Joe stopped at her feet, and putting his fists on his hips, stared down at her. After a moment, he bent forward and held out his hand in a gesture of assistance. “Give me your hand,” he ordered.
Katie ignored the offer of help, having every intention of getting to her feet under her own steam. However, with her recent luck of embarrassing incidents, she had a nightmarish vision of ending up on her backside again if she attempted it. Relenting reluctantly, she reached up and slid her hand into his proffered one. As their hands touched, her next explosive thought was that his hand felt strong, rough and warm, and a tremor ran up her arm as her palm made contact with his.
With one swift movement, Joe’s grip tightened and he pulled her gently to her feet. As Katie regained her footing, she overbalanced slightly, staggered forward and discovered that he was standing far too close for comfort. Quickly, she glanced up at him to find that he was still staring at her with a warm expression on his face. A suffocating feeling of panic rose in her throat and she stepped back abruptly. He promptly released her hand as if her touch had scalded him.
Trying to regain her scattered composure, Katie averted her face from his stare, struggled briefly with the strap of her rifle, which was attempting to strangle her, straightened the military cap on her head, and bent down to pat vigorously at her combat trousers in an effort to get rid of the dust. Her cheeks felt fiery and her heart was racing furiously. What the bloody hell is wrong with me?
When there was no further dust to get rid of, she found that she had no option but to straighten up and face him. “What are you doing here, Staff Sergeant?” she asked at last, aware that the tone of her voice was a little less than friendly but unable to do anything about it.
“I was waiting for you,” Joe replied simply. “I thought you might like to go to the mess for some chow.”
Taken off guard at the invitation, Katie was a little stunned. Her first thought was to immediately refuse and she hesitated, the reasons for turning this man’s invitation down turning over in her mind. She did not want to get involved with this staff sergeant. She had always managed to get by on her own and did not want that to change. She was fully aware that her recent thoughts and feelings were out of character for her but any denial of the inexplicable attraction she was beginning to feel for this marine was beginning to make her feel as though she was fooling herself. She hated feeling so vulnerable.
“Hell, I’m sorry for asking, I sure didn’t mean to make you feel awkward,” the staff sergeant said apologetically. “Look, just forget I did, okay?”
Katie continued to hesitate, feeling uncertain and confused. What harm will it do? That small, rebellious voice piped up again in her mind. It isn’t like we’re going to go out on a date. That would be impossible at Camp Churchill with the thousands of people living and working here and the lack of privacy and social entertainment. Feeling reckless and never able to explain to herself later why she did it, she suddenly made up her mind. “I’d like that. Thank you,” she answered politely and winced at how formal and British she sounded. It was definitely a day for feeling embarrassed.
Joe Anderson grinned. “Okay, that’s great. Let’s go then.”
In silence, they continued walking to the road and turned onto it. It had now become quite dark and both of them automatically switched on their torches. No street lights existed along any of the roads, so trekking around the base at night was hazardous. All personnel carried torches as part of their personal equipment so white beams continuously flickered like large white fireflies. The main islands of light came from the distant airfield, motor pool, the sprawling mess and the Navy, Army, and Air Force Institute—NAAFI. Other lights from distant accommodation tents were dim and muted by their canvas canopies.
Katie, trying to think of something intelligent to say, noticed that Joe’s torch had a red lens thereby emitting a red beam so, for want of better a conversation, she glanced at him and asked, “Why do you carry a red torch?”
Joe gestured with it. “This thing?” he answered, “Well, when we’re out on patrol, it’s not a good idea to use white flashlights when we’re on the move as it gives our position away. Red light is easy on the eyes, doesn’t interfere with our night vision and is dark enough to prevent the enemy from locating us.”
“I see,” Katie answered. “I thought everybody wore night vision goggles out in the desert so you wouldn’t need torches.”
Joe glanced sideways at her. “We do,” he responded. “But we can’t wear them all the time. When we make our ORP—sorry, objective rally point—we have to utilize other light and the red flashlights come in handy.”
