by Cat Johnson
“You got it.” Jazzy hit the knee switch, slapped a round in with a resounding clank and locked it down.
“Fire.”
Gonzo aimed and fired just past the original point. Nothing.
“Again. Aim farther north,” John ordered. In an area covered in debris and rubble, the ground toward the north edge of the road looked a little too smooth.
The prior series of actions was repeated, only this time with very different results. Upon impact, the ground erupted with a cloud of dirt and a huge explosion that would have detonated directly beneath their tank if, after three prior deployments in the sand box, John didn’t know better. He knew the baddies by now. In fact, he was starting to think like them. John wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Morales released a curse beneath his breath. “The second one was almost as big as the first.”
And much better hidden. John hoped that was all and the baddies hadn’t learned a new trick, such as three IEDs in a row instead of only two.
The radio sounded again. “Good job, White Two. Proceed.”
Great. Proceed on an unknown path that could still contain more death risks. Sacrificial lamb, anyone?
John took a deep breath and squinted into his viewer. Best take it very slowly… “Tract pad, Morales.”
At John’s order, the driver followed his instructions and moved as slowly as the monster vehicle could travel over the area where the two IEDs had detonated. Silence filled the air, broken only by the creaking of the tank’s tracks and John’s orders to Morales of where to drive on the road, not that he knew they would be the correct instructions.
Would the threat be in the middle? Off to one side? Was the road clean and the danger passed? They were all just guessing here. But Gonzo and Jazzy were two more pairs of eyes, searching the side terrain for any anomaly that could signal danger as John and Morales concentrated on the path in front. All the while, White One protected them from behind.
Finally, they reached a clear stretch of paved road where John felt confident they could pick up the pace. The platoon needed to get to that stuck vehicle before it took a header over the cliff or came under attack.
The tanks made good time after that, and it wasn’t long before Morales glanced over at John. “Looks like them up ahead, sir.”
John saw the scene clearly, the truck listing at a dangerous angle over the steep embankment. The personnel standing armed and ready, watching for an attack though they were basically sitting ducks waiting to be rescued. They all, to a man, looked overwhelmingly relieved when the reinforcements showed up. White Two was the hero riding in on the white charger to save the day.
“White Two, secure that damned vehicle before we lose it and I have to explain why.”
John had already known what he had to do before hearing those instructions. They would basically be using the tank as an overpriced tow truck as they attached the stuck vehicle to the tank’s tow hook with cables.
With White One acting as watch, John and part of his crew would have to dismount, leaving the safety of the tank to go on foot and get the job done. It wasn’t the first time they’d done it. If experience was any guide, it probably wouldn’t be the last either.
The logical step was for John and Jazzy, as commander and loader, to dismount, leaving Morales and Gonzo in place within the tank. That way the tank had the personnel necessary to still move and defend itself if needed. “Jazzy, I’m gonna need every hook and cable we’ve got on site.”
Jazzy jumped up from his seat. “Yes, sir. I’ll check what they have in the truck and then go get the one from inside White One.”
John nodded. “I’ll grab ours then I’m right behind you. Gonzo, you’ll have command while I’m on the ground.”
Jazzy crawled out of the tank to go collect the necessary equipment while Gonzo on the main gun accepted temporary command and continued to scan for the enemy.
Since the sun had yet to rise, John grabbed a battery-operated light from the stowage. He was half out of his hatch to help Jazzy secure the vehicle when he heard what could only be a vehicle approaching in high gear. It wasn’t long before he spotted it. A truck with no lights was heading straight at them at top speed.
Right about the same time, John spotted a second inbound vehicle, this one a car. The call came over the tank’s radio, announcing the second threat headed their way.
John swung his M4 from his shoulder. “Gonzo, take out that truck. Jazzy! Take cover!”
With Gonzo taking care of the threat from the truck, John opened fire on the car, spraying low to blow the front tires and sending it into a swerve before it could impact the tank. Even with the tires flattened, the momentum of the vehicle could still cause it to collide with the tank. If John knew anything about the enemy and their habits, the car was most likely packed full of explosives that would blow with enough force to do major damage.
John was vaguely aware of the events as they played out in front of him. Jazzy jumped off the road and out of the way, hitting the ground with his arms thrown over his helmet for protection. The truck, disabled by both Gonzo’s main gun and fire from White One, stopped just shy of smashing into them. The car veered off the road, hitting a rock embankment and blowing sky high. There was a deafening sound from the explosion and a ringing in his ears. The smoke and dust seemed to take forever to settle. When it did, it revealed Jazzy lying, unmoving, on the ground.
Chapter Three
Dearest Summer,
Lovers, huh? Hehe. What does your friend think? That we secretly meet in Baghdad at a hotel for a tryst? My wife did get a good laugh at your co-worker’s suggestion, though, as did I. Where there is a will, there is a way. Believe me. Cyber sex, though difficult in the MWR, is not impossible. But you don’t want to know the details of that. Hehe.
