A Few Good Men

by Cat Johnson

  Maureen made the appropriate sounds of sympathy and was happy when her phone rang and she had an excuse to send Tiffany back to her desk.

  Once alone again, she frowned at the unfamiliar caller ID number and answered with a, “Hello?”

  “Summer. It’s Jackie. You aren’t going to believe this.”

  After the brief shock at being called Summer at work, Maureen realized it was her literary agent. The question was, why? They conducted all their business online, not by phone. This had to be important. Maureen quickly glanced around for Pam.

  “Hi, Jackie. What won’t I believe?”

  “Oprah wants you to write an article in the next O Magazine.”

  “What?”

  “Yup. And the magazine’s managing editor said if it receives good feedback, it could lead to a monthly dating column. It would be basically your blog but in print in the magazine. You know, about your dates.”

  Maureen swallowed. How could good news sound so bad? Phone sex with John had convinced her, blog or no blog, fame or not, she really did not want to keep dating random men. “Um, I can write a dating column I suppose, but as far as the dates, I was kind of thinking about not going on them anymore.”

  There was a brief moment of sputtering noises on the other end of the phone line. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be going out on any more dates.”

  “May I ask why?”

  Because of a man I’ve never met, who I think I’m falling in love with.

  “Um, Peter doesn’t want to go anymore.” Maureen was such a bad liar she hoped Jackie believed that doozy.

  “Well, make him go.”

  “I don’t think I can. He was pretty adamant. I think he might have met someone.” Oh boy, lying was so not her strong suit.

  “I don’t care if he turns straight, gets married and has kids, you two have to go on at least one more date. O Magazine wants a fresh dating adventure for the article, not one that’s been on your blog. Just talk him into one more, Summer. That’s all. After that, if the article is a hit, then we’ll have negotiating power, and we can try to turn it into a dating advice column or something. Maybe with you taking questions from readers.”

  Just one more horrendous date, and she could possibly be a contributing columnist to O Magazine and tell her boss Pam exactly where to shove this peon job.

  Maureen took a deep breath to settle her racing heart. “All right. I’ll do it. Give me the deadline and word count.”

  After getting the information and hanging up with Jackie, Maureen picked up the phone and dialed.

  When Peter answered, instead of even saying hello she said, “You’re not going to believe this…”

  Chapter Fifteen

  In John’s email inbox the next morning he found two things. One was a very cryptic message from Commander Hank Miller containing nothing but a flight number for a commercial airline out of Frankfurt, Germany, a date and a time.

  Hmm. Two can play at the covert game. John went to the airline’s website and searched the flight number. When the destination popped up, he leaned back and smiled. It wasn’t New York, but it wasn’t too far off. North Carolina. Very, very soon he would be stateside and one giant step closer to Maureen.

  The second item was from Maureen. It had killed him to wait until last to open that email, but he really wanted to be able to tell her if and when he would be flying to the States. Now, armed with some very promising information, he could enjoy a very sweet email from Maureen.

  John,

  I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed talking, and more, with you on the phone yesterday.

  He grinned at the memory. Yeah, he’d enjoyed that, himself.

  I’ve attached a little story I wrote. I hope you enjoy it.

  What he found attached could only be characterized as anything but sweet. She’d used her vast skill as a romance writer to pen him a short story and wow, was it good. Hot, sexy, enticing, downright naughty, loving—yes, but not sweet.

  “Damn,” he whispered under his breath, instantly hard and feeling about to explode. He glanced guiltily around the MWR then went back to reading the story. She had written about the two of them, about their first time together and what was going to happen when they met. He swallowed hard, read all the way to the climactic end, and all he could say was “damn” again.

  Wiping the sweat from his brow, John decided that having a romance novelist for a girlfriend was proving to have distinct advantages.

  Once he got his hands to stop shaking, he wrote an email to Maureen. He needed to tell her he would be in the States very soon and he would get to her somehow. As soon as humanly possible, because after that story he didn’t think he could wait another moment to have her. At the end, he reminded her he would try to get back online and possibly get in another phone call that night, barring any missions.

  John pretty much floated into the chow hall on a wave of mixed disbelief and euphoria. His sweet little Maureen had proven herself to be every inch sex novelist Summer Winters. He really liked the dichotomy.

  Barely noticing what food he put on his plate or the fact the coffee looked like dirty water, he set himself and his tray at the table with his three guys.

  Gonzo frowned up at him as he settled at the table. “What is up with you lately? Every time I see you, there’s a big grin on your face.”

  John checked and indeed, he did seem to be grinning. He tried to wipe it away but it was stuck there. Soon he and Maureen would be on the same continent and even better, judging by where he was flying into, actually in the same time zone. They’d be mere hundreds of miles apart instead of thousands. He would get to her either before or after his meeting with Miller. It was his single most important goal.

  John shrugged, hoping his man would move on to another conversation happening at the table and leave him to his food. He dug into his eggs after first covering them with a liberal amount of ketchup and hot sauce.

