For the Love of a Marine

by Sharon Kimbra Walsh

  The trauma team who had stabilized the young soldier meandered out of the trauma room into the next one to observe the ongoing treatment of the second wounded soldier with the shrapnel wounds. Katie surveyed the mess with resignation. No rest for the wicked she thought. She sighed and began the task of clearing up. The instruments had to be sterilized again, the floor washed and dried and a clean sheet put down to replace the gruesomely stained one on the table.

  An hour later, the room was as clean as it had been before. Surveying it with hands on hips, Katie inspected every counter and inch of floor, restocked the instrument trays and made sure the equipment was back in its rightful place. She then went outside into the corridor, where Sergeant Webster approached her.

  “Both of the lads are out of theater and doing okay,” he said. “The shrapnel wound wasn’t deep. He’ll be a bit sore for a few days and will be here for a time, but should recover okay if infection doesn’t set in. The other lad will have a sore arm and be on light duties for a week or two until his wound heals, but he’s going to be okay as well. Do me a favor, lass. They’ll need half-hourly observations for an hour or two. Can you do the first lot then order up some chow from the mess? We’ll need to eat here, I think. Let’s just hope to high heaven that that’s the lot for now.”

  Katie nodded and Sergeant Webster patted her arm.

  Katie went to the ward and smiled at Private Berwick. “Looks like you have some new neighbors,” she said as she walked past his bed to the two new occupants who were now in the beds next to him. The US marine was gone, discharged and flown home to the States.

  “How are they doing?” Jeff asked, glancing at the two pale-faced soldiers who were still sleeping off the effects of their anesthetic.

  “They came through their surgeries well and they’re going to be fine,” Katie replied. She went to the bed that held the gunshot victim, lifted the metal clipboard with the patient’s chart from the end of the bed, fished out a pen from the breast pocket of her scrub smock and proceeded to take the young soldier’s vital signs. “Lance Corporal John Evans,” she noted. She took the lance corporal’s pulse and noted the result down on the chart, then proceeded to check his temperature, listened to his heart and checked pupil reaction with a penlight. All were stable and normal. She then moved on to the next bed and proceeded to do the same for Sergeant Ben Johnson, noticing that his breathing sounded slightly labored. Probably a side effect from the anesthetic, but she noted it in the chart.

  Once completed, Katie went back to Jeff Berwick’s bed. “All okay,” she confirmed to him. “Now, I’m going to be ordering some food from the mess. Do you fancy some lunch?”

  “That would be good,” the young private answered. “Chicken, if they have it.”

  “Chicken it is,” Katie agreed.

  She went to the radio and proceeded to order food to be sent to the CTH.

  Chapter Twelve

  At the USMC headquarters, Joe made his way to one of the briefing rooms where the members of his squad who were to accompany him on patrol that night, were already seated and waiting for his arrival. Sergeant Louis Eastman, assistant patrol leader, greeted him as he walked in.

  “Morning, Staff Sergeant.”

  “Morning, Sergeant. Everyone here?”

  “Yes, Staff Sergeant.”

  Sergeant Eastman turned to face the talking men, “Okay, Marines, let’s have some hush now for the staff sergeant,” he shouted.

  There was immediate silence except for the rustle of combats and a cough or two.

  “Okay,” Joe began, “let’s get to it. I take it you’ve all received and read the WARNO advising you about the patrol tonight?”

  A chorus of “Yes, Staff Sergeant” rang out at his question.

  “Excellent,” Joe responded. “Then I trust there’ll be no problems understanding what we have to do.”

  “Won’t be any clusterfucks from us, Staff Sergeant,” Lance Corporal George Westerman, pointman for the patrol, remarked. “It’s them other dickwads that are gonna be the problem.”

  “While I have your back on that, Westerman,” Joe responded dryly, “let’s stow that shit for now, shall we?”

  “Righto, Staff Sergeant.”

  “Right. If Westerman will allow us to continue.” Joe went on, “our patrol area will be grid reference Golf Nine Alpha Five. It will involve a twenty click patrol, NNW three hundred thirty-five and a half degrees five clicks, West two hundred seventy degrees five clicks, South one hundred eighty degrees five clicks and SSW two hundred two and a half degrees five clicks. Our objective rally point will be at position West two hundred seventy degrees two clicks.

