Audra held her breath.
* * * *
Savory aromas made Audra’s mouth water. Trattoria Della Nonna smelled like home. She looked at Hank over a basket of breadsticks. Soft Italian music played in the background.
“Can you believe it, Hank? I thought I was going to faint. Around here, what Vincent’s charging me for rent is nothing. I’m so pleased.”
Hank dove into his manicotti as soon as the plate hit the table.
The waiter slid Audra’s meal in front of her and left. She bowed her head for a moment of prayer then smiled as Hank smacked and hummed with gusto. A forkful of tender, creamy fettuccini melted in her mouth and warmed her soul.
The day had started out bad and had gotten worse. But God was working behind the scenes.
Hadn’t He provided everything she needed? Hank had jumped into action at the mere hint that she was in distress. And Vincent. Didn’t the Lord work in his heart to help him let go of his mother’s apartment and, in turn, help a stranger?
Folded in the purse beside her, Edward’s letter ended with words of hope. Words to hide in her heart. My feelings for you are genuine.
Audra took a hearty bite of buttered bread and looked across the table at Hank’s saucy face. And smiled.
Chapter 29
Bullets whizzed overhead and pinged off the rocks around Edward. Rapid fire from automatic weapons raked the ground nearby. He dove for cover. The sickening, unmistakable thud of lead striking flesh pierced his ears. A man groaned.
He squatted with his back against a boulder. He had to think quickly. The shots had come from an elevated position behind them as they walked. He guesstimated the shooters to be at his four or five o’clock, over his right shoulder.
All quiet. That could be good or bad. Either the men were safe behind cover, or there were casualties. Why else would the shooting stop?
Profanity-laced grunts came from Dexter. If only he could get to him.
“Dex? How bad?” Edward called out.
“I’ll live.” More curses. “Took one in the thigh.”
What about the rest of the guys?
“Alvarez?”
“I’m okay. Jackson’s with me.”
“Sanchez?”
“Yeah. I’m all right.”
Good. All men accounted for.
“LT.” Sanchez’s voice sounded close. “I see movement. Two guys. No, make that three. Back near that cluster of fallen rocks.”
Edward stayed low and peeked around the left side of the boulder. In front of him, Sanchez was hiding behind two large roundish rocks that butted against each other. Edward crouched and came up alongside him.
“There.” Sanchez pointed between the crack in the rocks. “One of them is by the broken boulder that’s shaped like a crescent moon. See him?”
Edward looked. “Yup.”
“The other two moved over there.” Sanchez pointed with the muzzle of his rifle.
The tops of two heads, scarfed and banded, bobbed above the rocks for a split second.
“I see ’em.”
Forward and to their right, Jackson and Alvarez hid behind ample cover.
“Alvarez,” Edward called. “Can you see Dexter?”
“Maybe ten yards, that way.” Alvarez indicated Dexter’s position. “He’s safe, for now.”
Edward loaded a grenade in his launcher. Sanchez followed suit.
“Jackson, Alvarez, lay down suppressive fire while Sanchez and I move forward. Fire when ready.”
Jackson and Alvarez fired bursts toward the enemy.
Edward ran from cover to cover. He kept an eye on Sanchez’s location out of his peripheral vision and passed Dexter who fired from a one-kneed kneeling position despite the blood that oozed through his pant leg.
Edward fired his grenade.
Thwoop. Sanchez’s launcher sounded.
Two explosions rocked the targets almost simultaneously. Adrenalin coursed through Edward’s system as he moved in and swept the area with his weapon. Colors seemed brighter, small sounds, louder. All senses awake, on high alert.
Sanchez approached from his right flank, beyond the pile of rocks. Jackson joined them. Edward stood over a mangled body. A few yards away, Sanchez looked toward the ground for a moment before holding up two fingers.
Edward nodded. Got ’em.
