Steel Rain: A Military Romance Collection

by A. Gorman

  The sun beats down on us as we march through the desert. Me and my fellow soldiers feel exhausted but are driven enough to push through the pain and fatigue so that we can complete this mission successfully.

  This is my third deployment and all I can say after now spending this last stretch of time in Afghanistan surrounded by sand and dry air is that I cannot wait to freeze my ass off when I finally go back home to Pleasant Point, Maine. I never thought those words would ever leave my mouth since I bitch and moan every time winter rolls around and I find myself outside for hours blowing snow that comes up to my waist. But after having to live through sand storms and blistering heat while walking for miles on end in this hell on earth, I’ll gladly stand in below zero temperatures digging my fucking driveway out.

  We’ve been marching for what feels like hours in temperatures that feel well into a hundred with my uniform stuck to my body, and my feet and knees aching from hauling a backpack and rifle on my back. My uniform, wet with sweat, clings to my body as I lift my right arm and use my sleeve to wipe the beads of sweat running down my temples. Even with my sunglasses shielding my eyes, the blazing sun reflects off the miles of desert ahead of us.

  I hear Mitch’s voice coming from behind me as he groans about being hungry. “I’d give anything to be able to eat a big ass T-bone steak right now.”

  We all groan in agreement my stomach growls as right on cue. I think it’s safe to say that we’re all missing home, our families, home cooking, hell even fast food. I’d give anything to eat a Big Mac or drink a fucking milk shake after dealing with this godforsaken heat.

  After walking through cornfields soaked in mud, hiding for miles upon miles to stay undetected, we’ve finally made it outside of a small village where our target is said to be located. There’s an Al-Queda leader who’s linked to helping supply Pakistan with missiles, which are being shot across the border at our base, and guns to rebels in the area. After weeks of searching and investigating we’ve finally located him, but the real challenge will come with catching this sick son of a bitch and getting everyone in my platoon back to base safely.

  “All right, fellas. It’s been confirmed that the target is west of the village at a relative’s seamstress shop. We’ll go in from the rear and front, covering all the exits.”

  We move with quick, cautious, and quiet efficiency toward the small village. People spot us but divert their gazes elsewhere. We notice children playing ball in the streets, women walking along the small shops buying simple necessities like bread and fruit.

  No one greets or tries to acknowledge us, which is what we prefer. We’re here to do one thing and one thing only: Get in, claim our target, and get the fuck out.

  As we begin to navigate between buildings and alleyways, we get the signal to split up as we approach the shop. My group walks around back toward a large wooden back door as the rest of the men move around the side of the building toward the front. The second we hear the command in our headsets to move in, we bust the doors open guns raised and charge inside. Adrenalin is coursing through my veins as we maneuver throughout the small building. A woman screams in horror at the sight of us, immediately lifting her hands in surrender and backing away from us before dropping to her knees beside a small sewing machine.

  I hear yells of all clear from Gage, who’s a few steps ahead of me as he enters the next room. I take in a shaky breath as we all come together in a small hallway leading to the main room of the small store and a small stairway that leads up to where his uncle and family live above the shop.

  I can feel my heart racing against my ribcage and hear the blood roaring in my ears as we begin to climb the stairs, one by one, guns out, ready for the worst. The loud screams of terror coming from downstairs and now the ones beginning upstairs as we make it to the second story, echo through the house.

  Pointing our riffles at the room and the people inside, we quickly sweep our eyes around, as we shout, “On your knees!” They do as they’re told and drop to the floor in front of us. Keeping my finger on the trigger, I stand there on high alert as me and my fellow comrades begin sweeping the small rooms searching for our target.

  “Where’s Saed?” my commander demands as he stands beside me, glaring down the barrel of his riffle at the older man lying on the floor.

  He stutters for a moment before saying in rough English, “Don’t know! Not here!”

  I glance at my commander before focusing my attention back onto my comrades as they tear through anything he could possibly be hiding in.

