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I was well chaperoned,
and I knew that there was absolutely zero chance of ‘hooking up’ as Sebastian had eloquently put it and, to tell the truth, I was so tired, I was almost on my knees.

The men stood up as I left our table in the dining area, Sebastian looking at me longingly.

“Sleep well, gentlemen,” I said, quietly.

As they sat down again, at least
six of them relieved by my absence, I saw Sebastian glance over and smile again. I ran my finger along the chain around my neck and smiled back. It was enough.

Back at my bunk,
PFC Sullivan was waiting for me, practically dancing on the spot with unrestrained energy. I felt every single one of my forty years as I eyed her exuberance wearily.

“I did it: I
totally did it! I asked him out and he said ‘yes’!”

We swapped a high
five, and she then proceeded to tell me all about Frank, a mechanic in the motor pool. Halfway through her description of his ‘fine ass’, I fell asleep. I had my own memories of a fine ass to dream about.

“Hey, Lee! Wake up!”

“Huh, what?”

Mary was shaking me awake, her little face puckered up with concern.

“Captain Grant is after you
r ass!”

My ass?

“What? Why?” I stared at my watch. I stared at it again, utterly horrified, and willing the hands to rewind at least an hour.

“I
’m sorry,” whimpered Mary, “I thought you were awake; you
said
you were awake an hour ago. He’s really kinda mad at you.”

“Oh, crap!”

She giggled. “At least he can’t give you cleaning duty.”

“Want to bet?” I muttered, hastily pulling on my boots.

Mary helped me carry my gear out to the waiting vehicle, and a very sullen and irritated Captain Grant was waiting for me impatiently.

“I
’m so sorry,” I mumbled, “I overslept. It won’t happen again.”

He couldn
’t even bring himself to reply. I didn’t blame him: he was responsible for 160 men, and one stupid woman reporter, who was fucking things up on day two of a one month embed. I’d be pissed, as well.

I pulled my body armor over my aching body, swept my hair into a rough ponytail, and slapped on my helmet.

Grant scowled, and did the one thing he could to show his displeasure: he seated me next to Sebastian. I climbed in creakily, annoyed at myself for being so unprofessional, but as soon as I saw Sebastian grinning in my direction, I realized that the gods were on my side for once, and I couldn’t help smiling to myself.

“Good morning,
Ms. Venzi,” he purred. “I trust you slept well?”

“Too well, thank you, Chief Hunter,” I politely replied, and saw him smirk at my response.

He looked fresh and delicious; I probably looked like old ham next to him, but I didn’t care. Which was something of a revelation: it didn’t matter what I wore, or how much sleep I’d had or not had, he always looked at me as if his world began and ended with me. How could I not be affected by that? By the certainty of his love?

As w
e headed north into the dusty, barren landscape, bumping along a broken road, heading up into the foothills, the heat was already building and I was starting to sweat. We’d all be soaked and stinking by the time we stopped for the night – and I already knew that there wouldn’t be any showers.

I squinted into the harsh light, staring at the
stark surroundings. Our road followed the side of a riverbed, and for a hundred yards in each direction, a strip of green vegetation broke up the bleakness of the lunar landscape.

Scattered in the
scrubby fields, we saw several fortified farms with high walls, built from a mixture of mud and straw so they blended into the very dirt they were made from. Some were gathered into loose hamlets for company and protection, but most seemed to be abandoned. The only signs of life were a few skinny goats. If the owners were around, they were hiding from us.

I was still staring out of the window, when
I felt Sebastian’s hand drifting up to rest casually on my thigh. I shifted my daypack slightly, so that his hand was hidden, and slowly lowered mine, allowing our fingers to entwine on my leg.

In the middle of
that blighted country, bumping along a dirt road in 90-degree heat, I felt a moment of peace.

Our destination was the town of Nowzad; grim was too kind a word. It might have been prosperous once, with evidence of a market area, but now it looked like it had been blasted by the desert.

Broken shops hung open to the elements, shutters
drooping loosely. Only one person seemed to exist in this ghost town – an elderly man selling a few potatoes and eggs from a rug outside an empty building. He waved as we went past and called out something to us. Maybe that was a hopeful sign.

I glanced at Sebastian.

“What did he say?”

I saw Grant
’s head incline towards us, also waiting for the answer.

“Nothing I
’d like to repeat, ma’am,” he said, running his thumb over the back of my hand.

I nudged my knee against his and held back a grin. Playing footsie with Sebastian and having Grant sitting in front of me, gave me an almost irrepressible urge to laugh.
Among other things.

