I'll Be Home for Christmas

by Jessica Scott

  “Christmas isn’t for another ten days. You obviously don’t know the meaning of the phrase ‘last minute,’ ” Olivia said dryly.

  Nicole looked down at her phone.

  “Ah shit, honey, I’m sorry,” Olivia said quietly.

  Nicole covered her hand with her mouth and tried to keep the tears at bay. “I’m okay,” she said finally. “I’m gonna go.” She offered an apologetic hug. “Sorry. This Christmas is just really hard.”

  She left before Olivia could talk her into staying. She felt out of place and off kilter since she’d missed Vic’s call, and as Christmas cheer spread, her mood only sank further into unhappiness.

  She tried to tell herself he’d be home if he could. That he’d call if he could. That everything was fine; it was just the war.

  She thought about going home but instead detoured to Laura’s office. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone right now. Maybe she should have just gone out with everyone from work but she was confident she’d have just been alone in the crowd of celebratory cheer.

  She knocked on Laura’s office door a few minutes later. Her friend looked up from her computer and Nicole was rocked by how upset and tired her friend looked. “I was coming to see you for moral support but it looks like you might need it more than I do,” Nicole said quietly.

  Laura swallowed and said nothing for a long moment. Then she handed Nicole a plain manila folder.

  Nicole read the first page before she nearly dropped it like she’d been burned. Laura Davila, Plaintiff—

  “You can’t be serious, honey,” Nicole said.

  Laura was trying hard not to cry but her eyes rimmed with red anyway. “He’s breaking my heart,” she whispered. Her voice broke.

  Nicole closed the door behind her then walked around the desk, pulling her longtime friend into a tight hug. God damn the war that did this to them. To all of them.

  “I haven’t heard from him in weeks. Weeks. I’m the Family Readiness Group leader and I don’t know what’s going on. I can’t tell any of the spouses that. We’ve got attacks daily and I don’t know if he’s hurt or if anyone else is.” She pulled out of Nicole’s embrace. “But the worst part is the emptiness. I can’t keep crying myself to sleep over him. It’s been years.” She swiped at her eyes. “I keep waiting for him to come home from the war.” She sighed quietly. “I don’t think that day is going to come,” she whispered.

  Nicole looked down at the divorce papers on Laura’s desk. “You can’t… Just wait. Give him more time. There’s got to be a good reason.”

  “You know what the rumors are? They say he’s cheating on me.” She smiled pitilessly. “But the worst? The worst fucking thing I’ve heard? He’s been volunteering. Every single deployment he’s been on, he’s volunteered for.” She pressed her lips together. “I can’t keep having faith in a man who gives me no reason to believe in him,” she whispered.

  Nicole pulled her close again, offering nothing more than silent support. If she was going to do this, Nicole would support her.

  But fear was a powerful thing and it slithered beneath her skin, whispering that nothing and no one was safe from the strain of war.

  * * *

  “No, you can’t use my camera.”

  “Come on, Tigger, please?” They had a mission in less than six hours. Carponti needed a damn camera and the world was conspiring against him.

  “No.”

  “I’ll pay you.” Carponti couldn’t find his camera. He was convinced that LT Randall had stolen it but he couldn’t prove it and so he kept the allegation to himself. That sneaky bastard had been caught with one of the soldiers’ iPods a few months ago and had denied stealing it.

  The commander had told him to give it back and let the matter drop. But that didn’t make anyone any more trusting of the LT. Randall was the epitome of a toxic leader, the army’s favorite new buzz word. He practically came with a biohazard warning.

  He’d finished the man dress he’d been sewing and now he wanted to send the picture home to his wife. He’d woken up that morning with a feeling of sick dread tying his guts in knots. Sending the pic home to his wife was suddenly the most pressing task he needed to accomplish.

  Ever since Garrison had gotten hurt, Carponti hadn’t felt right. He knew it was grief and all that other shit the counselors liked to say, but this felt different. He had to send that picture home to his wife. Something was hanging over his head that if he didn’t get that picture sent home, something bad was going to happen.

