A Lover's Lament

Navas rises to his feet and faces me, and for a brief moment he embraces me before letting go and making his way toward the tent. There is no love like that of your brothers-in-arms.

"Let’s get some fuckin’ chow," he says, slipping through the tent’s entrance. I follow him in and scan the cots. Some of the guys are fork-deep in their MREs, while others are still getting their asses out of bed. I dig through a box of MREs at the front of the tent.

Chicken. Chicken. Chicken. I'm so fucking sick of chicken. "Damn it, you fuckers, this is a brand new box. Who the fuck took my tortellini?" As I say this, I see Elkins plop the pasta into his mouth with a wide smile.

"I h

ope you choke on it, Elkins. You know I’ve got infinite dibs on the tortellini.” I smile at him then grab two of the chicken MREs. I toss one to Navas and tear open the other. We take a seat on our cots, one beside the other, and dig in.

"Sarge, you know those officer fucks clear out the good ones before they give us the box, right?" Elkins’ words come out slightly distorted as he’s still working on a mouthful of my tortellini.

“Enunciate, Elkins, I can’t understand you with that dick in your mouth.” I lock my eyes onto Elkins with eyebrows furrowed as I fork a piece of dry chicken breast into my mouth.

Navas pulls my attention from Elkins by tossing a bag of peanut butter M&Ms at my back. In the world of MREs, peanut butter M&Ms are like gold. They are coveted and often bartered. I quickly forget about how awful the chicken tastes.

"That reminds me, when Dixon got done in the Comm Center, he told me to tell you there’s a meeting at 0700. Some kinda mission briefing or something," Navas says.

I eyeball my watch. 0650. Damn it. I shovel the remaining chicken into my mouth, retrieve my notepad and pen, and begin to head out, saluting Navas with the bag of M&Ms before departing.

The room is packed tight. The other squad leaders and I stand at the back against the wall. Lieutenant Dixon and the three other platoon leaders take up seating at two tables that separate us from the front of the room. On the front wall, there’s a large map of Baghdad with our area of operations marked boldly in red. Our company commander, Captain Kendricks, stands before us. He’s a Mr. Clean clone and is nearly as large as the map itself. Our brigade commander, Colonel Birch, is beside him, which tells me this is serious. He’s based out of the Green Zone and only comes here for the most important briefings. He's an extremely short man and looks like a midget standing next to Captain Kendricks, but he's stocky with a spark-plug personality. He's old-school Army and therefore barks his words rather than speaks them.

He starts off with his usual introduction, the whole ‘I’m proud of you’ and ‘keep up the good work’ bullshit, but my mind takes off after that. I think about Katie and the letter I sent. I know the military mail system sucks, but damn, does it have to take this long? I’ve even checked my email twice a day every day for a week straight, hoping to hear from her—but no such luck. I subtly typed my email address in below my name on my last letter hoping she’d see it, but I’m guessing that she didn’t, or she just didn’t want to write back. With each day that passes, I'm a little more convinced of it.

I guess her therapy in regards to me is already complete. She took out her anger and told me how she feels. What more can I expect after what I’ve done to her? And I do want her to feel better, but I just hope she has more to get out. I’ll take cuss words and insults from her over silence any day.

I can’t shake the feeling of seeing her name and reading her words again. It takes me back to middle school, and unbelievably, her handwriting is just the same. So beautiful and flawless you’d think it was fake. We’d pass notes back and forth, my chicken scratch and her artwork, and we’d do it all day long. By the time we caught the bus home, we had filled up five sheets, front and back. I still have every last one, since I always insisted on keeping them. She fought me every time, but I always won. The nights out here when I’m hurting so badly I’d rather die than bear the pain, I read those notes and can feel her there beside me, giggling as I throw paper airplanes at Wyatt’s head.

A tear rolls down my cheek, catching me off-guard, and I quickly wipe it with my hand before anyone can see. Almost immediately, I receive a quick jab in the ribs from Sergeant Adams, who is standing beside me. “Wake the fuck up, dude. Kendricks is looking over here,” Adams whispers, which for a New Yorker comes out more like a yell. Dixon looks back at us, face red, and he jerks his head toward the front of the room. I roll my eyes at Adams and direct my attention to the front.

