Chapter Twenty-Two
Sloane
O’Brien stood at the opening of my tent after I returned from breakfast. I’d gone straight to eat after finishing my overnight patrol, hoping a full stomach would help me fall asleep.
“Merry Christmas, Captain.”
“Merry Christmas, Shawn.”
“You got a second?”
“Sure, what’s on your mind?”
I sat in the center of my cot while unlacing my boots and gestured for him to have a seat at the end. He shook his head but took a step further inside.
He waited until I had pulled my boots off and lined them up at the foot of the bed before he handed me a sheet of paper with the handwritten title, Last Will and Testament. I looked at him with raised eyebrows.
“I don’t understand.”
“I need your signature as a witness to my will. In case something happens to me, I want to make sure Lainey gets my life insurance policy and the money in my bank accounts.”
I scanned the few paragraphs he’d written. It was short and sweet, but to the point.
“Who’s your beneficiary now?”
“My parents. But they don’t know how serious I am about her, so I don’t think they’d make sure she was taken care of. I’ve already made Callahan promise to give her the ring I bought. I even gave him the combination to my safe where I put it.”
“You trust Callahan with your safe combination?” I said with a chuckle. Anything to try to offer levity to the conversation.
It worked because he grinned when he replied, “Trust me, I’m changing it once I get home.” His face turned somber, and he asked, “So, will you witness that for me?”
I wanted to tell him that a will wasn’t necessary, that we were going to get home just fine. But that’d make me a hypocrite, since I’d essentially done the same thing with my letter to Ryan before we’d left.
The operation had been relatively quiet—far quieter than I’d been expecting, and we’d been slated to head back to the base camp last week. But then intelligence came in that there’d been movement in the area and warned us that shit could get real.
Our mission was simple: find and eliminate insurgents before they found us. Theoretically, a smaller team away from the base camp would be able to do that more quietly and efficiently.
“Yeah, of course. But I think you should mention who your current beneficiaries are and that you’re specifically changing it from them to her.”
He pulled a pen from his fatigues’ shirt pocket and added the paragraph. Fortunately, he had room.
“I would also add something like, ‘nothing further’, and maybe put an X in the rest of the white space, so no one can come along and add something after the fact.”
“Damn, are you a lawyer, Cap’?” he asked as he followed my suggestions.
“Nah. Just majored in business.”
I held my hand out for his pen, then scribbled my signature at the bottom where he’d written “Witness” and dated it, then handed it back to him.
“You’re going to get home and make this more official.”
The younger man let out a long breath.
“I hope so.”
I did, too.
~~~~
I laid down to try and get some shuteye, but that proved easier said than done with the sun out and the heat beating on the tent canvas.
One thing was certain, it sure as fuck didn’t feel like Christmas Day.
Although I’d never had a white Christmas, since I grew up in San Diego, the decorations and the music everywhere put some kind of holiday magic in the air that I could feel when I was home.
But not here. Today was just another Wednesday.
And I needed to get some rest before I got up to eat, shower, and shave, then get ready for my next round of patrol.
I reached inside my camo jacket and pulled out the red scarf I’d had tucked in there. Ashley had worn it to her birthday dinner, so it had her perfume on it. I may have borrowed it, without her permission, and stuffed it in my bag before I left her apartment the next morning.
Now, I held it to my nose for comfort.
I’d been worried that it would lose its scent, but so far, so good. Or maybe I was just imagining it now. Either way, it helped soothe me and I was able to doze off.
It was still light out when I woke up, and I decided to clean my gear and wash my t-shirts before I ate dinner. I’d reassembled my gun and was in the process of hanging my wet shirts on a makeshift clothesline when Phil Spencer, one of our gunners burst into my tent.
“Cap’,” he panted, out of breath. “Squad Two’s been hit by an IED.”
“Shit!”
I dropped the pile of wet clothes on my bed, then snatched my jacket and slid it on. As I grabbed my gun, I noticed the piece of red cloth sticking out from under my pillow and reached for it, stuffing the scarf back into the inside pocket.
With my weapon in hand, I ran outside to the waiting Humvee and piled into the front passenger seat. While I secured my helmet, O’Brien loaded into the seat behind me to man the radio. Buckley, our gunner, was already in place, ready to go, and so was Derek Rivers, the Marine with the lowest rank, and thus, our driver.
Spencer, who’d been right behind me as we came out of my tent, hopped into one of the two Joint Light Tactical Vehicles—JLTVs—that were waiting to head out behind us, while the medics were already pulling out.
“What do we know?” I quizzed O’Brien as Rivers hauled ass, the dust from the medics’ vehicle ahead making visibility limited.
“The bomb hit the engine block, so they were able to use the gun and radio for help but they’re taking heavy fire. Callahan’s injured but conscious.”
Fuck!
I had to get to my men— now .
“We need to be the lead car going in,” I barked, and O’Brien echoed my command into the radio. The vehicle ahead pulled to the side, and we drove by; Buckley waving solemnly as we did.
The further we drove from our improvised camp, the more amped up I became. Surveying the desert, I growled, “Keep your eyes peeled.” I had a bad feeling about this.
The JLTV crested a small hill and the damaged vehicle with the men inside taking fire came into view. Buckley started shooting in the direction of the enemy gunfire as we approached, and we took position to cover the recovery team.
I heard, “Go! Go! Go!” over the radio and my gunner began with nonstop machine gun fire. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man in the distance raising something onto his shoulder, but by the time my brain recognized it as an RPG, it was too late.