Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances

by Marissa Dobson

  "Laila." The deep, familiar voice feathered over her. Was she hallucinating? How could Dec be here? "Get up, Laila," the same voice said. "It's all over."

  She couldn't move. She peeked to the side to see strong legs squatting beside her. "Open your eyes honey. We don't want to stay here."

  "Dec," she whispered. "Are you for real?"

  She heard sobbing. One of the girls. That forced her to look around. Aveen was sprawled over an old man against the kitchen wall. Saed? How could he be here? Laila had seen Cutthroat shoot him back in the shed. That had silenced Aveen, when she saw her grandfather fall, and blood spurt out of him.

  Saed's eyes were only half open, but they were fixed on Aveen's face. "That man risked his life to save yours," he said, his gruff voice weak. Laila automatically translated Saed's words out loud. "He's a brave man. Go with him."

  Saed slowly moved his head until he was facing Dec. "She has no other family."

  Aveen fell sobbing onto his chest. "I need you papa. Don't leave me."

  "I have done what I could for you," he said. "I am glad to pay the price."

  "Papa! No." Even the child could see death creeping over him.

  "Go to America." The old man closed his eyes.

  Laila finally looked around the room. Harp was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding his rifle ready. Greg was attaching handcuffs to someone who was facedown on the floor. All of the jihadis appeared to be dead. She couldn't absorb the shock of realizing that.

  "Dec," she said, "what happened?"

  He grinned at her, still down on his haunches, so he was close. "The cavalry arrived and saved your"—he glanced over at the two girls—"saved your precious hides."

  "You killed three men and didn't hurt any of us?"

  "Hey, don't we get credit for the body in the kitchen?" Dec smiled encouragingly at her, as if he wanted her to cheer up.

  "That would be four," she whispered. How had they done that without hurting anyone else?

  "Behaid isn't dead, more's the pity. He's unconscious though, and no threat. The brass wanted him alive."

  "Dec took a bullet for you though." Greg began searching Behaid's clothing. "You should kiss his—ah, Kevlar."

  Laila felt the faintest giggle bubble deep inside. That must be how these warriors handled the adrenaline letdown.

  "Yeah." Dec shook his head. "He walloped me good. Stupid bastard aimed at the girls. Who would rather kill a child than a man?"

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  On the way back to Sinjar, Greg drove and Dec called the lieutenant. "We've got Behaid."

  West, in his understated way, said, "Congratulations. Meet me here." He gave an address in the city.

  "I've also got the women who helped us capture him. I want you organize a rescue for them."

  The lieutenant was silent. "I've arranged for a chopper to transport those women you rescued this morning. They're going to a refugee camp. The pilot makes the decision about weight, but if there's room, they can go."

  A huge weight lifted off Dec. "Thanks."

  West gave him directions to the landing spot. "Go there first," he said. "They're already on the ground, loading the brothel girls."

  The helo's rotors were already whirring when the truck pulled up to the launch site. Dec got out of the pickup, reached in for Alyssa, and carried her over to the open door. Laila followed, leading Aveen by the hand.

  The body of the chopper was filled with burka-clad women, looking like blackbirds stuffed in a pie. Declan spoke to the crewman who leaned out. "I want you to make room for them. These women were instrumental in helping us complete an important mission. The very least the US owes them is a rescue."

  The lance corporal eyed the three females uncertainly. "I'll have to check with the captain."

  "Do it then," Dec snapped. "Time's a-wasting."

  "Alyssa, get in there." Laila pushed frantically to get her sister in the helicopter as Alyssa struggled.

  "No, I want to stay with you!" Alyssa kicked and struggled.

  Declan walked over, picked her up, and handed her up to a crewman. Then he squatted down to speak with Aveen. "You'll go with Laila now in this helicopter."

  Aveen's face brightened, and she gave a tiny nod.

  "I will come for you when I can," Dec added.

  The girl clutched Laila's arm.

  "Listen to me, Aveen." Laila leaned down to her. "You will not be a slave. No one will abuse you or hurt you." Laila repeated the words, but the girl still looked frightened.

