Forged in Fire

by Jessica Scott

  At least her company commander seemed like she had her shit together somewhat. She was a West Point captain who’d graduated near the top of her class a few years ago. It never failed to amaze Holly that they were now putting captains in command with less than four years in the Army because they’d sped up the promotion timeline since the war hadn’t ended after “mission accomplished.” So much damage could be done by an inexperienced captain if they didn’t have strong NCOs around to keep them out of trouble.

  Holly had the scars to prove it.

  She glanced at her watch. “Time to go check on my knucklehead NCO,” she mumbled. She honestly wasn’t sure if Sergeant Freeman would be in her place of duty at the side of the road with her sign or not. It would be interesting either way. “How much longer?” she asked the computer geek sitting behind her computer.

  “I should be good to go in another hour, First Sergeant,” the specialist said. “I’m just updating your certificates right now.”

  Holly didn’t ask why the computer wasn’t already loaded with those. She grabbed her patrol cap and walked to the back of her ops. She stood on the dock for a moment, looking toward the end of the parking lot for Sarn’t Freeman.

  Well, how about that. She spotted her at the corner where she was supposed to be but she damn sure wasn’t doing what she was supposed to be doing.

  Instead of holding a sign, Sergeant Freeman was yelling at a big NCO who was yelling right back.

  Oh lovely. A reality TV episode on one of the busiest streets on Fort Hood. This was practically an express pass to the Corps’ sergeant major’s office at this rate. Christ, what a shit show.

  Holly stalked over, ready to rip into both of them.

  She was not prepared for the person Sarn’t Freeman was screaming at to be a sergeant first class. A big one with a shaved head and tattoos visible around the edge of his collar.

  “What seems to be the problem?” she said as she walked up.

  The big NCO rounded on her. “Why the hell is she out here?”

  Holly straightened and wondered what would be the likelihood of him hauling off and decking her. This dude looked like an extra from a motorcycle gang. And not one of those doctor-and-lawyer motorcycle gangs who just wore black vests and pretended to be badasses.

  The big NCO finally turned so she could read his nametape. Pizarro. Easy enough name to remember. Add in the bad attitude and yeah, things were going to be relatively easy to describe to the police.

  If Pizarro was the real deal and if those tats were anything close to what she expected they might be, this whole thing could get ugly real fast.

  Holly braced for a fight.

  “First of all, get your happy ass at parade rest when you talk to me, Sarn’t,” she said.

  “Who the hell are you?” he snapped.

  “I’m the owner of a size eight combat boot that is about to be buried knee deep in your ass if you don’t get your sorry ass at parade rest,” she said. Her voice didn’t waver. Thank God. The last thing she needed to do was show fear.

  Guys like this ate intimidation and fear for lunch. As little fear appetizers wrapped in bacon.

  “Rachel, get your shit. You’re done here,” he said to Sarn’t Freeman.

  “Sarn’t Freeman, if you move from that spot, I’m going to have you court-martialed,” Holly said mildly.

  Holly palmed her cell phone and looked at Freeman, wondering what the young sergeant was going to choose.

  “Rafael, I’ll stay here,” Freeman said to Pizarro.

  “I don’t think you heard me,” Pizarro snapped.

  “Can we talk about this later?” There was no defiant edge in Freeman’s voice this time. Something much more soothing. Like she was trying to placate a pissed-off feral animal.

  “You’re dismissed, Sarn’t Pizarro,” Holly said to him. “You will not interfere with corrective training in my company.”

  “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” he snapped.

  Holly’s temper took over before her brain could put a stop to the stupidity she was about to pull.

  She stepped into Pizarro’s space and got right in his face. “Get. The Fuck. Away from my soldier. Now.”

  Pizarro moved and Holly braced for the blow, knowing he was liable to knock a couple of her teeth loose. And that was if she was lucky.

