Perfect Soldier: The Complete Story (5-Part BBW Military Romance Novel) (19 page)

Chapter
Five

Catherine

Seeing that letter from Colt totally put things in
perspective. Sure, heading to work was the last thing I wanted to do right now,
but it could be worse. I had a man who loved me. Even if he was on the other
side of the world, just having him in my life was still more than most people
had.

Something about these long distance conversations
via letter, no matter how slow they proceeded, made me feel connected with him.
All of the sudden I was excited. I wanted to sit down and pen a reply right
away, but that would have to wait until after work. I went to my room and
changed, then headed out to the bar.

Of course, later that night I was far too exhausted
to write my response. I got back to the apartment after 2:30 AM. It had been a
great night for tips, but in other respects it had been a nightmare. There had
been a fight at the bar. One of the musical acts had showed up drunk. The crowd
booed and a bottle was thrown. That’s when the ruckus broke out.

The bouncers broke it up, but one guy had a bloodied
nose and I ended up having to spend about a half an hour dealing with the cops.
It really was the opposite of what I needed after a long first week of classes.

So I collapsed into bed as soon as I got home, too
tired to even take off my clothes and change into pajamas. I’d write Colt a
response in the morning.

***

Dear Colt,

I’m glad to hear that things have
settled down there. You know how concerned I was when I found that scar on the
back of your leg. To hear you say that you’re looking into a way to come home,
well, that just makes my day.

I’ll try not to get my hopes up, but the
thought of having you back here again, of waking up each day to find you next
to me… well, it makes me happier than I can even describe. I hope it’s not just
a fantasy.

I started classes this week, actually.
They are really freaking intense. Usually the first week isn’t bad, but this
semester already seems more difficult. I’m honestly kind of intimidated.
Between this and the Vet school apps and work, I’m going to be a very busy girl
over the next few months. But that’s good, it will make time go by faster.

As far as where I’m applying, I’m not
positive yet. I’ve got a few preliminary ideas, but since each application
costs around $50 or more, I want to at least try to narrow it down a little
bit. It’s a long process, too, for each application, so I don’t want to
overload myself by applying to too many. I’ll figure it out; I think I’m going
to go talk to some of my professors for advice (I have to ask for letters of
recommendation anyway, so I might as well kill two birds with one stone).

Please let me know any details about job
options back home as soon as they become available. Again, I really will try
not to get my hopes up, but the mere possibility of this makes me smile. I hope
that you want it as badly as I do.

Stay safe and write soon. I can’t tell
you how much these little letters do for me.

Love,

Cat

***

Colton

By the time I received my next letter from Cat, I’d
already been re-assigned to another province. Things had cooled down so much in
Helmand that they could afford to send most of our contingent elsewhere.
Fortunately, Percy and I were both re-assigned at the same time. At least I’d
have a close friend with me as I ventured to a new place.

I’d also started looking more seriously into
opportunities back stateside. I discussed the matter with one of my lieutenants
when I first found out that some of us would be leaving Helmand. He promised to
look into the matter for me. He told me that if the operation in Kandahar went
well, I was in a good position to be considered for a domestic post, especially
since I’d been wounded in action. I thanked him for his support and crossed my
fingers. Maybe things were about to take a turn for the better.

A few days after I received Cat’s letter, I joined a
military convoy headed to Kandahar. It was a slow and arduous process. There
was a lot of equipment to transport, very expensive equipment containing
advanced technology that absolutely couldn’t be allowed to fall into the hands
of insurgents. While the journey wasn’t long distance-wise, we knew there was a
good chance we would come under enemy fire.

About thirty miles after we left Lashkar Gah, we
fell under attack as several rounds of bullets pierced the sides of our
heavily-armored Humvee. One of the gunners spun around the turret and sent fire
back into the hills in the direction of the initial shots. From here to
Kandahar, this would become a fairly typical procedure. Fortunately, these
insurgents didn’t seem to have the heavy weaponry necessary to pierce our
armored vehicles and we were able to make it through with little panic and
minimized damage to our equipment.

As we rolled into Kandahar, I realized that the operations
ahead would be difficult. Kandahar was a medium-sized city that had been
relatively stable over the preceding months – at least in the city center. The
problem came primarily from outside, where militants had set up bases from
which they launched intermittent attacks in the heart of the city.

Our mission over the coming months would be to root
out these bases, taking them by storm and capturing and killing as many
insurgents as possible. Needless to say, this wasn’t something I’d be
mentioning to Cat in my letters home.