  Dec stood up. "You're going too," he said to Laila.

  She looked at him a bit wildly. "I don't want it to crash. We can't overload it, or it will all be for nothing."

  The lance corporal returned. "Captain is going airborne in sixty seconds. He says the women can get in." The crewman looked apologetically at Declan. "But not you. We're sorry."

  "No!" Laila grabbed Declan's sleeve.

  "Time to leave your lovebird," one of the crew members shouted. "We're outta here."

  "Laila." Gently, Dec removed her hand from his sleeve. "I have to stay. I'm on duty and I have work to do."

  He put his hands around her waist and lifted her up to the crewman. Laila held out a hand, but he didn't reach for it. He still had a mission to accomplish. Behaid was still in the truck, waiting to be delivered to justice. He didn't have time to be standing here, feeling as shell shocked as if he'd just been hit with an IED.

  Laila leaned out of the open doorway, even as the crewman tried to push her back. "I live in Brussels," she called out, her shout almost inaudible over the roar of the helicopter.

  And then she added the words that would haunt him. "I love you!"

  The chopper lifted, angled a bit, and took off, blowing dust and debris into his eyes so he couldn't even watch her disappear.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Three days later, Dec, Harp, Geek, and the lieutenant sat on the dusty landing pad where Dec had last seen Laila. They were waiting to evacuate Behaid. They were all pleased to have accomplished the mission successfully and they'd heard that Zack was recuperating well in Germany.

  Something was wrong though. Lieutenant West was angry. Dec could see it in his tense jaw, his ultra-straight bearing.

  "We're releasing Behaid to the Iraqis," West said abruptly.

  Dec leapt to his feet. "No fucking way! They'll let him go."

  "Not my choice," West snapped. "We're on Iraqi soil. They have a right to handle him."

  "You didn't see those women," Dec yelled. "Those children. He's a bloody terrorist, and someone will let him go to further terrorize the people."

  West held up a hand. "Many Iraqis feel the same way we do. He might be brought to justice."

  "Not bloody likely."

  "Nevertheless, it's become a political issue."

  "You mean he has friends in high places." Dec burned with anger. After all he'd been through, he had to let the jihadi go?

  West was still talking. "—someone you know, Major Faroud. He's a good man. He'll be arriving in a few minutes. I've detailed you boys to escort the prisoner to Baghdad. The Major will then ferry you to the refugee camp where the women you saved have been brought."

  Dec looked at his boss. "We're not going home?" They'd been on a six-month deployment and the plan was to de-process for two weeks back in the US before moving on to another assignment.

  "The rest of the team will head home. You had requested a leave to ah, tidy up some loose ends." The Lieutenant met his eyes. "I believe there was a woman involved, or a child you rescued?" His eyes may have shown a slight twinkle. "Two things I never expected to hear associated with you."

  "Both," Dec admitted. "I hadn't heard an answer about the leave though."

  "You've been granted a forty-eight hour leave."

  Dec heard the answer in a dazed silence. They were going to let him connect with Laila before he went home?

  "But first things first." West stood up. "We need to ah, dispose of Behaid."
>
  "Free him," Dec muttered.

  "That will be in your hands," West said smoothly. "Remember, the US military has to be much more protective of our prisoners than some other militaries do." On that cryptic note, he walked away.

  Behaid apparently decided that West's departure was his invitation to start taunting his supposed captors.

  "I had a hot little vacation with those teenaged whores in Sinjar," Behaid said with an evil grin directed at Dec, "but it's time to get back to work. Thanks for giving me a ride back to the caliphate," he said, referencing the Islamic Caliphate that ISIS had declared throughout a large swath of Iraq. "I'm glad to skip the walk."

  Dec flexed his hands as he tried to remain calm. The memories of what he'd seen in the brothel flooded his mind. He wanted to punch Behaid's teeth down his throat, permanently silencing him.

  Behaid knew the US rules of engagement too well, Dec reflected sourly. Although his hands were tied behind him with a plastic zip tie, he didn't seem worried that anyone would rough him up. Instead, he was using their time waiting for the chopper to taunt the SEALs in his excellent, but heavily accented English.

