21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (114 page)

For every member of the armed forces and their families who had, have, and will spend a holiday apart
.

Deplaning in Afghanistan, Jana couldn’t believe she’d made it. From Congressman Sparks’ first phone call, to the moment she boarded the Air Force C-130, she’d expected the offer to be retracted. She wasn’t a civilian contractor, just a sister on a quest for understanding. After her escort checked her flak jacket and helmet before allowing her to walk down the steps, she descended into a world away from the University of North Texas campus where she studied psychology.

The whole experience seemed surreal—she was both happy to be there and terribly sad in the same breath. The pilot reported temperatures in the sixties, odd enough considering the late November timing, but the warmth didn’t ease the apprehension in her gut. She’d wanted the trip, planned for it, and had some very specific goals.

She needed to be there, but every fiber of her being urged her to get right the hell back on the plane.

“Ma’am?” Sergeant Zalinski touched her arm, his expression wary. He’d flown the entire route with her, as a part of Operation Proper Exit. He and another half-dozen Marines left Afghanistan on stretchers or deeply wounded. The program offered them a second chance to return, face their injuries and pasts, and leave with their heads held high. Her advocacy of the program contributed to her need to spend Thanksgiving with the men and women of her brother’s unit.

“I’m fine.” She summoned a watery smile. “I don’t know what I expected when I got off the plane but this…?” It was still green, with cool breezes and warm sunshine. It felt like any other place she might have visited. The air didn’t taste foreign or bitter.

She’d thought it would be so different.

“Like hell?” Zalinski nodded, a bittersweet grin twisting his mouth. “Hell doesn’t look like hell, ma’am. It’s not the appearance, but what happens to you there that makes it hell. You can do this, Miss Grimaldi. We can do it together.”

He held out his hand and she took it, grateful for the support. The other Marines arriving with Zalinski waited a few feet away. Her legs trembled, but didn’t collapse, and every step strengthened her. Robbie had walked this land, spent the last year of his life here, fighting for, and alongside, his fellow Marines.

He’d done that. So could she.

An hour later, she watched Zalinski and the other members of his Operation Proper Exit team leaving in a convoy to begin their journey. She sat in the base office, waiting for her escort—they’d radioed ahead with news of the delay. With tan walls, the office had little in the way of decoration or personalization. A transition point, few people put their stamp on it.

Her cases and crates, including cold storage holding the turkeys and other foodstuffs for the Thanksgiving dinner she planned, waited on an overloaded pallet. Fortunately, packing it base-side under the watchful eye of base security, and having it loaded and monitored by security, meant she hadn’t had to unpack every single crate for clearance into the country.

The fruits and vegetables would have to be obtained in country, but she’d managed to bring enough different meats to satisfy any palate from roasts to turkeys. She wanted to bring hams, but they were on the restricted list. Religious reasons, she supposed. With Congressman Sparks’ help, she put together a veritable cornucopia of food, decorations, refreshments, and presents from the families at home. She even got approval for soda.

Life remained the most fragile, unpredictable of things. A week ago, a month before, she wouldn’t have imagined pulling together something so huge. Her father crawled into a bottle, her mother invested in her volunteer work, while Jana had been left with a lot of unanswered questions. Not knowing if she would ever find the answers—here or anywhere else—she still had to try. Thankfully, years of working in her father’s restaurant provided her with contacts and suppliers more than willing to donate to her effort.

“Miss Grimaldi?” A deep, smooth, masculine voice pulled her back to the present and the officer dressed in the deep dark tan and olive MARPATS waiting inside the door. He stood easily over six-foot. The uniform did little to disguise his broad shoulders or thick muscular arms.

Rising, she adjusted her bag and held out her hand, fumbling for a greeting. “Hi. Captain…?”

“Sparks.” Quiet hesitation arrested his features and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

The congressman’s brother was her escort.

Her heart thudded against her ribs and her nerves stretched taut. Captain Charles Sparks gave the order that led to her brother’s death—a communication failure. She understood all the terms, the reasoning, and the apologies. Even his letters expressed his heartfelt condolences and apologies. Letters she’d answered, and he’d returned regularly.

