Morning was a continuation of the previous night’s misery. Heavy drizzle with intermittent downpours fell on the camp. Breakfast was hot when it left the mess wagon, but it became soggy and cold before the soldiers could consume it. As they stood around the wagon, hunched over their plates in their rain gear, the soldiers grumped and groused about the food, the conditions, and the lack of a good night’s sleep. Still, their underlying sense of humor helped to lift spirits.

Sophie was just out of sight of the soldiers eating chow, but she could hear them clearly.

“Hey, Joe, you can forget about sleeping in our tent tonight,” said a crusty old sergeant, who’d been in the Army longer than some of the others had been alive.

“Why’s that?”

“You snored so loud the roof of the tent was vibratin’. I don’t want what happened with the lieutenant’s tent to happen to ours with me and the rest of these yahoos in it!”

“I would have given my left arm to be in that tent last night with our little lieutenant,” said ladies’ man, Staff Sergeant Michaels.

“Me, too,” agreed the dreamy voice of Private Johnson.

The old veteran whooped and must have knocked over a tray or something, based on the clanging of metal.

“Whoa, wait a minute, guys. Did you hear that? Peewee Johnson’s got a yen for the sexy little lieutenant!”

“Hey, Johnson, I didn’t even think you knew what a girl was.” That was Sergeant Michaels, again.

Sophie could imagine Private Johnson’s embarrassment and decided it was high time to make her appearance. She walked around the side of a tent and stepped up next to the red-faced Private Johnson, who stood next to the mess wagon. “Good morning Private Johnson, gentlemen,” Sophie said, acknowledging the group of men with a reserved smile and a nod, as though she hadn’t heard a word they’d spoken. Sophie climbed up the metal steps of the wagon to join the line of soldiers waiting to be served their breakfast. She grabbed a paper plate and utensils, made her selection of eggs and toast then joined the others outside. While she looked for a semi-dry place to sit, she hoped no one would bring up the fiasco of the night before. Unfortunately, her hope was short-lived.

“Lieutenant Keaton, Private Johnson would like to help you with your tent, ma’am. Wouldn’t you, Johnson?”

Sophie looked over at the young private and could see the pain of embarrassment written all over him. Refusing to rise to the bait, she smiled gently at the private. “Thank you, Private. I would appreciate it if you could make sure the stakes are pounded securely into the ground, so I don’t have a repeat of last night.”

“Yes, ma’am!” he squeaked, the red in his face getting brighter as the men snickered and choked on their food.

“As for the rest of the unit,” she said, her narrowed gaze sweeping the group, “we have a perimeter to set up and foxholes to dig.”

Her words evoked a round of groans and grumbling.

She gave them a stern look. “Finish up and get your entrenching tools. I want the foxholes completed by the noon meal.”

“What’s for lunch, Lieutenant?”

“Whatever you like—as long as it comes in an MRE pouch,” she said, tossing her plate into the refuse container.

The soldiers groaned again and finished their meals, then set about the tasks assigned. Setting up a perimeter defense in a wide circle all around the camp was an arduous task. Foxholes had to be dug deep enough for a man to stand inside, so that he could be protected from enemy gunfire. To reinforce protection of the perimeter, M240 machine guns were located in strategic positions along the perimeter to provide the most coverage with M4A1 rifles in between.

Sophie watched the soldiers’ efforts in admiration. Foxholes were difficult enough to dig in the rock-infested, Texas soil when the weather was fair, but the rain continued throughout the morning. With each foot of dirt removed from the hole, at least six inches of water replaced it. When they were close to being finished, the soldiers stood knee-deep in water, slinging mud with their little shovels and bailing water with their canteen cups.

At the noon meal, the men alternated between eating and removing their soggy boots to pour out the excess water. It always amazed her how the worst conditions brought out the best in the soldiers. Throughout the miserable tasks, they swapped jokes and stories, passing the time in companionable banter.

As night cloaked the camp in darkness, several soldiers were dispatched to serve as the first shift of perimeter guards. The watch was split into four-hour increments, so the men could sleep in shifts and still be ready for the next day’s training.

The rain had finally ended, granting a respite for the soldiers who had to stand in foxholes for the next four hours. Sophie located the first sergeant in the communications van, making the scheduled check-in call with the local range patrol for the training area.

“Hey, Top, you need to get some rest. Why don’t you call it a night?”

“Thanks, Lieutenant, but I have to make the rounds of the perimeter to make sure all is well, before I can call it quits.”

“I’d planned on doing that myself. No use both of us being out there. Why don’t you go on to bed?”

