Quadruple Duty: All or Nothing

I turned to face Kyle, who was all dark and covered in soot.

“You got tan fast. Hell, you’re darker than me.”

“Think this is funny?” he coughed. “Cogan’s going home. Someone’s gotta take him. That’s a third vehicle gone, and we’re not even halfway to the coordinates.”

He was right, of course. We’d lost one of the Hummers to a freak sandstorm on day two. Rather than stop immediately, the driver had skidded off into a ditch, twisting the axle. It was shit luck, but I was still furious.

“We’ll manage,” I said. “That charge was old. Nothing directed toward us specifically, so—”

“Yeah, well there’s more bad news.”

Kyle’s face had gone grim. We’d been around each other long enough to know what was wrong, almost even without asking. This, unfortunately, was no exception.

“The satellite dish was on that thing, wasn’t it?”

Kyle pointed to a series of black, Kevlar-lined containers being unloaded from the ruins of the armored vehicle. Half of them were melted.

“Fuck.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Fuck is right.”

I lifted my sun visor just long enough to rub the grit from my eyes. I was getting a headache. Third one of the day.

“Any chance the damage is contained to the boxes only, and—”

“No.”

Dammit.

It was supposed to be simple. We were rolling out with a large enough force to deal with anything we’d encounter, and we even had a few favors to call in if we needed them. But nothing that would facilitate the delivery of another satellite antenna.

“Sat phone still working?”

“For now.”

“Call back. Tell em’ we might be non-comm for a while. See if they can—”

“Hey,” Kyle interrupted with a smile. “Are you forgetting I actually outrank you?”

I laughed merrily, then clapped him on his shoulder so hard the weight of his pack almost dragged him over.

“Not out here you don’t, shitbrick.”

Twenty-Three

SAMMARA

I didn’t even want to get one, but I ended up with a Christmas tree. Melissa and Rich brought one over when I wasn’t home, finally using the house key I’d given her to set it up in the living room — lights, garland and all.

“Be Merry!” their little note read, right next to a big bottle of wine. They even left me a couple of boxes of decorations, and a glittery star that I could put on top.

It was such a thoughtful gift that I cried.

It didn’t take much to make me cry in those days leading up to the holiday. I spent half the time feeling sorry for myself, and the other half worrying. Every third or fourth day I took down the streamers of my pity party just long enough to slap myself back to reality. It was during those moments I felt most like myself, usually after taking Sarge out for a good, long run.

Christmas came, and I sat in front of a presentless tree. Melissa of course came over and commiserated with me for a while, but she had to get to her in-laws so I shoved her out of the house. The gift she left me was a beautifully framed photo of the two of us, standing in front of my house. It was taken in summer, so the house looked fantastic. The grass was green, the sky was blue, and we were both deeply tan and feeling our best, so we looked fantastic too.

I’d given her a Persian-weave bracelet; two interlocking hearts, hers and mine. Each heart was engraved with our names, and it was a true testament to our growing up that I hadn’t added something corny like “Best Friends Forever.”