by Johnson, Cat
A PRINCE AMONG MEN
CAT JOHNSON
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A PRINCE AMONG MEN
Copyright © CAT JOHNSON, 2008
Cover art by Beverly Maxwell
ISBN Trade paperback: 978-1-60202-147-1
ISBN MS Reader (LIT): 978-1-60202-146-4
Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):
PDF, PRC & HTML
Linden Bay Romance, LLC
Palm Harbor, Florida 34684
www.lindenbayromance.com
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Linden Bay Romance publication: October 2008
I first introduced readers to the sexy military men of Task Force Zeta in 2006 in Trilogy No. 103: Red Hot & Blue. As the series has continued and expanded over the years the response from readers, reviewers, and troops alike is humbling. I am more than humbled, because it is not me but instead the lives being led by those in harm’s way that give my books life. I hope my novels stand as testament to their sacrifices, one small tribute to them, a minute attempt to share their tale with those who might normally not be privy to it. It is not much in way of recompense. I can only hope it is enough.
With all of my heart I thank the usual players, both military and civilian, those many people behind the scenes that together form the rock-solid foundation that supports my fictional works, those who are on-call, day and night, to answer my questions and all too often provide moral support when I start to flag.
And of course, I leaned heavily on my favorite soldier, Sean Abbott, for real-life details from his deployment in Afghanistan. Only a good friend would take the time to IM me in between getting shelled on base. And when it comes time to publish his “Ramblings”, I promise, and you are all witnesses, that I will be there to help him in any way I can.
I had a bit of fun with this book by taking actual international news events and working them into my imaginary tale in a kind of “what if?” scenario. Please keep in mind that any mistakes made or liberties taken with the facts within this work of fiction are purely my own.
Chapter One
Sergeant of the Guard. The title sounded really impressive, unless you knew what it meant—twenty-four straight hours of guard duty.
What bastion of military intelligence thought that would be a good idea? Certainly not the Army infantrymen who had to endure it, of that Sergeant Ryan Pettit was certain…which said a lot because after gallons of coffee and no sleep, he couldn’t be sure of much.
There was something else Ryan thought pretty much a definite. Though bed would be welcome about now, his mind was definitely too wound up and over-caffeinated to sleep. No matter how worn down his body felt as he finally made his way to his quarters, he doubted sleep would come easily.
An unwelcome bright orange ball on the horizon had Ryan squinting against the glare during the walk to his room. At least it had stopped raining for a few minutes. The contradictory fact it was now dawn and the sun was up would do nothing to help convince his weary but over-stimulated body and mind it was time to go to bed, either.
Oh, well. It wasn’t the first time he’d been exhausted this tour of duty, nor would it be the last. With an air of acceptance of that unavoidable reality, Ryan absently reached for the handle of his door. Home sweet home, at least for now.
Inside the cozy (read “laughably tiny”) mud hut he shared with his squad leader, Staff Sergeant David “Hawk” Hawkins, it took only one quick glance around to confirm to Ryan he was alone. That wasn’t a surprise. If there were a job to do, Hawk would be out there doing it, even at the crack of dawn. If possible, the man spent less time sleeping than Ryan did, and that was saying something.
Taking advantage of the privacy and this rare opportunity to update his oft-neglected blog, Ryan flipped open the lid of his laptop. Hawk was a good roommate and a good leader, but he also didn’t get the whole computer thing. If Hawk didn’t have the incentive of emailing his cutie girlfriend Emily back in the States, Ryan doubted his leader would have any recreational use for cyberspace at all.
Hawk was a hands-on kind of guy, but he didn’t consider putting hands on a computer keyboard part of that credo, and he definitely didn’t understand that Ryan often gave up sleep to maintain his own military blog. Ryan found it was simply easier to avoid Hawk seeing him doing it whenever possible. Maybe it was stupid, but Ryan wasn’t going to ask for any more razzing than he already received from his leader. Why look for trouble? That was Ryan’s credo, and to date it had served him well.
Meanwhile, even though he didn’t get to it as often as he liked, Ryan’s blog had gained quite a following judging by the number of hits and comments it got. One woman, screen name Vicki V, had commented on every post for the last month, telling him how beautiful his writing was. Ryan got a secret thrill from hearing compliments like that.
Vicki V’s compliments were not the only thing that sent a thrill through him. He and Vicki, whoever and wherever she may be, had gotten a bit flirty with each other of late. That was yet another reason he often logged in rather than hit the rack, the anticipation of finding a new comment from her. What made it even more tantalizing was that their entire correspondence was conducted in public blog comments, which meant they both had to get creative to keep things PG on the surface, even when the undercurrents hinted toward more.
A yearlong deployment with little to no chance of sex led a man to do strange things, Ryan guessed. Blog flirting being one of them. He pushed aside the disturbing thought that he knew nothing about Vicki, who could just as easily be a man with a woman’s screen name as she could be someone’s ninety year old grandmother. No use bursting his bubble since the chance of his ever meeting her was slim to none.