Alvarez was tending Dexter’s wound when Edward returned. He knelt beside Dex. “The threat’s been eliminated. But, I say we get out of here ASAP. Can you make it to the pickup site, or—”
“Help me up.”
Edward looked at Alvarez. “What do you think?”
“I’ve got the bleeding under control, and I...” Alvarez did a double take and his attention settled on Edward’s upper right arm. “LT, you’ve been hit.”
He felt the underside of his sleeve then wiped his bloody hand on his pants. A wound close to his armpit burned like fire. “Probably grazed.”
Jackson stepped in, hung his weapon over his shoulder and reached for Edward’s arm. “Let’s have a look.”
Edward shrugged and turned away. “No time for that. Alvarez, Sanchez, get Dexter up and let’s go. Jackson and I will bring up the rear, and I’ll call this in.”
* * * *
“Take care, Buddy. We’ll see you stateside.” Edward locked hands with Dexter. It killed him to see one of his guys, his good friend, lying on a stretcher, leg bandaged and stained with blood. His own arm throbbed, and the antiseptic Marcus had applied still stung. But what was a scratch, even a deep one, compared to a bullet lodged in a leg?
Dexter motioned from his prone position for Edward to draw closer. “You’re beating yourself up. I see it in your ugly mug.” Dexter’s weak smile thinly masked his pain. “This wasn’t your fault. You had point, and I was bringing up the rear. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I—”
Greco interrupted with a loud sigh. He stood across from Edward, hands on hips, and said, “How ’bout we draw straws and blame the short pick?” His cheeky grin dispelled some of the gloom. He grasped Dexter’s other hand for a moment. “Transport’s ready. Time to go, Dex.”
The vehicle exited the gate and kicked up an orange dust cloud as it headed south to the main support base.
Greco gripped Edward’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring shake. “They’ll take good care of him.”
“They better.” He turned and strode quickly toward his tent. A shower, change of clothes, and something to eat might not erase the events of the day but would at least ease some of the tension.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant.” Sergeant Browning jogged a few steps to catch up. “You’ve been gone all day, sir, so I’m wondering if anyone’s told you we’re having pizza and a movie at the mess hall tonight?”
“Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check.”
Browning kept up as Edward marched onward. “Excuse me, sir. The base commander does this every now and then, and it’s not optional.”
Edward halted and grunted. “Mandatory fun. Great. Just what I need.” Could the day get any worse?
“Sorry to hear about Sergeant Dexter.” Browning’s weathered face showed concern.
“Thanks.”
Browning turned to go.
“Hey, Sarge. Did we get any mail today?” A pink envelope would be a welcome sight.
“Nothing for you or your guys. Sorry, Lieutenant.”
* * * *
At dark, Edward entered the mess hall with an exit strategy in mind. Once the lights went out and the movie started, he would slip into the darkness of an adjacent storage room and make his way out the side door. No one would be the wiser.
Laughter and loud talking filled the room. The faces of his teammates dotted the crowd. For the troops, a night like this was a respite from routine and the demands of duty. Who could begrudge them a little fun? He secured a chair by the storage room door, downed a few slices of pizza, and chased them with a can of root beer.
&
nbsp; “Find a seat everyone. We’re about to start the movie,” an unseen voice announced. Guys filtered into rows of chairs. The room went dark. A computer-based projector came to life and cast the opening scenes against a white wall.
While all eyes focused on the flickering images, Edward made his escape.
* * * *
Silence greeted Edward in the tent. Alone at last.
At the foot of Marcus’s cot, a Bible lay open with a frayed ribbon wedged in its binding. Its delicate pages fluttered in the wisp of a breeze and settled as the tent flap closed behind him. He stared at the book for a few moments. Are you a good man? His jaws tightened.
Reruns of the firefight played in his head. Dexter, all bloodied up with a slug in his leg weighed heavily on him. He stretched out on his cot, closed his eyes and tossed a forearm over his face.
