baby,” he mumbled, sleepily.

  “How long have you been there? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “Couple of hours, I think. I didn’t want to wake you—you looked so peaceful.”

  I crawled up the mattress and wrapped my arms around his neck. I could feel the stubble on his cheek.

  “You didn’t even take your boots off,” I said, burying my face in his neck.

  He chuckled quiet
ly. “Didn’t seem much of a point.” He kissed my hair and climbed to his feet. “Gotta go, baby.”

  “Already?” I said, disappointed.

  He smiled. “Yeah, need to get a wash and shave before dawn patrol.”

  “You’re lucky,” I said, with a wry smile. “I’m relying on baby-wipes while I’m here. You’ll get to know me in a whole new way, Sebastian.”

  He laughed quietly. “Looking forward to it, baby. See you later.”

  I quickly completed my morning ablutions (two baby-wipes over my face and under my arms, and a tiny squeeze of toothpaste to brush my teeth). I was touched, more than touched, that Sebastian had slept at the foot of my mattress, making sure I was okay, when he would have been better off crashing on his own bedroll for a few meager hours. Somehow that told me far more about the way he felt, than if he’d woken me up for a rousing bout of illicit sex. I wouldn’t have minded that either, and I’d been disappointed that he’d had to go so quickly. I knew he was trying damn hard to keep our relationship a secret. God love him for trying.

  Which reminded me, he’d gone outside to wash and shave. I grabbed my camera and headed out.

  The sun was just beginning to appear behind the mountains, weaving pink and purple clouds around the summits, when, like a gift from heaven, I saw a row of Marines, naked above the waist, who were washing outside in the cool air. Nicole would have gone crazy: all that taut, toned male flesh on display. It was a damn fine sight, but I was on the lookout for one sexy, muscular back that I’d gotten to know very well in the last two weeks.

  I hid behind my camera, and snapped images of compound life. Yeah, right. Finally, I had a photograph of Sebastian that I could keep legitimately while I was working.

  Then one of the older Marines spotted me.

  “You gonna blow up a nice big print of me, lady?”

  And then the catcalls started. Marines of all shapes and sizes started flexing their biceps and even rubbing their nipples in my general direction.

  I couldn’t help laughing, more at the furious scowl on Sebastian’s face than anything else.

  “Gentlemen,” I said, “it’s too early in the day for all that: I haven’t even had my breakfast MRE yet.”

  The good-natured teasing continued as I made my way across the compound to the line for chow. Hmm, more noodles and meat in dinky little plastic packs. No wonder this food was also known as ‘Meals Rejected by the Enemy’ or even ‘Man Ready to Eat’. I was really hoping we’d get a helicopter drop of some fresh fruit and A-rations at some point over the next three-and-a-half weeks. Otherwise, my bottle of soy sauce wasn’t going to last long.

  Captain Grant stuck his head out, searching for the source of gratuitous good humor. When he saw me, he looked surprised and nodded politely. I nodded back, but couldn’t help grinning at him.

  He smiled cautiously, then bobbed back inside.

  Ten minutes later, I joined the officers and gunnery sergeants for the morning’s briefing. Sebastian was there, too, freshly-shaven and looking grumpy.

  “This morning we’ll have four patrols moving out. Crawley, 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,” said Sebastian. “I’ve told them to stay behind today.”

  “Does that leave us short?” said 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 on, sir. Could cause problems.”

  “Then damn well make sure it doesn’t, Hunter!” snapped the Captain.

  Sebastian didn’t argue the point further, but I could tell he was slightly pissed.

  As the meeting broke up, I ventured to put my hand in the air. Part of me hoped I’d be with Sebastian’s patrol; part of me hoped I wasn’t, because I knew I’d be a distraction for him.

  “Which team would you like me with, Captain Grant?”

  He looked up, clearly irritated.

  Well, fuck him! He wasn’t the only one doing a job here.

  “Perhaps ‘like’ was too strong a word, Captain,” I suggested, coolly.

  I saw Sebastian’s lips quirk up in a small smile, before he quickly stifled it. He wasn’t the only one—I saw two of the other officers grin openly.

  “You’d better come with me, Ms. Venzi,” the Captain muttered, somewhat unwillingly. “And you, Hunter.”

  “I feel like Fox Mulder,” I murmured loud enough for Grant to hear, but not loud enough that he’d feel the need to reply. “The Marines’ ‘most unwanted’.”

