by Annie Stone
“I thought they were fucking each other,” Rabbit throws in.
“Man-Love Thursday,” Jax says, making everybody laugh. Apparently, here in the south of Afghanistan, especially in Kandahar, relationships between men are pretty common. Jax likes to imply the guys fuck each other on Thursdays so they don’t feel lust on holy Friday.
Normally, jokes like that would get me upset. But over here, nothing is normal. I don’t make jokes like that, but I don’t protest them, either. Like I said, I’m not a fan of the Taliban. I would never do the things some other soldiers have done, especially in Iraq, and I would always speak against them, but I’m not going to shed any tears about the T-Men bastards, either. I’ve seen too many good men die.
“What are you going to do when you get back home, Killer?” Jax asks.
“Fuck,” I say, making everybody laugh. I guess that’s what we’re all going to do when we get back to the States.
“Want me to get you a chicken?” Meatball calls.
“They’re all yours, man, I don’t want to impose,” I say, making them laugh again. We’re out in a convoy, on our way to a COP, a combat outpost where forty to a hundred and fifty soldiers are stationed. From there, we can start missions into the hinterland to drive the Taliban out of the area.
“There’s enough of them out here,” Meatball says, looking confused when everybody laughs.
I shake my head in amusement. It feels good to laugh sometimes, even if it’s just about Meatball’s stupidity. But I’m still looking forward to getting home. Even if that just means sleeping in my barracks in Virginia because I still haven’t managed to get myself an apartment.
Just like the first time over here, it’s the sand that gets to me the most. It’s everywhere. No wonder it’s called moon dust. It’s so fine it settles in every last crack.
“We should go for a little stopover in Germany,” Jax says, ripping me from my own thoughts.
“Why?” I ask.
Rabbit grins broadly. “Legal whores.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need them. I’m not as ugly as you are.”
Jax laughs. “But it would definitely be better to get our fill before we have to go home and take care of our girlfriends. Otherwise, they’ll be sore when we’re done with them.”
Once again, I wonder how women can stand being with men. “And you think your girlfriend would still want you after you fucked a German whore?”
“Not one, man, ten! One for every day.” Meatball laughs. “Germany is the holy land, man.”
I shake my head. “In my opinion, there’s only one thing that takes a joe to Ramstein.”
“Which is?”
“A helicopter. Taking him to the hospital, half dead. So I don’t want to go to Germany.”
“Killjoy,” Meatball grumbles.
Rabbit laughs. “But the legal whores…”
“Go to Vegas,” I retort.
The guys let me have the last word, in part because I’ve been made commander of our team. Jax has been here longer than me, but I’ve gone up through the ranks faster, which is kind of fucked up.
Turns out life at the COP is no different from life at the base, except we don’t have a mess hall here. We only get ready-made meals, which taste of nothing if you don’t pour loads of Tabasco on them. Which, in turn, makes them super spicy. We all look forward to the day we get to go back to camp. Sometimes we tell each other what kind of food we’re looking forward to most. Mess Hall 6 has a Mongolian barbecue. That’s my current favorite.
We talk about food like we talk about women. To distract ourselves and keep ourselves from going crazy. My team’s full of crude bastards, but really, they’re faithful boyfriends and husbands. Especially Rabbit, who’s always writing to his wife or talking to her on the phone. He would never think about sleeping with another woman. But that’s what they’re like: barking dogs who don’t bite. They like to talk, but really, they’re decent guys.
Over the next few weeks, there are a few small skirmishes with Taliban, but nothing a Marine wouldn’t get through. After all, we’re part of the most advanced military in the world, and our opponents are mostly just shepherd boys brainwashed by their mullahs. I can’t stand to think about it, or I’ll start feeling sorry for them, and I don’t need that. Pity is for pussies.
We don’t really have time to give much thought to anything. We patrol and protect our small fort. We eliminate their strongholds, making the area safer, but they keep shooting up like mushrooms all over the place. You kill one Taliban only to turn around and face another ten.
We could actually learn from them. Troop motivation. Recruitment. But their methods don’t have much to do with freedom. And our operation is called Enduring Freedom, so things are different for us.
23
Mackenzie
I’m sitting in my office. Hazel’s second birthday is coming up, but she’s with her nanny. I couldn’t afford the nanny anymore and didn’t want to take Carey’s—meaning Carter’s—money, but I didn’t have a choice. I can’t stay home, I need to come here to work every day to make some money—otherwise I’ll be depending on Carey even more.
I look out the window, wondering how we can make this statement more to the point, more memorable. Maybe we need an exaggeration to get our message across. But what could be one memorable, provocative phrase? I realize I’m not going to get this done today.
So I move on to something else. People power. We need to convince people—especially multipliers—to support our campaign. And as we all know only too well, a movement is only successful once white, heterosexual men join it, so they are the ones we need.
In two weeks, we’re having a big fundraiser, which will be attended by the governor and a California congress member. Actors and singers who have joined our campaign will speak. Which is great, because it means I don’t have to.
Around six, I pack my things and hurry home so I can spend a couple of hours with Hazel. She beams when I come in and runs toward me. “Mommy, up.”