Painted across the canvas of his mind, Audra’s image appeared plain as day. Why shouldn’t it? He’d looked at her picture a thousand times. She was beautiful in every way, the personification of perfection, and the highlight of his life. Thinking about her stoked the flames of loneliness and desire that burned inside him. If only he could see her in the flesh, touch her, and tell her how much she meant to him.
The question as to whether she was getting married or not speared his heart and made him wince.
Footfalls approached.
He sprang to his feet.
The tent flaps parted, and Marcus came in.
The man’s presence kindled Edward’s anger. Why couldn’t he have one stinking, lousy hour by himself without intrusion? Was that too much to ask? At his sides, his hands coiled and tightened on their own accord.
Marcus turned on the lantern. “I was praying for you and the guys earlier today and—”
“And Dexter got shot.” Edward narrowed his eyes. “Just shut up and stay away from me. One more Jesus word out of you and I swear I’ll—” His hammer-like fists waited to strike.
Marcus took a step forward. His smile faded. “I’ll never give up on you, Edward. The love of Christ compels me to—”
Edward’s left hook came up hard and fast.
Marcus’s head snapped to the side and blood sprayed from his nose. The second punch cracked across the medic’s jaw.
Edward twisted his hands into Marcus’s shirt. His fingers clamped deep in the fabric. He pivoted, and tossed the medic to the dirt. Edward fell to a knee and reared back for another blow.
He moved to unload his fury but hesitated.
A look of undeserved compassion stared up at him.
His fist opened and released the grip he had on Marcus’s shirt.
Edward wrapped his hands around his head and began to weep.
How could this be happening to him? He was a professional soldier, a man, not a little boy. Yet he couldn’t stop.
“Where was Jesus when my junkie, prostitute mother delivered me and threw me in a trash can in an alley? Where was He all the years when nobody cared about me? Jesus loves me? I don’t think so.”
He sat back on his heels and picked up Marcus’s Bible. “What’s the magic of this book? Did it help you just now? Did Jesus help you right now?”
Blood-speckled pages glared at him. Words written in red ink next to his thumb nearly shouted from the page. Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.
Waves of remorse flooded his heart. He stood and backed away. “I-I’m sorry, Marcus. I—” He fled to the makeshift bathhouse.
* * * *
Blood oozed from the knuckles of Edward’s right hand and tinged the tornado of water swirling down the drain. A repulsive beast of a man stared at him in the mirror. He closed his eyes hard to shut him out.
Do you consider yourself to be a good man? And, by what criteria do you measure yourself?
The answer was obvious, and the pain of that knowledge, all-encompassing. Something had to change. He had to change. Edward held the sides of the sink with a white-knuckled grip and hung his head.
“What have I done,” he whispered. “Jesus, what have I done? By Your standards, I’m not a good man. Please help me.”
He splashed water on his face, dried himself with his sleeve, and went outside.
Across the way, Marcus’s silhouette moved around the tent. His gray form bent over, reached forward, and extinguished the light.
The fact that Marcus was up and about brought some relief. He needed to check on him and make sure. After a few steps, he swallowed a lump of shame, changed direction, and slipped into the shadows.
* * * *
A sleepless night of wandering left Edward feeling awful. He tried not to make eye contact with anyone and avoided conversation as he entered the command center for the morning meeting.
The smell of coffee filled the briefing room. The team, and a couple of CIA operatives they’d been working with, stood around sipping coffee before the meeting started. One man was missing. Marcus.
Edward checked his watch. How long would it take for the MPs to come for him? By now they had to know what he’d done. How he’d attacked Marcus without what any sane person would justify as provocation. He pretended to read a notice on the bulletin board and kept to himself.
The door opened. Marcus came in.
“Whoa. What happened to you?” someone blurted. “Did a grenade go off in your face?”
One of Marcus’s eyes was blackened, his nose and mouth were swollen, and his face was bruised. Puffy lips managed a smile. “Naw, I just had me a little altercation last night. Even Jacob had to wrestle an angel every now and then. You should see the other guy.” He shadowboxed a couple of punches. “How’re y’all this fine morning?”