Anyway, things have finally quieted down again for the last few hours, which really only means we had a chance to sleep uninterrupted for a bit and try to catch up on all the things we didn’t get to do before. I have no doubt the baddies are still out there somewhere, just taking a break for a lil’ while. I did, however, actually read your book. That way I can tell everyone else how good it is. It was really good for a ”girl” book. You do a great job getting into the male character’s head. Are we men that transparent? (Don’t answer that.) Anyway, I don’t have much time to read and the little down time I do have I use to sleep, catch up on emails and communicate with my wife, but I stayed awake to finish your book and then passed it along for others to enjoy. Believe it or not, Morales, our driver, now has it.
You are a really special woman to do all you do for us and I want you to know how much it means, and I am not only saying that because we really like the coffee, even though we do. These men are so dedicated to the platoon and the job at hand, particularly my tank commander, SSgt Blake, who is always worrying about the men in his command more than himself, that something as small as a decent cup of coffee is a huge deal. It is good for me to see the men enjoying something again, even a thing as seemingly inconsequential. I thank you for that. Well, I am halfway into my thirty minutes of computer time and my wife just came on Instant Messenger. Today is her birthday so I will close now. Hope to talk again soon. Take care, Summer.
Your friend, Jazzy
Maureen finished reading the email aloud and leaned back from her laptop. She had received it the day before and read it at least two other times, but it still got to her.
She reached for a paper napkin from the kitchen table. Dabbing at her eyes, she glanced at the skeptical face of her supposed best friend. “See what I mean, Peter? Wasn’t that sweet? How can any guy I date now compete with that?”
Hand on his hips, Peter set his jaw and shook his head. “Please don’t tell me you’re falling for this guy. He’s married—and do not throw Maurice in my face since I didn’t know he was married at the time.” Peter held up one finger to silence any protest and continued. “And besides the married thing, he’s somewhere in Iraq for Chri
st’s sake.”
Maureen threw her hands up in the air. “Jeez, Peter. You too? Why the hell does everyone think I’m incapable of writing an email to a guy without falling in love with him? Am I that pitiful?”
Peter raised one brow as if to say yes, she was that pitiful. With friends like him, she didn’t need enemies.
With a sigh, she shook her head. “And to answer your question, no, I’m not falling in love with him. We’re just pen pals.”
Peter sat in the opposite chair and leaned forward. “Then why does reading his email make you cry? Why haven’t you been on a successful date in months, since about the time you joined this soldier website? Huh? What’s the problem if not him?”
He was correct about one thing—after she’d started getting to know Jazzy and the other soldiers, regular men paled in comparison.
Maureen sighed and searched for the words. “What I’m trying to show you is all the letters I receive are like that. Some of them are more formal and call me ma’am, which I don’t particularly like, but they are all grateful and appreciative and tell me how wonderful I am, sometimes for doing as little as sending an email or a postcard. And they talk about risking their lives for each other and for their country. They work seven days a week, even on holidays, sometimes twenty-four hours straight. They’re honorable and hardworking men. And then I go out on a date here with some guy and all he does is talk about himself and tell me he wants to get rich quick on some scheme so he can retire before he turns thirty-five and do nothing for the rest of his life.”
Peter screwed up his face but didn’t deny the truth of it. He’d heard her complaining about all her bad dates pretty much since he had known her. “That last date you went on was just a particularly bad one.”
“No, ya think?” She responded with as much sarcasm as she could muster.
Maureen remembered her last date asking her to cover half the restaurant bill even though he had drunk twice as much as she had and had eaten the most expensive thing on the menu. Although at that point, she didn’t want to owe him anything, so she’d gladly handed over the cash.
“You can’t judge all males by him. Please don’t, since I’m one of them.”
“You’re gay. You don’t count.”
Peter raised his brow. “Thanks, I think.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Sure, I know what you mean. You only want to get close to either gay men or soldiers deployed on the other side of the globe. Ridiculously unattainable, safe men who you can’t fall for and get hurt by because you, missy, are afraid of actually getting what you think you want…a real relationship.”
“That is not it.”
“No?”
“No. Think about it. Think of all the single guys I’ve dated lately. They are proof that there are exactly two groups of decent males left in the world. Gay men and military men.”
Peter smirked. “I have to tell you that this plan of dating only gay men or deployed soldiers doesn’t look so good if you ever want to have sex again. Although from what I found in your bedside drawer when I was looking for a nail file the other day, maybe you don’t need a man to have sex with.”
Maureen felt her face color when she pictured her little battery-operated friend in the drawer Peter spoke of. He broke out laughing, his blue eyes crinkling in the corners.
Peter might be the bitchiest man she knew, but there was no doubt he was handsome, which was probably why he got away with it. It didn’t make her face any less red at his comment though.
He waved a hand in her direction, looking as if he enjoyed her embarrassment. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. You should see what’s in my bedside table.”
She definitely did not want to see that. “We better not even go there.”
“You’re right. Your virgin ears can’t take it.” He rolled his eyes and sounded sarcastic.
“I will be a virgin again soon if I go much longer without sex.” Maureen let out a huff. Maybe that explained why she was so skilled at writing sex scenes for her novels. Wishful thinking. At least she put all that pent-up sexual energy to good use.