  Greasy bacon, dry scrambled eggs and ketchup to drown it all…the breakfast of champions, or at least of soldiers. But it was hot and filled the hole in his stomach so John didn’t complain. Besides, after all these months he was used to it. He didn’t eat for pleasure anymore. Food was fuel, nothing more. Just as sleep was only necessary to perform his duty effectively. In fact, there hadn’t been a hell of a lot of joy in his life until Maureen. But now…

  Glancing over, he noted Jazzy had suddenly lowered his head and become very interested in his own food after Gonzo had raised the subject of John’s obvious and unusual happiness. At least Jazzy knew enough to keep his mouth shut. Good man.

  “And you’ve been spending a lot of time on the computers at the MWR. You never used to do that,” Gonzo continued with a strange look on his face, as if all the pieces of a puzzle had been laid out in front of him yet somehow they didn’t fit together.

  “Don’t forget all the time he’s been spending working out with the weights at the gym, bulking up those big arms of his. I think the staff sergeant has gone and got himself a woman.” John glanced up from his dish and found Morales smirking at him. “And by the happy look on his face, she’s a mighty damn special one too.”

  John couldn’t stop the smile that he felt widen. What could he do? It was the truth.

  The Texan grinned at him. “Well, ain’t you gonna tell us about her?”

  “Nope.” John shook his head and shoveled in some more red eggs. He wasn’t about to tell them one damn thing.

  They would all leave Iraq very soon. The rest of the platoon for Germany, John for the States. Their replacements had already arrived at camp and were in the process of being acclimated. In fact, starting tomorrow, the replacements would be going on missions rather than John’s crew. He and his men would instead have the pleasure of packing up everything they’d be taking back with them and completing the paperwork necessary to move massive amounts of men and equipment. Which reminded John of how much he had to do this morning.

  He shovele
d in one last scoop of eggs and washed it down with lukewarm coffee. “As much as you all are enjoying this conversation at my expense, I gotta get to work. Paperwork waits for no man.”

  Clapping on his helmet, and with Gonzo and Morales still watching him, John turned to venture out into the cold, dim morning and away from the prying eyes of his men.

  “Be careful out there, sir,” Jazzy called from behind him. “It’s too damn quiet for my liking.”

  John had been having the same feelings as Jazzy himself.

  “I will.” He nodded and took his leave, grateful for the reminder.

  As giddy as he was about Maureen, he needed to keep his head in the game if he wanted to stay alive long enough to leave this hellhole and board that flight.

  No one ignored gut feelings around here, especially not John. He had to agree with his loader. Quiet was not good. Quiet meant the bad guys were up to something. Something big. Something bad. Quiet was the sound of an upcoming full-scale attack. Not that they could do anything about it except be extra vigilant. Whatever it was, they would all find out soon enough. He would deal with it then.

  Leaving the building, John took barely three steps out the door and into the early morning air when he remembered his overfilled laundry bag exploding in the corner of his room. If he grabbed it now and dropped it off at the quartermaster’s on his way to the administration building, he could have clean clothes again. One of the few perks they had here was the laundry service, even if they did keep losing his things. Besides, it had been easy enough to replace the underwear and socks once he got around to actually ordering them.

  No use procrastinating. The last laundry drop-off of this deployment. This was a real milestone moment. Smiling, John spun on his heel and reached for the doorknob to go back inside when he heard a high-pitched whistle frighteningly near his ear. The bullet passed close enough to him that upon impact the splinters from the wooden doorframe flew out and hit his face.

  Throwing open the door and diving low onto the floor, John rolled into the building with a mumbled obscenity and a much louder shout of, “Sniper! Everyone down!”

  Then the odd quietness was no longer a problem as he heard the sound of mortar fire striking the building and the ground outside, followed by the rounds of answering machine gun fire—the good guys fighting back.

  “Shit. Told you it was too fucking quiet.” Jazzy crab-walked low across the floor.

  The radio clipped onto John’s belt sounded, and any remaining hopes of them not having to roll out that morning flew right out of the sandbag-covered windows as the orders came through.

  “Here we go again.” Gonzo radiated excitement.

  “Just when I thought we might get out of this place without having to roll out again.” Morales shook his head.

  John had been hoping for that himself. He was too close to getting out of here and getting everything he wanted. He was no chicken, but he hated to risk his life right now, right when he was within weeks of meeting Maureen.

  “At least we got to have coffee and breakfast first.” Good-natured Jazzy always did tend to look on the bright side of things.

  The team flew into action. They were required to have their rifles on them at all times here at camp since attacks were so frequent, but the heavy weaponry was back in his room where he’d cleaned it in preparation to go home. This is what he got for anticipating they’d get out of this place without further action. John ran for his room and slung his .50 caliber onto his shoulder. Less than two minutes later, he emerged from the building.

  Adrenaline pumped as John ran into the early morning, his pulse pounding in his ears as his feet pounded the hard ground. Above him, hundreds of tracer rounds lit the dawn sky like so many falling stars.

  Bracing for the pain of a sniper’s bullet that thankfully never came, John slid into position inside his tank and settled in for the battle. All his attention was on the task at hand, though somewhere buried deep inside was the determination to stay alive now that he had something to live for.