After throwing one last furtive glance over his shoulder at the window to make sure he would remain alone for the time being, Ryan set fingers to keyboard. He logged into his blog account using his, he thought, very clever screen name Groundpounder, and there, waiting for him, was a new blog comment from Vicki V.
Ryan grinned. She never let him down. If only his real girlfriend back in Germany was as reliable, though Gretchen was not exactly his girlfriend—theirs was a complicated relationship.
All thoughts of Gretchen dismissed, Ryan leaned forward to devour each and every new word from Vicki.
Groundpounder,
You never fail to disappoint. Again, I say Bravo. Your words sent a shiver straight through me, culminating in an ending that left me breathless. My only complaint, you don’t do it often enough.
Looking forward to the next time you come (back to the blog, that is).
Vicki
Ryan blew out a long slow breath, and leaned back. Damn, he was hard, just from reading her words.
The next time you come…
Tired or not, after that, Ryan had a feeling it would be sooner rather than later.
Drawing in a steadying breath, Ryan leaned forward again and hit Reply.
Dearest Vicki V,
Once again, your compliments never fail to inspire this humble soldier to do exactly as you wish. I will do my best to come far more often, starting today.
Your servant,
Groundpounder
Fueled with new inspiration, Ryan began typing his next post.
When I left you last blog post (titled “Cheeseburger in Paradise—Not!”), I bel
ieve I was complaining about eating meatloaf patty for nearly every day of the week. Thanks to a welcome care package from a troop support site last mail call, we now have ketchup, hot sauce, grated Parmesan cheese and ranch dressing with which to disguise said meat patty and make it a bit more palatable. But never fear, I have something new to complain about: the weather.
Oh, yeah, have we got weather! Everyone here thought freezing temperatures were a bad thing. But just when I assumed it couldn’t get any worse than winter in Afghanistan, with the waist-deep snow, the midnight frigid treks to the pee-tubes when nature chooses to call at the most inopportune times, or the challenges presented us by frozen toothpaste and water bottles, it hit—Afghani Spring. Hey, that might make a good song title.
Anyway, it’s raining here, pouring rain mixed with hail at times, and has been for days, barely letting up for a moment and definitely not for long enough to dry out the paths or the mud huts we live in. Everything is absolutely saturated, my last pair of clean socks included.
My base is at such a high elevation that most times it seems we are in the middle of the storm itself, almost walking in the clouds. Real fun when lightening strikes, especially when one happens to be using the above-mentioned pee-tubes at the time. Can you say ‘lightening rod’? Yikes!
The good news is that with the coming of spring the snow has mostly dissipated and there is only a bit of powder still on the higher peaks. The bad news is that when warmer weather arrives so does the wildlife (snakes, scorpions, lizards, and spiders) and also, unfortunately, so do the local bad guys. Enemy contact has increased, to put it mildly.
I often have the feeling of being watched. It is becoming a familiar feeling, that tingle at the back of your neck soon followed by a pop, then the whoosh and bright trail across the night sky of a rocket-propelled grenade. It is inevitable, I guess. After all, you can’t swim in shark-infested waters and expect the bloodthirsty predators to just stare at you. To quote the great bard, Jimmy Buffet, there are “fins to the left and fins to the right and we’re the only bait in town”.
Ryan leaned back in his chair and reread what he’d written. He was about to launch into the news that a new group of British soldiers had recently arrived to join the US, Afghan and Romanian Army troops already occupying the base, when he heard a muffled shout cut through the air.
The hair on the back of Ryan’s neck stood on end at the sound. In an instant, he had grabbed his weapon with one hand and his helmet with the other. Luckily, he’d never gotten around to removing his body armor, so he saved a bit of time there and was outside running toward the unknown situation in seconds.
Ryan saw one of the guys in his squad, Sergeant Trent “Wally” Wallace, looking dazed as he came out of the base’s Operations Center. While standing in the drizzling rain, Wally hastily brushed what appeared to be large hunks of dirt from the top of his head.
Ryan watched as his teammate touched his hair again and then inspected his hands, as if he were checking for blood. “Wally, are you okay? What the hell happened?”
Wally barely had time to point to the structure next to him when Ryan heard a loud groaning noise and watched, wide-eyed and unbelieving, as the Operations Center—a fancy name for the mud room containing radios and maps— appeared to shift slightly and ever so slowly to one side.
“Holy shit! That building’s going to cave.” Ryan’s shocked observation brought the speechless Wally to his senses, and, wide-eyed, he leapt further away from the hut.
Ryan’s gaze shifted to the other section of the collapsing building—the living quarters. Losing the equipment in the Operations Center under a pile of mud was one thing, but losing the men still sleeping in the attached living quarters was quite another. As Ryan watched helplessly, it appeared inevitable and unavoidable that both sections of the mud hut were collapsing with nearly a dozen men about to be buried within.
He’d already taken a step forward to warn the most likely still sleeping Joes inside when Hawk appeared from out of the hazy dawn, shouting as he ran, “Get those men out of that building. Now!”
Since he’d been about to do exactly that, Ryan was closest and didn’t think twice about his own safety as he sprinted through the door of the mud hut, shouting for the troops to get out.
