Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About The Authors
Heartbreak Warfare
Copyright © 2018 by Heather M. Orgeron & Kate Stewart.
Cover design by Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs
Formatting by Juliana Cabrera, Jersey Girl Design
Edited by Kiezha Ferrell
Copyedited by Christine Estevez and Donna Cooksley Sanderson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase.
This book is a collaborative effort to represent both the break down and resilience of the human spirit. While some of the scenes in this novel may be considered horrific, we felt it in the best interest of this work to try to represent the gravity of these topics and the aftermath in the most realistic way possible. We did our best to ensure the scenarios were depicted accurately while remaining a part of a work of fiction.
With the utmost respect, we give this to you, our love letter to the American soldier.
Heather & Kate
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“Trauma creates change you don’t choose. Healing is about creating change you do choose.”
— Michelle Rosenthal
Chapter One
Katy
I’d known since the day I’d signed those enlistment papers eight years ago that war was a definite possibility, but I wasn’t afraid. I’d grown up an army brat, and American pride flowed through my veins. The idea that I would do anything else with my life never even occurred to me. From the time I was a little girl clomping around the house in Daddy’s big old combat boots, I’d known that someday I, too, would be a soldier.
I’ll never forget my father’s words the day I graduated boot camp: “If you ever get tested, remember there’s a difference between defiance and bravery. Leave your compassion out of it and show them you are a part of something bigger, something they can’t break. Remember the Soldier’s Creed.”
The soldier that resides in me is prepared, so why does it suddenly feel like my heart is going to burst into a million pieces when the voice sounds over the loudspeaker?
“We start loading in five, Soldiers. Say your goodbyes.”
It’s the mother in me that’s at war with the soldier’s decision. Blinking back tears, I look down at my little boy, his arms wrapped firmly around my waist in a vice grip, and I can’t fathom how I will ever be able to leave him.
What the hell was I thinking, re-enlisting last year?
As I pry his desperate arms away and kneel down before my baby, I see the look of devastation on Noah’s face, and the dam bursts wide open.
“Noah…” I gasp as I pull him into my heaving chest. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay? Be a big boy for Mommy and take care of Daddy.” I was bred to be tough and rarely allow my emotions to get the best of me, but there is just no quelling this ache. I can barely breathe through the pain.
Noah’s tiny frame shakes as he shouts through sobs.
“Don’t leave! Mommy, don’t leave! Can Daddy go instead? Please?” His grip tightens around my neck, nearly suffocating me, but I welcome the touch because I know it will be a long while before I feel it again. Inhaling deeply, I try to commit to memory the scent of my little man—coconut shampoo and sunshine.
“I’m a soldier, Son,” I tell him, pulling away and gripping his shoulders. “And what do soldiers do?”
He looks at me with the bewilderment of a six-year-old. “Fight for the free by being brave.”
I give him a proud smile. “That’s right.”
“But I don’t want you to be a soldier anymore.” His face falls as the soldiers behind me begin to load up in the bus.
I look to my husband for backup, but instead, my heart plummets. In the seven years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Gavin this upset. His expression remains stoic, but when I lift my head to meet his mist-filled hazel eyes over my boy’s shoulder, I see everything he’s not saying. He sinks to his knees, wrapping both Noah and me into his solid arms. And there we sit—two soldiers, trained to be the toughest of the tough and the bravest of the brave—our bodies collectively trembling in fear.
Gavin cradles my head between his hands, kissing my tear-soaked face. “You were made for this, Katy. Just go out there and do what you’ve been trained to do, and if it comes down to it…” His eyes plead with mine. “You do whatever it takes to make it back home to us.”
My throat thickens as I try to swallow. “I’ll be back,” I promise. With these words, I’m being smothered, suffocating in the knowledge that my promise could turn into a lie while trying desperately not to unleash those fears in front of my son. I swallow hard and feel a thousand knives slice my chest.
“Hey, buddy,” Mullins whispers kneeling down and tapping Noah’s shoulder. “How about a hug
for me?”
Noah reluctantly turns into her embrace and Gavin and I seize the moment, clutching each other desperately before he presses his lips to mine. His warm tongue licks the seam of my mouth, and I open for him. Our tongues tangle violently as he growls into my mouth, knotting his hands into my short, blonde curls. I whimper, tasting the salt of my tears. Foreheads pressed together, I whisper the only word that makes the moment seem bearable. “Forever.”
