Chapter 16
Chapter 16
T hey walked for a long time, their progress slow. John had to cut a careful path with his machete, but that wasn’t the reason for their snail’s pace. It was because he didn’t want to let her go. He would have to hand her off at the base, he knew that and he’d made his peace with it. But he had no idea when he would see her again, or if he ever would. For the first time in his entire career, he was being selfish, plodding when he could have hastened, dreading the moment when he would have to say goodbye.
For her part, Juniper was pleasant company. He had no idea why that should shock him so, but it did. He supposed because he had so little contact with women that he had come to think of them as hysterical, irrational, always requiring more of a man than they were willing to give. Why he should believe any of those things, he had no idea. The women he’d known—his mother, Juniper’s mother, and all of Juniper’s sisters—hadn’t been so. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism to keep himself from wanting things he would never have. It had been easy to tell himself he was better off without a woman because women were too much trouble. But, as ever, Juniper dispelled any of those notions. She was pleasant without being cloying, sunny without being saccharine, highly intelligent and, perhaps most shocking of all, completely rational. There wasn’t one topic John broached that she couldn’t discuss in depth and with well-reasoned responses. In fact if it was anyone but him talking he might say being with her was the most fun he’d had in recent memory, or possibly ever.
Since his days with the Dunbars, John had enjoyed a good debate. He’d honed the ability to delve into deep issues without getting emotionally involved. He and Ben had both been on the Dean’s Team, West Point’s equivalent of debate. But there was something extra special about arguing for sport with a pretty woman, one whose eyes sparked every time she thought of a new angle. He could probably continue this day on repeat for the rest of his life and die happy. But of course he wouldn’t, both because he had a job to do and because the day was a blip. Away from the pressures of real life, of course he and Juniper would have fun and get along. But the pressures always came back around, and then what?
Each time he tried to picture the future, he instead conjured the past, the look of panic that would come over his mother’s face when his father was in one of his moods. His father’s powerful hands as he reached for her throat. The bruises and breaks that lingered long after his father went back on the road, a constant reminder of what would happen again when he returned. How could he willingly subject a woman to that? Least of all Juni, she who was surrounded by such love and care and always had been. Of course she wouldn’t, couldn’t understand what it was like to be untethered, to have no anchors in the world, holding you accountable. John was a free agent, in all the worst possible ways. It was only because of the army and his great discipline that he kept himself in check. Juniper had her family, would always have her family. They were not the same and never would be, no matter how hard she tried to make it so.
It was late afternoon when he felt the first flicker of unease. Even though he eschewed any type of otherworldly perception, he believed strongly in whatever sixth sense soldiers possessed. Somehow they always seemed to know when trouble was about to begin. John had the feeling now. He held up his hand for Juniper who, to her credit, immediately went silent and still.
They remained that way—frozen, at one with nature—until John began to distinguish what had triggered his internal alarm. There were people up ahead and to the northeast. He couldn’t see them yet, of course, not with the dense jungle vegetation. But he could sense them, could even smell them. They’d recently eaten a meal, one cooked over a fire. The scent of something savory wafted in the air. He recognized the smell and his heart froze before taking a dive. Cabbage. Nicaraguans didn’t eat cabbage. But the Soviets did.
He pointed to a tree and up. Juniper gave him a nod and turned. He hailed her back and gave her a knife, for snakes not people. In this part of the world they were usually a bigger threat. And since he planned to take care of the people, she’d have to take care of any snakes. She gave him a smile, kissed her finger, and touched it to his cheek. He watched her walk away and shimmy up the tree. Satisfied she was out of harm’s way, he faced the camp, stretching his neck back and forth as he walked. He’d sustained a multitude of injuries over his career. Neck strain had to be among the worst.
When he reached the edge of the camp, he paused, silent and still as he made his inspection. There were a few Nicaraguans. These didn’t worry him. They were young, hungry, and untrained. Collateral damage. The Soviets were the real danger. Not only were they well fed and well trained, but they could also be hopped up on amphetamines, their secret, not-so- secret weapon. Among American soldiers who’d dealt with them in hand-to-hand combat, the stories were legendary, whispers of superhuman strength, the ability to go days without food or sleep. The Eastern Bloc tried to portray their soldiers as so good they were above every human foible. John knew better. They were so drugged their bodies were running on pure adrenaline. John also knew they usually only used the drugs for battle, when they were about to face an enemy. He hoped the element of surprise would give him the advantage, that none of them would have time to dope. Otherwise, he could find himself in trouble.