  He hated when he got those feelings because, damn it, something bad always happened. And he hated being right about crap like this.

  They were heading out on a mission later tonight and damn it, Carponti wanted that picture in Nicole’s inbox when she woke up.

  At least that way, if he died, she’d always have a picture of a little outfit he’d made with love to keep with her instead of whatever was left of him that they sent home.

  And wasn’t that a depressing thought. It was enough to make him need a hug. He glanced toward Iaconelli, busy cleaning his weapon. He doubted Iaconelli was the hugging type.

  Shit, he was feeling melancholy.

  He tried again to get Tigger to let him borrow his camera. “I’ll sanitize it before I bring it back.”

  “I said fucking no,” Tigger snapped and rolled over in his cot.

  “You could have just said so,” Carponti grumbled.

  Damn it. He stalked out of the bay and headed to the company ops. Maybe he could convince Captain Davila to let him borrow the company camera.

  ’Course, he’d have to figure out how to delete the picture. Or maybe he’d leave it on there. Oh, to be a fly on the wall when the ops sergeant used the camera next time. That would be awesome.

  Carponti grinned as he pushed through the plywood and two by four and plywood contraption that constituted the door to the company ops.

  “Roger that, sir. I understand.”

  Carponti frowned and stopped by the door, not sure who Captain Davila was talking to. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.

  “Roger, sir.”

  Carponti rounded the corner and stuck his head in the commander’s office. Captain Davila looked up then motioned for Carponti to come all the way in.

  “Roger.”

  Captain Davila hung up the phone and looked at it for a long moment, then, as though remembering Carponti was present, shook himself.

  “So, I need to borrow your camera, sir.” It felt weird calling Davila ‘sir.’ They’d served together in Germany when Carponti had been a private and Davila had been his platoon leader. Funny how he hadn’t left his friends behind when he’d crossed over to the dark side and took command. Carponti for one was grateful that Trent was his commander. Carponti doubted he’d have gotten away with half the stunts he’d pulled had it been some other pencil neck officer in charge.

  Trent frowned and sat down at his desk. “Can I ask why?”

  Carponti grinned. “You may not really want to know the answer to that question. But I’ll tell you if you really want to know.”

  “Let’s just stop there while I can still cherish my innocence.” Trent shook his head and kicked his feet up onto his desk. “Change of subject away from your delinquency. How’s Iaconelli working out?”

  Carponti thought about the booze and then decided he really didn’t give a shit. Iaconelli wasn’t getting drunk, which meant he was a functioning alcoholic at the very least. So long as he kept performing and keeping the guys out of the hospital, Carponti couldn’t really argue the means. There was enough shit going on that he didn’t need to get the commander spun up on that. Not when LT Randall was out of control and they were potentially missing optics. “He’s not Sarn’t G, that’s for sure.”

  “Not many people could step into Garrison’s shoes.”

  Carponti frowned. “Well, that would be gross. Do you know what kind of fungus is growing around here?”

  Trent pushed his glasses up onto the top of h
is head and leaned back. He didn’t laugh. Carponti took that as a very bad sign. “So listen. There’s some bad shit going on.”

  “And you’re telling me something I don’t already know because…?” Carponti said. He tapped his fingers on the butt of his weapon.

  “Look, I know you took Garrison getting hit hard but there are other things going on. If I get pulled out of this job, I need you to keep things running smoothly, okay?”

  Carponti looked at the rank on his sleeve and ignored the thousands of questions skipping through his brain, about why his commander might get fired and why he was talking to one of his squad leaders about it. “You realize I’m a buck sergeant, right? As in pretty low on the list of people you should expect to run things if you’re not here. And where are you going, anyway?”

  “I’m not going anywhere if I can help it.” Trent swung his feet to the floor and leaned forward on the desk. “You’ve got influence, whether you see it or not. The guys look to you to gauge whether shit is really bad. If you’re still around cracking jokes, then everyone else tends to just keep rolling along.”