  The Captain’s forehead creased in a frown, but I thought I detected a hint of humor in his eyes, too.

  The dawn patrols left the compound on foot: today’s mission was to scout the area and get a hands-on idea of the terrain. The two patrols checking the old marketplace probably had the most dangerous job—although there weren’t really any safe ones. But those old bazaar buildings provided places where IEDs could be planted, or gunmen could hide.

  By comparison, my stroll up the river wadi would be easy. Or perhaps ‘easier’ was a better way of describing it, because the heat was already building uncomfortably, and nothing would be ‘easy’ today.

  I’d been positioned in the middle of the patrol for safety. Sebastian was up front with the Captain when we saw our first locals.

  Four small boys, aged about eight or nine, were sitting in a patch of dirt when they saw us. They stood up in a hurry, looking scared, but Sebastian called out to them, and they stared at him in surprise. He said something else and I saw the biggest boy, who seemed to be acting as the leader, shake his head. Then the boy pointed up into the foothills.

  I snapped a quick picture while no one was looking.

  “He says there are Taliban up in the hills, sir,” Sebastian said to Grant, quietly. “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 saw him glance at me.

  “Anything else?” said the Captain.

  Sebastian sighed. “He said his father has promised to get him a rifle like mine when he’s ten.”

  I couldn’t help wondering how long this war would go on, when children were being used to carry it forward.

  Then one of the boys spotted me and gaped, openly pointing me out to his friends. They rattled off a question and Sebastian grinned.

  “They want to know if Ms. Venzi is your wife, sir, or if you just brought her to do the cooking.”

  I’ll get you for that, Hunter!

  Some of the troops laughed, but Grant looked slightly flustered.

  “Tell them she does the cooking,” he said.

  Sebastian gave them the answer and the boys nodded wisely. Then he handed each of them a hard candy, and we moved on, watching as they waved goodbye.

  From a distance, I snapped another photo of them waving, then hurried to catch up with Grant.

  “Would you like to explain that to me, Captain Grant,” I said, mildly, while secretly giving him the evil eye.

  “I don’t want word getting out that we have a journalist with us,” he said, shortly.

  He had a point, and, despite the heat, I felt a shiver go down my spine. As I fell back to my place in the middle of the patrol, I glanced over to see Sebastian looking at me, a serious and worried expression on his face.

  We moved slowly next to the dried riverbed when one of the Marines on point yelled out, “Incoming!”

  I looked up to see a bright flash in the sky and heard an intensely loud roaring overhead. I half-dived, half-fell into the wadi, following the Marines w
ho’d hit the deck the second their colleague had shouted.

  The rocket propelled grenade shook the ground as it exploded, and the percussion from the hot air deafened me. Even though I was terrified, I could tell that the noise wasn’t dangerously near to us.

  “RPG, sir!” shouted the gunnery sergeant. “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 and pinned down. The wadi gave us good protection but we couldn’t move either.

  Sebastian crouched down next to me.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. I won’t move. Promise.”

  He gave an anxious look, then made his way back to Captain Grant.

  Two men moved forward with a small mortar and fired off a couple of rounds. The rush of sound was distinctly comforting.

  “Hewitt,” shouted the Captain, “call in air support. I want the shit bombed out of those fuckers. Give them the coordinates—now!”

  I managed to turn around in the confined area and took photographs of the Marine on the radio calling air-support, and of the two Marines firing the occasional mortar round.

  Two more RPGs came in, each landing a little closer, although not close enough to concern the men around me. I thought I was having an out-of-body experience: everyone seemed so calm, including me; although another, quieter, rational part, was scared witless.

  Luckily I had something else to focus on. Despite the heat and despite the fact I’d sweated enough to leave salt marks on my clothes, I was dying to pee. Maybe it was just fear after all, but I didn’t know how much longer I could hang on.

  Another fifteen minutes passed and the pressure on my bladder was becoming intolerable. I was seriously considering just peeing my pants right there. It was so hot, my clothes would dry quickly; the sting of humiliation would, however, last considerably longer.

  I felt better when I noticed several of the Marines discreetly peeing into the wadi. God, it was so much easier for men. I should have worn a long skirt like the local women, then I could have just squatted down in the dirt and no one would have been any the wiser.