Dog Tags: A romance anthology featuring military and canine heroes

by Kate Kinsley

  It’s been rough sleeping without him—he’s always been right next to me in my barracks. Hell, he took up more of the bed than I did. I’m not used to being able to sprawl out… usually I have a paw or two in my face. And as uncomfortable as that sounds, it was comforting. I felt safe knowing he was next to me. Now, the fears that linger in the back of my head threaten to emerge as I sleep. I’ll be less jumpy once we’re together again.

  The next morning, I get word that Achilles is on his way to New Jersey. With the distance and time zone differences, he won’t land until tomorrow morning—a full twenty-four plus hours from now. At least the actual flight is only about fourteen hours, and my mom promised to call me the second she has Achilles in her possession.

  All I can do now is wait.

  I’m awoken by my phone ringing next to my hospital bed. Still groggy, I glance outside before reaching for it. It’s pitch black outside, so it’s still nighttime. Who could be calling me now?

  As I pick up the phone, I read the name across the screen. Mom. I sit up in my excitement, forgetting about the stitches in my side. I groan momentarily, but my pain is trumped by excitement. Achilles must have landed.

  I answer, “Mom! How’s my big boy?”

  There’s a pause before she answers. “Robert, I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  Her serious tone causes panic to seize my heart. “Tell me, what?”

  I hear her sigh. “As they were unloading Achilles, the cage fell off the back of the transport and… the door opened up. He’s gone.”

  “What do you mean, he’s gone!” I roar. How is this possible? I’m in full-on panic mode now.

  “They searched for him, but he ran off. All of the unfamiliar people and noises must have scared him.”

  I almost choke as I scream, “Scare him? He’s a goddam Navy SEAL bomb-sniffing dog! There’s nothing a civilian can do to scare him.” I must be having a nightmare. This can’t possibly be real. How does an airport lose a dog the size of Achilles?

  My breathing becomes faster and my side begins to ache. I need her to explain to me how they lost my dog.

  My Achilles.

  My door flies open as nurses and doctors come running in. One of them looks at the machine that’s making all sorts of noise. I didn’t notice the heart rate alarm screaming as I spoke. “You need to lie back,” one of the doctors orders me.

  “Please, Mom. Find him,” I beg before the nurse takes the phone from me. She utters something into it before pressing end.

  “You need to calm down,” another nurse instructs me.

  I can’t.

  I can’t calm down knowing my bubba is lost and alone.

  I’m just about to argue, but my eyelids begin to feel like lead weights are attached. They must have given me a sedative because before I know it, I’m shrouded in darkness.

  Chapter Three

  Maggie

  The soft rays of early morning light filters through my thin eyelids, waking me from my slumber. Opening my eyes, I roll out of bed and place my feet on the sun-soaked area rug. I stretch my arms over my head and shuffle toward the door. Streaks of brightness cast squares onto the wood floor. I blink a few times in an attempt at adjusting my eyes to the morning sun and begin my morning routine.

  I like to go on a run before I begin work—it helps me focus.

  Exiting my small beach cottage, I sit on the lawn and do my stretches. The last thing I want is a pulled muscle. Once finished, I stand and start to jog toward the water. I’m about a half-mile in when I notice a brown furry lump underneath the boardwalk right as I make the turn back to the house. I’ve never noticed it before, so I slow down. As I get closer, I realize it’s a dog. There aren’t many dogs around here, and I know them all—this is not one of the neighborhood dogs.

  I stop for a better look, making sure to keep my distance. The dog was large with a thick coat and an extravagant ruff of fur around its neck and a long tail that curved like the hook of a coat hanger. It’s breathing, but its fur is matted and bloody. There is a cast on his back leg that’s battered and appears like he tried to chew it off.

  Poor thing.

  “Hey, pup,” I coo, trying to get its attention.

  It doesn’t move.

  I take a few steps closer.

  “Hey, there.”

  A few more steps.

  The dog lifts his head and looks at me, but doesn’t attempt to run away. It looks so sad—its eyes are droopy and sorrowful.

