by Nancy Adams
He tried to get up, but was immediately thrown down again after making it just a few inches off the ground. The stars returned. He had a concussion for sure.
Tucker placed his knee on his chest, pinning him to the floor. He struck Eli once, twice—the third punch nearly knocked him unconscious. Whatever strength he’d felt he had left was gone. He couldn’t even breathe in all this smoke.
He made one last feeble attempt at a counter strike, but Tucker saw the punch coming, and grabbed Eli’s hand in his. Pinning it to the floor. With the other hand, he wrapped his fingers around Eli's neck and began to squeeze.
“It’s you! You've poisoned her against me!”
Eli's eyes began to roll back into his head. Light fled from his eyes. The deep roar of flame and Tucker’s voice faded to an echo and the world slowed.
“It’s all your fault!”
He could barely keep his eyes open, now. He turned his head to the side, and in his trance state he saw an iron cooking pan that had fallen from the oven top. It sat squarely in the middle of a burning flame, red-hot, and Eli knew what needed to be done.
He stretched out his free hand, and grabbed onto the scalding hot metal—the pain was so intense he didn’t even feel it. With all his might, he threw the blistering pan directly against Tucker’s head. Immediately releasing his grip, and sending his limp body tumbling to the floor.
Eli gasped for air, inhaled only smoke, and rolled over. Keep low, that’s what you were supposed to do. He crawled toward Abbey, and with the last reserves of his strength hefted her into his arms, his burned palm clenched into a tight fist against her waist.
The ceiling was still coming down. They probably had just moments until the whole thing collapsed on top of them, and he couldn’t carry both Abby and Tucker to safety. It wasn't a difficult choice.
I'll have to come back for him, Eli told himself, as he turned toward the door. He could hear the house groaning, a noise like a living thing. The second floor gave way just as he reached the door, falling with a mighty crash—and Eli jumped.
Not quite airborne, but high enough, far enough, that he could taste the clean, sweet air of the world beyond. He turned his body to shield Abby from the impact, and then they hit the ground hard. More pain. Pain cracking through him, his head and his hand and his freshly-skinned shoulder and leg, and as he screamed the house finally collapsed behind them, a roaring black mess of flaming debris.
twenty-three
THE STREET WAS A SWARM OF ACTIVITY. Lights flashed. Firemen pulled at hoses, dousing what was left of the house. There were a few police cars on scene, and someone would no doubt want to talk to Eli, at least—probably both of them, now that Abby was awake.
She sat on the edge of the ambulance, waiting as one of the paramedics flashed a light in her eyes. They’d done the same for Eli, diagnosing him with a mild concussion, and then had him sit for a while with an oxygen mask. A paramedic had cleaned and dressed his hand, and they would be taking them to the hospital soon, right after they gave their reports to the police officers. But the EMT told him that he didn't expect them to have to stay more than a night for observation.
Eli pulled himself to his feet. His whole body ached, but it didn't stop him. He made his way across the scene, beneath two “Police: Do Not Cross” tapes. When she saw him, she jumped from the back of the ambulance in the middle of her assessment. The paramedic called out to her, but she was already firmly in Eli’s grasp, and he was holding onto her with everything he had. He never wanted to let go of her again.
She kissed his cheek, then whispered into his ear, “My hero.”
Hero. Boy did it feel strange hearing that from her. It was even true, this time around, but he honestly didn't care; the only thing he cared about was in his arms. And he would run into a hundred burning buildings for this woman.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he said, trying to hold back tears.
“You did....” She looked him in the eye as she pressed her palms gently against the sides of his face. “...and yet here I am.” She smiled, and suddenly everything in the world was right again. No more pain. No more guilt. No more running. It was just him and her, and he would fight to the end to keep it that way.
“Here you are,” he whispered. Their foreheads touched, and each stared into the eyes of the one they cherished most.
Then Abby looked over at the house. The house she had grown up in. The house her grandmother lived in, and cherished.