  The blow never came.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Captain Bello came out of nowhere and knocked Pizarro back a step. “Have you lost your goddamned mind, Sarn’t?”

  “Sir, she’s screwing with Sarn’t Freeman,” Pizarro said. Oh how his tone was different now that he wasn’t arguing with a female half his size but a captain who had him by at least fifty pounds and six inches.

  Holly wasn’t really into the whole damsel in distress fantasy but she was damn sure glad Bello had opted at that moment to intercede. She really hadn’t wanted to get hit. It wasn’t fun. But unfortunately for her body, her stupidity overruled her brain time and time again.

  He was a sight to behold as he shoved Pizarro back and took command of the situation. Quite literally.

  Ring your panties out, ladies. He just went full caveman.

  She almost laughed at her own joke.

  “She’s Sarn’t Freeman’s first sergeant, you dumb shit. Get your sorry ass back to the company. I’ll deal with you in a few minutes.” Bello turned to Holly. “You okay, Top?”

  Holly’s hands shook as the adrenaline jolt now had nowhere to go. She stuffed them in her pockets to hide her reaction. It was stupid to worry about it but any sign of weakness when she was establishing herself could spell disaster later on.

  “Roger that. Sarn’t Freeman, see me at nineteen hundred tonight when you’re done for the night,” she said before she fell into step with Bello. “Nice timing.”

  He rounded on her and the force of his anger blasted her head on. “Are you fucking stupid?”

  She managed not to take a step backward. “Here we go with your charm again,” she said dryly.

  “Pizarro wasn’t screwing around, First Sergeant. He was about to deck you.”

  “And I sincerely appreciate you interjecting. Followed by my next question of what are you going to do about it?” Holly clenched her fists in her pockets, needing somewhere to put unused energy.

  “I’m going to light his ass up. But that’s got nothing to do with you being a moron for picking a fight with a guy twice your size.”

  There was something wild and unchecked about him just then. This wasn’t just anger. This was personal. This was something she didn’t expect from him and didn’t know how to deal with.

  So she did what she always did and backed away behind a solid wall of sarcasm. She sniffed and swiped one finger beneath her eye. “Aww, sir, you’re making me all misty. I didn’t know you cared.”

  Bello looked like he wanted to throttle something. Probably her. “Goddamn it! Everything is not a fucking joke.”

  Going all in, Holly patted him on the cheek. “You really need a hobby, sir. You’re wound a little too tight.”

  It was a mistake. His skin was hot and rough beneath her touch. It drove a need deep inside her. Made her want to slide her fingers over his rough skin to that full bottom lip and see if it was as soft as it looked.

  “First Sergeant.” His voice was rougher than his skin. Broken and filled with a thousand unsaid things. Things she couldn’t let herself want to hear.

  She walked away before she did something stupid.

  Like thank him for bailing her dumb ass out of a situation that she shouldn’t have gotten herself into in the first place.

  But no matter how much time had passed, she never seemed to learn that some men weren’t afraid of hitting women. And that some women just wouldn’t walk away from a fight, even one they would lose.

  And even if Holly won, she’d end up losing. Because men simply weren’t interested in women like her. Oh, they’d serve with her in a heartbeat. She didn’t have problems wit
h them respecting her and wanting her on their team.

  But she’d learned a long time ago that meant she was going to be alone.

  And she was fine with that. Most of the time. Until moments like now, when the sum of all of her choices rose up and taunted her with things she could not have.

  And tried to convince herself that she did not want.

  * * *

  Sal clenched his hands by his sides and let her go. A moment before, he’d been caught between being dumbfounded that she’d been ready to go toe to toe with Pizarro and amazed that she’d been ballsy enough not to back down.

  And then she’d touched him and the anger and frustration had morphed into something else. Something untamed and infinitely stupid for both of them.

  Memories of another woman twisted with images of Washington squaring off with Pizarro. He told himself he was mixing up his mother and the first sergeant. But then again, he wasn’t in the habit of lying to himself.