  Chapter Sixteen

  John stood between his gunner and driver and across from his loader, drink raised in his hand once again, only this time they were in the pub at the airport in Frankfurt, Germany.

  “To fallen brothers,” John proposed.

  “To the women who put up with us.” Jazzy raised his glass.

  “To Staff Sergeant Blake, the best damn TC in the Anbar Province,” Morales suggested.

  John nodded his thanks.

  “And to the unstoppable crew of White Two,” Gonzo added.

  “To White Two,” they all echoed.

  The four clinked glasses, knocked back the shots of bourbon and slammed the empties down on the bar.

  Gonzo glanced at his watch. “Our ride should be here. We better go.”

  The others were to continue on to the garrison in Germany while John hopped a flight to North Carolina. He hadn’t known what to tell his men, so he said he was taking leave to visit the States. Technically, that wasn’t totally a lie.

  The group of men took turns saying goodbye to John as they each did the one-armed, back-slapping man-hug before parting.

  “Let me know how you guys are doing. You’ll have to email me until I get a cell phone,” John reminded them.

  “Will do, sir. And you call to let us know when you’re getting back in, and we’ll come pick you up,” Gonzo offered.

  “Thanks.” What else could John say to that? That he wasn’t sure if or when he was coming back? That his future very possibly lay in the hands of the man in black and the mysterious teams he would be meeting with?

  “Safe trip, sir, and give her a big kiss for me.” Morales watched him closely and grinned.

  John was shocked into momentary silence and then broke out into a laugh. He swore he felt his face get hot.

  Maybe the R and R story wasn’t such a convincing cover after all. It may have hidden the Black OPS training, but it couldn’t fool his tank crew as to his secondary mission, that being to finally meet Maureen.

  His men knew him too well. They knew their tank commander would never take leave simply to rest. John had no family left in the States except for a grandmother who only sometimes knew him. In their minds, there was one reason and one reason only he would be flying off to the US—a woman. They were partially right.

  Since he didn’t know when or where he’d see these men who had come to mean so much to him again, he threw them a small bone. “I’ll do that, Morales.”

  Morales smacked Gonzo’s arm. “Told ya he’s going to see a girl. You owe me ten bucks.”

  Gonzo smirked at Morales then tilted his head in John’s direction. “If it means my staff sergeant is going to get himself a little something to keep that smile on his face, I would gladly pay you a hundred, Morales.” Grinning, Gonzo added, “Give her a big something from me too, sir. Doesn’t have to be a kiss.”

  John laughed and tried not to picture that image. “You got it.”

  He would miss these guys.

  Jazzy hugged him again. “Say hi to Summer for me,” he whispered low enough so the others couldn’t hear.

  John smiled. “I will.”

  It was kind of nice to have one other person know, as much as he’d resisted that in the beginning.

  “We better say goodbye and let you get to your gate.” Jazzy, serious for once, didn’t have a parting joke as he looked sad to be saying goodbye to John.

  Jazzy couldn’t know about Commander Miller, but he did know Summer. Perhaps he suspected once John met her in person he’d been requesting a transfer to the States to be near her. Jazzy might be right.

  John nodded. “You’re right. I better go.”

  The men who had been his constant companions for better or worse over the last year headed off. As they disappeared around the corner, John was completely on his own for the first time in a long time. Even in the midst of the crowded airport, he felt suddenly very alone.

  He didn’t have time for self
-pity. He had a hell of a buzz from doing that one shot of bourbon on an empty stomach, and his flight would be boarding shortly. John had to find out what gate he would be leaving from. He didn’t even want to imagine what Commander Miller would do to him if he missed this flight.

  Finding the gate without incident, John arrived in time to hear the call for pre-boarding. Being in uniform, he was allowed to board the aircraft along with the first group of passengers.

  It was a long flight, and compared to military transport, even the coach seats on a commercial flight were luxurious, but he didn’t fall asleep. He only dozed restlessly.

  There was far too much on his mind. This training. Maureen. The possibility he’d never see Jazzy and the guys again. Hell, it seemed if there was something to obsess about, John found it. That was in direct violation of his own rule—never worry until there was something to worry about.

  The transatlantic flight passed in a surreal blur of dozing and waking moments filled with in-flight movies, airline food and drink services until they finally began to make the ear-popping descent over North Carolina.

  By the time John emerged from luggage claim with his duffle, he was exhausted, making it seem even more surreal being on American soil for the first time in nearly two years. John glanced up, looking for a soldier in uniform sent to greet him, or perhaps a man in black with a sign with his name on it. Hell, he didn’t know what to expect.

  “Blake. Good to see you.” Commander Miller stepped up and slapped him on the back companionably.

  John hid his surprise that the big man had come himself and hadn’t sent an underling to pick him up. He wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. He doubted he was important enough to rate special treatment, so it must be something else. Maybe these teams were so secret the fewer people who knew about them the better.

  “Commander Miller. Thank you for picking me up, sir.”

  “Not a problem. It was on the way to the training site.”