Fuck.
I’ve got to push those thoughts aside and focus. I have a job to do.
She’s married.
Why did I have to open my mouth and tell her about the mission? Regret-filled boulders sit on my shoulders as I eye her in the rearview and she keeps hers cast down.
Get it together, Briggs.
I can tell that the girls are a bit nervous, especially Mullins. So, I do what I always do when times get uncomfortably serious and crack a joke. Mullins slaps my arm with a laugh, but blondie in the back just rolls her eyes. One day those things are gonna roll right out of her snooty head.
We are nothing alike, but I’ve never in my life been accused of being a lousy judge of character. She’s the type of woman who puts family and country first, the kind that, if you’re lucky enough to find, you marry.
That’s why she’s already been snagged and married, dickhole.
She also has a stick up her ass ninety percent of the time. But that other ten—I pride myself on being the one responsible for making her smile. Well, except for this morning. This morning she was pissed. I meant what I said, I am sorry for the way I acted. And even though I’m positive there’s attraction there, I’m leaving it alone. I’m not going down that fucking road for any woman. It’s obvious she doesn’t want an apology or to talk to me at all, for that matter. And as much as I hate to admit it, it’s for the best.
But if I have to deal with watching her for the day, and she’s coming on my invite, she damn sure isn’t getting away with ignoring me. “Oh, come on, Scottie,” I say, putting the truck into drive. “That was good.”
I steal another glance as she purses her lips. “Wasn’t your best, Briggs,” she taunts half-heartedly. I know the fact that she’s speaking to me at all is just for show. She doesn’t want to raise suspicion, but the truth is, we didn’t even touch, and that took a fuck-ton of restraint on my part. I can’t remember a time in my life where my dick has been that hard. Her whimper alone will haunt me for years. I had to rub it out twice after leaving her, just to calm down. No, we won’t be friends anytime soon, not with that kind of fire between us.
Challenge accepted.
“What would happen if the pilgrims killed cats instead of turkeys? Mullins?”
“No idea.”
“Jones?”
“Not a clue.”
“Come on, Scottie,” I tease as she glares at me in the rearview. “What?”
I lock eyes with her in the mirror before answering, “We’d eat pussy every Thanksgiving.”
Her mouth falls open for just a moment, and I brace myself for the tongue-lashing she’s about to deliver. I think Scottie surprises us both when she snorts out a laugh. I damn near let out a sigh of relief. Finally. “That’s your worst yet,” she mutters as she glances back out the window.
“I’ll do better, I promise.” Briefly, she meets my eyes before giving me a solemn nod. It’s not much, but it’s something. I don’t need an entanglement with a married woman, and the last thing she needs is me. From this moment forward, I swear to stop whatever it is I started with my bullshit. Scottie really is a good woman. And in different circumstances, if she was free, I have no doubt she could change the game for me. But as things stand, it’s already over. I’ve got enough blood on my hands to deal with and don’t need that shit on my conscience.
Regardless of my new disposition toward the infuriatingly beautiful blonde, I would protect her at all costs. My budding relationship with these two women, and the bit of anxiety I feel rolling off them, only confirms my opinion that females have no place in combat. I’m aware of how they both feel, especially Scottie. She wants to get out and get her hands dirty…to be on the field, where the action is…to make a real difference. It’s not that I don’t think they’re capable. I’m not a chauvinist, despite what Scottie may think. But I’d never have been able to concentrate, knowing those girls were anywhere nearby. My need to protect them would hinder my own performance, and I am secretly thankful that they can’t come along on any other missions.
“What are they like?” Scottie asks no one in particular.
“Who?” Her question takes me by surprise. I was certain I’d have to fight for her every word with the way she’s been acting this morning.
“The Iraqi people. Do a lot of them speak English? Will they be happy to see us?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jones assures her. “The kids come running right up to the trucks with their hands held out for whatever we’ve got.”