  Harp was lying on his back, apparently not paying attention, but Dec knew he was listening to every word. He was fiddling with a hunk of rabbit fur he carried for good luck, smoothing the soft fur between his callused fingers. He was frowning, whether at Behaid's words, or at the bright sun, Dec didn't know.

  Greg paced back and forth, glaring occasionally at the prisoner, but not speaking..

  Apparently Behaid did not appreciate being ignored.

  "I'll bet you pussies didn't get any pussy in Sinjar, did you? Haha, you get it? You call yourselves military fighters." He spit on the ground, narrowly missing Dec's boot.

  "You're so pussy-whipped," he went on, "you allow real warriors to live to fight another day. Over and over again. It used to puzzle us. Then we learned you can't fight us unless we're actually pointing a gun at you. " He laughed.

  "The rules of engagement are stupid." Harpo scowled. "But it still looks like we've managed to capture your hairy ass."

  "Temporary problem." Behaid jerked his chin at Harp. "No problem escaping from an Iraqi jail. I'll be back to fight you another day. I'll be back to fuck your women another day."

  Dec swung his arms in place. Goddamnit. That was too much.

  Harp opened one eye. "Don't do it, bro. Not worth it."

  A distant drone signaled the approach of the copter. Dec focused on it, knowing that Harp was right.

  The chopper landed, blowing up dust and debris. A big Iraqi emerged, and strode over to Dec. "Congratulations. Heard you bagged a big one." He held out his hand and Dec took it. He and Major Faroud had known each other for several years, from back when the US was still officially fighting in Iraq.

  "Don't congratulate me," Des said despondently. "I went to a lot of trouble to capture the jihadi and now we're letting him go."

  "He's not free yet, is he?" The major glanced over at Behaid, his mouth curling with contempt.

  "Coward," Faroud said, raising his voice so Behaid could hear. "Abusing innocents doesn't make you a man. Nor a good Muslim."

  "Ayreh feek," Behaid spat out.

  "Fuck you," Greg translated in a mutter beside Dec. "Cause it's smart to taunt your jailor."

  Faroud waved at two of his crewmen to take Behaid over to the helo. Farouk himself walked beside the SEALs, saying to Dec, "As much as these fanatics bring terror to your world, they bring ten times more death and misery to the Muslim world. We don't like them any more than you."

  "I know," Dec said. "Evil men exist everywhere."

  In ten minutes the chopper was airborne again, angling into a bright blue sky. Dec couldn't wait for the ride to be over. Geek and Harp would be going back to the US after this ride, to de-brief and have a break. He, unexpectedly, would be going to the refugee camp where Laila, Alyssa and Aveen—his girls, as he now thought of them—had been taken. Forty-eight hours was not enough time, but generous in the circumstances.

  He had another surprise for the girls, as well.

  They reached cruising altitude high over the plains of Sinjar, heading north. A brisk wind tossed them about a bit. Everything was tied down securely, except for the men themselves. They grabbed the available handholds, mindful of the open doorways on both sides of the chopper.

  They'd placed Behaid in the middle of the open bay and he sat cross-legged, his long black coat flapping around his knees in the wind. He wore a black and white keffiyeh wrapped around his head, and the ends slapped his neck. Dec watched him closely. The man seemed a little too happy and revved up for a prisoner, as if he had some kind of a plan that was exciting him. Maybe he was doped up, because he certainly was acting like a dope.

  He began rolling a bit, unnecessarily as far as Dec could tell. Still, with his hands tied, he was vulnerable to any turbulence.

  But, like all bullies, he couldn't stop his taunting, even though he had to shout over the noise of the engine. The doors of the chopper were open, with a gunner sitting in each doorway. Just a routine precaution. It always paid to be ready for the unexpected in the Middle East. But the open doors contributed to the noise.

  Behaid raised a foot and kicked Dec. "By the way," he shouted, "I personally fucked that teenager you wanted. You should try her. It was really sweet."

  "Shut up, asshole," Dec shouted back. He resisted the urge to kick back, but it was more painful to restrain himself than Behaid's kick had been.

