“I can always tell when you’re thinking about sex,” she said, finally noticing me ogling her.
“Baby, anytime I’m looking at you, I’m thinking about sex,” I replied, wandering over to wrap my hands around her from behind.
“Well, I’d like some sausage before anything else,” she replied, chuckling.
“Pretty sure, I can help you out there, buttercup.” I sat and pulled her into my lap so I could check out whether my lack of underwear theory was correct. Sadly, it wasn’t. She rolled her eyes but fed me a piece of bacon anyway. When she would’ve pulled away, I grabbed her wrist and sucked the salty goodness from each of her fingers, until she shivered. Leaning forward, she kissed me gently.
“Love you,” she whispered softly.
“I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”
Happy with my answer, she smiled and dug heartily into her breakfast. With her hair tied back, the curve of her neck was exposed, and I nuzzled my nose against it, inhaling her scent deep into my lungs. I wanted to breathe it in so deep it became a part of me. I wanted to bottle the moment and hide it away, so if and when the worst ever happened, I could open it in the secret vault of my mind, the part of me that every special ops soldier relied on when they were blocking out pain. When they needed that one memory, that one reason to endure what couldn’t be endured. With a squeeze to her hip to make sure she wasn’t going anywhere, I used my hand to attack my own breakfast, devouring it in huge bites and revelling in the fact that Sar was an amazing cook.
After a lazy coffee, I helped her clean up and then helped her back to bed, but all too soon it was time to say goodbye. This was the shit I’d never had to deal with. Where I could, I always made a point of stopping by Nan’s the night before an op, but her idea of a goodbye was “Don’t die or I’m donating all your shit to the cat’s home charity shop on High Street.” She said it with a great deal of affection mind you.
In my black fatigues and combat boots, I felt the comfort of familiarity. With Sarah, I was trying my best not to fuck anything up, but I was essentially charting new ground. In this job though, my confidence knew no bounds. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I was fucking good at it. The best team in the world was by my side, and I had a score to settle. Each one of the arseholes I’d be facing tomorrow had some hand in putting my girl’s life in danger. For that, they would all die by mine. I’d make it as quick and clean as possible, but that was the only concession. This house gave the illusion of protection, but it was only a matter of time before the terrorist group or the Russians tracked her down, and after that, what they’d do to her would be the stuff of nightmares. But as long as there was breath in my body, that wasn’t happening.
“You look more like armed police than SAS,” she said to me, doing her best to put on a brave face.
“And how many SAS guys have you met before me?” I asked, raising my eyebrow questioningly.
“Oh, a few,” she lied playfully. “But none of them had any real endurance, so they never really lasted.”
“That right?” I replied, picking her up and wrapping her around me like a monkey. “Any complaints about my endurance, because we’ve got ten minutes? I’m pretty sure that’s all it would take to christen the stairs.”
“Ten minutes isn’t nearly enough time for what I want to do to you. Now get going before I don’t let you go at all,” she replied. She wriggled until I put her down then wrapped her arms around her torso like she was trying desperately to hold herself together.
I wanted to reassure her that it was only for a few days. That I’d be back home, safe and sound and fucking her seven ways from Sunday, before she had her Monday morning toast and coffee. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Because we both knew that wasn’t a promise I could keep.
“I’m not saying goodbye,” I warned her.
“Neither am I,” she replied. “I am going to kiss you though. And then I’m going to make myself a cup of tea, work out the best place in the house to set up my studio, order a load of art stuff online that I don’t really need because we’re bringing a ton of it back from Yorkshire, and do my very best not to worry myself sick when you’re gone.”
“Good plan,” I agreed, wrapping my arms around her tiny body. “Just remember what I said though. Keep a low profile until I know it’s safe. That means no calls, no emails, no texting friends. I know it’s going to be hard, but until I’m back, the fewer people who know you’re here, the better. Nan’ll stop by tomorrow. I’ve asked her to knock, but we’ll need to change the locks to keep her from using her key.”
“Promise me a runny boiled egg sandwich next week?” she asked, looking up at me with watery eyes.
“Sorry, babe. But what the fuck?” I asked in confusion.
“I’m not going to tell you to be safe or ask you to come back alive and unharmed. But a runny boiled egg sandwich is the most random thing in the world, and nobody else knows how much I love them. So, if you promise me that, I know everything’s going to be fine,” she said earnestly.
I held her close with one hand and used the other to tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’re a nut job, but you’re my nut job, and I promise that come hell or high water, next week you will have a runny boiled egg sandwich. Now will you promise me something?” I asked, rubbing my thumb across her cheek.
“Anything,” she replied.
“Promise me you’ll sleep in my T-shirts when I’m gone. I need something good to dream about while I’m away.”
She didn’t promise, but she smiled like I knew she would. I didn’t have the vocabulary to give her the words she deserved, so I did the only thing I could. Cupping her jaw with my hand, I kissed her. One kiss was all I had to show her that she was the fire in my blood, the light in my dark soul.