“They’ve gotten used to us,” I add, wanting desperately to be a part of the conversation. To smooth things over. “They don’t speak much English, but they understand the basics, and they’re definitely excited.”
“Can’t wait.” She releases a loud, relieved breath and once again falls silent.
My eyes continually scan the desert while the four of us joke around throughout the remainder of the hour-long drive. I feel more relaxed on these missions than usual, but I never completely let my guard down.
“How are your kids? Have you spoken to them lately?” I hear Scottie ask Jones behind me.
“They’re good. Mandy said the baby just took her first steps yesterday.” The regret is heavy in his voice, the same way Scott’s gets whenever she speaks of her family back home.
“What about you?” Jones asks Scottie, and I can’t help that my ears perk up.
“My little boy read me a story last night. He’s been having trouble with his Rs and Ns, and he’s finally getting it down. My husband is great. We’re thinking about having more when I get home. Trying for another baby.”
“Yeah?” Jones is smiling that goofy, fatherly smile as I ignore the jealousy that threatens.
You have no right, dickhead. None.
Listening to these two makes me grateful for my lack of ties. I’ve always known that this was the life I wanted. I don’t need anything or anyone holding me back. I am fueled by the fear—live for the adrenaline rush.
Though I fully realize the gravity of the situations I am being placed in, I’m essentially just a boy living out his childhood dreams…playing the ultimate game of war. I always wanted to be a hero. To get the bad guys. That may make me a sick fuck, but there have to be men like me out there. You don’t enlist into infantry without that inherent urge to shoot something and the desire to blow shit up.
I still have no idea why I admitted I had no one waiting for me when I get off the bus, but I guess some small part of me was beginning to realize I can’t do it forever—that it might eventually be nice to have someone waiting for me when I get home. To have the warmth of a woman—other than my Gran—to hug, and a home-cooked meal followed by an endless night of meaningful sex. I imagine that’s not so shitty in comparison to the free-for-all lifestyle I’ve grown used to. One day I’ll slow down and find my own Scottie. As if she’s somehow heard my inner ramblings, her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and for that moment, in the middle of the desert, I get lost in ocean blue.
“Shit!” I yell, yanking the steering wheel to the left as the truck explodes in front of us. The right side of our Humvee collides with Morrero’s, and the girls’ screams ring in my ears as we’re thrown back by the force of the blast.
I awaken on my back, bloody and bruised, with no recollection of ever leaving the vehicle. My stomach lurches, and I pull up onto my elbows and roll, vomiting into the sand just inches from my face. Rolling my tongue around in the aftertaste, I feel something hard and spit a chunk of a tooth into my hand.
I’m lost in a daze, my ears buzzing and periphery fuzzy until the sound of gunshots spraying into the air brings me back into the present.
I’d know the sound of those AKs anywhere.
We’ve been ambushed.
Chapter Ten
Briggs
I search for my weapon, patting my chest and coming up empty. I’m completely unarmed. Reaching into my boot, I grab the only thing I have left, my KA-BAR, which is great for slicing and dicing in hand to hand,
but shit for open fire. My entire body begins to shake in trepidation, and for the first time since arriving in Iraq, I feel helpless.
Lifting my throbbing head, the heat from the flames sear me as they engulf Morrero’s truck.
“Jones!” I yell into oblivion, hoping for any sort of backup. Growing dread races through me with the knowledge no one made it out of that thing alive.
Morrero.
Pressure builds behind my eyes, but I bite back the emotion. There will be time to grieve when we get out of here. That’s the way with war. We’re taught to push our feelings aside and to deal with them later. To dwell on it would change nothing but could cost us our lives.
I hack, attempting to cough the smog from my lungs as I survey the area, spotting my own Humvee burning about ten yards away.