  He heard Faroud's voice through the earpiece in his helmet. "Trouble back there?"

  "The fucker is gloating about some girls he raped."

  There was a moment of silence. "Uncuff him," the pilot said. "We're going to hit some rough air. Shitbag that he is, he needs to be able to grab onto something. Tell everyone else to brace themselves, and then wait for the count."

  Dec immediately used hand signals to tell the guys to brace up. He didn't know what count he was waiting for, but he trusted Faroud. He was an excellent pilot and an honorable man.

  The next part happened so quickly, that no one afterward could exactly say how it had happened.

  Reluctantly, Declan cut off the plastic cuffs, wrenching Behaid's arms a bit unnecessarily in the process.

  The chopper bounced once, as the pilot shouted 'three' into Dec's ear. Behaid fell to his knees. When he stood up, grinning evilly, he was holding a long knife in his right hand. "Got you!" he shouted. "We're going back to Sinjar!"

  Dec was already moving, letting adrenaline and his training kick in. He knew hesitation would be fatal because he didn't have a weapon in his hands. So when Behaid grabbed for him, he wasn't where the jehadi expected him to be.

  Most attackers expected to own that moment when you listened to their words. Dec turned that advantage on its head by shouting nonsense at Behaid, knowing Behaid would automatically hesitate as he tried to decipher the words.

  The pilot, not knowing exactly what was going on, shouted 'two' as the helo bounced again and Dec lunged toward Behaid, surprising him. Dec chopped up and sideward with his right arm, and landed a solid kick into Behaid's groin.

  Greg grabbed the back of Dec's belt, anchoring him.

  Behaid didn't drop the knife, but he was knocked off balance. He shouted even as the pilot said 'one' in Dec's ear, and the helo tilted sharply.

  Behaid shouted again, in Arabic this time, and grabbed for something to hold onto. But, as a result of Dec's kick and his own backward stagger, he was too close to the open door. His feet started to slide, and continued to slide, as if he were on a vertical ice rink.

  He slashed the air with his knife, as if he might be hoping to stick the knife into something solid which would stop his slide. All he accomplished was ensuring that no one could come to his aid.

  He disappeared over the edge of the open doorway, his black and white keffiyeh unfurling in the roaring wind and whipping around his head.

  At the last possible second, he managed to grab ont
o the open edge of the doorway. His long fingers scrabbled forward a bit.

  "Drop the knife," Dec shouted. The damn fool needed two hands to have any chance of saving himself.

  "Damn ass fool," Greg hollered. "Why won't he give up the fucking knife?"

  Harp shrugged. "Suicide by stupidity."

  The knife suddenly whistled through the chopper, seeking a target. By sheer luck, it didn't find human flesh but glanced off the armored back of the gunner in the opposite doorway. He grunted soundlessly and jerked himself further into the chopper. Then he picked up the knife and flung it out of the aircraft.

  A second scrabbling hand joined the first on the doorway and the top of Behaid's head appeared.

  Harpo glanced over at the hands clutching the edge of the doorway. "I think that thrown knife represents an attack, boys," he hollered. "I think our engagement rules would allow us to fight back." He paused, and then added, "But that seems like overkill."

  Dec crawled over to the doorway. He would never be able to say what, exactly, his intentions were. But Behaid's keffiyeh, as if caught on a sudden updraft, flew off Behaid's head and blew into Dec's face, blinding him for a second, before the draft from the helo whisked it away. It slithered off into the blue sky like an avenging devil.

  With a long, terrified scream, their prisoner lost his grip and began to fall into the sky. Every man on the helo knew that long, long moment of free-fall. It could be exhilarating, but it could also be terrifying. And the exhilaration was only possible when you had the weight of a parachute wrapped around your body.

  The copter leveled off in the calm, bright blue sky. Declan moved over to the doorway and looked down. "I don't think he's going to make it."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Declan wasted a precious hour of his forty-eight hour leaving looking for Laila in the dusty, crowded refugee camp. Finally, someone directed him to a little village of prefab housing, which at least was a step up from the tents.