  Poor baby.

  I lower myself to my knees and slowly reach out to it. “It’s okay,” I whisper as I stretch to touch the poor thing. The dog watches me but doesn’t growl or make a noise. I hover my fingers over his body, waiting for him to move to sniff me… but it doesn’t. Slowly, I graze my fingertips over its fur. It flinches but otherwise doesn’t move.

  I carefully stroke the dog’s back, and it shifts to its side—revealing it’s a boy.

  He also exposes bloody stitches along his abdomen.

  What have you been through, little boy?

  I can’t leave him here, so I decide to call a friend of mine who happens to be a veterinarian.

  He answers on the second ring. “Hey Maggie,” he greets me.

  “Hi, Mark. Listen, I found this injured dog underneath the boardwalk on the north side. He’s too big for me to lift. Can you come and help me?”

  “How injured?”

  “I don’t know. He’s dirty and bleeding. There are torn stitches across his stomach and he has a cast on his hind leg.”

  He pauses, then says, “Alright. I’ll be right there.”

  Mark lives on the other side of our small town, but should be here in less than ten minutes if he’s home. I sit down next to the pup and take out the bottle of water I always have on my runs. I pour some into my hand near his mouth. “Here, have a sip.” He just watches me at first, but then lifts his head just enough to reach my palm. He laps up a few mouthfuls of water, then puts his head back down.

  Poor baby.

  I sit with him until Mark arrives. He’s brought a large dog carrier on wheels and a black bag full of medical supplies. He takes one look at him and shakes his head.

  “Good that you called. He’s very thin for his size.” Mark leans down and looks him over. I stroke the dog’s head while Mark inspects him closer. “Let’s see if he can get up on his own. C’mon boy, look what I have.” The dog’s head swings in Mark’s direction and sees he’s holding a dog treat.

  With great effort, the dog stands and hobbles over to him.

  “C’mon, boy,” he coos as he gets closer to the carrier, then tosses the treat inside. The dog staggers a bit but is able to get in the carrier. The dog turns and lies down inside, his head resting on his front paws. Mark closes the door. “It’s good that he was able to stand. Now, let’s get him back to my practice and see what’s wrong with him.”

  We get back to his veterinary office and Mark checks him out. “There are some fresh injuries that are healing, but he’s otherwise in good condition. He needs some IV fluids and nutrition, and a run of antibiotics for his deeper lacerations, but should be fine in a week or two.”

  “That’s great news,” I say as I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “It’s good you found him when you did. Another day without water, and he wouldn’t have made it.”

  I shiver thinking about that. I’m just glad that I found him and not someone else who wouldn’t do the right thing and have him looked at. I glance over at the dog and his gaze finds mine. He wags his tail, almost in agreement. Fingers crossed he gets better.

  I go and visit him every day, and after a week he’s ready to be released. No one’s answered the flyers I’ve put up, and he’s not chipped. “What are you going to do with him?” I ask Mark.

  “Well, no one’s claimed him. He’ll need to go to a shelter and get put up for adoption.”

  I look at him sitting at Mark’s feet. He wags his tail as our eyes meet.

  No.
r />   He can’t go up for adoption.

  “I’ll take him.”

  Mark narrows his eyes. “Maggie, are you sure? He’s a big dog and I’m not sure of his temperament since he’s still technically recovering.”

  I nod. “No. I’m sure. This was fate—I was meant to save this dog and take him home.”

  Mark shrugs. “Alright.” He moves toward the counter and picks something up. “He’ll need to take these pills for the next few days.” Handing me a pill bottle, he mutters, “If I were you, I’d hide them in cheese or something. And…” He stops and chuckles. “He’s a sly one—make sure he doesn’t spit them out.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. C’mon pupper,” I call to my furry friend. I really need to give him a name now that he’s mine. I’ll think about it on the car ride home. He stands and trots over to me. I attach the leash, and we’re off.

  On the drive home, I toss some names around in my head.

