Brotherhood Protectors: Soldier's Heart Part One (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 2

  And every girl has a right to dream. The chances of these girls succeeding if the Taliban regained control were slim to none, and slim was just about to leave the building. But, damn it, all this time in the desert and arid mountains—and the sacrifices of their fellow soldiers—had to count for something.

  “We’ve done some good. We’ve planted seeds. Maybe they grow, maybe they die, but what’s important is we always did our jobs.” Kate looked around the room. “Nothing we’ve done has been a waste.”

  “Okay, terrific. Great. They brush their teeth. Score one for the good guys.” Lowry folded his arms. “This sure feels like Nawzad all over again, though.”

  “Except you’re not a Marine.” Tompkins executed a half-assed salute. “Hooah.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Lowry flapped a hand. “All I’m saying is soon as we go, the captain’s right. The Taliban are going to move back in. Whatever we give those people in Cham Bacha will just wind up going to the enemy.”

  Kate shook her head. “But maybe not all. With the police here...”

  “Police.” Douglas blew a raspberry. “The police are half the problem. If your brother’s the police chief, how much do you think you can get away with? I got a buddy works checkpoints down near Lashkar Gar, and he says all the police do is take bribes and eat watermelon.”

  “That doesn’t mean these police will behave the same way.”

  Douglas opened his mouth, but Jack held up a hand. “Okay, I get it. I hear you. We can debate this all day, but these are the orders, people. Babysitting the police might not be fun or ideal, but we’re not being paid to twiddle our thumbs. With prime planting season in a couple months, now’s a good time to roll out anyway.”

  “Yeah,” Douglas said, “prime planting for poppies.”

  Stone’s features darkened. “Quit flapping those gums, soldier, and you might understand a couple things. Those poppy fields are our friends right now.”

  Jack nodded. “Exactly. Given that opium’s a major cash stream for the Taliban, no one is going to risk prime real estate. So, we’ll be two squads and an equivalent number of Afghan police. Dog team, too. Yeah, yeah, I know I just said that the farmers probably won’t sink IEDs where it’s just as likely they’d blow up themselves or their kids, but better safe than sorry, and Six is popular with the kids anyway. So, Tompkins, you and your dog just got volunteered.”

  “No worries, sir.” Never happier than when he and his shepherd took point, Tompkins brightened. “Six and I are good to go.”

  “Excellent. What I need now are volunteers. With so little time left, I understand if some of you want to hang back. No shame in that. We all have our reasons. So, who’s in?”

  Her hand went up, no hesitation. Made sense, too. Not only was the other female medic walking down the aisle in four months, Duncan, a line medic, had spent most of her deployment in a field hospital. Having been outside the wire more times than she could count and for days at a time, Kate was the logical choice. So, no surprise there.

  The surprise came a few minutes later, as they were dismissed.

  “McEvoy.” Jack crooked a finger. “A word?”

  2

  For a few moments after the room emptied, Jack only paced. Never taking her eyes from him, she remained at ease and kept it zipped. No matter what their relationship in private—and, despite all their quiet, private talks, there sometimes seemed precious little—he was her superior officer. So, speak when spoken to. Any curious soul who just couldn’t resist a quick glance through the small, inset window wouldn’t see anything amiss, either. She and Jack were that careful.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the moment, his proximity, the way he seemed to take up the whole room. Jack had a scent, too. Sweat, but also a fine, spicy musk.

  Finally, he stopped pacing and crossed his arms over his chest, though he kept his back to the closed door. “So, Kate, what are your plans after we leave here?”

  “Uh...” Not what she’d expected. Actually, she hadn’t spent much time thinking about life after this deployment. Odd, she knew, because everyone wanted to go home. For her, though, leaving Afghanistan also meant saying goodbye to Jack, more than likely for good. Beyond the whole fraternization shtick, he was 10th Mountain out of Fort Drum in New York, and she was based with a National Guard unit in Chippewa Falls. The chances Jack would deploy to a new duty station within six months of going stateside were high. She would not be able to follow either. Even if possible, she didn’t see herself as a hanger-on or a dutiful Army wife moving from station to station after her man. Just not her style, and she did have plans. So, theirs was not exactly a match made in heaven. “I suppose I’ll go back to Wisconsin.”