Desperately, I try to absorb every last detail so that I can hold onto it for the lonely months that lie ahead.
A warm hand squeezes my shoulder. “It’s time, Scott,” my best friend Mullins whispers regretfully. She steps back, allowing us our space, and I rise to my feet with my little monkey held tightly in my arms.
My lips tremble as I gently nudge Noah’s head from my shoulder. “Mommy has to go to work now, baby,” I choke out.
His cries are pitiful. “No, Mommy, please.”
Oh, my heart.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Noah. I love you so much.” I smooth the mop of dirty blond curls away from his face and kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his lips.
Gavin wrestles our son from my arms, and as he begins to pull him away, I place a final kiss on my son’s hand before he is no longer in reach. I watch him wildly thrashing in his daddy’s arms, and I want to go to him…to comfort him. I want to kiss them both a thousand times more.
Mullins grips my sleeve, pulling me toward the bus that’s now nearly full. I blow kisses the whole way, whispering I love you and I’m sorry.
Reluctantly, I climb the stairs and make my way to the last seat in the back of the bus, immediately turning to find them behind the thick glass. With muffled sobs, I place my hand to the window and gaze down at my family until they disappear.
Chapter Two
Katy
BAGHDAD
We arrive at our base in the middle of the night. It’s eerily quiet, apart from the rumbling of the generators, and a bit cooler than I’d expected. As soon as my boots hit the sand, my pulse begins to race, and a chill ripples through my body. I’m not sure whether it’s due to the breeze or the anxiety of being here. I rub at my nose, the scent of gunpowder heavy in the air.
“Can’t believe we’re finally here,” Mullins says, hopping down beside me, her landing causing the sand to fly up and into my eyes.
“Thirty seconds on the ground and I already hate the fucking sand,” I gripe, rubbing the debris away with my fists.
“Sorry, Scott. Wasn’t thinking.”
Shrugging, I motion with my head for her to follow. We’re shown to our living quarters, which are no more than a tent filled with cots. We’ll be sharing the space with a few other female soldiers. Despite the late hour, the beds are scarcely filled.
The other women who arrived with us are opting for shut-eye, but Mullins and I are way too amped to sleep. We’d spent the weeks since leaving our families preparing equipment and processing paperwork at the holding station. It started to feel like we’d never leave that chicken coop, and the last thing either of us feels like doing, now that we’re here, is sleeping.
After unpacking my duffel, I sit on the edge of my cot to unlace my boots, freeing my aching, sweat-soaked feet from the confines of the leather prison they’ve been trapped in for the last God-knows-how-many hours. I peel my socks off and stretch my legs out, wiggling my toes up and down. They crack in a sigh of relief. It feels so good that a moan escapes before I can stop it.
How embarrassing.
I glance around to be sure that no one heard me, but there’s only Mullins and me on this side of the tent, and she’s busy unpacking her own bag. I wouldn’t have given two shits if she’d been the one to hear me, anyway. Since the day we met at boot camp, bonding over our shared Texas pride, we’ve been inseparable. She is my one comfort when it comes to being deployed. If this ever-present pinch in my chest is any indication, I’m going to need all the comfort I can get.
After stripping out of my desert ACUs, I slip into my PT uniform and tennis shoes, which make me feel a little more civilian. Since leaving the States, I’ve been a bit reluctant to embrace my role as a soldier. I know the switch is coming, but I’ve been delaying it for as long as I could. Out of habit, I rub the pad of my thumb over the inside of my ring finger, where my wedding band usually resides. I feel naked without it, but I didn’t want anything to happen to it, so I opted to leave it at home. The sinking feeling in my chest is making me regret that decision. It’s going to be a long twelve months. Digging my hands into my hair as I stroll across the tent to meet Mullins, I shake out the curls that have been flattened beneath my hat.
We decide on taking a walk over to the clinic where we’ll be working, just to check things out. Mullins has always dreamed of becoming a doctor, but her parents didn’t have the money for medical school. After she served her first stint, I expected her to head to school, but when I went to re-enlist, she was right there beside me. She loves being a soldier. We have that in common.
After a few minutes scouring the base, we spot the clinic, which is a beige trailer not much bigger than our tent. Like everything else here, it’s designed to blend with the sand. There are lights on inside, but at Mullins’s suggestion, we decide to wait until the morning to be introduced to the rest of our team. My guess is she’s just as hesitant to switch roles as I am. It’s not easy giving up twelve months of your life to live in hostile territory. And it’s our first time being deployed. But if she’s nervous, it isn’t showing.