  He cared. He told himself it was because she was a senior leader in his unit and damn it, the support company needed leadership. Sal knew they couldn’t do their jobs if they didn’t have good logistics support.

  But it was something more than worry about a fellow leader. Something personal and filled with need.

  First Sergeant Washington was clearly a leader willing to give the job everything she had. But damn it, sometimes discretion was the better part of valor and squaring off with a warrior like Pizarro was asking for trouble.

  And if he was honest, he’d admit he was pissed because she’d put herself in harm’s way. Pizarro was a solid warrior but that didn’t mean Sal was blind to what he was. “Rough around the edges” didn’t even come close to being an accurate description.

  Sal was about to smooth some of those edges out. He could put up with a lot of shit but threatening a first sergeant in the unit was over the line.

  He walked past Washington’s company ops and into his own. Delgado was already there, tearing Pizarro a new asshole for the bar fight the other night behind closed doors.

  Sal felt zero sympathy for the platoon sergeant. There was no fucking way you went after your own teammates like that. It didn’t matter that Washington wasn’t in their company. She was on their team.

  Sal walked into Delgado’s office without knocking and shoved Pizarro back against the wall.

  “I hope you have a damn good explanation, Sarn’t,” Sal said.

  Pizarro didn’t fight back. He looked Sal in the eye and didn’t even blink. “I was out of line, sir,” he said.

  Goddamn it, Sal needed to hit something. “You’re goddamned right you were. I’m tired of this shit.”

  “Sir, is there something I need to know about?” Delgado asked.

  “High speed here decided to try and take First Sergeant Washington’s head off,” Sal snapped.

  “Why the hell do you give a shit, sir?” Delgado said. “She’s just a fucking female. She probably got the damn job because she gives good head.”

  Sal pinned his first sergeant with a hard look. “Pizarro, step outside.”

  The door closed quietly behind the big platoon sergeant. “That was completely out of line, First Sergeant.”

  “Don’t give me that politically correct bullshit, sir. You know as well as I do that she doesn’t belong here. That’s why we can’t get the range shit unscrewed—the support company is full of females more worried about getting their nails done than doing their fucking jobs.”

  “Keep your wounded male ego bullshit out of this. Any company that hasn’t had a chain of command in months would have the same problems.” Sal slipped his hand into his pocket, finding the lighter—a cold, hard comfort. “Undermining the leadership of another company isn’t the way to get the job done.”

  Delgado ground his teeth. Sal was pretty sure they were about to have a big come to Jesus and it wasn’t nearly as shocking as it should have been. He’d thought Delgado was chafing under the garrison bullshit that had been bothering Sal.

  Apparently, there was a whole ’nother level to his first sergeant. One that Sal had missed completely and one that he wasn’t going to put up with.

  If Delgado didn’t have a problem with domestic violence, he wasn’t the man Sal thought he was. Not by a long shot.

  Delgado surprised him by backpedaling. A little too quickly. “Roger, sir. You’re right. I’m just irritated with Pizarro. No excuse. I’ll get this shit straightened out.”

  Sal needed something more concrete than he’d take care of it. He’d been hearing that a little bit too often these days. “I’m going to counsel him, Top. I witnessed it, I’ll write it up. Maybe if he hears the shit from me, he’ll smarten up and listen.”

  Delgado was a good first sergeant but his remark about the support company still burned. It put Sal on edge. Or maybe it had just removed a layer of willful blindness.

  Either way, Delgado apparently needed a reminder about who actually ran the company.

  “Roger, sir.”

  “I want the bar to reenlistment paperwork on my desk tomorrow,” Sal said. “He made sergeant first class in seven years. He’s up for reenlistment before the next deployment.”

  Delgado said nothing for a moment too long. Sal braced for an argument. “You keep him from reenlisting and he can’t go downrange with us.” Delgado’s voice was dangerously low.

