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Sebastian
didn’t have another chance to come near me again: I guessed he was in Grant’s office to interpret the insurgents’ radio chatter and thus help the gunners try to work out targets. At dawn, we were all gritty-eyed and pissed off as we stumbled into line to get breakfast.

I don
’t know why, but an old Beatles song came into my head, and I started humming the opening bars of ‘I’m So Tired’ – the lines that said his mind is on the blink because he hasn’t slept a wink. That was exactly how I felt.

The Marine behind me started singing
the tune softy, and I turned around to smile at him and joined in. Then two more started with the harmony. Soon, about 20 burly Marines were singing out of tune and getting their groove on in the breakfast line. It wasn’t much, but it was damn funny – and we really needed to laugh.

Captain Grant appeared from his office, unshaven and with dark rings around his eyes, accompanied by Crawley and Sebastian. When Grant saw the
kids from Glee getting funky to the Beatles, his face split with a huge grin. I didn’t even know the man had teeth. He gave me an ironic salute, and disappeared back into his den. Crawley laughed out loud, and Sebastian smiled at me proudly.

From that moment on, the men called me
‘Yoko’, and I laughed happily, seeing their pleasure in something so simple.

It was the last time I laughed for a very long time.

The patrols that day
were kept short. Crawley and his team checked out the old marketplace, which seemed to have taken the brunt of most of the RPG activity; two others moved parallel to either side of the main road; Sebastian was gone the longest, disappearing into the foothills with Jankowski and a fast-moving foot patrol.

When they
returned, long after everyone else had finished their evening meal, Sebastian looked hot, sweaty, and tired.

He smiled at me wearily
, and went to debrief with Grant and Jankowski.

The kit
chen reopened, handing out chili-flavored MREs to the dusty crew. Sebastian had just started eating, when Grant called him back into the office. He was in there nearly half-an-hour, and his abandoned food gone cold, when he suddenly re-emerged and headed my way, his face set and grim.

“What is it? What
’s happened?” I said, scared by the expression on his face.

“Grant wants to see you,” he said, ignoring the
curious gazes from the other men.

I
stood up stiffly, and followed him into the office.

“Please take a seat,
Ms. Venzi,” said Grant, gently.

My heart rate accelerated.
What the hell was going on?

“I
’m afraid I have some bad news for you… I told you yesterday that Chief Hunter picked up some obtuse threats to you; well, I’m afraid it’s become much more direct. The Taliban have heard that you’re with us – and they’re viewing you as a prize kill.”

I was vaguely aware that Sebastian was scowling at Grant,
probably because the information had been so candid, but my brain was in freefall.
They were targeting me?

“They
’re aware of the value of publicity,” he said tiredly, “and I’m afraid earlier today, they killed another journalist – a woman – and Hunter has just had confirmed radio chatter that you’re a definite target. I’m calling in a heli to evacuate you back to Leatherneck as soon as possible. Ms. Venzi? Ms. Venzi?”

I looked up at him, stunned. “Who?”

“Excuse me?” he said, clearly puzzled.

“Who was the journalist they killed?”

His glanced over to Sebastian, a question in his eyes.

“Liz Ashton,” said Sebastian,
his eyes soft with pity.

No. No no no no no no no.

I dropped my head into my hands.

“I
’m sorry,” said Grant, uncomfortably. “Of course… you knew her.”

I nodded slowly. “She was my friend.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “but we can’t risk our mission here and…”

He bit off what he was going to say, but it didn
’t matter. I’d guessed that there was some special reason his unit had been sent to Nowzad, and a reason why he didn’t want me here in the first place. A remote part of my brain remembered that Sebastian had hinted that he’d be traveling to remote villages, out of touch for days or even weeks.

But I was going home.

I looked up into Grant’s face, recognizing that this wasn’t the first time he’d had to break this sort of news.

“How did she die?”

Grant looked away, and it was Sebastian who answered. “Sniper. She died instantly.”

I think
Grant tried to say something else to me, but I didn’t hear him. I walked out of his office, dry-eyed, my throat aching, vaguely aware that Sebastian had started to reach out for me as I walked past him.