Conversation lapsed between them for a while, although it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. Katie was enamored of the idea that this man had made an effort to wait for her. It did, however, make her feel a little gauche and out of her comfort zone, and she was unable to work out how she felt about the whole situation.
“How long had you been waiting?” Katie asked, again trying to strike up an intelligent conversation. She felt shy and was finding it hard to think of something to say.
“Only half an hour or so,” Joe answered. “I was coming from a briefing and was passing. It was a spur of the moment thing.”
“Really?” Katie asked, an amused tone entering her voice. “Do you often ask strange women to the mess on the spur of the moment, Staff Sergeant, or is that part of your duties?”
The faint gurgle of laughter caused Joe to glance sideways at her, and even though his face was partially hidden in flickering shadow, Katie could see that he was grinning, white, even teeth gleaming faintly in the darkness. “Nope,” he answered, “I don’t make a habit of it. I only ask strange young women who throw themselves at my feet.” He moved the beam of his torch up just to the right of her face in an effort not to blind her, so that he could see her expression.
Katie found herself smiling as well. “I should hope not, Staff Sergeant,” she teased and her cheeks flushed a little.
“Please, less of the Staff Sergeant,” he said. “I told you, it’s Joe.”
“Okay, Joe it is, and I’m Katie,” Katie responded a little shyly, feeling her face flushing again when she realized that, much against her will, the boundaries she had set herself where men were concerned were thinning and stretching, because of this man. In her mind, she had already been calling him by his first name whenever she thought about him and couldn’t have stopped the forward progression of getting to know this US marine even if she had wanted to.
Joe nodded. “How long have you been in-country?” he asked.
“Four months,” Katie answered. “What about you?”
“Same,” he replied. “It’s my third deployment.”
“You’re a glutton for punishment,” Katie exclaimed. “Why anyone would want to come out here for a third tour is beyond me.”
Making small talk, they continued walking along the dusty road until they eventually reached the mess. Joe opened the door of the sprawling building, allowing Katie to precede him, and after the door slowly closed behind them, they went on into the main room, removing their military caps as they entered. The mess was nearly empty. Tired soldiers, many looking as though they had just arrived back from patrol or were just going on or coming off duty, sat slumped at tables sipping coffee or eating supper. There was a barely audible hum of conversation.
Joe and Katie immediately found an empty table away from other personnel, leaned their weapons against chairs and going to the hot food counter, collected a tray each and proceeded to choose their food. After they had both selected drinks, Joe led them back to their table, where they seated themselves and began to eat.
“So,” Joe Anderson began, setting down his fork, opening his can of Coke and taking a large swallow. “Rough day, huh?”
Katie nodded. “Just a bit,” she answered. “Not as bad as it can get but bad enough. We had a young British Army private come in from an IED incident a couple of days ago, your man from an IED and th
ree more IED casualties this morning. The Taliban seem to be stepping up their IED campaign. That’s the cruelest way to be injured, I think.” She paused, looking down at her plate then back at Joe. His gaze was on her face, his eyes staring intently into hers. “You know,” she continued, a little sadness in her voice, “we deal with varying degrees of trauma, from minor to complex, day in and day out, but you never get used to it. You try to maintain a distance—a detachment from situations—but suddenly just one bad day can trigger an overload then everything can hit you both physically and mentally all at once. And there’s no warning that it’s coming.” She smiled wryly. “The result is the rather embarrassing and humiliating display you stumbled upon.”
Joe nodded as if he understood what she was trying to say. He held her gaze for what seemed like a long time before managing to respond to Katie’s statement.
“I’ve been in some tough situations myself, where some of the men in my charge have been injured,” he explained, attempting to make normal small talk and seeming aware that he was failing dismally. “No matter that it’s the bad guys who plant those IEDs or fire those weapons, there’s nothing you can do to change the situation. It’s tough dealing with the guilt and the feeling that you personally could have prevented the incident from happening. I’ve been in the US Marine Corp for sixteen years and it still roughs me up when any of my men get injured or killed.”