***

Dear Cat,

I hope you’re doing well and that school
has gotten a bit easier as you’ve settled into the semester. Even if it’s
difficult, I know you can accomplish whatever you set your mind to. Remember,
if you need to take some time off from work to focus on classes and
applications, that’s always an option.

As I mentioned in my last letter, life
has been quieter here. So quiet that most of my contingent has been re-assigned
to a new area. I’m actually writing this letter from the new base that I’m
stationed at. The nature of the operation is a bit different than last time,
but I think it will be an interesting assignment.

This will unfortunately have to be a
shorter letter from me, as there is always a lot of work to be done when
setting up and adjusting to a new base. I hope everything is going well. Please
write again soon. I feel the same way about your letters as you do about mine.

Love,

Colt

Chapter
Six

Catherine

Life went on much like this for the next several months,
with the intensity of classes and applications broken up only by letters from
Colt. I don’t know if I can say it ever got easier, but at least I got a little
more used to this routine.

My semester never slowed down. Advanced Biology was
whole a different beast, and it’s safe to say I spent more hours reading and
studying for that class than the other two combined. I joined another study
group, which helped, but it was still a massive time commitment. There was just
something about Bio that didn’t click with my brain – which meant I had to make
up what I lacked with a lot of hard work.

When I got back my graded midterm in late October,
I’d received a 67 on it. I was crushed. That was barely above failing. I
remember going home in tears that day. I looked in my mailbox hoping I would
find a letter from Colt, something that could brighten the day at least a
little bit. But all I found was junk mail.

I emailed the professor to set up a meeting with him
so I could ask him what I could do better, or if there was any extra credit I
could do to improve my grade. I knew that one bad grade could ruin my chances
at Vet school, so I was feeling pretty vulnerable about it.

I wrote a letter to Colt that afternoon, telling him
about the bad grade, but I tore it up before I sent it. It might sound weird,
but I didn’t want to tell him about my failure. It isn’t like he wouldn’t be
supportive, but I was just too proud to admit defeat.

After my next Bio class, I met with the professor,
Dr. Hilton, in his office to talk about the exam. I didn’t speak much in class,
so he didn’t really know me by name, but he was polite and friendly, and seemed
ready to answer any question I asked. He also seemed a bit absent-minded.

“Have a seat,” said Dr. Hilton, after I’d knocked on
his open office door. “What was your name again?”

“Cat. Catherine Simmons, I mean,” I said nervously.

“Right, right. What was it you wanted to see me
about again?” he asked.

“My grade on the last test. To put it bluntly, I did
horribly and I was hoping I could do some extra credit or get some help or
something.”

“I don’t do extra credit in my class,” he said, his
tone changing from friendly to serious. “It’s unfair to the students who do
well without extra help.”

“Oh,” I said, showing my dejection.

But then I decided to press him further.

“Listen, I know you have your policy, but I’m trying
really hard here. I’m applying to Vet school this year and one bad grade will
ruin my chances at that. If there’s anything you can do, I’d seriously
appreciate it,” I said pleadingly, but with a certain self-confidence at the
same time.

“Remind me,” he said, his voice softening. “What was
it you got on this test again?”

“A 67.”

Dr. Hilton smiled and broke out into a low laugh.
This seemed uncharacteristically insensitive and unprofessional for a
professor. Never in my life had I seen any teacher or professor openly make fun
of a student for a bad grade. It made me feel defiant.

“I don’t see what’s funny about that. I worked my
ass of in this class and I’m doing the best I can,” I said angrily.

Dr. Hilton held a hand up asking for silence. I
waited patiently for him to speak.

“Catherine, you’re fine. Really, you are perfectly
fine. You don’t need any extra credit.”

“
Wait. What?
” I asked confusedly.

“Have you asked any of the other students what they
got on the midterm?”

“No, that’s their private business.”

“Well, if you had, you wouldn’t be here in my office
right now, trust me,” said Dr. Hilton.

“What do you mean?”

“The class average on the midterm was a 49,” he
said, looking back at me with a smile. “I pride myself on being a hard grader.
If I don’t push my students, then I won’t get to see them at their very best.
That being said, I curve up to a seventy-five average. Now, you’ll have to
check the math, but that should bring your grade up to a 93. That was one of
the highest grades on this midterm.”

It took a second before that news sunk in. Then a
massive smiled spread across my face and I felt the happiest I’d been since
leaving Paris months ago.