As soon as he cleared the doorway, he felt the plywood floor begin shifting beneath his feet, but it was the walls visibly quivering that held his attention, until he dared to raise his eyes to the ceiling. Amazingly, he didn’t see sky yet. Taking that as a good sign, Ryan continued to shout at the recently sleeping but now very wide-awake soldiers. Those in the top bunks, probably the worst place to be, leapt down half dressed. Instinct kicked in as every one of them grabbed for body armor and weapons first before trying to load their arms with the things most important to each of them—family photos, laptops, whatever was in reach and could easily be carried.
Aware of the others around him doing the same, Ryan tried to help by grabbing what he was able. Everyone dumped what they could carry outside where it would be clear of danger from the collapse, each man running back in for more, but by the second trip inside, Ryan realized it was only a matter of seconds before it would all come crashing down.
Having been stationed in California during one point in his career, Ryan had once had the dubious privilege of experiencing an earthquake firsthand. That was the only thing he could compare it to, the surreal feeling as a large part of the ceiling gave way while the walls began to buckle before his very eyes.
As one soldier reached for his laptop and spent precious time struggling to get it unplugged, Ryan grabbed him by the arm. “Bender, leave it. Get out now! These walls are starting to go!”
Diving headfirst, Ryan and Bender were barely able to leap clear as everything mere feet behind them collapsed with a loud roar. Huge logs and sections of rock hard, water-soaked ceiling crashed down as Ryan, laying facedown in the mud, watched in amazement.
From nearby, Ryan heard Wally curse. “I’ll be damned. This all started with just a few pieces of dirt hitting me in the head. Look at it now.”
Finally standing, Ryan ignored the sorry state of his mud-covered cammies as he blinked the rainwater out of his eyes and whispered, more to himself than to anyone else, “Damn.”
From next to him, Hawk agreed, “You can say that again.” His squad leader sighed and glanced around at the assembled group of shell-shocked soldiers and their scattered belongings littering the wet ground. “I’m going to have to go break this little piece of news to the company commander. I’ll get back as soon as I can to help clean this up. Meanwhile, Pettit, organize the squad and dig what you can salvage out of that mess and have a team set up temporary sleeping quarters for the displaced troops in the other buildings.”
Inwardly, Ryan said, Yeah, right. Nine men from their squad and two recent arrivals from the British troops had been squashed into what was now rubble and Hawk wanted them all relocated to the other buildings, which were already fully occupied.
Outwardly, Ryan nodded crisply. “Yes, sir.”
With the responsibility for the cleanup temporarily in Ryan’s hands, Hawk took off in search of the commander.
Ryan, now adrenaline as well as caffeine-fueled, took quick stock of the situation. He would get the job Hawk had assigned to him done and done well.
Within a quarter of an hour, Ryan and his squad had the personal belongings on the ground covered with a tarp to protect them from the incessant rain, and he had rotating crews digging for more salvage amid the rubble. Meanwhile, a team of soldiers, led by Wally, had been sent to find any spare mattresses or blankets to begin setting up temporary sleeping quarters in the other buildings.
Ryan’s squad worked together well, whether it was on a mission or digging in the mud. His troops weren’t the problem, but as he looked around, it seemed two of the new British arrivals, who’d done nothing yet to help, just might be.
Walking up to the two men sitting on the sidelines while everyone else worked,
Ryan kept international diplomatic relations in mind, mustered as much politeness as he could in the state he was in, and asked, “Is anything wrong here?”
“No, Sergeant. I’m fine. Stunned is all.” The Brit who’d spoken looked away from Ryan to glance pointedly at his companion as he answered and began to rise.
The other Brit, looking panicked, pointed toward the streak of blood smeared across his friend’s forehead and said, “You need to see the medic, sir.”
“So you have said, numerous times. And thank you for your concern, Rumsfield, but I really am fine and I’d like to help.”
“But, sir…”
“Rumsfield, this place is a bit of a shambles. I’m not going to sit around on my arse while the rest of the lads work. I’ll let the medic take a look after I help tidy up.”
Ryan watched the exchange between the two with about as much interest as could be expected given he was wet, dirty and tired. He did spare a thought that they bickered more like an old married couple than a couple of soldiers, even for Brits.
“We’re digging out what stuff we can,” Ryan informed Lieutenant Wales, the bloodied Brit’s name according to what was written on the patch on his mud-caked uniform. Hell, if Wales said he wanted to help in spite of what this Rumsfield guy thought, Ryan may as well tell him what needed doing.
Wales nodded crisply in response to Ryan. And with one last glance at the still concerned Rumsfield, Wales was off toward the heap of rubble, his friend a shadow right behind him as he went.
Ryan watched their departure for a few seconds before shaking his head and heading off to do one of the thousand or so other things that needed to be done before his head would hit a pillow that day.
Chapter Two
It appeared that the press conference would be starting late. Again. In spite of the fact that the overly warm room had long ago filled with reporters, the British Prime Minister had yet to appear to answer their questions.