“Pizarro was arrested last week, right?”
“Right. After he and Freeman violated their respective no-contact orders.” She swiped her forehead against her shoulder. “I suppose there’s a reason you’re asking me about all this, Sarn’t Major?”
“I need your assessment of the situation.”
“Which part, Sarn’t Major?”
“The part where I’ve got a senior NCO in a world of trouble and I can’t seem to find a single record of it anywhere. Not a counseling statement, not a blotter report. Nothing. It’s like I’m imagining things.”
Another pause as Holly considered her words. Carefully because she knew her opinion was highly biased now. “I think it’s not outside the realm of possible that Delgado is protecting Pizarro. I think they want to take Pizarro downrange. He’s a known quantity. It’s easy enough to see why Delgado might try to hide Pizarro’s misconduct.”
Cox spat onto the dry asphalt. “What if it’s the commander?”
She scrubbed her hand over face and slicked her hair back where some of it had come down from the hair-tie. She felt ill but she honestly couldn’t see Sal doing something like that. Not now. Maybe before she knew him. But not now. And she fully recognized it could easily be because of her feelings toward him. “I don’t think Bello would do that.” But the seed had been planted and now she had to wonder.
Cox slowed to a walk as they returned to the battalion area. LTC Gilliad and Sal approached from the headquarters.
Sal was rigid, his body tense, his back stiff. Holly and Cox saluted the officers.
“So he up to speed on the plan?”
“Roger that, Sarn’t Major,” Gilliad said.
Holly looked between the three men. “Can I ask what plan?”
“The psych docs are referring Sarn’t Freeman to a medical board,” Sal said quietly.
Holly folded her hands at the small of her back, a physical reminder that she was the most junior ranking individual in the small huddle. “Okay. I guess I’m just a little tired or maybe I don’t have enough oxygen going to my brain at the moment but I’m still a little lost about the whole thing. Say that again?”
“Sarn’t Freeman is being referred to a med board. She’s being found medically unfit for duty,” Sal said softly. “Preexisting PTSD aggravated by deployment to a combat zone.”
Holly ground her teeth as the awareness of what that meant sank in. “Which means we can’t take any judicial action against Freeman while this is going on. We’re stuck with her,” she said slowly, fighting the tightness in her chest and the ugliness of her thoughts.
She couldn’t explain where the anger came from but a burning frustration tore through her lungs and set her blood on fire. She was suddenly, violently, furious. With the commander for not taking action sooner. With Cox for not letting her deal with Freeman before it had come to this.
With all of them.
“First Sergeant, you have something you want to say?” Cox asked, his voice low and laced with the last shred of patience. Holly recognized the signs. She just didn’t care at the moment.
“Sarn’t Major, roger, I do. This is complete bullshit. Do the separation packets. Let’s get rid of the soldiers we can’t train and get the ones we can on the range. We’re wasting time we don’t have. Now we’ve got an NCO we can’t get rid of and we can’t replace because we screwed around with paperwork for too long.”
“First Sergeant!”
Holly closed her eyes and snapped her mouth shut but it was too late. Just like always. Her mouth engaged before her brain and sadly, she didn’t think the battalion commander was up for a game of take backsies.
* * *
She’d lost her mind. That was the only explanation Sal could come up with for why Holly had just piped off like that to the battalion commander. Maybe the fight the other night had knocked her brain loose.
Sal closed his eyes hoping, praying that she wouldn’t do what he figured she was about to do.
That maybe she’d find some tact and not tell the battalion commander how she thought he ought to be running his battalion.
But oh no, she did exactly as he’d learned to expect from the out-of-control first sergeant.
“Sir, this is not that complex of a problem. Commanders are concerned with the metrics. How many people are deployable. How many on profile. You’re asking the wrong questions, sir.”
Gilliad braced his hands on his hips. “What questions should we be asking?”
“We shouldn’t be asking if Freeman or Pizarro or Balboa are going downrange with us. We need to identify those we know are going—put them in a separate box from the maybes. And have a completely separate box for the nos. We know Balboa isn’t deploying. Not after this stunt. We know Pizarro is really high risk at this point—he goes in the maybes, if and only if this investigation clears him and we find out that he’s not hitting his girlfriend. I wouldn’t take him either way. He’s high-risk now; what’s he going to be like after yet another deployment? Get the other commanders to break out their formations into those three pots and figure out what we’ve got. Then we mass effort on getting those who are not going and get them out of the unit. Otherwise, we’re going to saddle the rear detachment with a shit show that is going to distract from your mission downrange.”
“And how do you propose to do that, First Sergeant? I can’t even get a daily personnel status report that’s accurate, let alone focus on separations packets.”
“Sir, you could stand up the rear detachment early. Set up the leadership, give them a cadre of half a dozen competent dudes and dudettes and let them unleash the fury on the chapter packets.”
She was on a roll now. Sal could see the excited light in her eyes, the animated set of her shoulders. It was fascinating watching her, watching the passion burning through her words.