He made a final count. Not that it mattered how many there were, at least to him. But he liked to check off the numbers in his head. As men began to drop out of the picture, those who remained gave way to fear. Fear was a powerful weapon, perhaps the most powerful weapon. That was why John was glad he’d never felt it. What did he have to fear? Pain? He’d already endured imaginable pain and survived. That he wouldn’t return home to his family? He had no family.
Quickly, his eyes flicked to the tree where Juniper now hid. He supposed he had family, or something like it. But Juniper understood the soldier part of him. If he didn’t survive, she’d know he’d done his best. And really, that was what it came down to at this moment—keeping Juniper safe. There was nothing, absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do in order to succeed in this, his most important mission.
That was his last thought before he turned off his brain and let his body do what he’d trained it to do.
J uniper shouldn’t watch what was about to happen. She knew John wouldn’t want her to. Then again, when had she ever let John’s opinion determine her actions?
As she tucked the knife between her teeth and scrambled up the tree, she had the realization that it was John who’d taught her how to climb, a handy skill for a botanist who studied trees. It was also John who taught her proper knife safety. He’d been like her walking, talking personalized scout leader. She had eaten it up, every bit of it. Not necessarily because she was interested in the things he deigned to teach her, but because she was interested in him. Adoration hadn’t been nearly strong enough to describe her attachment to him. If she was awake, she was with John. The beauty of homeschool was that he never had to leave her side. And that was how Juniper knew John would never hurt her. Because if he had been inclined to do so, he could have on any number of occasions in their youth. He had been exasperated with her, annoyed by the badgering constancy of her presence. But he had never been cruel, never lost his patience or the protective instinct that seemed to be the foundation of their relationship, at least on his behalf.
Her father once told her that Juniper gave John a purpose when he needed one most. Keep the baby alive, had been a big responsibility for one so young, but he was the type of kid who had been born ready and responsible. If the rest of her family found the youngest holy terror exhausting, John had found her challenging. Her father knew and understood, almost from the first moment, that John was the sort of person who required a challenge in order to thrive.
Maybe that’s what I should do, Juniper thought as she found an appropriate branch and settled in. Maybe I should make myself a challenge to him, one that needs to be conquered. How, though? How could she be anything but transparent in her blatant and continued adoration of him?
From her high vantage point, she could see the entire enemy base camp. There appeared to be eight men. Three had the dark complexion and hair of the locals, or possibly neighboring Nicaraguans. Five had the pasty complexion of Soviets. Juniper had encountered a few Soviets in South America and, though she knew they were technically enemies and she wasn’t supposed to like them, she couldn’t seem to help herself. They had a natural affinity for literature, poetry, and music, all things Juniper loved. More than a few of them had paid her a visit, book in hand and ready to discuss. Her father’s liberal love of both people and education had rubbed off on her and she wasn’t sorry, even if Bear wouldn’t approve.
She couldn’t see John, but she knew he was there, waiting and watching. Once he made his move, she should definitely look away, because surely carnage would entail.
When he finally stepped into the clearing, it was like watching a panther stalk its prey and Juniper couldn’t look away. Her eyes remained riveted to the scene below her, John stalking to the first man and grasping his head. At the last minute, Juniper squeezed her eyes closed. When she dared open them again, two of the Soviets were down and a third had been alerted.
After that, everything became a blur. That is to say John became a blur. Juniper had no idea how it was possible to move so quickly and with so much precision. She didn’t, couldn’t look away because it wasn’t like watching humans. It was like watching a self-propelled chess match. There was nothing random or uncoordinated about the engagement between John and the remaining two Soviets, who had wised up enough to tag team him now. While the Nicaraguans were busy gathering, loading, and checking their clunky guns, John and the Soviets hashed it out the old fashioned way—with their hands.
When her brothers were younger, they’d loved the old Bruce Lee movies. Watching the three soldiers engage was a bit like that, a series of flips, hits, and jabs that looked so well rehearsed it was hard to believe a stunt coordinator hadn’t choreographed them. At one point, when it looked like the Russians would win, Juniper pressed her palm to her mouth, holding back a scream. They had him pinned. One was working his kidneys while the other choked him. And then, inexplicably, they were both down and John was the only one standing, minus the Nicaraguans who all three held their guns on him, weapons shaking.
He said something. Juniper had no idea what. But whatever it was made the three men turn and run away, guns dragging behind them like drooping tails.
She watched as John made a slow sweep of the camp, making certain there were no others. Then he turned, shaded his eyes, and stared up at her tree.