  “Job waiting?”

  “Oh yeah.” Although all Army combat medics cross-trained as EMTs, she’d already been certified when she joined up and knew her boss had budgeted for her position. “One more semester and I’m done with college, too.”

  “And then?”

  “Medical school.” Why was he asking? They’d already talked about this. “If my grades are good, and I do well enough on the MCATs.”

  “You’ll do fine. I can’t imagine you doing anything short of your best.”

  “To coin a phrase, my best and well enough aren’t synonyms,” she deadpanned.

  “Touché.” He arched an eyebrow. “But I have faith. You’ll stay at your parents’ home? Wausau, right?”

  “Uh-huh, west of Rib Mountain. I suppose I’ll spend the holidays there. I’ve got my own place, but I wouldn’t mind milking a few cows, snarfing down a couple dozen brats, and freezing my butt off ice fishing.”

  “How many bedrooms?”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  “At your parents’ place? How many bedrooms?”

  What? Flustered, she did a mental tally. “Three? Four, if you count the dungeon. It’s what my dad calls the basement, but I love it down...” She forced herself to stop blathering. “Jack, what are you saying?”

  In answer, he moved a little closer—not too because they were, after all, commander and subordinate—but close enough to trail a gentle finger along the line of her jaw. “I’m saying this,” he whispered.

  At his touch, a tremor rippled through her body. This, Jack had never done, had never allowed himself to try just as she clamped down on that selfsame need because neither wanted to risk what little they had. His touch was electric, a zing arrowing through her chest. She went suddenly weak, a little wobbly, and how dumb was that? Her life wasn’t some romance novel or chick flick. But her mouth went dry and she thought, a little stupidly, this must be what it was for a body to ache, to want to be ravished.

  Oh, for God’s sake, get a grip. The voice was dismissive, green as a gremlin, but also small and no match for the thunder of her heart, and when his touch fell away, she let go of a soft moan.

  “Oh, Kate.” His tone was low, husky, humming with desire. “I’m saying when this is done and we are out of this place, I would dearly love to spend a Christmas with you, and more than one, if you’ll let me. I want to meet your family, your dad.”

  “He’ll probably put you to work.” She remembered her father always sizing up the very few boys she’d brought over before suggesting the boyfriend come on out to work on some downed pasture fence or lug a few thousand hay bales into a mow. Humiliating, his testing every boy. Though many were game enough, everyone balked at shoveling cow poop. “How do you feel about manure spreaders?”

  “As long as they don’t uncouple, we’re golden. I’ve shoveled my share of shit. I wouldn’t even mind milking a coupla cows.”

  “Careful. They can kick.”

  “Long as they don’t bite.”

  “They can, though. Some cows are ornery.”

  “And some shy if you don’t take it slow, respect their space. I’ll take my chances, Kate, with them—and you.”

  I can’t believe this is really happening. They would have an after? The possibility of a real r
elationship, a life? This is crazy. We’ve never even kissed. But she wanted this chance to find out.

  “All right.” Her voice was thick, her chest tight. “Christmas, then.”

  “Christmas.” Then he held up a finger. “But before then, I need you to do me one little favor.”

  3

  Tompkins skipped a pebble over a deserted tarmac. “Only two bounces. I got to practice.” When she didn’t reply, he nudged her with an elbow. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re a really cheap date?” Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Kate scuffed sand and grit with the toe of a boot. She’d almost not come but then decided getting some fresh air and hanging with Tompkins and Six might do her some good. Her head still spun, her mind looping back to replay her conversation with Jack—and the favor he wanted.

  Which was simple, actually. He wanted her to stay behind. As in not go tomorrow. Why? Because Cham Bacha was their very last mission, and last missions were always jinxed

  Which was completely crazy.

  “Yeah? I’m not the one having a real hard think.” Wrestling a tennis ball wrapped in a leather sling from his dog’s mouth, Tompkins waited until the shepherd stopped prancing and settled onto its haunches, intent, ears pricked, mouth closed tight. “All right.” Winding up, Tompkins let a beat slip by and then flung with all his might. “Go get it!” As Six whirled and took off, Tompkins gave her a sidelong glance. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” She watched the dog, a sable-and-black blur, bullet down the deserted tarmac.