My redemption.
I kissed her, and then I did the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I let her go, so that I could set her free. So that I could save her. I brushed my thumb over her cheek one last time, picked up my kitbag, and left without looking back. I’d carved my soul from my body and left it in her hands. I wouldn’t need it where I was going.
The Ministry of Defence officer at the gates of the Royal Air Force base at Credenhill waved me through, and I could see the loaded chopper already on the tarmac. I was the first to arrive, but by the time the rest of the team rolled in, I was ready. All thoughts of Sarah were hidden away, locked deep inside where they’d be safe until this thing was done. If we succeeded, I’d never have to stand there and watch while another child died at the hands of these fucking terrorists. Never before had our motivation been greater. Guys from both alpha teams were assembled and looking sharp. They’d all seen the horrific images of innocent burning bodies, and it’d hit hard. Especially to some of these boys who had kids or were expecting. Hunter was suspiciously absent, so I addressed them all.
“Right, lads, no fucking about today. I want this thing done by the book. MI5 have eyes on Agheenco and his major players. You do not move until you have them all in your sights. Team A, we need kill shots for every one of the terrorist cell before we call it. Lieutenant Jackson and I will be coordinating both operations with one another, but it’s essential that they take place simultaneously. If one of the targets has a chance to tip off the other, this thing will be over before it starts. These terrorists will disappear into the wind, and who knows how many people will die before we get another crack at this, so nobody fucks this up. They cannot be allowed to inform someone that their meeting has been compromised. Authorisation for this op comes straight from the prime minister, so you can be damn sure that anyone who cocks up is gonna lose at least a stripe.
“I don’t need to tell you how much is at stake here, boys. For those of you who haven’t heard through the grape vine, the Russians are after my girl. These bastards are trafficking weapons, women, and kids, and I’m told the shipment we’re intercepting today contains enough explosives to take down half of London. Well, that’s n
ot happening on my watch. I’m not letting them put one more innocent kid in a body bag because my team fucked up. Each one of you has been hand-picked because you are the best of the fucking best at what you do, so get the job done and show people what the SAS are fucking made of. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” they shouted back.
“Good. Now gear up. We have a full briefing in fifteen minutes. Then I want Team A in the armoury,” I replied, giving them their marching orders.
“Where the fuck do you get off addressing my team?” Hunter shouted, running over to me from his car. Most of the guys had disappeared to get their shit together, but even without them in earshot, I didn’t appreciate being barked at like some junkyard dog. He was a bloody good SAS operative, but although we were the same rank, he never could quite get over losing out on the command of Team A to me.
“We were scheduled to assemble twenty minutes ago. Both teams have shit to get done, so next time, if want to address your team separately, try showing up on time,” I answered calmly. He was a hothead, and I knew my aloofness drove him nuts.
“All right, Harper, have it your way, but let’s see if you’re this high and mighty when the operation is over,” he said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. If he had something to say to me, I’d rather he just spit it out.
“It means, enjoy your command while you can. You fucked an asset! I hope for your sake she was a good lay, because the minute this operation’s over, you’ll be kissing your career goodbye,” he yelled.
I replied by punching him square in the face.
“Don’t ever talk shit about her again, Jackson. Just do your job properly and leave my career to me,” I said, and walked off to find my men. He wouldn’t risk losing face by reporting me, though I didn’t much care if he did. If he thought he could insult my girl and get away with it, he thought wrong. If he didn’t want to end up on his arse again, he’d remember that.
Sarah
Waiting for Tom to come home was nothing short of torture. I couldn’t go out, couldn’t phone any of my friends, or check in on social media, or do any of the other things you might think of to pass the time while you waited to see if your man made it home alive. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like if he was deployed overseas. Sporadic letters and phone calls with only a vague notion of when he might return. But if that was what his life was, I was all in. He was it for me, and whenever he could make it home, I’d be there.
The first few hours weren’t so bad. I sketched and watched movies, read a book for five minutes, then slammed it shut because I couldn’t concentrate. I even vacuumed and dusted the house from top to bottom and finally stripped and remade the bed. I drew the line at changing the pillowcases though. Aside from a hoodie and T-shirt that he left hanging over the back of a chair in the bedroom, they held his scent. That faint smell of shaving soap and aftershave. He’d washed all of those scents off before he’d gone, explaining when I questioned that, although the terrorists would probably appreciate him making the effort, it didn’t much help when you were trying to be stealthy. Smothering my nose with the pillow was torture I knew, but there were some things you just couldn’t help. Like turning on a tap, it triggered a waterfall of uncontrollable tears. He might be the best of the best, but he was going up against an unknown number of fanatical terrorists. Men who valued their cause above that of any life. Cowards who volunteered the last vestiges of their humanity when they sacrificed innocent children.
