Army of You & Me (12 page)

“What were you saying before?”

“Me?” He blinked disconcertedly. “Was I even speaking English?”

“Just saying that’s the second time I’ve reminded you about it... And you still haven’t.”

Sweet Madeline Grace - sex addict. Who the hell would have guessed? “You’ve tortured me enough for the night. Once I’ve got the feeling back in my arms, I’ll happily fuck you anywhere you want.”

She turned onto her side and slid her hand over his chest. “You’re such a fibber.”

When his orders for deployment came in, Madeline didn’t even seem shocked. It had been coming, the background to their fledgling relationship. Instead of the fit he expected, she instead disappeared to her bedroom (their bedroom in the last week) and handed him a box. “They’re letters. I’ve marked them in order. One for every day since you barged into my shop.”

He didn’t know what to say. As he reached into the box to take a letter, she smacked his hand away.

“They’re for later. Not now. Not when you’re still here. Okay?”

“All right. Can I kiss you now or are you going to hit me?”

A small smile rounded her cheeks, and she went on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Cain, I’m thinking we should...”

“Nope,” he refused. “I’m not wasting our last night together being all maudlin. There’s a funfair on Brockwell Park. We’re going.”

They ran around the fair like kids. Winning stuffed toys, eating candyfloss and, only because Madeline begged him, riding the carousel. By the time they were back in Dulwich, they were hyped with laughter and sugar and adrenaline that wasn’t sated by the hours they spent driving each other to orgasm over and over again. Madeline was half asleep when he collected his things to go, drive down to the barracks to report.

“I’ll come with you,” she mumbled, struggling with the duvet to sit up.

“Stay where you are,” he commanded, kissing her eyelids close. “We’re not doing horribly drawn out tarahs. This, you in bed, is how I want to picture you from now until I get back. All right?”

“Bossy bastard.”

He laughed, kissing her on the mouth. The only thing, the tenuous thread forcing him to report, was being court-martialled. He really didn’t want to go. Closing his eyes, he buried his face in her neck and breathed deeply. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” She yawned, slinging her arm over his lap and falling straight asleep. He tucked her back beneath the sheets and left before he asked for voluntary discharge.

He had no time to do anything other than beg his father to include Madeline on his next of kin. Before he knew it, he and his brigade were on a flight bound for Kabul. Madeline’s first letter was tucked into his pocket, between the pages of his passport, and at last he was able to read her words:

Dear Cain,

Today, you and I had our first fight. Instead of hitting you, like I wanted to, I’ve sat up to write this to you. So it’s like a diary of you and me. We both know why I got so upset, because this was in our future. Me here and you away. And words on a page. Again. You bored out of your skull. Me substituting you for a hopefully anatomically correct dildo. No, that’s a joke. About the dildo, not you being anatomically correctly proportioned. Are you? At the moment I don’t know. And I want to say thank you. For being sensitive to my needs. For being as wonderful as you are. I hope it’s good between you and me while you’re reading this. We’ve only met in person twice, and I couldn’t imagine what life would be like without knowing you. Please be safe. Stay safe. Don’t do anything overzealous or heroic (Impossible for you with your Clark Kent complex – you get it from your father, I’m sure). I need you back. I won’t argue with you about breaking up any more. I promise. I’m not even going to consider it. Because I love you already.

Yours always,

Madeline

Well, fuck
, he thought, folding the letter carefully back into his passport, his actions the polar opposite of the tsunami of emotions rolling inside him. His heart had always been in his job. Unfortunately, his heart was still in London. They’d been separated once before. And they could do it again. They had to.

“All right, boss?” his lieutenant asked, concern in her eyes.

Cain forced a smile. “Never better.”

***

The interpreter was making Cain edgy. His eyes kept darting everywhere, but the local man had information on insurgents, and since everyone’s Pashtu was pretty appalling, this was what they had to deal with. The brigade had only been out for two months, and the drudgery of the days and nights was sorely testing him. All the times when he’d expended little to no sympathy for his platoon missing their families or moping, and now the roles were reversed.

He found soldiers trying to keep his spirits up, which was not the way things were supposed to be. Then again, their way of cheering him up was to rip seven shades of shit out of him.

“Do we get to come to the wedding and throw confetti?”

“No.” Cain’s voice told them clearly to shut up, but his love sickness was obvious.

“Tommy would make a great bridesmaid. Look at the tits on him.”

“Christ, Tommy, put something on,” Cain growled as the private pushed his man-breasts together into a faux cleavage. “Why on God’s green earth you would think anyone wants to have your body printed on their brain is beyond me.”

“Thought it might help.” Tommy shrugged. “Get you thinking good thoughts and that.”

Cain stared at him in disgust as everyone else rolled around in hysterics. Rather than engage them further, Cain put pen to paper and finally wrote to Madeline.