  Not accepting his answer, he asks again, “We know he’s here. Now, tell us where he is!”

  Before he can attempt another denial, shots ring out from downstairs, pulling our attention back down the hall. The second I turn my head toward the top of the stairway, someone beside me yells my name, but before I can react I feel the impact of a body hitting mine as it tackles me to the ground and I’m covered by another solider. The sound of gun fire surrounds us along with the child’s screams, and I watch with my face pressed to the floor, as the kid crawls across the room and takes cover under a small wooden stand.

  In this moment, I don’t know who to be more scared for, myself or this innocent child stuck in the middle of a war zone? I watch as a man none of us noticed when we first stepped up the stairs charges at us with a gun pointed straight at my friend and roommate Granger. I stare as he pulls the trigger. As soon as he fires off a shot at Granger, almost at the same exact time, a shot fires from my friend and connects directly between the madman’s eyes and taking him down with a single shot.

  Before I can see if Granger is okay, I feel myself being yanked to my feet, and all thoughts of the boy or Granger are shaken from my head. “Go, go, go!” is being shouted as we all rush down the stairs, running from gun shots that once again start ringing out behind us, coming from who knows where, only to then run toward enemy fire down on the first floor.

  As soon as our boots hit the bottom of the stairs, we hide against the wall separating us from the front of the store. Peering around the entryway, I spot three of our men crouched behind the front counter to my left, returning fire at whoever is outside shooting in at us.

  “Fuck. Shit. Fuck!” I hear being cursed in a hushed tone beside me. I quickly glance at Granger standing beside me, propped against the wall, holding his arm with his gun slung over his shoulder.

  I spot blood on his uniform and realize he’s been shot.

  “You’re hit?” I ask more so asking just how bad are talking here.

  Nodding his head, he sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, as he removes his hand and glances at the small wound. Lifting his eyes to mine, he raises his eyebrows and curls his lips slightly, “Just a flesh wound. I’ll live.” He jokes softly, before nodding his head toward the doorway. “We clear to move in?”

  I spot an overturned table to the right and whisper to Granger who’s pressed against the wall beside me, “I’m going in, cover me.”

  With a nod giving me the okay, I crouch down low and hustle my ass into the room toward cover. I notice movement out of the corner of my eye, then feel the heat of a bullet as it zips past my head and someone appears in the open doorway. Raising the barrel of my gun, I aim and press the trigger, firing off several shots as I jump to safety, ducking behind the table just as I watch the bullets connect and the guy fall backward onto the dirt beneath him.

  The sound of a loud truck barreling down the dirt road outside silences the sound of gunfire. I glance at my comrades wondering if the mission is a bust and Saed isn’t here?

  My commander runs toward the door with caution, takes a look, then states, “They’re retreating. Three of them—one looks to be wounded. Maybe Saed was alerted we were coming for him and he bolted?”

  We all regroup in the middle of the bullet-ridden room the moment we hear the truck drive away and feel we’re safe for the moment, at least.

  “I need to question his family. He was here…I know it. They have to know whe
re he is.” Turning on the heel of his boots, he stomps back up the stairs to question the uncle and aunt.

  Hugging my riffle to my chest, I begin moving around the shop, searching for anything that could possibly give us a clue as to where he could have gone to, or find any kind of proof that he was even here.

  Walking across the dust-filled room, I begin tearing through drawers of paperwork but find nothing that looks suspicious or out of place.

  “I just got word a Humvee is on its way to pick us up. They’ll be here around 1800.”

  That leaves us like sitting ducks stuck here, surrounded by danger and left vulnerable for another attack for five more minutes. To others five minutes doesn’t feel like a long time, but when we’re sitting in the middle of a village filled with people who wouldn’t hesitate to blow us to fucking pieces, five minutes feels like a lifetime.

  Collecting what little info we could find, we head out to our Humvee the moment it pulls up and leave with a feeling of defeat hanging heavy on all our shoulders. We were so close.

  Sadly, not close enough because he’s still out there.