  “The patrol is a twenty-four hour one. Intel reports that some Terries have been spotted somewhere in the location of our patrol. There is no info on numbers at present. I need to emphasize that we are purely a recon patrol and have no orders to engage. We just get our asses in, have a look-see then get our butts out. No other friendlies will be in our location so if we run into some shit, we’re on our own.

  “You already know—or you should by now if you’ve been paying attention—that the local terrain is mostly flat with some rocky hills, dry river beds and very sparse vegetation. There will be little or no cover, so our primary concern will be staying frosty and keeping eyes on at all times. You should all now have your radio frequencies and call signs and know your specific tasks. We have been designated Echo. Everyone is to report to the motor pool at 2330 hours, with no exceptions, Corporal Lewis. So, get back to your pits, get your equipment ready, test fire your weapons and get fed and rehydrated.” Joe eyeballed his patrol tail-end Charlie as he concluded the briefing.

  Corporal Ben Lewis attempted to look offended, “That’s not fair, Staff Sergeant,” he remarked.

  “Neither is my ass,” Joe exclaimed and everyone chuckled. “Now, I don’t need to go on and on. It’s a waste of my breath and your time. You’re not a bunch of cherries so I don’t need to tell you that after the fuck up with the blast the other night, we need to be extra vigilant. There will be no fucking around and no heroics. We need to stay focused on the task in hand. If anybody fucks up due to carelessness, I’ll shoot them myself. Do I make myself clear? If we make contact, we do our job and get out of there, and I don’t want to have to drag anyone out of there in a body bag just because they got themselves killed.”

  Joe glanced around at the men seated before him, some scribbling notes, all looking serious now and paying attention.

  “Okay, let’s close this briefing down. I’ll see you tonight. Marines dismissed.”

  “Oorah, Staff Sergeant,” came the brief mantra from the squad as the men rose to their feet and left the briefing room.

  Joe spent a further few minutes speaking with Sergeant Eastman, discussing the merits of the patrol that night, possible strategies and what the outcome might be, then they both left to go about their daily duties.

  * * * *

  The rest of Katie’s day was uneventful. No further casualties arrived at the CTH and Katie was free to perform half-hourly observations on the two new patients. Both woke up from their anesthetics. There were no complications, and after pain medication, they rested easy.

  At 1700 hours, Katie went to the theaters and trauma rooms and performed a final thorough check of the equipment and instrument trolleys, keen to make sure that everything was in order as Sergeant Webster had requested that morning, in the event that they had more wounded tomorrow. She sincerely hoped that they didn’t because she had assumed that the patrol that Sergeant Webster had mentioned that morning was the one that Joe would be taking out beyond the wire.

  Finally, at 1830 hours, Sergeant Webster approached Katie and said, “Get going, Katie. Go get some chow and some sleep.”

  “Thanks, Sergeant,” Katie responded with a tired smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Making her way to her locker, she changed from her soiled scrubs into her MTPCs, put on her cap, and after attaching her helmet to her webbing belt, retrieve
d her weapon and walked slowly out of the CTH into the heat.

  It was still daylight, with the sun shining strongly, and Katie blinked in the harsh light. She began the long walk to the mess, initially with the intention of getting something to eat, but ten minutes later she decided against it. She wasn’t hungry and was too tired, so she strode past the mess and headed directly to her tent. When she entered, it was empty except for Wanda, lying on her bed reading a magazine. Her friend glanced up as Katie came in, and sat up.

  “Wow, you look knackered,” she stated.

  “Thank you, friend. I feel it,” Katie replied, unfastening her helmet and throwing it to the floor where it bounced and rolled to a stop.

  “Bad day?” Wanda asked sympathetically.

  “Not really. Just a long one. Two wounded came in but they’re going to be fine. They just needed patching up and half-hourly observations, then the sergeant mentioned that there was a patrol going out tonight and we may have wounded tomorrow so I had to check and recheck the theaters and trauma rooms.” She yawned widely. “Well, it’s me for the shower and then I’m going to turn in early.”