Unable to stand without making myself an easy target, I drag my body slowly across the shrapnel-covered ground, back to my truck. Thick black smoke billows from the right side and I know that it could explode at any moment, but I won’t leave any soldier behind. When I reach the truck, I pull myself to stand. It’s a Herculean task. Everything fucking hurts. Pushing the pain aside, I grind my teeth while trying to balance myself on my good leg, unsure of what I’m dealing with on the other. With a chest full of dread, I yank the door open and find Jones’s body consumed by flames. I will never, for as long as I live, be able to erase the stench of my best friend’s burning flesh from my memory.
Gripping the hot metal door in both hands, I lean over and puke as uncontrollable tears run from my eyes. I let go and collapse to the ground.
How will I tell Mandy?
I lay there in a pool of my own vomit, in too much pain to move, unable to process the devastation of losing my two best friends. Unable to accept that with one glance into the back seat, I cost those children their father. This is my fault.
If I hadn’t looked back at Scottie …
Scottie. Where the fuck are Scottie and Mullins?
Shielding my hands over my eyes, I squint and search for them, but it’s so hard to see through the haze of smoke.
A scream echoes in the distance, and I follow the sound, unable to see two feet in front of my face. Still on my stomach, I pull myself up and away from the truck to find Scottie against a tire that was thrown from one of the Humvees, Mullins’s head cradled in her lap.
She’s hunched over her body, tears streaming down her cheeks, her mouth open in a soundless scream. The need to protect her gives me the strength to take command of the situation. “Scottie. It’s me…It’s Briggs,” I call out when I’ve managed to bridge the distance, attempting to sound more in control than I feel. “Scottie, look at me.”
She can’t hear me through her fear and grief. She blinks, and panic mars her features as Mullins begins to convulse in her arms.
“Scottie!” I snap.
I am afraid to touch her—so instead I do my best to jar her out of it. “Scott!” I shout, and her head swivels in my direction. “You need to get it together, Soldier. We’re under fire.”
The relief in her eyes when she finally sees me makes me feel ten feet tall—indestructible, if only for a second. The hope in her gaze conveys trust. I feel her conviction to my bones, and I want to believe it too. She gives me a sharp nod before jumping into action.
“Briggs …I have to get my bag from the truck.” She shouts, rolling Mullins onto her side, before pushing her fingers into her mouth to clear her airway. “I need my supplies.”
“The truck’s on fire, Scottie,” I reply with a sand-covered tongue. “The supplies are gone. Everything is gone.”
She shakes her head, her voice full of fear. “She’s seizing too hard.” Scottie closes her eyes as a bullet whizzes past her head.
“We need to get out of here, now.”
“I’m not fucking leaving her!” Her eyes command mine.
“We’re not,” I promise her.
“Give me your belt,” she orders. I rip it off as fast as I can manage and hand it to her. She wraps it around Mullins’s gaping thigh. She’s still for the moment but remains unconscious. I assume it’s due to massive blood loss.
“Scottie, we have to move fast. Your pistol isn’t going to defend us against those machine guns. I have nothing,” I say, knowing everything we had for weapons went up in flames. “Do you hear me?” I ask, lifting her tear-soaked chin, feeling as it begins to tremble between my thumb and forefinger.
I survey the area, finding a shed not too far out in the distance, which may buy us a little time. “See that shed? That’s where we’re heading.” I scan her body. “Can you walk?” I’m unsure of the extent of her injuries, but it seems the two of us fared better than the rest, being on the left side of the truck. “Are you injured?”
“My wrist is broken, and I think a few ribs are cracked, but I can manage.” She winces, bringing her good arm up to her chest.
There’s my soldier.
“On three,” I whisper, positioning Mullins between us so that Scottie can help hoist her up. “One …Two …Three!”
We lift and run as fast as two broken bodies hauling dead weight can, but it’s not enough. It’s our only shot out of here, and it isn’t nearly enough.
Large hands grab me from behind, and instantly I react—dropping Mullins in the process—breaking the arm of the threat before gripping him in a choke hold and cracking his neck. Scottie screams, and I reach for my blade, lunging for her attacker. I have him down with two flicks of my wrist and the twist of my blade. Choked in horror, she looks to me with helpless eyes before they widen at something over my shoulder. Her lips part to warn me, but I’m already in action.