  We get back to base as the sun is slowly setting in the sky. I grab a quick bite to eat and retire to my bed. I’m physically and mentally exhausted, and need nothing but sleep. I flop down onto my metal-framed bed, feeling the springs poking me as I lean my weight from left to right while I unlace my boots. I glance across the small room at Granger’s bed. He got stitched up when we made it back to base. Thankfully his arm was only grazed by the bullet so he’ll heal up just fine. Now, he’s sitting in the rec room playing cards with the guys, letting off some steam. That’s where I should be but my eyes are way too fucking tired to stare at a hand of cards. I feel as if I’m going to fall asleep sitting up. It doesn’t help that I sleep like shit. I can’t remember the last time I had a good night’s sleep. The dark bags under my eyes are a testament to just how shitty I’m sleeping these days.

  I’m in a constant state of alertness here. I never know what’s going to happen at any given moment. With these assholes shooting fucking missiles at us several times a damn day, it’s hard to get any rest because all we ever hear is alarms going off, warning us to take cover. Just last week one came crashing into our small makeshift gym, injuring several soldiers, making it necessary for them to be sent to Germany before they could be shipped back stateside. Nothing is harder for a soldier than accepting defeat and return home with the knowledge that brothers-in-arms are still here fighting every day.

  Changing out of my uniform I climb into bed, say my prayers and kiss the photo of my mother goodnight, before finally drifting off into a light sleep. I hear Granger come in shortly after but I’m too tired to acknowledge him. Instead, I stay rolled over on my side facing the wall and drift back to sleep as I try to drown out the constant sounds around us.

  KABOOM!

  The smell of smoke surrounds me and my ears ring as I blink my eyes trying to wake up. I hear alarms going off outside of my room alerting me of another attack. I’m groggy and disoriented as I try to comprehend what’s happening. Before I can try to call out to Granger, who’s now sitting up, I see the dark-shadowed outline of his body across from me as he too tries to shake the grogginess of sleep. I feel another explosion hit, but this time the impact is right above me. It happens so fast I have no time to react or try and take cover. The entire room shakes and the sound of ammunition exploding is deafening. I sting and burn everywhere and the metallic taste of blood touches my lips as my body is thrown from the bed as the bomb lands directly at my feet.

  Chunks of debris crumble around me as our small room falls apart around us. Pain is coursing through every inch of my body as I try to keep myself awake. Every passing second I find it harder and harder to keep my eyes open.

  “Taylor. Taylor, stay with me, man.” I hear Granger’s voice above me and blink a few times to fight the fatigue taking over my body. I try to speak but choke on blood, causing an uncontrollable coughing fit. With each cough that leaves my mouth, an unbearable pain tears through my abdomen.

  Cradling my head as he kneels beside me, he says in a panic-laced tone, “Don’t try to talk. Just keep looking at me. You have to stay awake.” He glances behind him toward where the door leading into our room is located. I can hear voices outside of it, but they sound so far away.

  All I can do is nod my head. Each time I blink and shut my eyes, it becomes harder to force them open. Every single second is a struggle to stay awake. My body is screaming at me to close my eyes and sleep.

  I’m so tired.

  So. Fucking. Tired.

  The pain consuming me is too much.

  No matter how hard I try to focus on his face and stay alert, it becomes more difficult and I find myself slipping back into darkness.

  Chapter One

  Emberly

  Present Day, Six Year Later

  The day I got married I thought it truly was forever. We were so happy and completely head over heels in love. I never in a million years thought that I’d be a thirty-year-old widow. Not just a widow but a single mother.

  Raising a son is hard enough;

  it’s even harder when he suddenly hates the world because it took his father from him. So, all his anger gets thrown at me instead, because there’s no one else for him to take it out on.

  It’s been a little over a year and I still can’t find the strength to fully let go. It’s not that I don’t want to because believe me I’d give anything to not have to wake up with this soul crushing pain tearing through my chest every single day. I’ve tried so many times since Brock’s death to pack up his things, donate them to charity, and finally put the pain and heartache behind me so that Andrew and I can start to heal and get our lives back to something resembling normal.