  Katie collected her towel, toilet bag and nightwear and went out the back to the showers. They were both unoccupied and as this was a quiet time with everyone in the mess, she treated herself to a long, hot shower. Once finished, she felt more human and joined Wanda back in the tent. The temperature had dropped slightly and dim lights were coming on all over the base. Katie pulled on a shapeless Army issue dressing gown and thrust her feet into her fluffy pink slippers. Groaning slightly, she pulled a water bottle from her pack, took a long drink then slumped onto her bed and lay down.

  “Are you going out tonight?” she asked her friend.

  “Nope,” Wanda answered. “Quiet night tonight. You?”

  “No,” Katie answered drowsily.

  “Where’s your staff sergeant?” Wanda asked casually.

  “Going out on patrol tonight.” Katie’s eyes flashed open. “I’m seeing him on Thursday night, though.”

  “Oh.” Wanda’s response was falsely non-committal. “Tough.”

  “Yes, it is, very tough,” Katie murmured and closed her eyes, determined to get the fresh images of Joe Anderson out of her mind. “I’m for sleep.” Turning on her side, she plumped her pillow to make it more comfortable and within minutes was fast asleep. Two hours later however, she woke abruptly as somebody shook her arm gently.

  “Katie. Katie.” She could hear her name being called but felt heavy with sleep and groaned, shrugging off the irritating hand.

  The hand was insistent and in the end she opened weary eyes and glared at the offending person. “This’d better be good,” she mumbled with irritation.

  “There’s someone outside to see you,” came the response from the woman bending over her.

  For a few seconds, Katie remained half asleep then the woman’s statement sank in. Sitting up quickly she asked, “What time is it?”

  “2130 hours,” came the answer.

  She’d slept for all of two hours and felt fuzzy-headed and warm. “Damn. If it’s that Corporal Hudson,” she stated, mostly to herself, “I’ll send him away with my size seven up his rear end.”

  Katie stood up from her bed, smoothed down her short hair, straightened and retied the sexless dressing gown and went outside the tent. Once outside, she stopped dead in her tracks.

  Joe Anderson was standing outside in full combats, body armor, combat helmet and gloves. A huge bergen leaned against his leg and slung over his right shoulder was his M4 carbine. For a split second Katie froze with surprise then smiled. “Joe?” she said delightedly.

  “In person,” he said and grinned.

  Katie walked toward him, heart thundering in her chest, suddenly breathless and sure that it was plastered all over her face how she felt about him. As she approached, he suddenly glanced down at her footwear then proceeded to draw his eyes up her tanned legs to the shapeless dressing gown that had a distinct droop on the right-hand side.

  He suddenly laughed aloud. “Very fetching,” he said, taking off his combat gloves.

  Reaching him, Katie stopped. “Ha ha,” she said, pointing to the dressing gown. “Compliments of the British Army. And the slippers were a gift from a friend of mine back in the UK. She thought it would add a little feeling of home while I was here.”

  “It certainly adds something, although I can’t figure out what,” Joe teased, then his smile faded. “Come with me.”

  Taking her hand in one of his, he lifted the enormous bergen with the other and led her down the narrow alleyway between her tent and the adjoining one. Halfway down there was a patch of darkness where the lights didn’t quite reach. He let go of his bergen, dropping it to the ground, leaned the rifle against the side of a tent, and with one swift movement, put his arms around her and pulled her close to him.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

  Katie put her arms around his neck, knocking his helmet slightly askew, and pressed her body close to his. “Me too, Joe,” she said softly. “It’s been a nightmare. I thought you’d be gone.”

  “I had to see you,” Joe explained. “I couldn’t go on patrol without coming here.” Then he was kissing her as deeply and as passionately as he had the night before and again, Katie was lost in the sensations that he aroused in her. He held her body so tightly against his that she could barely breathe, but she didn’t care. Their breathing became increasingly more rapid as their kiss became deeper. Eventually, Joe raised his head, looking down at her.