Gilliad sighed heavily, rubbing his index finger along his upper lip. “She’s got a point, Sarn’t Major.”
“She does,” Cox said. “Clearly, however, I need to reacquaint my first sergeant here with a few lessons on tact.”
Gilliad laughed and it was the first time Sal could remember ever seeing the man smile. “Clearly, she’s your protégé in every way.”
Sal watched the exchange, baffled by the easy way Holly had transformed flagrant disrespect toward a senior commissioned officer into a miniature strategy session. A successful one at that, because the boss was listening to her.
“Why didn’t you ever go to OCS?” Sal asked Holly suddenly.
A strange look came over her face. There for only an instant and then it was gone. “I never wanted to give up leading soldiers, sir.”
Cox shifted, drawing attention back on the boss. “Sir, I can have the manning drawn up for you by close of business.”
LTC Gilliad pinned Holly with a hard look. “I appreciate your candor, First Sergeant.”
Holly lifted one eyebrow and it was all Sal could do to stop himself from reaching over and putting his hand over her mouth. He was tempted. So tempted.
But she surprised them all when she merely said, “Sir, my job is to give you the truth. Yours is to figure out what to do with it.”
Gilliad nodded and turned to go. Cox fell into step with his commander., leaving Sal and Holly alone.
It was Sal who broke the silence. “I think I’m going to be a little pissed if you get yourself fired. You are far too entertaining to lose because you get yourself in trouble.” Sal shook his head, relief crawling over his skin that she’d escaped unscathed. “I don’t think there is a single other individual in this battalion who could have pulled off that hat trick.”
Holly shrugged but Sal didn’t miss the forced nonchalance in the gesture. She was wound up and it showed in the set of her shoulders, the tension in her stance.
There were too many things twisted up inside him from watching her. Too many realities came crashing together in that moment, too many possibilities that collided.
“I have a job to do. Sarn’t Freeman’s medica
l board complicates things; it doesn’t make them impossible.”
Everything from her words to the set of her shoulders said otherwise.
“I thought you wanted Freeman to get into counseling,” Sal said quietly.
“There are things we can do to help people who want help. If she’s part of this—if she’s tied to Balboa damn near jumping off the roof, then there is no place for her in this formation.”
Pain laced her words. She was a woman on the edge no matter how much she was trying to play tough right now.
Holly glanced at Sal. “How is Balboa?”
“Stable. That’s really all I know at this point,” Sal said. “I’m hoping to have an appointment later with the entire medical team but it depends on how he’s doing.”
She nodded, then tried to leave.
And he wasn’t having any of it.
24
“I’ve got a meeting,” she said quietly.
She didn’t want to do this with him. Not now. Not ever. Her mouth had gotten the best of her—again—and despite not getting fired, she couldn’t deal with the questions she saw in his eyes.
Because Sal Bello might come across as a big tough guy but the bastard was bloody perceptive. Twice now, he’d seen her come close to falling apart. She wasn’t ready for a third time.
But he didn’t move.
And it was tempting, so damn tempting to cross the small distance that separated them. To feel his arms around her and help keep her upright.
Because that little episode with the battalion commander had come from a dark, frustrated place. She knew all too well what happened when commanders refused to deal with the problems in their ranks.
She’d lived it.
And Sal might want to offer comfort but at that moment, she needed space to put all the emotions back in the box and try to forget about the life she’d lived once upon a time.
Still, he stood there waiting. Patient and still. Neither were qualities she would have associated with him when she’d met him that day in the personnel office.
But there was more to Sal Bello than met the eye.
“Are you okay?” A simple, loaded question.
She pressed her lips together in a hard, flat line, attempting to lock the emotions that threatened to slip out behind them. “I don’t have time not to be,” she said.
He almost took a step toward her. She held up one hand. “We’re in the middle of the quad by all the companies,” she reminded him quietly. “And neither one of us is untouchable enough to survive the fallout from something like that.”
Her words stopped whatever he’d been about to do. She took another step backward, putting more space between them.
“You’re running away,” he said. A quiet warning in those words.
“No one ever said you weren’t perceptive.” She moved like she was going around him.
He stopped her. His arm on her shoulder might as well have been a brick wall. “Holly.”
She closed her eyes, bracing against the concern, the worry that laced beneath her name. “Let me go,” she whispered.
She left. Or escaped, however she wanted to look at it.
Either way, she was alone.
And just like always, the silence pressed in on her, reminding her of everything she’d failed to do.
* * *
He should have let her go. He should have walked away and let her leave. He was still raw from dealing with Baggins. He could have let her go and no one would have blamed him.
But there was so much there, just beneath the surface. He couldn’t leave her to wrestle with the demons he’d seen flicker across her face.
She didn’t get out of her car in front of the small lake house.
“I don’t want you here, Sal,” she said when he walked up to the door.
Her eyes were red. Her knuckles white where she gripped the steering wheel.