I crossed the compound in a daze, ignoring everyone who
spoke to me. I closed the door of my room behind me, and crouched down in the corner.

Not Liz. How could it be Liz? She was indestructible, larger than life. No, not larger than life. She was dead.

Put out the light, then put out the light.

Now her light was gone. O
ne less stuttering candle in the darkness; one less person to tell the truth about this wretched war.

I refused to cry for her: not here, not in this godforsaken outpost.

Wrapping my hands around my knees tightly, I let my head fall forward, pressing my head down, as if to make as small a target as possible.

I don
’t know how long I hid in the corner, before I heard a soft tap at the door.

I didn
’t look up: I already knew it would be Sebastian. He shut the door behind him quietly, then sat down next to me and pulled me into his arms.

He didn
’t speak, just rocked me gently and kissed my hair.

After a while, I let my body relax against him, curling into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Caro,” he murmured. “I know she was your friend.”

We
sat in silence until night fell, and I took strength from his touch and his unspoken love.

Outside, we heard the sounds of men
changing watch, and Sebastian sighed. “I’d better go, or Grant will wonder what the hell we’re doing.”

He shifted me off h
is lap and started to stand up, but I grabbed hold of his hand.

“Don
’t go, Sebastian, please. It doesn’t matter who knows now: I’m being sent home anyway. Let me spend my last few hours with you.”

He sank
down again. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he admitted, his voice gentle.

We lay on the mattress, fully dressed, our arms and legs tangled together.

“I’m not very good at gardening,” I said, thoughtfully.

“What
’s that, baby?”

“I can
’t grow things. Plants seem to wither when they see me. Can you grow things?”

I felt him shrug
, confused by my question.

“I don
’t know, Caro. I’ve never tried.”

“I
’d like to plant something,” I mumbled, “see it live and grow.”

He tightened his grip, and stroked my hair.

“Does your place in Long Beach have a backyard?” he asked, gently.

“Yes. It could be pretty. Remember Signora Carello
’s bougainvillea? Maybe we could grow something like that.”

He kissed my hair. “Baby, I can
’t even spell bougain… whatever it is.” He sighed. “But I guess I could try. Was that the purple stuff?”

I nodded.

“Okay, baby. We can grow purple stuff.”

“And pink?”

“Sure, baby, with yellow fucking stripes if you want.”

“Ok
ay.”

Chapter 16

I didn’t sleep that night. I thought at one point Sebastian might have slept, but as I gazed up at his face, I could see that his eyes were open.

When we couldn
’t put it off any longer, I packed my equipment, and rolled up my deflated mattress, while Sebastian watched in silence.

“I
’ll miss having you here,” he said, at last. “But I’m glad you’re getting the fuck out of this shithole.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned into his chest.

“Just come home safe, Sebastian. No heroics, please.”

“
The only thing you’ve got to worry about is when I self-combust, especially if you’re going to send me more letters like that one you wrote me yesterday.”

I tugged on his uniform. “I mean it. Stay safe.”

He sighed and nuzzled his face into my hair. “I’ll do my best, baby. Promise.” Then he lifted up my chin with one, long finger and kissed me softly.

“Fuck, I
’m going to miss you, Caro.”

“I love you, tesoro. So
much.”

He held my face between his hands and gazed into my eyes.
“Sei tutto per me.”

Our moment was over
, and it was time to go.

Sebastian
carried my bag out to the compound, ignoring the open stares of the other men. Captain Grant and Lieutenant Crawley shook hands with me, the latter offering his condolences.

Several of the
men I’d been closest to came over and gave me awkward, one-armed hugs.

As soon as we heard the helicopter, eight Marines wit
h M-16s escorted me to the pickup spot, 200 yards outside the compound.

The dust spewed into my eyes, churned up by the rotor blades that didn
’t stop. Coughing, with my eyes watering, I was yanked inside and had a headset thrust into my hands. We took off immediately, not wishing to offer too easy a target to the unfriendly faces that were sure to be watching from the foothills.