  “What are you doing to me, Katie Walker? I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  Katie smiled sensuously. “Well, Staff Sergeant, is there anything that I can do to persuade you not to go out on patrol tonight?” She knew that she was using a sexual connotation and it was evident in her tone, her look and her body language. It was also something that she had never done with any man before, and by the look on Joe’s face, he knew what she was doing.

  He grinned and put a hand against the side of her face. Kissing her mouth gently, he responded softly and sincerely, “Don’t tempt me.” With that last remark, he bent his head again and once more his warm mouth came down on hers. Katie ran her fingers through his hair at the base of his skull, placed a warm hand on the back of his neck then trailed her fingers along his jawline, resulting in her palm resting against his face. She could feel the faint roughness of stubble against her skin and taste the hot moistness of his mouth, and she uttered a small moan.

  “Please don’t go tonight,” she whispered, pressing her body against his, and his response was to tighten his arms around her and kiss her even harder and more passionately. Eventually he worked his hands beneath the dressing gown, roaming up and down her back until they grasped her buttocks and pulled her hips closer to him. She could feel his erection through his combat trousers and her thin sleep shorts, knew that he was very aroused, and in turn became more aroused herself.

  After a slight struggle, but with determination, Katie eventually managed to get her hands up inside the back of his combat shirt and body armor. She could feel his warm skin and the ripple of his muscles through his T-shirt and she moved the palms of her hands in a massaging motion across his back until impatiently, she pulled his T-shirt up out of the waistband of his trousers and thrust her hands beneath it. The feel of his warm, smooth skin caused her to shiver, and she felt him squirm against her and he made a moaning sound. She trailed her fingernails down his sides and this time it was Joe’s turn to shiver.

  Their kisses began to turn more heated and Joe thrust his hands up inside her sleep T-shirt and placed them on her stomach. The muscles there quivered and flexed and she gasped at the feel of his warm, rough palms.

  He suddenly stopped kissing her and thrust her away from him. He was silent for some seconds then said huskily, “God, Katie, I really don’t want to go but I have to.”

  He stepped back and his arms dropped from around her. He lowered his head, breat
hing rapidly and harshly, and was strangely silent. The noises of the camp came flowing back into their tiny, silent world.

  “What’s wrong, Joe?” she asked, voice quavering slightly.

  Joe remained silent for a few more seconds then shook his head, the strap of his helmet swinging with the motion. Taking a deep breath he replied, “This is the first time in my life that I don’t want to leave someone and go out on patrol. But there’s nothing wrong, Katie. Everything is fine, but I have to go.” He followed this statement up with a glance at his watch. “Shit!” he hissed. “I’m going to be late.”

  He glanced back at Katie. “The patrol leaves in about thirty minutes. I’ve gotta get gone.” He quickly bent down, swung his bergen up onto his back, shrugged into the webbing straps and picked up his weapon. He stood still for a minute or two, staring at her as though drinking in her image, then he smiled gently.

  “Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll be back in a day. I’ll meet you at the pallets at 2000 hours on Thursday night, like we said. And we’ll talk.” Taking a pace forward, he gently kissed her on the forehead, then turned and walked away from her.

  Katie watched as he disappeared from sight after a few seconds, and she was left standing alone between the tents in the darkness. Finally, tightening the dressing gown around her, she walked thoughtfully back to her tent. The word patrol kept rebounding inside her head. He would be gone, out there in the dark, hostile desert with insurgents hunting the area, the temperature sometimes dropping to below freezing at night, uncomfortable and lonely. Will he be safe? Will he come back? The questions tortured her because she could find no answers that could allay her fears. Feeling dejected and empty without him, Katie reached her tent and went inside to sleep and try to make it through until Joe was back.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Joe Anderson marched briskly away from Katie toward the main road that would lead him down to the motor pool where he would be meeting his squad. It took all his willpower not to turn and go back to her. He wanted her desperately, but knew that there was no way he was going to make love to her in a dark place on the camp like she was some kind of easy lay. Her little plea asking him not to go had torn at his heart, but he had a duty and she knew that. The request in the heat of the moment was purely involuntary from her, and she knew that it was an empty plea because she was as duty-bound as he was.