  At least a normal that doesn’t include me randomly bursting into tears because I see something that reminds me of him, or hear a song that he used to sing while riding in the car. Then there’s major moments like birthdays and holidays. I want to celebrate these occasions we’ll never get back because I know better than anyone that life can change in the blink of an eye. Yet, I find myself paralyzed with pain and anger when I watch my son blow out his birthday candles or sit in front of the tree on Christmas morning opening his gifts.

  We shouldn’t be doing this alone.

  I shouldn’t have to celebrate anniversaries alone while visiting my deceased husband’s grave. But that’s life.

  It’s painful.

  It’s ugly.

  It’s unfair.

  Life can be so beautiful and full of possibilities. I know this because I’ve lived. When I fell in love with my high school sweetheart at fifteen. My wedding day. The day Andrew came into the world. All moments I’ll never forget and ones I’ll cherish and hold close to my heart forever.

  But at the same time life can be cruel and doesn’t discriminate when it comes to who will have their lives torn out from underneath them. It doesn’t matter if you go to church every single Sunday, volunteer at the food shelter, or have the dream job and perfect family. In a blink of an eye everything you cherish can be ripped from you.

  I was naive to think that tragedy only happens to other people. That somehow my life was going to play out like I imagined it would. We’re all guilty of it. Thinking it won’t happen to me. Instead we get so wrapped up in our day-to-day lives, filling our daily planners with a million tasks, stressing over bills, housework, and simple luxuries we work so many long hours to earn.

  The day I lost Brock, I was so wrapped up in getting everything together for a basket raffle for the Boy Scout’s fundraiser being held at our church the following day, I barely spoke two words to my husband, not knowing they’d be the last words I’d ever speak to him.

  A simple peck on the lips and a quick ‘I love you’ was the last moment I had with him before I watched him walk out the door to go to work. He had joked before leaving that we could squeeze in a quickie before he headed out for night patrol—he was
a state trooper here in our small town of Hucklebee, Arkansas. Andrew was fast asleep up in his room, and I was a mess with my hair knotted on top of my head, wearing sweats and one of Brock’s t-shirts while I sat Indian style in the middle of the floor packing baskets.

  I was so overwhelmed with completing the baskets in time for the raffle the following day, I brushed off his comment, rolling my eyes and laughing it off while telling him that I hadn’t showered in two days and had way too much to do. That we’d do it after I had showered and successfully hosted the basket raffle and pig roast. He told me he’d see me at the pig roast after his twelve-hour shift, because Andrew and I would already be at the church to set up the raffle baskets.

  I kissed him goodbye, told him I loved him and then never saw my husband again.

  Since losing Brock, you’d think I’d strive to live each moment in the now, take in every single moment. Instead, I feel as if I’m doing the opposite. I find myself living in memories of the past while spending most of my days in a fog as I try to survive each day and make it through each moment without breaking down. Dealing with Andrew’s recent behavior has only made everything that much harder. How do you convince your child to move on with their life? To be happy and live life to the fullest, enjoying every experience he has with me and his friends, when I can’t do that myself?

  I’m slowly getting there, but I feel as if I’m climbing up the tallest mountain and the ground is made of quicksand. No matter how hard I try to trudge through and make it to the top, the hike up there feels like it’s impossible to conquer.

  When I look in the mirror I don’t even recognize the girl staring back at me. I use to be this vibrant, full of life woman. I always had the hottest new hair style, the trendiest clothes, and I never left the house without putting my face on first.

  Now all I see if a woman who looks like a shell of who I used to be. My hair, which used to be a beautiful beach blonde and always curled and styled to perfection, is now a dull rusty blonde color with long, visible roots and frizzy, damaged ends. I have dark circles under sad, empty blue eyes, and wear baggy clothes over what used to be a toned and curvy body that Brock could never get enough of.