“Again, an obsession with gay men and men seven thousand miles away doesn’t bode so well for sex. And tell me this, Miss Closet Author, if gay men are so wonderful in your opinion, when are you going to write a gay character into one of your novels? A devastatingly handsome, rich and successful gay man who sexy hotties are fighting over? You can base him on me.” Peter watched her expectantly.
“Careful what you wish for,” she warned.
One brow shot up to his hairline. “I could say the same to you, missy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, let’s say you get yourself a soldier to fall in love with. What then? He’ll be over there and you will be here.”
“I’m not falling for a soldier. But even if I did, they do come home eventually, you know. Deployments don’t last forever.”
“Yes, he could come home—if he doesn’t get killed first—and then you’ll still be here in the city and he’ll be wherever. Are you going to quit your job, give up your rent-controlled apartment in a neighborhood that actually has parking and pick up and move to whatever godforsaken place he is?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. What would be wrong with that? I hate my job. And this rent-controlled apartment is barely big enough for me and the cockroaches that live here.”
Peter let out a loud frustrated breath. “And then what? Live in cookie-cutter base housing on military pay? Ugh, he’d probably be from the South too. Before you knew it you’d be bleaching your hair blonde and having it set and teased at the local beauty parlor by Mabel, the town gossip. God, you’ll probably stop wearing designer labels and start buying all your clothes at a store with ‘mart’ in the name.”
“I would not.” There must be decent shopping malls in the South, she was sure of it. And she wouldn’t look good blonde with her dark eyebrows anyway, so that was not even an option.
He continued on, undaunted. “You’ll become a devoted little military wife baking cookies to ship overseas with the other wives while he gets shipped off again to God knows where for a year at a time.”
Maureen considered. It might be nice to have a woman friend or two, and who didn’t like fresh-baked cookies?
Arms crossed, Peter watched her as he silently challenged her to argue with his logic. At least he appeared to be finished with the tirade.
“None of this matters because I am not looking for a soldier to fall in love with.” She stifled the urge to stamp her foot to emphasize the point.
“Then why are they all you talk about, and why haven’t you been out on a date in weeks?”
Because all the decent straight men she knew were in the military. She kept that to herself. Dammit, there had to be a few good men left in the world who were non-gay, single civilians. She just had no idea where they were all hiding.
Back against the wall, Maureen went on the offensive. “You want me to date so badly, you find me a decent guy to go out with. A straight guy,” she quickly added when she remembered Peter plucked his fish from a different dating pond than she.
Peter rolled his eyes. “As if I would give an eligible gay man to you. I’ll keep him for myself and ask if he has a straight friend.”
Hmm. There was an idea. Tag-team double dating. Interesting concept. That might actually work. Maureen’s eyes opened wide as the idea began to take shape.
“Okay, it’s a deal.”
Frowning, Peter asked, “What’s a deal, exactly? What did I just get myself into?”
“Your idea. It’s perfect. Double dates only. You and me and two guys, one for each of us, each of the appropriate persuasion. One gay, one straight.”
Peter’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “That was my idea?”
Maureen nodded.
Peter looked pleased. “Hmm. It is a pretty good one actually. Okay. I’ll take credit for it and I’ll do it. Where do you suggest I go to
get the guys?”
That was a problem she had hoped Peter had the answer to. “Um, gay bars I guess?”
He cocked his head to one side as if considering that. “We can find a few there maybe, but those dating waters are a bit murky, believe me. What about dating websites?”
She tilted her own head and considered. “Nah, those waters are possibly murkier. What about museums?”
“Good. I like my men with a bit of culture. The gym?” Peter volleyed back.
She smiled. “Definitely. I like my men with a bit of muscle. Um, anybody at work?”
“I’ll ask around my office and see. You too.”
Maureen pictured having to ask Tiffany, the best connection to the local dating pool, and dreaded it. Desperate times demanded desperate measures. Time to swim with the sharks. “All right, I’ll ask. What about rules?”
“What about rules?” Peter frowned and looked confused. “We have rules?”
“I mean, do we separate if one of us gets lucky? Or do we stick it out to the end of the night and any sex has to be on future alone dates?”
“Hmm. Good point. I don’t want to leave you alone in the hands of a possible molester.”
Her heart melted. Sometimes Peter had his moments. “Aww. How sweet. See, a straight guy wouldn’t think of that.”
Peter chuckled. “Probably not, but I bet your military men would.”
She sighed. Feeling suddenly deflated again, she slumped in her wooden chair. “I bet you’re right.”
His hand covered hers. “Oh cheer up. I have it. How about this for a solution? I have the spare bedroom at my place. On nights we have dates, you sleep over. If one of us wants to carry the date a step farther, shall we say, the other one will be there to act as a buffer if it becomes necessary.”
Or to call the police. She squashed that unpleasant thought. God willing, it would never come to that, and hopefully they would be mostly dating men recommended by people they knew, even if it was by Tiffany.
The sleepovers had another upside too. “We can bitch about the bad dates the next morning over coffee and bagels.” She was getting excited about this idea a bit more now that it involved a sleepover and bitch session, not to mention Peter’s always excellent coffee.