A Lover's Lament

“’Bye, Dev.”

“”Bye, Kit-Ka—”

The line goes dead before he finishes saying goodbye. I snap my phone shut and drop it to the bed. Well, that fucking sucked. My mind races, going over our entire conversation again to make sure I didn’t miss anything, and when I come up empty, I do the only thing I can do. Like a robot, I get dressed and go about my day, knowing full well that Devin will consume every thought until I get to talk to him again.

Soon, I remind myself, and then I’ll get to tell him about the baby—about the life growing inside of me … about the life we created.

Our relationship may have had a rough go in the beginning, but the beginning doesn’t really matter, and truly, neither does the ending. It’s all of the substance in between that makes for a great love story—for a great relationship—and if I have any say in it, our love story is going to be epic.

I walk toward the mirror and slowly lift my shirt. “Hey there,” I say, rubbing a hand over my stomach. “Are you ready to meet your daddy?” I ask, not caring for one second that I probably look silly talking to my belly. “It won’t be long now and he’ll be home safe and sound with us … right where he’s meant to be.”

“Set Fire to the Third Bar”—Snow Patrol

THE NOON SUN SITS HEAVY over this desperate Baghdad landscape. Its rays penetrate the sixty pounds of body armor I’m wearing and sear the flesh beneath. July was bad—August is worse. The M4 rifle in my hands and twelve loaded magazines strapped to my chest aren’t make things any easier, but as the team leader of these four assholes, I continue forward and keep my bitching to myself.

We were searching for our fellow soldier and we were supposed to push forward until we found him, but now we’ve received word that we have to meet back up with the rest of our platoon and head back to base. The fear of Sergeant Adams having been found dead overtakes me. We’ve raided hundreds of houses with no sign of him and not a damn person is talking.

Elkins and Thomas are griping behind me, but until I feel the need, I’ll keep my mouth shut. My team is staggered, our backs against a long stone wall, rifles pointed in every direction around us. Navas takes up the rear. His eyes are scrunched tightly watching our six o’clock, grenade launcher set and ready to fire.

The bickering continues, pissing me off, and I step in. “Elkins. Thomas. What are y’all bi

tchin’ about now?” I don’t look back but proceed along the wall, tracing its exterior to where the rest of our platoon’s vehicles are located, a half-kilometer from where we are now.

“Nothing, Sergeant,” Elkins answers, his voice ripe with resentment.

“Elkins, you know if you’re bitchin’ loud enough for me to hear, then it’s not just nothing. Spit it out, kid.” I scan the row of homes that runs parallel to us on the other side of a small, muddied stream. The only sounds coming from that direction—or any direction, really—are some emaciated dogs rummaging through scraps.

“It’s too quiet, Sarge,” Navas hollers, his voice gravelly and weathered. “These fuckin’ towel heads are planning something. I can feel it.”

A wave of uncertainty washes over me, unease settling deep in my gut. “It’s August and hot as balls. They’re probably just keeping cool inside.” My words are hesitant, as if not wanting to escape my mouth at all, and I wonder briefly if my men pick up on it. Stay calm, Clay. I scan the rooftops intently, looking for any sort of movement or anything suspicious.

“Why are they calling us back, Sarge? Why wouldn’t they just tell us if they found him or not? This is some fucking bullshit!” Elkins blurts out. I glance back in time to see Thomas smack Elkins in the arm. I shake my head and move forward, but Elkins can’t seem to shut the fuck up. “I mean, how hard is it to tell us what the fuck is going on?”

I can’t blame him for his frustration. I want to know why they’re calling the search off too. They tell you what you need to know, and often that’s not very much. I also want to know that they’ve found Adams alive and well, but that’s not how this sort of thing works.

I look back at them again and see the worry in Thomas’s eyes. He’s not doing well, and I know my words must be gentle.

“Listen, we do what we are told—always. We don’t question our orders, we execute them. We’ll report back to base and figure out what’s going on soon. I’m sure they found him and just don’t need us looking anymore.”

With my last word, a head pops up from a rooftop in the distance, and I immediately shift my rifle from ready at the hip to eye level. Elkins notices the same thing I do and whips his muzzle toward the activity with the enthusiasm of a twenty-year-old grunt with too much testosterone and not enough common sense. “Hold it, Elkins. It’s a kid.”

I pull my weapon back down and tap the top of his muzzle for him to do the same. He lowers it, and then the four of us continue along the wall. As we pass the house, I peer up toward the child—a girl, no more than five years old—who is now standing upright and curiously gawking in our direction.

So young. She doesn’t have a clue why we are here, or what we are doing. At this point, she doesn’t know the difference between an AK-47 and her blankie, but one day this girl will hate me just as her parents do—and as their parents did before them.

I shake the thought from my head and nod toward the girl with a smile. She giggles before taking off, her curls bobbing on top of her head.

“Let’s pick it up, gentlemen, not too much further—” I’m cut off by a round screeching past our position and burrowing into the wall just a few steps ahead of me. Shards burst from the concrete in every direction as the bullet rips through the mortar. I jump back, immediately fighting to collect my thoughts. Another shot whizzes by just over our heads, forcing me to react.

“Up and over, up and over! Thomas, you lift Elkins. Navas, I got you.” I drop to a knee and interlock my fingers. Navas plunges his foot onto my hands, and with one brisk push, he hurdles atop the wall. Thomas and Elkins follow suit, and then I kneel before Thomas to do the same for him.

Navas and Elkins stand behind the half wall with rifles, scanning the rooftops, searching for the culprit. Two more rounds come tearing in, hitting the wall just to the side of us. I hoist Thomas to the top so that the others can pull him over. Instead of joining them, Thomas shifts around and reaches an arm down for me. I sling my rifle behind my back and grab hold. His other hand reaches down further and he latches his fingers into my belt loop, giving me a tug. My free hand grips tightly onto the edge of the wall as he works at pulling me up. The sound of another round explodes through the air, and I instinctively duck my head. It tears through the hand I have grasping the wall, and I yank it back with a deep howl. As I do, my weight pulls me back toward the ground and Thomas along with me. He flips backward away from the wall and crumples to the earth like a ragdoll. Navas fires a few shots at no one in particular as I help Thomas to his feet. He’s dazed, but quickly shakes it off. I fight the pain off as best I can, blood pouring from my hand.

“Come on, Thomas, I need to get you over.” I drop to a knee to assist him, but he shakes me off.

“No, Sarge, your hand’s fucked. I’ll get you over first,” he says defiantly. I can’t argue because I know he’s right. I stick a boot onto his palms and he heaves me up. I shift my weight around and lock my good hand with Thomas’s just as another gunshot breaks the still air.

Thomas’s eyes go wide and his hand goes limp in mine. A bullet now sits burrowed inside the wall, having made a pathway through his innards. He falls back, hitting the ground hard, and a pool of blood quickly stretches out around him. Before I can react, Elkins grabs my legs and yanks me down with them on the other side so hard that I fall to the ground. Navas locates the enemy on a rooftop in the distance and sends several of his own shots in that direction. Elkins does the same.