  “Oh, bull. You got a poker face when you want it, and it ain’t there. Does this have anything to do with what the cap wanted to talk to you about? Oh, wait, lemme guess. Cap doesn’t want you along, does he?” When she opened her mouth, he gave a dismissive flap of a hand. “Oh, don’t deny it, Kate. You guys work so hard at not looking at each other, you practically burn holes into the floor. If it makes you feel any better, there hasn’t been any scuttlebutt. I honestly don’t think too many other people have noticed.” He paused then added, “I don’t think. I don’t exactly know. Except for you, I don’t hang with a bunch of people. When guys come by, it’s to hug my dog.”

  “You’re not really making me feel better.” She was glad what was left of the day showed only in bright cinders reflecting off watchtowers so he couldn’t see her blush. Other than soldiers jogging the perimeter and those pulling guard duty, there was no one else and nothing out here but tarmacs, stilled helicopters, blast walls of HESCOs, and concrete barriers topped with C-wire. To their north, the mountains—stark, very high, nearly barren—purpled in the twilight. By day, these same craggy peaks were brown and looked as worn out as the people who lived in the sunbaked houses perched along the mountains’ flanks.

  All of which they were about to leave behind. With enough manpower, a KOP could be thrown up in fifteen hours. Many were begun at dusk and finished by daybreak. After Cham Bacha, Jack would give the order and, by dawn, Kessel would be only a memory, choppers lifting off, Humvees heading out in boiling clouds of red dust, and Afghanistan falling away in their rear view as they made their way southeast to Camp Leatherneck and, from there, home.

  Jack’s not letting anyone in on the fact that Cham Bacha was their last mission was the smart move. Giving a firm date for withdrawal meant the enemy might find a way to sabotage your exit. So, a fine plan.

  If only Jack wasn’t so spooked.

  “Hey.” Tompkins threw her another elbow. “Misery loves company, so join the club. I’m not all goose-pimply about tomorrow either.”

  “What’s eating you? I mean, more than usual.”

  “Ha-ha. How about everything?”

  “Care to be more specific?” She’d stripped out of her BDU top and wore only an olive tee. Now, with the sun gone, a light breeze stirred over the desert, bringing with it a scent of scorched earth and, from Tompkins, just the faintest whiff of eau de dog which she didn’t mind at all. That particular aroma always conjured memories of her parents’ farm and their dog, Brett Favre, a lab-shepherd mix whose favorite toy was a slobbery football he kept daring you to try to take away. She really missed that old mutt.

  “Well, how about the fact they’re already talking about redeploying troops back down to Bastion for a new operation next year?”

  “No way.” Though she could believe it. Anyone with half a brain cell on life support could see the Afghans didn’t have a prayer of holding their own.

  “Yup. It’s got some name... Resolute Support, that’s it. They should call it what it is: Shit, we thought we were done, but just kidding. Oh, good boy,” Tompkins crooned as his shepherd trotted back, ball clamped in his jaws. “What a good dog. What a good boy. Now, go on, give it to Kate. Let Kate have a turn.”

  Luxurious tail swishing, the dog happily obliged, turning to her with a big grin. “Oh, you think you’re so tough, don’t you?” Grabbing hold of the leather strap, she yanked it back and forth as hard as she could as the dog rumbled and growled, tail churning furiously from side to side. “Awwwrrr, awwwrrr, you’re so bad.”

  “You sound like a pirate.”

  “Awwwrrr,” she growled at Tompkins and then back at the dog, who held the ball locked between jaws that could crush a man’s arm in two seconds flat. “You’re just jealous, awwwrrr.”

  “Awwwrrr!” Six agreed, and, as she and Tompkins cracked up, the dog, ears pricked, cocked his head as if to say, What?

  Seizing her chance, Kate jerked the ball free, and as the dog lunged, teeth bared, she gave a sharp, no-nonsense command. “Six, sit!”