“I can’t believe this!” I said ecstatically, almost
squealing with delight.

The professor put a finger up to his lips telling me
to quiet down.

“Sorry,” I said, reining in my excitement.

“No, it’s fine. You deserve to celebrate. I was very
impressed. If only all my students did this well.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hilton,” I said getting up. “This is
a huge relief for me.”

He smiled and I turned to walk out of his office. As
I left, he called me back.

“Catherine,” he said.

“Yes?”

“If you happen to need a letter of recommendation
for Vet school, I would be very happy to write one. I’m sure you have lots of
other professors willing to do so as well, I just thought I’d extend the
offer,” he said with a warm smile.

“Thank you, Dr. Hilton. I might just take you up on
that.”

Chapter
Seven

Colton

In early November, I received a letter from Cat
telling me about her midterms. She was absolutely dominating in her classes
this semester and I wished desperately that I could congratulate her in person;
the letter I wrote in response just didn’t seem to suffice. It was impossible
for me to convey to her through written language alone just how damn proud of
her I was.

Her mood seemed different in that letter, happier
and lighter. Maybe part of that was because I hadn’t been telling her much
about the details of my life lately. Things over here were much rougher. We’d
suffered an abnormally high percentage of casualties on our first few missions
on the outskirts of Kandahar – night raids gone bad.

Most of the time, we got our enemy, but not without
losing some of our own. I lost count of the number of evacuation helicopters I
saw airlifting wounded troops over those first few weeks into the new
operation. Knowing the specific number would have made it even more depressing.

But still, I kept working diligently. My spirits
weren’t exactly high, but I didn’t let that show. I was here to do my job. This
was a risk I had willingly assumed. I could only hope that Cat was praying for
my safe return.

As the weeks rolled on, things began to slow down.
In Afghanistan, spring and summer are typically the times of highest
casualties; together, they make up what we refer to as “fighting season.”
Fighting season had bled over into fall this year, but as winter drew closer,
the high intensity skirmishes started to become fewer and farther between.

This was a welcome development for myself and the
rest of the soldiers. There was a palpable tension at the base after suffering
so many casualties in September and October. People began to worry about
whether they might be the next to disappear into an evacuation helicopter. By
around Thanksgiving, the environment had largely stabilized.

Thanksgiving was a tough time of year for me
whenever I was overseas. It was a holiday to be spent surrounded by good food
and good people. I had the latter, but definitely not the former. This was the
time when I missed Cat most acutely.

After a poor meal that night, I lay back in my bunk
and thought about Cat, imagining what it would be like to be back home watching
football and eating dinner with her. Maybe the rest of the gang would be there
as well: Tyson, Garrett and his new girl Kelly. Cat had told me they were still
together. Of course, Tyson was overseas now, stationed in another part of
Afghanistan. I knew he was feeling the same way I was right now.

I fell asleep that night thinking of Cat, wondering
when I’d get a chance to see her again. Our time together in Paris, so long
ago, now seemed like a distant dream.
When would I have her back in my arms?

As it turned out, I received an answer to that
question a few days later when I was called in to speak with a superior,
Lieutenant Warren Kendricks. He had been in close contact with one of the
senior officers at the base in Helmand where I’d previously been stationed. If
was I interested, they had found a suitable position for me stateside. The only
catch was that it was in Washington, D.C.

“Are you interested, soldier?” asked the Lt.
Kendricks gruffly.

“Yes, sir. When will this be in order?”

“In two weeks, your commitment here will be over.
You will fly back to the United States on December 18
^th
.”

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” I said pensively.

I was absolutely ecstatic, but knew it would be
unsoldierly to express this enthusiasm openly.

“Indeed.”

“I can’t thank you enough, sir.”

“You’ve earned it. You’ve served your country well –
now it’s time for us to return the favor. Every senior officer I’ve been in
contact with has spoken very highly of you. We think you’ll be an excellent fit
at the Department of Defense.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’ll have a bit of respite before you must report
to the DoD. Your start date is February 15
^th
. This should give you
enough time to find suitable living quarters, make moving arrangements, and
attend to any other affairs you have back home.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you for your service, soldier. And good luck
in your new post.”

I thanked him one last time and exited his office,
giving a silent fist pump celebration in the hallway. When I got back to the
barracks, I yelled out loud for joy. Then I penned a very short letter to Cat:

Dear Cat,

I’ll be home for Christmas. See you
then.

Love,

Colt