“Well, that’s mighty nice of you, ma’am. I’ll take you up on that offer. I can put these old bones to bed and try to sleep through the sound of Joe Burton’s snoring. Good thing the Army issues earplugs.”

Laughing, Sophie bid the first sergeant a good night and stepped out of the van backwards, holding on to the hand grip next to the door to avoid another clumsy fall. Backing down the steps, she put her foot on the ground and turned quickly, walking face first into Captain Jenkins’ chest.

He grabbed her arm and held her steady until she regained her balance.

“Excuse me, Sir,” she said breathlessly. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Obviously. How could you when you weren’t looking this direction? Do you always do things backwards, Lieutenant?”

Bristling at the laughter in his voice, she pulled herself up to her full height of five feet three inches and tipped her head backward to look him almost straight in the eye.

“I’ll have you know I don’t repeat the same mistake twice—if I can help it, sir.”

“No, you don’t, do you? You just create more interesting ones.” That detestable smirk lifted one corner of his mouth.

He stepped aside, allowing her to pass, and climbed the steps into the communications van.

“Ooooooo. He makes me so mad!” Sophie gritted her teeth, clenched her fists and stomped her foot in the mud. She marched off into the darkness, muttering obscenities about self-centered, egotistical captains.

As she approached the line of foxholes around the perimeter, she grew quiet, and moved carefully to avoid making too much noise. She wanted to make sure the soldiers were on alert. When she was within twenty yards of the first foxhole, a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Halt, who goes there?” a male voice called out.

“Lieutenant Keaton,” she responded.

“Cuckoo.”

Sophie recognized the word as the challenge, and she supplied the password. “Burro.”

“Advance and be recognized,” was the correct response.

Sophie walked to the guard, and after getting an update from the soldier, she moved on to the next three foxholes, performing the same routine with each. At the fifth foxhole, she walked right up to the soldier without being challenged and found him sound asleep, and snoring to boot.

“Bang, you’re dead, Corporal Denton,” she whispered into his ear.

“Huh?” Jerking awake, he fumbled in the dark to find his M4A1 rifle. “Halt. Who goes there?”

“Too late, Corporal Denton, the enemy just slit your throat and penetrated the perimeter,” she said wryly.

“Oh my gosh, Lieutenant Keaton. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Well, see to it that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Yes, ma’am, I won’t...go back to sleep, that is.”

“In addition, I want you to perform Kitchen Patrol duty for the next week. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am, and thank you, ma’am.”

Turning to face the avenues of enemy approach, the corporal went back to the tedious task of keeping watch for the enemy aggressors. Sophie moved on to find the next foxhole.

Hearing a twig snap, she crouched down, her eyes wide, trying to gather in as much light as she could to identify a dark shape moving toward her. She pulled her empty 9mm pistol from her hip holster and pointed it toward the approaching figure.

Making her voice deeper to imitate that of a man, she called out. “Halt, who goes there?”

“Captain Jenkins.”

Immediately, her mind was in a muddle, and she said the first thing that came to her head.

“Cujo. I mean Cuckoo!”

“Sophie?”

“Advance to be recognized.”

He moved closer, until he was standing right in front of her, only a few measly inches separating them. She could barely make out the features of his face, but she could recognize his musky, male scent anywhere. His large silhouette leaned closer to her, and she inhaled deeply. Then she came back to earth and pushed her pistol back into its holster. This is not the time or place. She repeated her mantra in her mind several times for good measure before taking a deep breath. “Captain Jenkins, what are you doing out here?”

“I’m checking the perimeter. What are you doing?”

“The same. But you were going into the communications van when I left, didn’t the first sergeant tell you I was going out on perimeter?”

“No, as a matter of fact, he gave me some lame excuse about tired old bones, and would I please go walk the perimeter for him.”

She snorted. “Sounds like a setup, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, only I wonder what he hoped to accomplish by it.”

His voice dropped into a low sexy drawl. The breath accompanying his words, so close it brushed over her face in a caress. She gulped and stared at the faint outline of his lips in the darkness, willing them to come a little closer. She gulped again, and forgot to breathe herself. “Yeah, it’s not like we would be so silly as to kiss...or make love...out here in the damp woods, would we?”

“No...that would be...” He pulled her slowly into his arms, pushing her helmet from her head and letting it drop with a plunk on the ground behind her, with his helmet following suit. Lowering his face to hers, he whispered, “...crazy.”