  Carponti held up his hands. “Obviously you’ve been drinking too much coffee because you’re a little intense right now. Why would you get fired?”

  “It’s a long story that requires a significant amount of alcohol.” He glanced at his computer. “You’re heading home on R&R in a few days, right?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that.” Carponti shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He wanted nothing more than to go home and see his wife and forget about the war for a few days but the feeling of dread that gripped his insides turned the thought of leaving his boys for the holidays into something sour. It felt like he was abandoning them. And as badly as he needed to connect with his wife, with as badly as he needed to know she was still there for him, he… he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Not with everything going to shit around them.

  Nicole would kill him if he didn’t come home. Goddamn, he knew how hard this Christmas was going to be for her. It was breaking his heart to even think about asking to skip his R&R but his guys were having too hard of a time right then. God, but he hoped she’d understand. “I don’t think it’s a good time to go. The guys are still off kilter from Sarn’t G getting blown up and all and well…”

  Trent held up one hand. “You’re going,” Trent said flatly.

  Carponti looked up.

  “You’re going. As much as you like to think you are, you’re not the Energizer Bunny. You need to take a knee and unwind just like the rest of us.”

  Carponti frowned and started to argue but the small piece of fabric in his pocket was suddenly heavy. It was a stupid thing, this desire to tease his wife with a picture of a stupid costume but suddenly, he very much wanted to do it in person. He wanted to watch her double over in laughter. He wanted to feel her laugh when he was inside her. There was nothing better in the world then hearing her laugh. Nothing better than feeling her body tremble when he touched her.

  The pressing need for the camera flittered away. He could show her the man dress in person in a few more days.

  He swallowed and nodded. “I get that. I don’t like it but I get it.”

  Trent opened his mouth to say something, then paused before he spoke again. “You’re not going to argue?”

  “Nah. There’s something I really want to give my wife. I was going to send her a picture but I can do it in a couple of days when I get home.”

  A strange look passed over Trent’s face. “Yeah, you need to take care of her. Don’t let her forget you.”

  “When is the last time you talked to Laura?” Carponti asked quietly.

  Trent shook his head and reached to turn on his computer. “Just… when you go home, if you see my wife…” He bit his lip and Carponti had never seen his friend more unsteady in all the years he’d known him. “Tell my wife I love her?”

  Carponti wanted to press Trent on what the hell was going on but the phone rang and Trent waved him out of the office. Things had gone to hell in a relatively short period of time. Garrison had gotten blown up, Trent was missing equipment and potentially facing an investigation… and the rumors… The rumor mill was breeding faster than a barn full of unsupervised bunnies.

  He was suddenly glad he’d be getting on a plane and heading home soon. Carponti slipped from the tactical operations cell and headed back to the bay to prep for the next mission. One last mission before he got to see his wife.

  Chapter Nine

  “So we’re going to provide the blocking force here and here,” Iaconelli said, drawing an x at the corner of a major intersection that sat squarely in a bad part of town.

  Carponti reached for the stick before Iaconelli could snatch it out of his hands. “And by bad part of town, Sarn’t Ike means the locals would rather slit your throat than feed you to the dogs. Which is pretty bad, all things considered.”

  Iaconelli snatched the stick out of Carponti’s hand and looked like he wanted to beat Carponti with it, completely unimpressed by Carponti’s sarcasm. Carponti scowled. He must be losing his touch.

  “Someone hasn’t had their daily pick me up,” Carponti grumbled. A couple of the guys laughed until Iaconelli glared at them.

  “The enemy has been very active in this sector,” Iaconelli said, ignoring Carponti’s jab.

  “And we know this because every time we roll through this sector, we get blown up,” Carponti added.

  “Are you trying to piss me off?” Iaconelli snapped.

  Carponti looked up. “Is it working?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then yes.”