I pick her up and kiss her on her sauce-covered mouth. My little piggy is so cute.
“Thanks, Maya,” I tell the nanny, who promises there have been no major incidents and says good-bye till Monday. I always look forward to my weekends with Hazel and Carey. Tonight, Hazel and I play for a while before I give her a bath and tuck her in. I read to her from a picture book and say good night. Then I plop on the couch and turn on the TV.
Suddenly, I feel alarmed. A chilling, bone-deep feeling of terror.
I go to Hazel’s room and check on her. Then I call Carey, who’s on the nightshift today, but he’s fine. I send messages to Shane and Sheila, but they’re okay, too. Finally, I call Carter, who’s surprised to hear my voice, but he sounds pretty together. He tells me he has a new girlfriend, and I’m relieved because this means our relationship might finally improve. Carter no longer needs to be jealous of Hunter.
Still, after we hang up, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s horribly wrong. I can’t sit still. I just pace, up and down, up and down the apartment. That’s when I realize there’s only one more person in the world I feel close to.
Close enough to sense if something were to happen to him…
Part 3
1
Hunter
On our way back to Camp Leatherneck, I sit in the back seat, looking out the window at the monotonous wasteland around us. Our mission at the COP is over, and I’ve completed my second deployment to Afghanistan. It’s back to Virginia for me.
I’m looking forward to going back to the States. Maybe I’ll manage to meet up Carey this time. The more time that passes since the thing with Mac, the easier it gets to live with it. I haven’t forgotten her, of course—and I never will—but it no longer hurts as much as it did in the beginning.
Suddenly, the front left of the car is yanked up off the ground. I hear screams and swearing as I try to steady myself in my seat. But our armored vehicle flips and lands on its side. All I can hear are s
hots, moans, and screams in Pashto, Dari, and English.
I can’t move. My leg is stuck. I try to say something, but nothing comes out. As I attempt to free my leg, the vehicle is hit and thrown up in the air again, throwing me through the window. I land on the ground a few feet away, disoriented and confused.
I want to get up and look for my buddies, make sure everybody’s okay, but I realize I can hardly hear anything. Then my field of vision shrinks, blackness creeping in around the edges. Before I can even lift an arm, I pass out.
2
Mackenzie
I’m antsy throughout the entire flight, unable to focus on anything. Reading, watching a movie, distracting myself in any other way—forget about it.
I knew it all along. I was up all night, sure something had happened to Hunter, and the next morning, Carey and I heard Hunter had been injured in an attack and flown to Ramstein. By the time we were notified, he was in surgery. And that was all they could tell us.
I immediately got on a plane to go see him, even if it was tough for me to leave Hazel with Carey. I had to. I don’t know if Hunter is going to survive. I need to see him again, tell him how much I love him. I can’t let him go without that knowledge. Even if he can’t speak to me. He only needs to hear me. He needs to know I care.
I knead my hands until it feels like my skin’s going to fall off. I’m sitting beside the aisle, so I keep getting up to pace the length of the plane. How long can one flight last?
Twelve hours. Twelve long, agonizing hours later, we land in Frankfurt, and I board a shuttle bus Carey booked to take me to Ramstein Air Base. Carey also made sure I’ll get a visitor’s pass when I arrive.
The entire hour I’m on the van, I chew my nails, my thoughts going in circles. How is Hunter doing? Is he still alive? Am I too late?
Please, don’t let me be too late! I can’t imagine life without Hunter. Please, no! I don’t want to be without him.
When we get to the gates, I have to write my name on a form and show them my ID before they give me a pass and let the shuttle through. I go straight to the hospital and tell them at reception I’m here to see Hunter, but they ask me to have a seat in the waiting room. So I wait.
And keep waiting.
I call Carey to tell him I got here and ask about Hazel. Carey instructs me to hold the phone to Hunter’s ear as soon as possible he can hear him.
I swallow. “What if…” No. I can’t get the words out.
“No, Mac, no!” Carey snaps. “If it was that bad, somebody would have told me! I haven’t heard anything. We need to hope for the best.”
“You’re right. I’ll call you back later, okay?”
“Okay, wait a second. Hazel wants to talk to you.”
“Hazel?”
“Mommy! When you tummin bat?”
“Soon, angel. I’ll be back soon. You be good for Carey till then, okay?”
“Otay!” she squeals. “Ice tream!”
I smile. “Lots of ice cream, and then I’ll be back. I love you, honey.”
“Love you too!”
I didn’t cry on the plane, because I thought I simply had no tears left, but now they start rolling again.
“Mackenzie Hall?” somebody calls across the waiting room.
I turn and see a doctor in a doorway leading back into the hospital. With trembling legs, I get up. “Yes?”
“I’ll take you to your fiancé now. Sergeant Tilman’s brother told us you were authorized to see him. Obviously, Sergeant Tilman will need to confirm that when he wakes up from his coma.”
“Coma?” I repeat, shocked.
“Don’t worry. We thought it was best to induce a coma after surgery. We’re already reducing the meds, so he should wake up within the next few hours.”
“Can you tell me what’s wrong with him?”