He pulled her close then cursed when the canteen on her web belt bit into his belly. He reached for the fastener at her waist and flipped the catch, releasing it and pushing the straps of the gear off her shoulders to the ground.

She made short work of his as well, and he was soon crushing her to him with his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

His lips found hers unerringly in the dark, and he drank hungrily, pushing his tongue past her teeth in search of hers.

Raising up on tiptoe, Sophie rubbed her breasts against his chest and slanted her lips harder against his, whimpering when he withdrew to place nibbling kisses, randomly, over her cheeks, nose and chin.

Her uninhibited response had his hands searching frantically for the buttons of her jacket. He fumbled in his haste to release them and then spread the lapels wide. He yanked her T-shirt from the waistband of her trousers, finally making contact with the warm, smooth flesh of her midriff.

Her belly tightened as waves of sensation drew her hips snugly against his.

The layers of clothing failed to conceal his growing need.

Her breath caught in her throat as he moved his hands under her shirt and slid beneath her bra to cup the mounds of her breasts.

“Mmm...” she moaned, unable to hold back the sound.

He drew back his head, and his body grew rigid beneath her hands clutching at his shoulders.

She felt as if cold water had suddenly been thrown over her. How could he stop, just like that? It’s not fair. He can turn it off like a faucet.

Leaning his forehead against hers, he drew deep lungfuls of air.

Sophie was relieved it wasn’t quite so easy for him after all. It served him right. She stood numbly, unmoving, as his hands tugged the bottom of her bra back into place, and then slid out from underneath her shirt.

He gripped her upper arms and set her gently away from him. “I have no right to do this. Please accept my sincerest apology, Lieutenant. There is no excuse for this type of behavior. If you want to press charges, I’ll understand.”

Lieutenant? He had just kissed her face off, and he was acting as though they were strangers again.

“Press charges? For what?”

“For molesting a subordinate.”

She snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding. Then you would have every right to press charges against me for molesting you right back.”

“Really, Lieutenant, we shouldn’t even be arguing about this here. It’s not the time or the place.”

Hey, that was her line! “There never is a time or place that’s right. I knew I should never have gotten involved with you. You’re too damned uptight.”

Spinning on her heels, she grabbed her web gear and stomped away from him, heading back to her tent. Would they ever end a conversation in a civil tone of voice?

What was with him, anyway? Press charges—seriously? Molesting a subordinate—horse hockey!

With the fire of desire and ire in her veins, she gathered her toiletries and headed for the deserted shower tent, flipped the male/female sign over to the female side, and then stepped in and started undressing by the light of her flashlight. It would feel good to have a shower after being filthy for two days. She wondered how Gage hadn’t noticed.

Maybe that’s why he’d stopped. How romantic could he get when she was covered in mud and sweat?

Inside, the long green canvas army tent was divided into two rooms, separated by a canvas flap stretched from one side to the other. One section was used for changing, with a place to lay dry clothes. The other section was equipped with a metal pipe running down the middle. There were small holes in the pipe, which allowed water to trickle out, simulating a shower. On the floor of the shower room was spread a layer of pea-sized gravel to allow the water to drain through and keep feet separated from the mud.

No one spent a lot of time in the shower. For one, it took too much water—a limited commodity in the field—and the other reason was the water was too darned cold. Sophie quickly shampooed her hair and soaped her body. She stepped under the cold water to rinse, performing this operation with speed and efficiency, then grabbing for her towel as soon as she was through.

God, it felt good to have a clean body and hair. It lifted her spirits tremendously after her fight with Gage. The only thing that would make her feel better than the shower would be if she could dry her hair.

Back in her tent, Sophie dug into her duffel bag and retrieved her travel-sized blow dryer. She eyed the light bulb dangling from a black cord near the ceiling of her tent. The light was part of a long electric cable connecting all the tents in the encampment with the generator. Light sockets were suspended by cable from the ceiling inside every tent. The sockets had electrical plugs on the side, and many soldiers took advantage of that fact to bring some of the comforts of home with them to the field—like fans and small televisions.

Pushing her cot up to the pole in the center of the tent, she struggled to reach the light socket dangling there. She grabbed the bulb, burning her hand, then found the socket next to the bulb and stuck her dryer plug in. Good. If she stood on the cot, she’d have just enough cord for the dryer to reach her head.

When she flipped the switch to the ON position, the dryer whirred into action, and the light in her tent dimmed then went completely out. The dryer went still in her hand, and she stood in the dark on her cot, wondering if her tent was the only one affected.

“Lieutenant Keaton!” roared the captain from the tent next to hers.

I guess that answers that!