  A few more chuckles from the guys. Iaconelli pointed toward the door. “Outside, funny guy.”

  Carponti bowed as he exited in front of his platoon sergeant. The guys heckled as Iaconelli practically shoved Carponti through the door.

  Carponti spat into the dirt and waited. They were all just trying to survive and Iaconelli was making it fucking miserable.

  “You need to quit screwing around before you get someone hurt.”

  It took a lot to piss Carponti off. Like an act of God to really get him going, but right then, Iaconelli’s words shot straight to the heart of his temper. Iaconelli was bigger than him by about a half a foot and seventy-five pounds, but, well, Carponti had never really thought his actions through.

  He shoved his platoon sergeant back against the bay doors with a bang. “Considering you’ve probably been drinking since before the sun came up, I don’t really think you get to lecture me on doing something stupid that might get someone hurt,” he said quietly.

  Iaconelli broke Carponti’s hold easily and shoved him backward. “You don’t know shit about me, you little smart-ass.”

  “Really? You want to play that game? I make jokes to keep the guys from getting too fucking depressed. In case you haven’t noticed in your alcohol-induced fog, we’ve had a pretty shitty deployment. If a joke makes them think about something else, then maybe, just maybe, I’ll keep them from focusing on all the bad shit. But I wouldn’t expect you to notice that because your coping mechanism is at the bottom of a bottle.”

  Iaconelli grabbed Carponti by the front of his shirt and cocked his fist back. Carponti puckered his lips up and made a kissing noise. “You only get one shot,” he taunted.

  Iaconelli pulled back and Carponti realized perhaps this wasn’t his smartest move.

  Iaconelli swore and shoved him away. Carponti stumbled backward but kept his feet, then smirked and made a show of straightening his uniform. “And so we’ve reached an impasse. Shall we continue with the war? The one outside the gates, I mean.”

  Iaconelli jabbed a finger in Carponti’s face then bunched his fist and said nothing. He stalked back into the bay.

  Carponti spat into the dirt again and followed him back in, threw his arms around Iaconelli’s shoulders and grinned. “Yes, yes, boys, we kissed and made up. Now back to your regularly scheduled war.”

  Iaconelli shrugged him
off roughly but otherwise ignored him as he moved on with the mission brief. Carponti wished he could blame the lingering adrenaline from the near fight with Iaconelli but as they rolled out the gate, he couldn’t shake the feeling that bad shit was coming. And when Iaconelli insisted on changing up the vehicle locations so that his truck was in front of Carponti’s, the bad feeling got progressively worse.

  But he kept that to himself. Because he was just being paranoid. Right?

  He listened to the radio as they rolled out deep into insurgent territory. Everyone was on high alert.

  He tugged on Tigger’s leg, reminding him to duck down behind the defilade. Too many soldiers had gotten beheaded from wires strung beneath intersections and across roadways. Garrison had driven that point home more than once.

  They passed the soccer stadium without incident and Carponti nearly pissed himself with relief. They were heading toward the Iraqi police station where they were supposed to link up with their Iraqi Army counterparts.

  Providing they made it there without getting blown all to—

  The blast shattered the windshield on his truck. A moment later, a cloud of dust and debris rolled through the interior. Instantly, Tigger and the other gun trucks started laying down suppressive fire. When the dust finally cleared, he saw Iaconelli’s truck lying on its side.

  Oh fuck. If they hadn’t changed up the order of movement, that would have been Carponti’s truck lying there in the dirt. Shit, he’d known that was a bad idea.

  “Holy shit,” he muttered. “Tigger, keep suppressive fire going. Wilks, Jax, I need you with me to get them out of that truck before they get blown all to shit.”

  It was a horrible case of déjà vu: rushing across the road just like he had with Garrison. He climbed onto the truck and managed to yank the door open.

  Inside, Iaconelli and the boys were coughing but everyone looked unhurt. “You girls okay?” Carponti shouted over the chaos.