It wasn’t a case of being weak. Sometimes tears were all we needed to wash away the fear so that we could see clearly again. It was cathartic. They were tears of worry, perhaps tears of frustration, but in the end, I felt better for having shed them. Of course, I didn’t look so hot after. My red nose and puffy eyes tell-tale signs that I’d been crying like a baby. So when Nan walked through the door a day early and said, “Good Lord, am I ever glad I brought some chocolate; something tells me we’re going to need it,” I launched myself into her arms and started crying all over again. This time they were tears of happiness that she was there. With a cigarette in her mouth and hands laden with shopping bags, she could do little to fend me off.
“Less than twelve hours and you’re this desperate for human contact?” she asked. “I can go three days at home without seeing anyone and still be pissed off when the postman knocks at the door.”
“Well, that’s because you hate people, and I’m actually glad to see you,” I said, unburdening her of her load.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before and actually meant it,” she admitted. Not that it was said with any degree of self-pity. More that it was further evidence weighted to the fact that I was clearly strange for enjoying, rather than enduring, her company.
“Give it a few months, I’m sure it’ll wear off,” I said audaciously.
“Cheeky bitch,” she grumbled affectionately as she opened the door to flick away her cigarette ash.
“You know Tom’s going to freak if he catches you smoking in here.”
“He’s got to catch me first. Why, are you going to grass me up?” She narrowed her eyes as if to gauge whether I actually had the balls.
“Depends on whether you’ve got any wine in here,” I replied, narrowing my eyes right back.
“Wine is for when you’re eating out silly girl. In this house, we drink spirits. Now I’ve got vodka or gin?” She held up a rather hefty bottle of each.
“Bit of both?”
“Darling, welcome to the family,” she replied.
By eight o’clock, Nan had confiscated the booze and cut me off. By nine o’clock, she was making me coffee, and by ten o’clock, I learned the reason why.
“The first night he goes is always the worst. I’ve learned that now and refined my routine somewhat. A few shots of a good hard spirit takes the edge off, but you can’t let yourself get drunk. Because always, no matter how many times you promise yourself you’re not going to, you always end up watching the ten o’clock news. Drunk you’ll get over emotional and melancholy, and you’re no use to anyone. With the edge off, you can watch the news, rationally appreciate that in no segment of the news was he or the regiment pictured or mentioned, but still have enough alcohol in your system to sleep,” she explained.
“Does it ever get any easier?”
“Never,” she replied, telling me exactly what I didn’t want to hear. “But you learn to live with it. You know this time, where he’s gone, don’t you?”
“Yes. But I can’t tell you or anyone else.”
“Does it have something to do with you?”
This time I nodded my head. “I’m not being difficult, but I really can’t tell you anything. It’s the reason he probably asked you not to talk about me. I can say though, that if he’s successful, I’ll be able to stay.”
“Like that boy knows how to fail,” she scoffed with a wry smile, and I couldn’t help but share her optimism. As Nan promised, there was no mention of the SAS in the news, so an hour later when it ended, she shut off the television and announced it was bedtime.
Most women ease into the role of military girlfriend. I’d dived in head first without so much as a helmet. Seeing how badly I was floundering, Nan took over. She couldn’t cook, refused to smoke outside the house or stop cursing, and she barked at people more than she spoke to them. But she was strong and stoic, and more importantly, experienced in loving a man who walked head first into danger on a regular basis. So I allowed her to boss and cajole me. Tell me when to go to bed and when to wake up, what to cook for us both and when we would eat. For all intents and purposes, I was a zombie. Sleepwalking through life, waiting for any news that Tom was safe and that the danger was over.
Sunday was the worst day. It dragged interminably. Even Nan was climbing the walls by the afternoon. She’d only expected to visit for a few hours and ended up staying the whole weekend. My nerves only served to exacerbate hers. She’d chain-smoked and shuffled cards before forc
ing me to endure enough hands of poker that I didn’t think I’d ever want to play again.
What I knew that Nan didn’t, was that the operation was scheduled to take place later that evening. By tomorrow morning, it would all be over. After that, it was anyone’s guess how long it would take Tom to make it back, but I’d be fine once I knew he was safe. Sunday night followed pretty much the same routine as the evening before, although long into the early hours of the morning I found myself in bed, staring into the dark. I managed to catch a few hours of sleep, and when the sun rose above the horizon, I knew it was done. I’d made it through the night. The mission would be over, and Tom would get a message to us at some point today to let us know how it went.
While Nan was making a cup of tea in the kitchen, I wandered into the living room with my toast and turned on the television.
“Nan!” I screamed, not being able to comprehend more than the “breaking news” banner and the bold black headline that began “SAS.”
“Why in the hell are you screaming at me like a banshee…dear God,” she said, as she saw too, her hand coming up to cover her mouth in horror. I scrabbled about, uncovering sofa cushions until I’d located the remote control and cranked up the volume.
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