He grasped her hand and the world seemed to shrink away, as though someone dropped her in a drum and banged it loudly from the outside. His words had provided a desperately needed source of comfort—straightforward, blunt, and without any pretty excuses. A mistake had been made, one costing a good man his life. He didn’t ask for her forgiveness. He’d never asked her for it, no matter how many exchanges they’d had.

Staring into his coffee-brown eyes, she knew he hadn’t forgiven himself.
And that’s why Congressman Sparks offered his help and asked for mine
. Weak-kneed, she sat abruptly. Her fisted grip on the captain’s hand pulled him forward a step.

Concern rippled across his face. “Ma’am? Jana?”

Unexpected grief locked her throat and tears filmed her vision. She held up her other hand and he wavered. Fighting the urge to sniffle, she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on breathing. Grief might be the one emotion everyone had in common, but acceptance came in its own ways, on its own time. Understanding the concept intellectually and experiencing it, however, were two completely opposite things, because the crappiest part of her grief lay in how she couldn’t control it.

“I’m okay.” She fought to get the words out. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he said, his voice gruff. “I should apologize. I thought you received my e-mail about being your escort.”

“I haven’t looked at my e-mail since leaving Dallas, I’ve been so focused on getting here.” Moistening her lips, she struggled to bring her tumbling emotions back into focus. It would be easy to hate the man, to blame him for what happened, and to let anger take over her grief.

But easier didn’t make it right or fair.

Belatedly, she glanced up, surprised at her white-knuckled grip still firm on his hand. He didn’t pull away or try to let her go, but sadness clouded his eyes—sadness, and quite possibly regret. “I didn’t mean to fall to pieces on you, Captain Sparks.”

“I don’t imagine you did. If it’s too hard, I can, and will, find another escort for you.” The quiet conviction and absolute lack of recrimination in his offer helped shore up her shaky confidence.

“No, please. You’ve mentioned your schedule and how busy everyone is, and you took the time to come here today, and help me get all these things to the base. I—thank you.”

Let go, Jana
.

Unpeeling her grip was easier said than done, but she managed.

“Okay. Whenever you’re ready, I want to go over some of the rules.” He stepped back, vacating her space, and she sucked in a noisy gulp of air.

“Stay in the vehicle, helmet, and flak jacket at all times. No exiting of any kind without clearance. My cooperation protects your people.” She knew the drill and had gone over it several times in preparation for the trip.

“I don’t expect there to be any problems, but we always plan for the worst. You’ll be riding with me. There are three men assigned to your detail and you stay with them at all times. In the event of an assault or trouble, you go where they go. They will extract you and get you to safety, or hold your position secure—whatever is called for at the time.” His manner relaxed a fraction, but maybe he was simply better at controlling his body language. Setting his shoulders back and chin up, didn’t ease the tension around his eyes.

“I promise to cooperate fully. I came here to be useful, to help with the holiday.” Focusing on the why of her trip eased the lump in her throat. “I brought everything we’ll need for a traditional Thanksgiving feast.”

“We’re loading the pallet—Miss Grimaldi…?”

“Jana.”

Get it together, girl. The man has enough problems without you being a weepy woman
.

She rose and smoothed a hand down the flak jacket. Bulky thing was damn uncomfortable, but preferable to the alternative. “Please, call me Jana.”

“Jana, this won’t be the most comfortable holiday for you. We’re in a highly secure location, but insurgents are daily fact of life. Are you absolutely sure you want to go? We can still get you on a flight out to go home and be with your family.” If not for the genuine flickers of concern in his expression, she might have been offended.

Who planned a holiday halfway around the world in a less than stable region without being sure?
Me
.

But she swallowed the negativity. “Captain, my brother died here and it pretty much destroyed my parents.” This needed careful words, thoughtful ones. She’d avoided bouts of self-pity in all of their earlier contact and she didn’t intend to start today. “They are not coping well and my presence doesn’t help or hinder them because they don’t see me right now—they just see Robbie’s little sister and another reminder of their loss. I’ve spent the last several months doing everything I can for them, but it’s not enough for them or for me.”