Just when we turn to leave, the front doors swing open, and three soldiers file out.
They’re so busy talking among themselves that they haven’t seen us standing here yet. Thank God. Maybe we can sneak out unnoticed.
Mullins elbows me—hard—and winks before cupping both hands around her mouth. Oh no.
“Hey!” She waves. I want to tit-punch her.
Mullins is habitually single and has already let me know in very clear terms that she couldn’t wait to get out here and stuff herself on the buffet of saluting soldiers. Her words, not mine. I just wish she’d leave me out of her shenanigans.
Their chatter stops, and all three heads whirl in our direction. Great.
“Evenin’, ladies. What can we do for ya?” the taller one asks. He then places his hands on the railing between us and jumps over, touching down right in front of me. Isn’t it my lucky night?
Lifting my head, I prepare to hand him his ass for kicking sand up into my eyes, but his beauty is distracting. His skin is a light toffee color and his hair a sandy brown that grows lighter at the tips. His eyes are the color of honey, and when he smiles down at me, a dimple appears on his right cheek. Lord help me, he is stunningly good-looking, and the smitten look on Mullins’s face tells me that she’s definitely noticed too.
I suck in my cheeks, trying not to laugh when she starts twirling the end of her long, black ponytail between her fingers. Her chest perks up and her butt pokes out. My best friend’s got it going on—average height, with a tiny waist and curvy in all the right places. She gets her large pouty lips from the Latin genes on her momma’s side. When she bats her long, thick lashes at him, I can’t contain the smirk that tugs at my lips.
She is pulling out all the big guns.
“We just arrived tonight and wanted to have a look around. Where is everyone? Our tent’s practically empty,” she asks. “You guys work in the clinic?” Mullins’s tone is embarrassingly hopeful.
“Nah, we just dropped off some supplies. You must be the new medics,” he says, rubbing his hand over the light stubble on his jaw. “I’m Sergeant Briggs. And those two”—he hikes his thumb over his shoulder—“are my buddies, Specialist Jones, and Sergeant Morrero. Your new roommates are probably hanging out in the rec-tent.”
“Corporal Mullins,” she returns, placing her hand in his. “And this is Staff Sergeant Scott.”
“Nice to meet you, Scottie,” Briggs says, reaching for my hand.
&nb
sp; My eyes roll as I correct him. “It’s just Scott.”
The corners of his mouth curl up into another megawatt smile, and he winks. That lone dimple makes another appearance. “I heard.” His response is accompanied by a devilish smirk.
Oh Lord.
Again, I feel my eyes rolling. He’s a walking stereotype. From the stories I’ve heard back home, the feel on foreign bases is purely civilian, and the sexcapades mirror those of the Olympic Village. It’s like a desert orgy, mostly for the younger and more cavalier unattached soldiers.
I’ve been married so long that I have little tolerance for these types and their shameless flirting. There was a time that I’d have enjoyed it…before Gavin. Every girl likes her ego stroked now and then. Once Gavin and I became a thing, the guys on base all backed off, respecting our relationship. But, these three don’t have any loyalty to my husband.
Already I’m starting to feel out of place. Turning, I find Mullins has introduced herself and is deep in conversation with the other two guys. That leaves me to entertain Sergeant Flirts-a-lot.
Brilliant.
“So…what’s your MOS?” I ask, in a feeble attempt at conversation.
“Good old 11B,” he beams. He says it with such pride.
“Infantry?” Adrenaline junkie.
“I like to be the first pretty face those ugly bastards see.” The way his entire face lights up with his smile tells me that he genuinely loves what he does, and I have to respect him for that.
Maybe I judged him too soon.
This isn’t just a job, or a means to a free education for him. He’s here because he wants to be, and his excitement is infectious.
I can’t help but return his smile as I take in his smug demeanor.
“So…you’re a grunt,” I tease, crossing my arms on my chest.
Briggs laughs at my jibe.
Am I imagining the thirst in those amber eyes?
“Yeah,” he says as he slides his bottom lip through his teeth. “A grunt.”
“Hey, someone’s gotta catch those bullets,” I jest, but I cringe as soon as the words leave my mouth. I really shouldn’t be allowed out in public. A freaking war zone is not the place to make jokes about being shot. “I didn’t mean to say that. I, uh…well, I hope you don’t catch any…bullets.” My ears radiate heat, and nausea churns in my belly.
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