KEN
She wasn’t a smart ass when I met her a year ago. Then again, they’d broken her to within a hair’s breath of sanity. She was hurt badly, but even then I knew she was a fighter. The question is, how much of a fighter?
Her pretty eyes are locked on me with a bold defiance that gives rise to several impulses. If she were under my direct command, I’d be doing something about her insubordination, but she’s not a soldier and I can’t expect her to act like one. Truth is, I’m aroused by the potential challenge she represents. I like my women feisty. But, she’s not here to be my woman. She’s here to follow me around into some potentially seriously shitty situations, and frankly, I don’t want her anywhere near them.
“Who are you trying to prove something to?”
“What?” She feigns indignant ignorance.
“We both know you belong at home.”
“Oh, do we?”
Fuck. I’m trying to get through to her, but all I’m really managing to do is insult her, which isn’t the plan. I’m proud of her for being out here, I am, but I already saved her cute butt once, and I really don’t want to have to do that again.
She’s staring daggers at me now. “If you say a word of what you know about what happened to me…”
I snort as she threatens me. “What?”
“I’ll make your life a living hell.”
“Uh huh.”
She’s not so cute now that she’s trying to intimidate me - ah what the hell am I thinking, of course she’s cute. She’s damn well adorable. I’d enjoy this if we were somewhere safe, where a mortar couldn’t come flying through the air at any minute.
This is a war zone. And a dangerous one. And not just because of ISIS and the other big names people stateside recognize, the ones with the bold flags and the catchy acronyms and the surprising social media presence. This war has opened up a place for every brutal wannabe warlord in the region, and they’re in a competition to see just who can be the most vicious. Nothing is off limits in this war. I’d accuse her of being naive, but something tells me that she’s not.
Innocence is usually appealing in a woman. This one has had every bit of innocence stripped away from her but it doesn’t diminish her beauty. It’s easy to be brave when you’re innocent. We see it all the time, rookies come in at eighteen and throw themselves into action without fear - until the first time they take a real hit and see the true face of war. Then it’s not so easy.
This place breaks people. But I’m not sure it’s possible to break this woman. She stayed brave in the face of death. That doesn’t make her immune to it. If anything, it makes her a likely candidate. And bravery doesn’t mean shit without training, which I’m sure she doesn’t have.
“If I take you with me, you’re going to do as I say when I say. I’m not going to argue with you. I’m not going to tolerate backtalk.”
“Sure,” she says. “When we’re out, I’ll listen.”
“Not when we’re out. From this second. And you’ll be bunking with me.”
“Why?” The look she gives me is more curious than anything.
“Because I want to keep an eye on you.”
It’s the truth, but it’s not the whole truth. Because I’ve wondered what happened to you every day since you were choppered out would be closer, but I don’t know how she’d take to that, and I don’t even know if I should say it. Odds are she barely remembers me, and what she does remember, she probably doesn’t want to.
She gives a shrug. “Okay.”
I have a private CHU, which is basically a shipping container fitted out with the basics you need to not live like an animal. They stack rows and rows of these things together. Mine’s a little more private than most, but hardly luxurious. It’s going to be a little cramped with two of us in it, but aside from that we should be good.
Mission wise, we should be okay too. I’m doing reconnaissance, mostly. We’re looking for some ways in, ways around. Informants. That sort of thing. The work I do can’t be done without local knowledge. There’s even a very remote possibility that she could help in that regard. A woman can achieve some things a man can’t, even out here in the ass end of nowhere.
“Get your kit and come with me.”
She does as she’s told, grabs her stuff from the barracks where they put her up. She really doesn’t have much. A single pack. That tells me she’s capable of living light. I like that about her. Hell, I like almost everything about her, not that I can express that right now.
Mary follows me to my CHU. There’s already a spare bed in there. Most of the time these hold two soldiers. It’s not luxurious accommodation, not by a long way. Just a simple cot bed at right angles to another one, a toilet and shower at the end. I took the bed nearest the door, so she’s got the one closest to the shower by default. The only difference between them is that mine has a pair of boots beneath the bed. All my things are stashed and stacked away as per regulations.
She sets her pack by the bed and looks at me with a well, what now sort of expression. It’s a good unspoken question. An hour ago, I figured I’d never see her again in my life. Now she’s standing in my quarters, looking healthier and happier than I could have hoped for.
I have to restrain the impulse to hug her. Something about the threatened scowl which is hanging just beyond her expression warns me that will not be appreciated. She has a don’t touch me vibe about her which I can understand all too well.