  Zeus… Max… Bandit.

  None of them seem to fit his temperament.

  Then it comes to me… Lucky.

  He’s lucky that I found him when I did.

  “So, Lucky, how do you like your new name?”

  I glance into the rearview to get a look at Lucky, and he’s curled up asleep on the back seat. No complaints—Lucky it is.

  I’ve had Lucky almost three months and he’s adapted to life with me pretty well. Hist cast came off last week and he seems to be good as new. I’ve had to purchase tons of toys—he goes through them at an alarming rate. It’s as if he’s trying to kill the squeaker in the animal, and must remove it from all stuffed animals. I came home one day to copious amounts of stuffing all over the floor and on the couch. It looked like a crime scene. Ever since, I make sure I’ll be home for an hour or so before I give him anything stuffed.

  He’s grown to enjoy our trips to the dog park. At first, he was anxious and didn’t want to interact with the other dogs. But now, he loves it and knows when I grab his leash where we’re going.

  Yesterday rained, so I didn’t get a chance to take him, but today is a beautiful day. “Ready to go, Lucky?” I ask as I open the junk drawer and fish out his leash. The minute he spots it, he bolts to the door. He dances around, hopping up on two legs and whining. “I’m coming,” I assure him. “Sit.”

  Once he sits, I attach his leash. “Alright. Let’s go.”

  The walk to the park is short—less than half a mile. He trots beside me, not tugging or pulling as we go. He was definitely well trained by someone—most dogs want to sniff everything. Not Lucky. He stays at my pace and is close enough that he’s almost touching my legs. Such a good boy.

  We get to the park and I unclip his leash. Seeing a dog he recognizes, he takes off and they start chasing each other. It’s so nice to be able to watch him play when I know how sick he was just a few months ago. I sit on one of the benches and relax. Leaning back, I sigh. I don’t know what I did to get so lucky with Lucky.

  Chapter Four

  Axel

  Before I arrive stateside, I double and triple check my transfer is set in stone. I need to be at the base where Achilles went missing. He could be wandering around the streets of Colts Neck for all I know, and I want to be there in case he shows up.

  I land at Naval Weapons Station Earle at oh-six-thirty and find my commanding officer. I’ll be here as an instructor unless I decide to transfer to California. That is where I was supposed to go, but I couldn’t in good conscience abandon Achilles. Bradburn understood and gave me a six-month timeline to decide. After that, I’m stuck here until I retire.

  There’s a rental available near the dog park. That will be convenient when I find Achilles. He’ll need to adjust to civilian life. It’s a bit bigger than I’m used to, but it’s located close to where I’ll be reporting every day.

  Every day after work, I pick a spot near the airport and search for Achilles—a new block every day. He’s a big dog and is trained at long missions, so I eventually spread my perimeter wider.

  The days I’m off are spent walking the streets of Colts Neck.

  But for every day I don’t find him, my hopes begin to be as lost as he is.

  We’ve been trapped inside this abandoned building going on six hours. We’re pinned down and can’t make it the half a click to the rendezvous point. TOC is scrambling to get a retrieval team, but it’s not looking good.

  “Axel, how are you doing on ammo?” Dennis shouts over the ricocheting bullets.

  “Almost out. You?”

  Shaking his head, he answers, “Same.”

  “This is no good. Intel was way off on this one,” I mutter to myself. Reaching to my hip, I feel for my last grenade. Dennis threw his twenty minutes ago, but it didn’t help. The insurgents are holed up in three buildings across the dirt road, and sharpshooters are keeping us under lock and key.

  The exit to the back is blocked as well.

  This is looking really bad.

  “Axel, how copy?” Bradburn calls into my ear.

  “Good, copy. You have an exit strategy?”

  A brief pause, then an uncertain, “Working on it.”

  “Well, work faster. We’re sitting ducks out here.”

  A bullet pierces the shattering structure and hits Dennis in the shoulder. A sea of crimson floods his fatigues, and he slumps down against the wall. I scramble over to him, pulling him down to the floor and away from the flying bullets. “Dennis, stay with me.”