So, a career marine. Tough guy. He has to be about thirty-five or thirty-six then. “This is probably going to sound ridiculous,” Katie went on. “I’ve been on leave a couple of times and, as sick as it sounds, I couldn’t wait to get back here. I couldn’t function on civvy street. Couldn’t get my head around normal. If I can use my skills to help the people serving out here, then that’s my goal and I will have achieved something. But the sadness doesn’t ever stop, or the wondering about what will happen to those that get sent back home with loss of limbs or disfiguring injuries.”
Joe sat back in his seat, fiddling with his fork. “My own job is tough enough, but I have only admiration and respect for the things you medical people do,” he said, the sincerity in his tone obvious and the look in his blue eyes confirming his statement, causing a tinge of pink to bloom in Katie’s cheeks.
“So, what do you do, Joe, apart from being in the US Marines, I mean?” she asked, quickly changing the subject in an attempt to divert his unnerving gaze from her face. She ignored her meal for a moment, leaning an elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand. She felt something tickling her forehead, and completely unaware of what she was doing, pursed her lips and blew whatever it was out of the way.
“Me?” he asked hastily. “Okay, well, as you already know, I’m a US marine. I’m part of the One MEF.” At Katie’s frown, he grinned, “Sorry, One Marine Expeditionary Force, and I have a squad of sixteen men, or four teams of four, a really great bunch of guys. I’m lucky that each one of them is a skilled professional soldier, reliable and would back anybody up in any situation. We carry out patrols, anything from a recon for a distance of a few clicks for a couple of days, to a search and rescue, or attack patrol for four or five days. The attack patrols are the most dangerous, not just because of the enemy, but the MREs are lousy and just as likely to kill you as the bad guys.” Joe’s tone had held pride and affection on speaking about his men and Katie warmed even further to the man.
She laughed at the remark regarding the field rations. It was a well-known fact in the Armed Forces, that if you dwelt on what the contents of MREs were, you would never eat them.
“Sounds dangerous,” she said, her face becoming serious. “Not the MREs, but your MOS.”
Joe grinned. “I can’t deny that it is,” he continued. “But if you keep your head, plan well in advance, trust in your men and your instincts, you can get through anything in one piece.”
“What made you join up?”
“My dad was Special Forces,” Joe answered. “It always followed that I would join up. I was never good at anything much else. Bit of a rebel in my younger days, I’m afraid. I didn’t want to be Special Forces or anything similar so I chose the Marines and it’s been a good career. What about your family?”
“My parents are dead,” Katie explained. “They were killed in a car crash about three years ago and I don’t have any siblings.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Joe responded gently.
Katie straightened up and glanced around the mess. It was even emptier than before. She moved her gaze toward the hot food counter and noticed that somebody was staring at her from behind the hot plates keeping the food warm. Screwing up her eyes, she realized with a stab of annoyance who it was.
Corporal David Hudson was a British Army cook and since the beginning of Katie’s deployment to Base Independence had been showing her increasingly unwanted attention. He would not take no for an answer, frequently and insistently asking her out for coffee or a walk or issuing some other such invitation. She had attempted to head him off by explaining as gently as she could that she was not interested, but the young corporal could not seem to grasp that his advances were being rejected. Even though he was British, charming and polite, there was something about those traits that seemed like a veneer, covering up something else, and he made her skin crawl. He just did not want to give up with his persistence, and even though she had given him no encouragement, only refusals, he obviously thought that she should be with him and that they should have a relationship. Now he was staring over at her and Joe Anderson and she did not like the expression she could barely make out on his face.
Katie shifted uncomfortably in her chair and turned her face away. Joe sensed her discomfort. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Just someone being a nuisance,” Katie answered, brushing the problem aside. She glanced at her watch and groaned. “It’s late,” she announced. “I need to get back to my tent before they send out a search party. I have to get my kit ready for tomorrow.”