Eli pulled her face back towards his. “We’ll rebuild it. No matter how long it takes. No matter how difficult it gets. We’ll rebuild it right, together, and it’ll be stronger than ever.” He reached out, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Trust me. I'm not going anywhere.”
Abby smiled. “And neither am I.”
With that, they leaned together in unison, kissing with more passion and intensity than some felt in a lifetime. Their love was true. It saw the ugly, and said it was there to stay. They weren’t pretending everything would be easy or perfect, but as long as they were together they would make it through. And in doing so they would live a dedicated, devoted, and passionate life. Loving each other endlessly.
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Chapter One
One More Week
“Did you think you could have done this a year ago?”
“No.” Loose brown curls framed Melissa’s gorgeous, powdered face as she spoke. Her lips were a candy-coated deep pink. “A year ago I had no idea how I was going to get through the next month,” Melissa chuckled, and looked around the group of women resting in padded chairs. She met each of their eyes in turn.
“I mean, Ray came home for the birth, but then,” she chortled loudly, “he was gone five days later and it was just me. With twins.” Her eyes bulged at the memories. Some of the women chuckled at Melissa’s comical nature.
“By myself, I had to do this,” Melissa nodded assuredly. “I mean, I was going to be both Mommy and Daddy for that first year. I was all alone.” Some of the women in the group nodded their head sympathetically. They all seemed to know or at least understand the sentiment.
“I had a couple of family members pass through and stay for a bit, but,” Melissa’s face fell slightly, “it’s not the same as when Daddy’s home.”
“And how was your homecoming?” Another woman’s thin voice broke through the focused silence.
At that question, Melissa giggled. “Good,” she nodded, and then beamed. “Really good.” The ladies in the room smirked. “But we still have to take it slow. He has to learn like I did, and I have to let him. With the girls, I mean.”
“And with you?” Another woman asked. Melissa chuckled nervously and looked down.
She wasn’t the next one to speak, however. It was the speaker of the group, an older woman named Sandy, whose husband was a retired Major General. Sandy ran this division of military mothers of preschoolers, or Mops, as it was known. She had a warm heart for the young officers’ wives and dedicated a lot of time to the chapter.
When she started to speak, Sarah didn’t know what she said. Her own thoughts had drifted, and she was no longer concerned for what Melissa had to say.
The room shouldn’t have felt stale, but it did. Somewhere in the distance, an air conditioner hummed and buzzed away, working to keep the building at a reasonable temperature. So far, it worked, but Sarah still felt heat beneath her collar. She was angry, and she couldn’t deny it any further.
This was the part of the meeting that was going to get rough. There was always a glowing woman with radiant hair, and a handful more with pinched brows and jealousy brooding just behind their eyes. On this particular day, Sarah was one of the jealous ones. Melissa was one of the glowing women.
Last night, her hell had thawed and she had met her husband for the first time in over a year. Her daughters had finally been able to hug the man they had only seen on webcam videos. Their family was whole again, and it showed all over Melissa’s face.
N
o one was surprised. They all counted down the days until their spouses would return. Melissa’s husband had returned just over a week ago. Sarah’s turn was just around the corner. In another week, another shipment of soldiers and Marines would be coming back from the battlefield, long overdue and sorely missed.
Then Sarah would glow like Melissa was glowing. Maybe Ruth wouldn’t be so difficult at night once Daddy was home to tuck her in too. Maybe she wouldn’t cry when Sarah had to remind her that Daddy was still off fighting monsters, keeping them out of the closet and from beneath the bed.
Sure, those games always got her little girl to giggle, settle down and relax enough to allow sleep to overtake her, but who helped Sarah relax and settle down? No one. Sometimes, she was just alone with a bottle of wine, blanket, tissues, and her worn Netflix account. When the wine wasn’t enough, she turned to Jack Daniels or Captain Morgan. Those men were friendly enough, and they often helped the day to come sooner. Still, the morning brought no relief.