Dearest Madeline,

It’s all at once strange and wonderful to read your words in hindsight, especially considering you nearly broke my heart that night. My one night of drama with a beautiful girl who was afraid of what loving me would do. I should apologise for pulling you into a life of uncertainty and distance, the great military unknown. But I couldn’t have it any other way. Now when I read your words, I can see your facial expressions. You know when you smile, it’s upside down? The corners of your mouth go in the exact opposite direction for a smile? It’s sweet the way you laugh hiding behind your hand. The fact that thinking of your snoring helps me sleep at night isn’t the strangest thing. You wearing underwear that’s modelled on designs that are older than our parents is strange. I can still smell your perfume on the page of your letters, and I know just how much richer that scent is on your neck and between your breasts.

That night you wrote your letter, we were just a possibility, and the thought of that not becoming a reality devastated me. I know
—
trust me, I know
—
how hard this is, but don’t ever forget what we are together. To each other. What we have. I’ll be home sooner than you think, and it’ll just be us and the future. All studded with those sugar-coated jelly babies. You love a bit of sparkle. Do me a favour. Tell me about everything. The market stall, how the shop’s doing. If Caz is still as militant as ever and is still intent on reporting me to the Ministry of Defence for corrupting you. Remind me that I didn’t make you up. Sometimes I think I must have imagined you to be that happy with someone.

I love you. I miss you.

Cain.

He only felt somewhat better, and finding things to do was always useful. Except when twitchy interpreters made him unnecessarily edgy. “What?” Cain barked. “What is it?”

“Faisal says the bomb is here,” the interpreter said. “But they changed the indicator to let other Taliban know where the bomb is located so they don’t trigger it. It used to be stick-rock-rock but now... He doesn’t know.”

Cain whistled sharply through his teeth. “McTarys here now! Hurry up. Everyone else stand still! No one move, do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir!”

McTarys was a woman with nerves of steel, sweeping the detector in the vicinity. They had to find it. The villagers used the road regularly to get to the main market. Cain’s platoon used the road to speak to the villagers about insurgents. As she cleared the area behind her, Cain shifted his men back. “Slow. Go on.”

The interpreter was sweating, beads of liquid dripping from his noise. Cain directed his words to him.

“Don’t move. All right? We’re clearing the area... It can’t be anything behind us or we would have triggered it...”

The interpreter shook his head. “I don’t want to die like that!” he cried, scrambling backwards. Cain leapt to grab him as the interpreter skidded to his side. The interpreter’s foot skated over a lone rock, knocking it a yard away. Cain yanked the shaking man’s arm with such force Cain felt the socket give way, but it was too late. The IED exploded with the pressure of the interpreter’s foot, throwing them both into the air. Cain landed face first in moist dirt, softened by a bout of rain in the night. The interpreter’s screams were dulled by the explosion, and Cain struggled to push himself upright.

McTarys ran to him and patted him down. “Boss! Man down!” she screamed, and the call raced back to the men who had been filtering away from the road.

“I’m all right,” Cain said mildly, realising he could still feel his legs and his arms and, more importantly, his dick. “Jesus Christ. Check the interpreter. Where’s Faisal?”

The local man was cowering way in front of them, blood streaming over his arm. Cain sat up. “God, it’s like being bounced like a basketball. Jesus. McTarys, check them both. I’ll radio in for assistance. Where’s Tom-bo? He’s got the medic pack.”

“Boss,” McTarys said sharply. “Just stay still. For God’s sake.”

Still feeling rattled like a child’s toy, Cain struggled to his feet and radioed in for medical assistance. Within minutes, the Apache landed, medics streaming out to whisk the interpreter and the local man away. McTarys tried to insist on Cain going as well.

“I will not. Good God.”

McTarys pointed a dusty finger in the vicinity of his face. “Er, Boss, your eye’s bleeding.”

Ah. Was that what it was? Before he could even touch it, he was flung onto the helicopter with the other injured men and flown to Camp Bastion. Now he was angry. He and Madeline were supposed to have a well-deserved Skype chat.

“What the hell do I tell my girlfriend about this?” he asked the medic who cleaned his wound and fitted a patch over his eye.

The medic shrugged her shoulders. “Pirates are sexy? It’s a mild scratch. It’ll be healed in a week but wear that so it can get better. You take it off, I’ll surround you with flares and let the Taliban shoot the shit out of you for being stupid.”

“Harsh.”

“Necessary. Do you know how lucky you are?”

Cain raised his brows. “Very. Let me know how the interpreter is? And the local man, Faisal?”

She sighed, patting him genially on the shoulder. “You’re a strange one, Captain Goldsmith.”

“One does try.”

A few hours later, he returned to his base to raucous cheers. “Oh, shut up,” he growled.

“Boss, you flew like Superman. Never seen anything like it.” McTarys grinned.