“Scottie, look away!” In two moves, I have him on the ground as I twist the knife into his jugular. Before I can get to my feet with a newly retrieved AK, I’m blinded by a hood and being choked on the feel of the noose that follows. I’m dragged a few feet before I’m struck in the temple by the butt of the rifle that’s been snatched from my hands. Disoriented, I yell for Scottie as I scuffle on the ground with my captor.
Through rapid Arabic orders being barked at me, I scream my own. “Scottie, don’t fucking tell them anything, do you hear me?!”
“Briggs!”
“Don’t tell them anything, Scottie!”
“Briggs!” Her cries strike like blows.
“I’m so fucking sorry!” Unrelenting pain circulates through me at the loss of her, at the idea that she’s in hostile hands. Enraged, I thrash and fight with every bit of strength in me.
“Don’t tell them anything!” I shout again as they drag me to the back of a running truck.
“Scottie!” I manage to scream as she answers next to me.
“I’m here, Briggs! I’m right here.”
Relief and terror fill me in equal measure as Mullins moans out in pain before she’s thrown to the bottom of the truck at my feet.
Our captors are speaking, but there are too many conversing at the same time for me to make out a single word. Not that I would be able to understand much, anyway. Seconds later, I decide ignorance would have been bliss because when I do manage to catch a few words, it turns my stomach. “Fuck.”
Flexing, I fight against the rope that binds my hands behind my back and feel my flesh begin to tear with my struggle.
“W-what is it?” Scottie asks in panic next to me.
“Just stay calm. Okay?”
“Tell me, Briggs,” she whispers sharply.
“I don’t think they’re army.”
Morrero was our terp, and I don’t know enough Arabic to be certain. But if what I’m thinking is right, we’re in far worse shape than I’d originally thought and about to be delivered straight into the bowels of hell.
When the back of the truck finally slams shut, I feel Scott’s body quivering against my own.
“They’ll come for us; they’ll find us,” I lie.
Not for one fucking minute do I believe that either of us is getting out of this situation on the outside
of a body bag. But, I will fight for her with everything I have, even if it costs me my last breath.
Chapter Eleven
Gavin
Pulling out my drill, I check beside me for Noah before I start it up, to make sure he’s at a safe distance. He’s been hounding me all day to help, but halfway through the project, he got bored, as he often does. I spot him in the corner of the backyard, kicking around his soccer ball. After securing the last screw, I hang the chain before testing out the seat. It’s perfect, and I can’t help but feel a sense of pride in knowing that when Katy gets home, she’ll finally have her own little piece of heaven, where she’ll sip her strawberry wine and admire her garden. Katy cringed when she told me what she wanted for her birthday—said it made her feel like an old lady to want a porch swing. I spent that night reminding her that she was nowhere near old. The next morning, I ordered it online. That was two weeks before she deployed.
Months have passed since we said our goodbyes, and I can’t help my need to please her, even when she isn’t here. We have so much to look forward to. The last six years, aside from my own deployment, have been heaven on earth, but I’ve been pacing myself with her because of our age difference. Her dreams matter to me, and while I’ve had the luxury of reaching my career goals, Katy was still a grunt when we met. Now, and for the first time in our marriage, I feel like we’ve hit a sweet spot where our dreams are the same—our life together, our family, another baby.
My cell phone rattles in my pocket while I bark at Noah to get back from the part of the fence that needs repairing. He moves away without protest. Aside from a few meltdowns, he’s been nothing short of perfect since Katy left.
I glance down at the screen and my whole body tenses as I slide my finger to answer.
“Walsh.”
“Gavin, it’s Roger.”
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, halting the swing and fixing my gaze on our son. He is the spitting image of her. The most selfish of thoughts passes through my head and heart in this instant: I don’t want a living reminder of her; I want her. I can’t do this without her.
Heartbreak Warfare Page 5