My light heartedness disappeared when I saw the place that was to be our home for the next month.

Our compound had been a police station at some point in its life, but used many times over by ISAF soldiers from both British and US forces. It was basic, to say the least. There was no fresh water, no electricity, and the men were to sleep in the old cells, up to a dozen per room. I was given a space the size of a closet: I could just about stretch out there – it certainly wouldn’t have done for anyone taller than me. I felt lucky to have a room to myself and that level of privacy. No one else did – not even Captain Grant.

I kept out of
the Captain’s way while he was organizing the camp. Instead, I tapped out notes on my laptop and blew up my oh-so-comfortable mattress.

PFC
Sullivan had given me enough material for my first article, and the dreary town of Nowzad would supply plenty more. Being stationed here was a very different prospect from the relative comfort and safety of Leatherneck. I couldn’t believe that our flimsy-looking mud walls would do much to protect us from an attack where rocket propelled grenades were used.

After a
long while of being ignored, I started to feel hungry – particularly since I’d missed breakfast, and lunch had been a strange, flatbread sandwich on the road. No one had come near me, and I suspected I’d been conveniently forgotten. But now I saw men lining up near the area which I presumed had been designated as the kitchen. I joined the end of the line and looked hopeful.

The Marines all seemed terribly young: most
were in their early twenties, a couple were only 19 or so. I remembered that Sebastian had been even younger than that when he’d first been sent to Iraq, and Fido hadn’t made it to 20.

They were all sweetly shy around me, calling me
‘ma’am’, of course, and insisting I go to the front of the line. We were having MREs (meal ready-to-eat) ration packs. I was told the food was chicken and noodles; the noodles I recognized, the anemic-looking meat I was less sure about.

I squatted down with
the group nearest to me, and got out my trusty bottle of soy sauce. It wasn’t long before it was doing the rounds – even among the boys who’d never even heard of soy sauce, let alone the tamari variety.

I asked
each of them where they came from and what had made them enlist. For some, the Marine Corps was a chance to have a real family for the first time in their lives; for others it was a means to an end: learning a trade, or a college education; several said they wanted to serve their country, motivated by the events of 9/11. And for a few, I guessed, it was the difference between a slippery slope into a life of crime, and a chance to contribute something useful and make something of their lives.

I saw Sebastian once
: he was standing at the compound’s entrance, next to one of the sangar observation posts, talking to a group of locals. He looked tired, and I wondered if he’d had a chance to eat.

“I don
’t know how he talks that Greek shit,” said Larry, a friendly kid from Pittsburgh, who was nodding at Sebastian.

“It
’s not Greek, fool!” snorted Ben, a native of Kansas City. “It’s Arabic, isn’t that right, ma’am?”

“Whatever, man: i
t’s all Greek to me,” said Larry, with a wide grin.

“It
’ll either be Dari or Pashto,” I said, gently amused when Ben looked crushed by my correction. “I’m sure he’ll teach you a few words if you’re interested.”

He shrugged, noncommittally. I understood: Sebastian was an unknown quantity – one of them, yet not one of them.

Gradually, the men became more relaxed in my presence, and the laughter and joking attracted more people to our corner of the compound. Laughter that petered out the moment Captain Grant wandered over to see what was going on.

I think he was mildly surprised to find I wasn
’t being a pain in the ass for a change, because he was almost civil to me, my early indiscretion forgotten, or at least forgiven.

Eventually, I decided to call it a day and despite being implored to stay
and shoot the breeze, I headed to my closet.

The
bathrooms were basic, and I was dreading becoming familiar with them. But at least I wouldn’t have the incredibly gross job of burning the waste every day. I wondered if it would be reserved for a punishment duty.

I
brushed my teeth and rinsed with a mere mouthful of tepid water, swiped some of the dust off my face with baby-wipes, kicked off my boots and laid my body armor where I could reach it in a hurry. I knew I was probably a little ripe from a day of constant sweating, but I was too tired to care, and it wasn’t as if I could slip on my yoga pants after soaking in a hot tub.

I
nstead, I listened to the sounds of the camp around me: men going to their sleeping quarters, others going on watch. I realized what was missing: there was no birdsong. Nothing, not a single sound of any animal at all. The thought disturbed me, waking me more thoroughly than the alarm I had slept through this morning.

And then I heard a soft footfall outside my door.

“Caro?” he whispered.

I pushed open the door
, and saw Sebastian crouching in the dim light. He wound himself through the narrow opening and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly.

“It
’s like a dream having you here,” he murmured. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and find I’ve imagined you.”

I clutched him tightly. “My dreams aren
’t usually this good.”