“He suffered several non-lethal wounds, one to his shoulder, one to his arm, and a graze to his thigh. He has internal injuries, but we were able to stop the bleeding. The worst of it is that when he was ejected from the vehicle during the ambush, his leg suffered the greatest damage. We had to amputate below the knee.”
“Amputate?” I repeat dumbly. “He…He only has one leg now?”
The doctor nods gravely. “Yes. Amputating was the best option. He can wear a prosthetic, and if he’s lucky, he’ll be able to walk just like he used to.”
For a moment, I feel like I can’t breathe. But then relief wins out. “But…he’s going to make it?”
“There may be some other complications, but if everything heals like we think, then yes, he’ll make a full recovery. With some rehab and therapy, he’ll be able to lead a good life with his prosthetic.”
“Thank you,” I say, the words coming from the very depths of my heart. Everything is going to be okay, as long as Hunter lives. “Can I stay here with him?”
“Of course.” The doctor nods over his shoulder. “We’ll set up a cot for you in his room.”
“That won’t be necessary. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”
The doctor gives me a strict look. “Ma’am, you look like you haven’t slept in a long time. You breaking down with exhaustion is not going to help Sergeant Tilman. He needs you to be strong right now. Do you understand?”
I nod. “I’m a trauma therapist. I understand.”
“Okay. I’ll take you to him.”
I follow the doctor through the double doors of the waiting room and down a hallway, only stopping in front of the last door the doctor walks through. I have to work up all the strength I have left in me.
Hunter needs me to be strong, I repeat to myself.
When I finally step through the doorway and see him, I’m shocked. He looks so different than he did three years ago. Like I expected, he looks more masculine. He’s grown a beard, and his brown hair is still cropped short, but he has a ghastly tube in his mouth, and several others protruding from his body.
But the worst thing of all is seeing the place where his calf used to be. Because now there is…nothing.
I’m glad he’s not awake, because it gives me a chance to get used to the sight of him. This way, when he wakes up, I really can be strong for him. It’s good I’m getting this moment. I shed a few tears before reminding myself it could have been worse. People live with prosthetics every day, and an amputation below the knee is the best-case scenario. Everything will be okay. What matters is that he’s alive, that he’s going to recover. And that he’s finally going to listen to me. The stubborn ass.
Sliding a chair next to his bed, I sit down and take his hand without the port in it. Gently stroke his knuckles, I watch his beautiful face. He seems bigger—at least wider. He didn’t have shoulders like that three years ago, did he? Even though he’d already grown in width back then, he seems even bigger now. But my memory is surely a little blurred. I met him when he was seventeen and only saw him once at the age of twenty-one. What a history we have.
“I don’t know if you can hear me, Hunter,” I say, swallowing. “Some say people in comas can hear what’s going on around them. I’ll tell you all of this again once you’re better, but just in case you can hear me, I want to tell you right now that I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t take your hand without hesitating, even for a second. I can only blame a moment of derangement. I did not choose Carter, do you hear me? I chose you. I love you. So much! And you have given me the greatest present a man can give a woman. Her name is Hazel Claire. H for her daddy, C for her uncle. Carey is crazy about your daughter, Hunter. And I hope you will be, too. I’ve missed you so much. Carey has missed you so much. Hazel needs her dad. Please, Hunter, wake up and get well again. For me, for her. We need you.”
I tell him little stories about Hazel, like when she tried to eat the needles of the Christmas tree we bought last week. And how she learned to write the letter H and took her paintbrush to write Hs all over the hallway. That she’s a good eater but doesn’t like Brussels sprouts, even if you mash them together with potatoes. That she can
say “Dad,” even if she never gets to use it. But she knows her daddy from pictures and videos.
At some point, I put my head down next to Hunter’s hand on the bed. I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days, which gives me an idea of how he must have felt in boot camp—minus all the other types of torture he had to endure, of course.
A nurse wakes me up to measure Hunter’s vital signs, and I look around sleepily. It looks like morning. “Why don’t you lie down on the cot?” she suggests gently.
“I want to be with him,” I murmur.
She nods. “But you need to take care of yourself, too. And your little girl.”
“How do you…?”
She smiles. “You told him stories about your daughter for hours last night. Hazel.”
I nod. “She’s so precious.”
“And he doesn’t know about her?”
I bite my lip. How do I explain that he doesn’t know we have a child when I’m supposed to be his fiancé? “He hasn’t met her, no. He hasn’t been home.”
“It’s okay, love.” She pats my hand. “I don’t need details.” She winks at me before leaving the room.
I don’t want to leave Hunter, but I need coffee. So I scurry away to the cafeteria and get myself a cup before returning to his bedside. The doctor said he would be awake within the next few hours.
How many hours? I think miserably. Maybe he meant days…
“Hunter?” I rush forward. Fluttering—I saw his eyelids fluttering!
I squeeze his hand, and all of a sudden, he’s squeezing back.
“Hunter!” I put a hand on his cheek. His lashes twitch in unison with his eyelids. Oh my God! He’s waking up! “Hunter, it’s me!” I sob. “I’m here. Please wake up.”
He moves his head a little, and then suddenly his eyes fly open. There’s panic in them. He fights against the tube in his mouth.