Edward couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What he’d done was inexcusable. He fully expected to be court-martialed or otherwise punished. How could this man be so forgiving? Wasn’t Marcus going to turn him in?
Sergeant Browning entered. He crossed the room, took Greco aside, and delivered a private message Edward couldn’t hear. Seconds later, Browning exited room.
Greco’s face turned serious as his gaze settled on Marcus. He set his coffee down and walked over to where Marcus was taking a ribbing about his shiner and tapped his arm. “Come with me. We need to talk.”
They stepped into the hallway and stopped right outside the door.
No doubt, Greco was going to question Marcus about what happened. Edward maneuvered himself to where he could see Greco and Marcus through the small rectangular window in the door without making it obvious that he was spying.
Whatever Greco was saying was bad news to Marcus. The medic’s ever-present smile melted, and a worried look took its place. Greco threw an arm around Marcus’s shoulder and led him down the hall, out of sight.
“I hope everything’s all right,” Sanchez said, looking toward the door. A few voices echoed in agreement.
* * * *
As soon as Greco said, “End of brief,” Edward popped off his chair. He wanted to speak to Marcus. No, he desperately needed to speak to him. He hurried to the tent and tore open the flaps.
Marcus wasn’t there, and neither was his duffel or backpack.
“I sent him home,” Greco said, appearing at his side. “His wife’s in the hospital with pregnancy complications. Sounded serious. She might lose the baby.”
“Baby?”
Greco snorted and shook his head. “How could you spend all these weeks living in the same quarters with the man and not know he and his wife were expecting?” He gave his head another shake and walked away.
Edward went into the empty tent. There, on his own cot, lay the medic’s Bible. A note stuck out from the pages. He strained to read the scrawl, written in obvious haste.
Edward,
Even an elite soldier can admit he’s lost and needs to find his way. You said you knew the Roman Road. I prayed last night that you would take it.
Keep this Bible, please. And when you get to the bloodstained pages,
remember, forgiveness. It’s the key to the “magic” of this book that you asked about.
You need a friend, LT. Let me, and let Jesus be your friend.
Marcus
Marcus’s home address in Virginia, along with his phone number followed.
Edward fluffed his pillow, laid back and read the note again. He’d extended two fists to Marcus’s face, and in return, Marcus extended a hand of friendship and forgiveness. Warmth spread through his chest like morphine for pain. He surrendered to sleep.
* * * *
Loud, excited voices woke Edward. He got up, went outside and joined the team. “What’s going on?”
Jackson wore a megawatt smile. “Recon is suspended. We’re going home.”
“When?”
Peanut answered. “Two days and a wake-up. Ten day’s leave, baby. Ten days.” He did a gyrating dance and whooped with joy.
Greco approached with Sergeant Browning. “Okay, guys. Travel arrangements. Give Browning your destination.”
One by one, the guys stepped up and told the sergeant where they wanted to go. Edward hung back until last.
“Lieutenant?” Browning looked up from his clipboard. “Where to?”
“Dulles Airport, Washington, DC.”
Chapter 30
A choir of birds serenaded Audra from the woods behind her apartment. As their song drifted through her bedroom windows, she brushed her hair, swept it upward with a twist, and fastened it with a decorative clip.
In the kitchen, she added a few more items to her shopping list, pulled it from under a refrigerator magnet, and dropped it into her purse that lay open on the table. She picked her cellphone off its charger and thumbed through the icons. No missed calls or messages.
She sat at the kitchen table and stared at the phone for a few seconds before pressing Edward’s number on speed dial. It went straight to voicemail.
“Hi, it’s me, Audra. I was just thinking about you and thought I’d call to say hello.” She straightened her back and put on a smile. Maybe that would help her sound more cheerful.
A Soldier Finds His Way Page 23