“Tough.”
Something seemed to snap in her and she slammed the door open. It caught him off guard and nearly knocked him over.
“No, it’s not tough. You don’t get to set conditions here,” she said, climbing out and slamming the door closed.
“And you don’t get to walk away and pretend that everything is fine when I can see that something is tearing at you.” He stepped into her space. “I can do a lot of things, but walking away when I see you hurting isn’t one of them.”
“Then this thing, whatever it is, needs to end right now because when we go downrange, that is exactly what needs to happen. You can’t get all protective caveman every time I get a boo boo. I’ve gotten blown up, I’m a big girl and I can handle myself.”
“Like you’re handling things right now?” A quiet dare in those words.
A glove thrown down between them.
“Because you won’t leave me to deal with things the way I’m used to dealing with them!”
He hesitated, just for a moment. Then took a step toward her, his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t tell me I’m not supposed to do this, Holly.”
“Do what?”
“Care about what’s hurting you.”
Her hands came up, her palm flat on his chest. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“It doesn’t matter because either way, it’s not happening.”
“You act like you don’t know how to deal with someone who cares about you.”
She shook her head, taking a step back, her eyes shimmering. “I’ll only let you down, Sal. That’s what I’m good at.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“Then go find someone else to unpack all your mental anguish and childhood trauma with because I’m not doing it.”
Once more she tried to walk away. Once more, Sal felt the fear tear at him, the uncertainty that she was walking toward destruction. That letting her go meant he might lose her completely.
He wasn’t ready for that. Not when she was the one person he’d met who personified everything he’d ever believed was right and good in the world.
He slipped his hands into his pocket, stuck for a moment on how to get her to stop. On how to get her to listen.
On how to get her to let him carry some of the burden of whatever it was that she carried around in her ruck.
She had one foot on the bottom step.
The lighter was cool in his palm. The letters etched silver now instead of black like they’d been once upon a time.
“Remember the day you asked me about the lighter?”
She paused. She did not turn around.
“My father was in Vietnam.”
“I figured that out already, thanks.”
“He was my hero. I looked up to him. I worshiped the ground he walked on.” Sal took a deep breath. “I wanted to be him. He was at this big battle just before the Tet Offensive. I listened to him and his buddies recount him leading a small formation of men to take out a machine gun nest. He was fearless and brave and everything I ever wanted to be as a soldier.” Sal looked away, down at the lighter and the worn, smooth letters. “Until the day I saw my stepmom holding a bag of frozen blueberries to her face.”
He cleared his throat, the story harder to tell than he expected. “My father was a hero in the war.” She turned slowly as he spoke. “But he was a coward at home.”
He stood close enough that he could hand her the lighter. Her hand seemed suddenly small and frail. It shocked him because he equated her with strength and confidence and a thousand things other than frail.
“Then why carry this?” she asked, accepting the lighter. She traced her index finger over the worn lettering. For I am the meanest motherfucker in the valley.
He closed his hand over hers, encasing the lighter that meant so much to him between them. “I carry it to remind myself of who I’m supposed to be. Of what I’m supposed to do here.” He cradled her hand in his. “I’m a soldier. Violence is in my duty description. But so is caring. And I forgot that back here. Until you came along a
nd reminded me caring about the people on my team is more than just training them for war. Caring when they’re hurting.” He paused. “There’s more to your story, Holly.”
“I can’t, Sal.”
“You don’t have to be strong all the time.”
“Yes, actually, I do. And you’ve gotten to see me at my worst, which is more than most people can say in this life.” She reached up then, cupping his cheek with her palm. “I appreciate your concern, Sal, I really do.”
“Then trust me,” he said.
“Why? Why is my trust so important to you? Why is it so important to you that I lean on you, that I don’t walk away? What psychological need is that meeting for you?”
“That’s a cheap shot.”
“Not really.” She slipped her hand from his. “I think it’s a fair point. I think you’ve gotten me twisted up with some memory or fantasy and I’m not either. I’m me. Screwed up, functional me. I’ll do my damn job. I need you and my commander and all the other officers to do yours.”
He stepped in front of her, unwilling or maybe unable to let her go. “Who let you down, Holly?”
“Why can’t you just let me be?” Her smile was sad, and it was the most honest smile he’d seen from her. She turned and walked into her small house, leaving him standing there.
Almost he granted her request. Almost he did as she asked and left her alone.
Except he saw her shadow in the window.
Doubled over, her hands over her face.
The sight was raw and ragged and it would forever be burned into his memory.
But he did not, could not, walk away.
* * *
The moment she was alone, a thousand emotions stormed free, trampling over the faint locks she’d managed to get put back into place. She’d tried putting things away on the ride home. Managed to half-ass convince him and herself that she was fine.
But she wasn’t fine. She doubled over as soon as she was alone, old wound ripped open, as fresh and bleeding as if they’d happened today.
Do your job, sir.
Forged in Fire Page 19