  At once, Six obediently skittered to a stop and dropped to his haunches, though every muscle still quivered and twitched as instinct warred with obedience.

  “Jesus.” Tompkins shook his head. “You’re a fucking dog-whisperer.”

  “Oh, come on. You said yourself he’s only flirting. Okay, Six, go!” Tossing the ball in a high arc, she watched the dog speed away. “It’s just I’m not scared of him. Besides, it’s not like you don’t get plenty of time with him.” A handler and his dog were virtually inseparable, together just about every minute of every day. They rated private quarters, slept and worked together, even ate together. The only place she’d never seen Six with his handler was waiting in line at the showers. Maybe the latrines and piss tubes, too, come to think of it, although she didn’t make a habit of hanging around to check. “He’s gotten used to the other guys, too.”

  “Barely, and not the same as he’s bonded with you. But, maybe it’s a good thing he listens to you. You know, in case things go south.”

  “Not this again. What is wrong with you? Nothing’s going south. It’s only a mission.” She bit back the impulse to tell Tompkins to relax, they were almost out of there. She had her reasons. For one, Jack had sworn her to secrecy. For another...okay, she was a little superstitious, too. All soldiers were. Wash your patrol cap, for example, and you guaranteed that someone would try to shoot it off your head. If you got Charms in your MRE, no matter how much you wanted that candy, you threw that crap away PDQ. Those Charms were some bad mojo. Eat a green one, and it would rain. Chow down on a blue, and you got a firefight. There were stories of guys who, in-between emptying their magazines at the enemy, lobbed Charms, too.

  And now, Jack, with all this voodoo about last missions. “You talk like we’re dead men walking, Tompkins. That’s crazy.”

  “Or realistic.” Tompkins gave a fatalistic shrug. “Just promise me something, okay?”

  She really didn’t want to hear it but nodded. “What?”

  “Something happens to me, you protect Six. I mean, chances are he and I are going to go together. We’re a team. He makes a mistake or I miss something...boom!”

  “Fine. Cross my heart and hope to die, I promise to scrape both of you up with a spatula. Now, would you cut it out? You haven’t missed anything yet. Besides, the captain’s right. What are the chances a farmer’s going to mine a field he wants to pla
nt? So, stop it. You’re weirding me out.”

  “Call me a pessimist. But when the bullets start flying and I’m not there to calm him down, Six might go apeshit, and then he’ll get hurt. I was talking with this one kennel master way back when I did extra training in Yuma? He told a story about how when a handler went down this one squad had to shoot a dog because no one could control it and the dog went after them. So, if something happens to me, you’ll have to take over. Do your dog-whisperer bit.”

  “Okay, but Six is not one of those dogs.” She watched the shepherd, ball in its mouth, snuffling around, its tail sketching a furious, seemingly delighted semaphore. “He’s not dumb. He’s got a good head on him, and a big heart.” When Tompkins laughed, she shot him a puzzled look. “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh...” The handler made a vague gesture, like swatting away a fly. “It’s just that’s what they called PTSD. This is way back. Civil War.”

  “They called it dog’s heart?”

  “No, smart ass, soldier’s heart. They also called it nostalgia because soldiers got depressed and anxious and couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened on the battlefield. Some Civil War doctor noticed vets got the sweats and their hearts raced, so he thought the heart caused all the trouble. Ergo, soldier’s heart.”

  Maybe not so far from the truth. Jack’s heart was certainly in the way, and hers wasn’t exactly on the side of the angels. If anyone went after Jack, she would kill them, plain and simple. She’d killed before. No guilt either. At the moment she squeezed off those shots, everything boiled down to essentials: kill or be killed. She wasn’t sad afterward, either, or shaky or even a little bit guilt. What she felt was relief and a kind of exultation: Got you, you bastard, I got you.

  “Dogs get it, too,” Tompkins said.

  “Shut up. PTSD?” She looked at the shepherd as he loped back, tail still going. “For real?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes they just startle bad. You know, get crazy even when a car backfires. But I’ve heard of dogs going after people, same as a guy in a flashback who thinks you’re the enemy. Or dogs won’t eat or go on patrol. Some will get all apathetic, you know, depressed.”