  He coughs, then mutters, “It’s just a flesh wound.”

  I look closer—it is anything but a flesh wound.

  The bullet entered diagonally, and I think it may have nicked an artery. I apply pressure, but the bleeding won’t stop. “They’ll be here any minute,” I assure Dennis.

  He coughs again, this time his lips are stained with blood. Fuck, it must have entered his lungs. Gasping, he reaches out and touches my chest and tries to push me away. “No,” I shout. “I’m not leaving you.”

  As the words exit my lips, rapid machine gunfire followed by the whomp-whomp of a helicopter’s rotor blades flood my ears. I crane my neck and glance out of the side window and see one of our birds firing on the buildings across.

  This gives me cover, and a way out.

  Using all of the strength I have left, I bend down and lift Dennis up and over my shoulders. “We’re getting out of here,” I roar as I head for the door.

  The second I exit, I unclip the grenade, pull the pin, and heave it toward one of the exits across the road. The explosion and dust cloud it creates gives me enough time to make a run for the extraction site.

  Dennis isn’t a little guy, and he’s becoming heavy, but I don’t quit. “Hang on, Dennis. We’re almost there.”

  Another helicopter is just ahead, waiting for us.

  I will my legs to move faster.

  Two Marines exit the bird and fire on something behind me.

  I keep running.

  Rocks jump around my feet, but I keep running.

  My muscles scream for relief, but I keep running.

  I finally make it back to the helicopter and another Marine takes Dennis from me, laying him on a gurney. “You’ve got to stop the bleeding,” I yell over the spinning blades, pointing to the wound on his shoulder. But the Marine doesn’t apply any pressure. He doesn’t do anything at all. Another Marine shoves me from behind and pushes me into the helicopter.

  “No! You need to help him!”

  My eyes go from the Marine to Dennis, and it’s then that it registers.

  Dennis’ eyes are wide open and vacant—all of the life gone.

  Blood drips from his gaping lips, staining his chin and neck.

  “There was nothing that we could have done,” the medic shouts over the engine as we lift from the ground. “He was gone the second the bullet hit him.”

  I can’t stop staring at him. He was just with me, telling me it was a flesh wound. How could this have happened—happened on my watch.

  How did I let
this happen?

  “Dennis!”

  The scent of gunpowder, dust, and blood haunt my psyche as my screams die on my lips. The nightmares seem to get worse and worse, leaving me with the thundering of my pulse in my ears and memories I can’t seem to erase. Sitting up, I rip the soaking wet shirt over my head and toss it on the floor. I try to steady my breathing, concentrating on each breath.

  In and out.

  In and out.

  No matter how much time has passed since I lost Dennis, I can still see each drop of blood dripping from his lips as he lay there dying, like he is right here in front of me. The only thing that made it bearable was Achilles. He would lick my face and wake me, knowing I was struggling in the darkness. His being near had a calming effect, and I was able to relax. Each scratch of his ears or stroke of his back lessened the trauma.

  Now, the pressure in my chest worsens with each nightmare… and I’m tired of feeling this way.

  Tired of feeling helpless and lost.

  I lie back on the bed and rub my hands over my face. When I open my eyes again, the image of Dennis is gone. I try to will myself back to sleep, but the anxiety has taken over my head. No matter how much I try, sleep doesn’t come. I’m wide awake and will stay that way until I get up for work.

  I haven’t slept more than a couple of hours each night, and exhaustion is beginning to set in. Thankfully, I have today off and can concentrate on my search for Achilles.

  I jump in the truck and drive toward the shore. I haven’t searched here yet, and a walk on the beach may clear my head. As I approach the boardwalk, I find a park with a lot just a few blocks away and decide to leave my truck here.

  It isn’t until I exit the vehicle that I realize the park isn’t an ordinary park, but a dog park. Pups of all sizes run around the trimmed grass. It puts a smile on my face to watch them enjoying themselves, and my chest constricts when I think of Achilles.