A fleeting look of regret darted over Joe’s face, but he pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’ll walk you back to your tent,” he announced. The statement was made in such a way as to brook no argument, but Katie surprised herself by realizing that she had no intention of denying herself the opportunity to be with him anyway.
Retrieving their weapons and stacking their dirty dishes on the plate racks, Katie and Joe left the mess and, watching carefully for oncoming vehicle headlights, crossed the road. It was now very dark. Dust clouds, kicked up by their boots, passing trucks and other military vehicles, shimmered in the sparse flashes of headlights and torch beams. Rich smells of sunbaked earth, aviation fuel and exhaust fumes hung heavily on the warm air. Generator noise thudded in the background, accompanied occasionally by aircraft and helicopter engines as they took off and landed at the airfield.
As they walked, at one point, Katie glanced up at the sky and felt awed by the vast expanse of blackness studded with billions of diamond-bright pinpoints of light. The moon was huge and hung like a massive cream bowling ball, bathed in its own luminosity. “In a harsh, barren sort of way, it really is beautiful,” she murmured, “although I think many people would argue that point.”
“You should see the desert at night,” Joe stated. “It’s very bleak with no trees and hardly any vegetation. Dust and sand find their way into places I never dreamed they could get into, and in the winter months, the temperature can drop by as much as twenty degrees. It’s a desolate place, inhospitable and cruel, but, on a clear night like this, it’s stunning.”
“It must be dangerous out there,” Katie said, and glanced up at him, her gaze focusing on his face and the way his brow creased when he was thinking. If given the opportunity, she could have stared at his face all night, but suddenly reining in her thoughts, she hastily turned her face away to focus on the direction in which they were walking.
“We deal with it. One way or another, you have to,” Joe answered. “If you can’t deal with what the Marine Corps throws at you then yo
u shouldn’t be in it.”
All too quickly, they reached Katie’s tent, which she shared with twelve other women. Situated some distance from the main road, it was one of many long lines of regimentally aligned poly-tunnels covered in sand-colored and khaki canvas. Each tent had its own generator and electric lighting with two temporary shower tents and one portable toilet installed out the back of each. The women slept in sleeping bags on low camp beds and purloined, stole or borrowed anything else that they needed, generally from unknown and undisclosed sources.
Katie turned to Joe. “My home away from home,” she said, smiling at him wryly.
Joe turned to study the long polythene tent with its canvas canopy and subdued lighting shining out through its opening. “Oh very nice,” he said teasingly. “I sleep in the same. Not exactly the Hilton, but when you have to sleep on the ground in the desert more often than not, you learn to appreciate sleeping on a camp bed at times.”
They stood staring at each other in silence, Katie not wanting to say goodnight him.
“I’d better be off,” Joe announced at last. “It’s been real good getting to know you, Katie.”
Katie nodded, smiling, “I’ve enjoyed it too, Joe. Thank you.”
Sketching a salute, Joe backed up a few steps then about-turned and strode off. Katie stood watching him disappear into the blackness, feeling disappointed that he had not mentioned anything about seeing her again. Lowering her head, she toed the hard, dusty ground with her boot. She would have liked to have spent longer with him, getting to know him better. Perhaps it was for the best after all, although she was regretful that he was no longer with her. Sighing, she went into her tent, eliciting a chorus of greetings as she entered.
Chapter Four
Katie’s alarm clock, confined by a thick thermal sock and buried beneath her pillow, sounded at 0600 hours the next morning and she instantly came awake, groaning softly as she noticed that the tent was already warm and humid, even at that early hour of the morning. The soft sounds of breathing from the other women, subdued thud of the many generators that were an integral part of Camp Churchill, the distant sounds of military vehicles traveling up and down the camp road together with the dull roar of the engines of a Harrier jump jet as it took off were the normal sounds of the base going about its daily business.
For the Love of a Marine Page 4