This tour was just hard. There was no way anyone could get around it. All the wives had similar stories. Some days were better than others. It felt normal to be out and about with just your daughter, your wedding ring, and your pride. Other days, it was downright painful. Like Father’s Day. That was tough. Or Valentine’s Day. That was even tougher. Mother’s Day was just another day for Sarah. She spent it cuddling with her daughter, a beautiful three-year-old fireball with the teeth and wispy hair to match.
The base did everything they could to help make the officers’ wives feel more at ease in their husbands’ absence, but there was only so much they could do. For everything else, the women just had to adapt, buckle down, and knuckle up.
Sarah didn’t like that. She used to be a different person. This wasn’t the first deployment her marriage had seen. It wasn’t the first time she and Adam had lived two separate lives. She had just thought that once they became a family, it would become a priority for him as well.
Wait a moment. That sounded like they weren’t priorities to Adam. She knew that wasn’t true. He supported them and was a fine father. Or rather, he could be a great father, if he were around.
Sarah bit her lip and turned her eyes from Melissa. She was actually giving some sort of speech. Sarah tried to listen, but she couldn’t get over the excitement in the tone. Melissa was speaking about being there to give them support, although she was so tempted to stay home with her husband.
Whatever. Soon, that would be Sarah gloating and smearing her man’s love for her around on the other women still awaiting their men. Just another week. That’s it. One more week. Seven days. She could do it.
The meeting ending about 15 minutes later. Other wives seemed to be handling Melissa’s excitement better than Sarah. She didn’t bother to stay and attempt chitchat. She wasn’t angry—she had to keep telling herself that. It wasn’t Melissa’s fault her husband had come home first. Sarah was just jealous. She could admit that. She’d be friends with Melissa again once her husband returned. That’s how things worked in their circle of friends, mommies, and wives.
There was always a new enemy, and this time it just happened to be the spouse that had received her husband back. In a week, people would be turning their noses up at Sarah, but she’d be too happy and finally complete to notice. Sarah looked forward to that.
She left the seating area and moved through the hallway. Sarah tried to avoid eyes, but occasionally, she’d make eye contact. She did what they all did. Smile brightly, tip the head, and mutter a greeting of the day.
Sarah mumbled something to this passing woman. It seemed to suffice. She stopped outside a room labeled Moppets and was greeted by a young woman with wavy brown hair.
“How are you doing today, Ms. Cole?”
Sarah forced a grin. “Ready,” she said firmly with a nod. The young woman nodded, and then turned, motioning to a small girl who had come to nuzzle against her leg.
“Look, it’s your mommy.” The woman stooped and picked up a wispy blond child with rosy cheeks.
“Did you have fun, Ruth?” Sarah asked sweetly. She took the short stock of flesh into her arms and squeezed her gently.
“Gwennie said her daddy is home,” Ruth offered in typical toddler speak. Her words meshed together and pierced the air in a childish squawk. Gwen was the daughter of another glowing woman. The mother’s name eluded her, but two women received their husbands a week ago. Soon, it would be her, and that’s all that mattered.
“Oh, Gwennie told you that?” Sarah smothered her daughter’s hair down and kissed her forehead. Ruth nodded matter-of-factly. “What do you want for lunch?” Sarah easily segued into another topic. Her daughter was still so innocent and young that it was easy to do.
“Can we go to a Playplace?” Ruth asked with a wide grin.
Sarah returned the smile. It was just the thing she was hoping her daughter would say. A nice play indoors along with some food was a great idea. Within a few hours, her daughter would pass out for a nap and that would give her time to get her thoughts together. Maybe she’d sort through laundry or start dinner. She wasn’t sure which. She only had one child. She didn’t work either; still, things felt empty and out of place in her life.
She constantly felt lonely, and the days it was the worst were the days she actually got to see her husband. It was always just a constant reminder of how far away he really was, and how truly alone she was and would be until he returned home and their family was complete.
His first tour hadn’t felt like this. She’d had a job back then. A life and friends she conversed with regularly. Here, she just had playdates and meetup groups like Mops that she used to tire her child out for the day. Everything else was on autopilot.