She paused, because she wanted those words to sink in. “When I spoke to the congressman, your brother—”
Not that he needs the caveat, but what the hell
. “He told me a little bit about the issues your men have had since Robbie died. From the disconnection, to the tension between the units, and the disastrous cocktail of blame and mourning….” The congressman told her more—about his brother in particular—but since it had always felt like prying, she tabled the subject. “Robbie loved being a Marine and he never wanted to be anything else. He loved working with his men, and even when he hated the place, he never hated the people. It would tear him up if his death created problems for the men in his unit. I can’t do anything for my parents and I can’t do anything to change his death, but I can do this. I can help his men, his brothers, and I can help you and that lets me help him.”

The rush of words lanced the fresh boil of her grief and she smiled—for real this time. “I want to help. I want to celebrate Thanksgiving with all of you. Will you let me do that?”

He stood silent and contemplative, and she half-thought he meant to turn down her offer. Instead, he rewarded her wait with an air of acceptance that softened the corners of his mouth, and the hard set of his expression eased. “It would be an honor to assist you, ma’am.”

“Jana,” she repeated. He’d said her name earlier, but she’d called him Captain…. “Ma’am sounds like my mother.” Adjusting her bag, she walked toward him. “Do I really look like someone’s mother?”

“No.” The corner of his mouth hitched a little higher and amusement seeped through the solemnity in his eyes. “Jana. No, you don’t.”

“Good answer.” She huffed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you
finally
, Captain Sparks.” She held out her hand, meaning it that time.

“Charlie.” His much larger palm engulfed hers. “Captain is only for my men.”

“I am definitely not one of those, either.” Heat warmed her face.
Oh my God, flirting with him now? Seriously? Wonder hormones off, already
. Sure, they’d exchanged several e-mails—okay—a lot. But that didn’t put them on that level of familiarity.

“No. You are not. Ready?”

“Whenever you are.” She glanced at the door. “And I’m assuming you exit first.”

He nodded his approval and released her hand. “Yes, I do.”

“Not a problem, I’m really curious about the view.” She could have bitten her tongue. His gaze riveted to her face and he nudged his helmet up a fraction.

Yeah, this would be an excellent time to remember some professionalism
.

Jana cleared her throat. “The view outside. You know, landscape and stuff.”

Stop talking
.

“Uh huh. Stay right behind me and keep clear of my right arm.” He’d let her off the hook, but the flash of heat warming his eyes suggested the reprieve wouldn’t last long if she kept it up.

Heart pounding, she followed him out to the vehicles.
Hormones off, brain on
.

Sadly, the mental chant didn’t help. Even in his bulky gear, Captain Charlie Sparks had a fine ass.

Hormones off
….

Bringing a civilian to a military base in the middle of a war zone equaled an epically stupid idea. He’d filed an objection with his superiors and voiced his concerns to the base commander, but both attempts had been ignored. It seemed Grimaldi’s sister exerted some powerful pull in Washington—
my brother as it turns out
. Brent confessed his part in it the day before during a tense, ten-minute phone call. Charlie’d hung up on him after his brother made it clear he wouldn’t back down.

And here she is
.

He kept his attention on their route; keenly aware insurgents didn’t miss any opportunity—especially if he or any of his men let their guard down. Thankfully quiet over the last few days, it also meant they were due for a hit. Despite the body armor dwarfing their passenger, he would prefer an uneventful drive to and from the base.

Emphasis on the uneventful.

The spot between his shoulder blades itched. Spend enough time in the field, and a Marine knew when he was being watched. Not acknowledging her presence or interest would be the better choice for all involved. He’d heard rumors of her care packages from others who did know him. She sent them often, and included the latest episodes of some of their favorite shows and football games. When he’d sent her the letter, he’d never expected a response much less a regular correspondence. The abstract image he’d constructed of Grimaldi’s academic sister did not mesh at all with the flaxen-haired beauty sitting next to him.