  “There’s something called stop loss, Top.” Sal reached into his pocket for the lighter. I shall fear no evil. “Pizarro crossed the line, Top. If he’s this close back here, what’s he going to do if he’s on an outpost all by himself? I need leaders I can trust and Pizarro just became one I can’t.” He let the unspoken words hang between them and hoped Delgado would catch what he did not want to say.

  “Roger, sir,” was all his first sergeant said. And Sal was reasonably certain that was a fuck you rather than agreement.

  He left before he pushed further into his first sergeant’s lane. He had to give the first sergeant the space to do his job. Sal couldn’t command and be the first sergeant at the same time. He needed Delgado.

  But he needed him to do his damn job. He needed a leader he could trust. And in that single argument, Sal felt like Delgado had become one he could not.

  It physically hurt that in one fight, it felt like he’d destroyed the bond they’d forged all those years ago when they’d gone off the reservation to bring their boys back.

  He grabbed the range numbers that his ops clerk had left on his desk and headed next door to the support company, ignoring Pizarro where he stood outside Delgado’s door. First Sergeant Washington looked up a moment before he knocked on her door. Her expression shuttered closed instantly. “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Range numbers.” He felt suddenly awkward and out of place. Like he was intruding into her space.

  “Thanks, sir.” She held out her hand and he stepped into her office to hand it to her.

  His fingers brushed against the back of her hand. He froze as a bolt of heat ran through his fingertips and slid beneath his skin.

  She didn't move. Neither did he.

  He simply stood, her skin soft and smooth beneath his touch.

  It was a long moment before he lowered his hand. His fingers burned at the memory of her touch.

  “I’m dealing with Pizarro,” he said. What the hell, was he twelve? He couldn’t talk to this woman like she was a peer?

  “Appreciate it.” Her voice was low, her words carefully restrained. “There’s more going on there but I’m not sure what. It looked like it was bordering on a domestic incident.”

  “I don’t think your assessment is far off,” Sal admitted. “Their relationship isn’t against the law but I suspect it bears watching.”

  “If he’s hitting her, that is against the law and the Uniform Code of Military Justice,” she said. “I’m going to question Sarn’t Freeman tonight. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Thanks.” Sal should go. He shouldn’t stand there any longer than he needed to
. He wasn’t used to feeling like this. This desire to be a shield. To be a barrier between her and the problems in this unit. And it had nothing to do with her being a female. He’d worked with females before. He wasn’t the overly protective type, not by a long shot. But something about her recklessness woke a powerful need inside him. “I’m writing Pizarro up. I’m going to bar him from reenlisting in the hopes of smartening him up. He’s a solid NCO but his attitude gets away from him sometimes.”

  She looked down, a flush creeping over her pale cheeks. “Believe me, I understand that one,” she said wryly.

  In that moment, he caught a glimpse of the woman behind the warrior. There was someone vulnerable, someone she was hiding from the rest of the world with her smart-ass remarks and balls-to-the-wall attitude.

  Just a moment and it was gone. If he hadn’t been so surprised, he might have missed it.

  Memories of another woman willing to go to the wall to protect the people she loved mixed with memories of her going toe-to-toe with Pizarro.

  She wasn’t his mother.

  She was something else entirely.

  Something that was distracting him from his purpose. From what he was.

  He turned to go.

  “Holly.” He turned back, unsure if he’d really heard her. “My first name is Holly,” she whispered. Her throat moved as she swallowed and her eyes were filled with hesitation. “Thanks for keeping me from getting my teeth knocked in today.”

  A yearning rose up inside him, something so strong it nearly dropped him to his knees. A yearning to take this woman away from all this. To see who she really was away from the Army and the uniform and the tough exterior that he was convinced was a mask.

  “You’re welcome,” was all he managed. He stomped on the craving violently, needing to get away from the distraction she represented. He executed an about-face and left her office, shutting down the potent mix of old and new emotions she stirred in him.