After nearly a year, she thought she would have been used to it by now, but she wasn’t. Far from it. Each day was new and its own, ushering in a new set of meltdowns, emotional moments, tantrums, and feelings of despair. She could only focus on one moment at a time, and right now, it was time to focus on lunch.
Chick-Fil-A was a good start. In the car, Sarah buckled her child quickly and gave her another peck on the forehead. In the moment, a wave of emotion passed over her. She was tired of doing this on her own.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Ruth pressed her tiny lips together and squinted at her mother.
Forcing a smile, Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing, love. How do you feel about Chick-Fil-A?” Ruth grinned. Sarah knew her daughter would love it. She checked the straps again and then closed the back door before making her way to the front driver’s seat.
She felt a sudden urge and desire to cry, but she knew she couldn’t. Not yet. She had to wait until her baby was tucked in for the night. Here and right now, in this moment, she needed to focus on being strong.
Chapter Two
So Close
A routine convey. Except it wasn’t so routine. ISIS kept the main transportation routes littered with IEDs; direct routes were no longer direct and were increasingly difficult to come by.
They had mobilized from Contingency Operating Base, just south of Nasiriya, the last known city that had successfully managed the last convoy of American soldiers exiting the “War on Terrorism” from 2011. Compared to the numbers that had been deploying back in those years, only a small handful had remained, undercover as trainers and supervisors.
That cover had been blown with the rise of ISIS, and they were working hard at protecting civilians and any military intel left. Adam’s unit had deployed quietly in 2014 as relief aid and workers for the group currently holding the fort in Iraq.
That was all a lie. Al Taqqadum was a weak Iraqi base in Anbar Province, the town of Habbaniya. For the past month they had been training new recruits, drilling and redrilling. Training, training, training. The Iraqi forces were terrible. They sucked, but the unit couldn’t stop and think about that. They had to teach their recruits how to hold formations and carry out drills under fire.
Their main facilities had come close
to being overrun a week before, and now they needed to relocate a quarter of the defenses. That’s where they were now. Stuck on route from Habbaniya to Haditha. There was an ISIS-controlled town between them, but their convoy went a day-and-a-half journey around to avoid detection and sight.
A three-day trip is all it should have been, but they were attacked at dawn on the second day. There was no telling how many would survive, how many had attacked them, or how many more were lying in wait.
Two vehicles lay smoldering in front of them, hollowed out and seared opened from the armor-piercing rounds of their enemies. They had been hit first with rockets. Always rockets first. It caused the panic and confusion. The surprise and fear.
Airborne fire seemed to dissipate after that, but Adam knew there were still ground units moving in on what remained from the initial assault. Movement caught his attention to the left. He turned and looked. It was the squad leader of the Marines he led, a fireteam group of seven. They were intact but missing their heavy gunner.
Private First Class Holdt was his name. He was gone. Bundt had stepped in to take his place. They had the 50 cal and Corporal Ryans had the ammo. They just needed a flat surface away from the fire to set up shot and then they could mow down any opposition coming to take their spoils.
Garowsky was the squad leader, a Sergeant. His hand and arm movements were sharp. He had a good eye and a keen sense of direction under fire. There were ten gunmen, Garowsky motioned with a quick flick of his hands and arms. There had been twelve, but initial retaliation had killed two. Only two. Ten men had killed a quarter of the convoy? That just wasn’t going to do.
Another man leaned forward from the disabled tank they took cover behind. He pointed behind Adam’s head. The small squad was closing in on the untouched vehicles behind the hurting fireteam of Marines. Adam looked over the small team with fatigue. They looked bad. If they could move to a vehicle with less cover, they’d have the shot they’d need to take the enemies out. Behind them were more green Iraqi troops. Those soldiers in training didn’t stand a chance. Their ammo was short and the shots were becoming less and less frequent. There wasn’t much time to change the tables before everything was lost.