"We have orders to make a major offensive push," Colonel Birch says with his laser pointer hovering over the map. He circles it around a specific area. “Intelligence we’ve gathered is telling us that this area of Saidiyah has several large weapons caches and roadside bomb manufacturing facilities. For the next two weeks—at least—infantry units out of Forward Operating Base Falcon will be conducting massive door-to-door raids throughout this entire neighborhood. We will be going around the clock, twenty-four hours a day with two units from 1st Armored Division and 101st Airborne, who are leading up the raid and defense efforts. They need us to serve as their quick reaction force. If shit goes down, we’re there to assist.” He clears his throat and drops the laser pointer on the table.

“We only have your platoon to execute this specific mission since the rest of the company needs to continue with the mission at hand, so we need you guys to suck it up for the next few weeks. It’s going to be some long hours, but this is pretty damn important, so keep your heads on straight. I’m going to leave you with Captain Kendricks here, and he can let you know how the rotations will go. Stay strong, gentlemen, we’re halfway through.”

He nods to Captain Kendricks and heads out of the room as fast as his short legs can take him. I can’t help but smirk.

Captain Kendricks waits for the colonel to exit before addressing us. “As Colonel Birch stated, this is a major task for such a small contingent, so hours will be long. Staff Sergeant Richards and Staff Sergeant Baker, being that you’re both higher ranking and more experienced, we will have you cover the night shift … 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. It’s more likely that if shit is gonna go down, it’s going down at night.”

Richards and Baker nod toward Captain Kendricks and he continues, shifting his focus to us. “Clay and Adams, that means you guys are on first shift. We need you to grab your guys, divvy them up between three trucks, and be on your way. Coordinates, unit call signs, and all that shit will be provided to you by your platoon leaders.”

“Hooah, Sir,” Adams and I say in unison as Captain Kendricks turns his attention back to the platoon leaders.

“PLs do not need to take part in these missions, but I will leave it to your discretion. Those that don’t will be here in HQ with me. I need you all to stay behind for a second so we can go over the details. The rest of you can head out. Are there any questions? No? Good! Let’s get to work.”

The four of us pile out of the room as the captain continues his discussion with the platoon leaders. “Hey, Clay, you pussies enjoy your twelve hours twiddling your dicks in the sun. Baker and I will worry about doing some real infantry shit.” I look back and see Richards with a shit-eating grin on his face. His thick, red pornstache straddles his upper lip like a saddle. Baker juts his chin out and smirks at me.

I turn back around without saying a thing, but Adams whips his head back toward them. “Oh, fuck you, Richards, we don’t speak ginger. Baker, can you please translate for the hellspawn?” Adams chuckles and looks to see if I am too, which of course I am. A good ginger joke goes a long way with me. But I’m also partly laughing at Adams’ constant need for affirmation. I like the guy, but fucking sh—

“Shit, you think the New York garbage that comes out of your mouth is any better? You guys stink of envy,” Baker snaps at Adams as they reach the door.

I try not to give a shit about what they’re saying, but they’re right. Here in beautiful Baghdad, they only really like to come out and play at night. The days are left to roadside bombs and excessive sweating. I’m about to say something, but I cut myself off because it’s just not worth it. My focus is Katie and the possibility of an email sitting in my inbox. How fucking amazing would it be to hear from her. Just then, a voice catches my attention.

“Yo, Clay!” Sergeant Tavares, our radio operator, calls from the communications room. The buzz of radio chatter plays like an orchestra behind him. “Come here for a second.”

I turn and approach him as the others exit the building. I notice a letter in his hand and my heart leaps into my throat. I try to restrain my excitement, but a heavy buzz sits just under the skin. Maybe it

’s not even mine.

He hands it to me. “This came in with the mail shipment last night, and I forgot to drop it off to you.” I snatch it from his hand and narrow my gaze before flipping it over.