Cinderella Liberty (11 page)

Could she? Should she? Trish's cheeks felt hot just thinking about it. "No. I couldn't do that. We didn't even exchange email addresses."

There were some things she could do though. She'd just have to get creative. Trish's mind whirled with the ideas rocketing through her brain. She was aware that Dawn continued to talk, but the words didn't make it through to Trish's consciousness. She didn't wrestle her thoughts back to her friend until Dawn stood.

Trish frowned. "Where are you going?"

"To the bathroom. I just told you that."

"Oh, sorry."

Dawn grabbed her purse. "I sincerely hope if you're going ignore me, it's because you're planning what lingerie to wear for the naughty pictures you're going to send Crash."

Trish rolled her eyes. She couldn't do what Dawn was suggesting, but she could definitely do something to get Crash's attention. She'd put the plan to work first thing tomorrow morning.

CHAPTER 9

Camp Leatherneck/Bastion

Helmand Province, Afghanistan

July 2013

The wind whipped hot, dry air and sand at Crash's face. Even in full sunlight, visibility was next to nothing. Crash couldn't see more than a football field away. Not that there was anything to see. Outside the wire, the camp was surrounded by nothing but desolation. Desert as far as the eye could see.

It was eerie knowing the bad guys were out there somewhere. Watching the troop movements. Waiting for an opportunity. All while behind the Hesco barriers life for the troops went on.

Crash picked his way over the rock-strewn ground. It was hard to walk in combat boots, even harder in rubber shoes when he went to the showers each evening. There was nowhere to escape from the damn rocks. They were everywhere, trucked in because even though they made walking difficult in the dry summer, they were necessary for when the rainy season turned the ground to treacherously slick mud.

The rains wouldn't hit until spring when he, God willing, would be home. So for now Crash had to deal with the windstorms and the heat and the rocks. It was well over one hundred degrees today, as usual. Even night didn't bring relief in the summer when the temperature would drop to eighty. That made Crash cross running, even after sunset, off his list of daily PT activities. Yeah, he ran while he was in Djibouti, but he was a few years younger then. Now, he made do with one of the three gyms on base, though only one of those had A/C.

Still, he wouldn't dare complain. How could he in good conscience not be grateful for the amenities they had here? There were troops who had it way worse. He supposed he could deal with the military's rocky solution to the rainy season since they also provided steak, ice cream, and occasionally lobster in the chow hall.

Crash passed the coffee place on his way to his quarters from the barbershop. Church service must have just let out. He saw troops walking, bibles in hand, away from the direction of the chapel. His mother would beat his ass if she knew he hadn't been attending, that after work today he'd chosen to go to the exchange and then get his hair cut.

Working more than twelve hours a day, and then working out at the gym, didn't leave a lot of time to do things like get to the exchange to buy more deodorant when he ran out. Then again, she'd tell him there was always time for God. Crash could hear her voice in his head as clearly as if she were on the phone line for one of their weekly calls.

Maybe next week he'd make time and try to get to a church service.

The bank of stacked CLUs where his quarters were located came into view. Relief from the heat loomed so close Crash picked up speed to get indoors and into the A/C quicker. He punched the code into the lock and swung the reinforced steel door open. The cool air of the can hit him in the face and he breathed deep for the first time since leaving the barbershop to cross the sweltering camp.

As he closed the door against the heat, Crash saw Zippy was already inside. "Hey. What's going on?"

Tearing into a cardboard box, Zippy glanced up. "Care package from home."

"Cool." Crash smothered the envy.

It was ridiculous. He wasn't lacking for anything. Most things he needed he could get at the exchange. If they didn't sell it on base, he could go online and order from a place that would ship to him here.

His mom asked he if needed anything and Crash always told her no. She was getting up there in years and she was on a fixed income. He couldn't expect her to haul packages to the post office when he could order whatever he needed on his own. But there was something about getting a little piece of home at mail call that made a guy feel good.

He sat on his rack and glanced over. "What'd you get?"

"All sorts of shit. It's like Trish bought out the store." Zippy pawed through the sizable box.

Trish. That piqued Crash's interest in the box further. "Yeah? Anything good?" Christ, that had sounded a little too interested.

Zippy starting unloading the contents onto the desk. "Peanut butter. Crackers. A couple of DVDs. Box of cookies."

"Oh, that's nice." The cloud of disappointment darkened over Crash.

"Here." Zippy turned and tossed a smaller box toward Crash.

As it came sailing across the room, Crash reached out and caught it between his fingertips. "What's this?"

"I don't know. Open it. It's got your name on it."

His eyes widened when he turned the box in his hands and saw it did indeed have his name written on it in bold black marker. CRASH. Nothing else, but he knew who it had to be from.

"Trish sent me something?"

"I guess so." Zippy didn't look surprised or suspicious. He was too busy tearing through the rest of the box.

If Zippy wasn't concerned that Trish was sending Crash things, then Crash figured he needn't worry. He couldn't beat down the excitement as he tore the packing tape off and opened the flaps of the cardboard box. He smiled at what he saw on top. A note, in handwriting he didn't recognize because they'd never written to each other before. Strange that he knew the feel, the taste, the scent of this girl, but had never seen her writing until now.

Crash.

I remembered you said you liked these so I thought I'd send some along. FYI, don't know how you can eat that stuff!

Trish

He peered into the box and found half a dozen cans of sardines, a box of crackers and a bag of beef jerky. His favorite snacks on earth. They'd talked about food that weekend they were together. He remembered she'd made the funniest face when he mentioned the sardines. He'd teased her because she'd never even tried one, but had already decided she hated them.

His heart clenched as he tried not to make more of it than there was. She'd been sending stuff to her brother. She'd probably just thrown this in as an afterthought.

The falseness of his rationalization echoed through him. Trish had remembered their conversation. She'd taken the time to search out and find exactly the things she knew he liked. This was no afterthought.

"That was real nice of Trish. If you're on with her later and I'm not here, tell her thanks from me."

Zippy had a habit of logging into Skype while Crash was at the gym. Or sometimes while Crash ate at the chow hall, Zippy would come back to the can for a nap or to call home on the computer. Crash had been in the room only once while Zippy had been online with Trish, but even that brief glimpse of her on the monitor and the sound of her voice had brought back vivid memories of that weekend.

"All right. Will do." Zippy's flip answer didn't seem like enough. Besides the fact Crash didn't trust him to remember.

Crash wanted to thank this amazing woman properly. "You know what, give me her email so I can say thanks myself."

"Okay. Whatever." Zippy shrugged. "Remind me later when I'm online and I'll shoot you her email address."

"A'ight." Crash blew out a breath. The deception was starting to wear on him.

Otherwise occupied, Zippy didn't seem suspicious at all. That was good, because as he peeked inside his box again at the odd assortment of things she'd sent him, and then at the note on the mattress next to him, Crash couldn't help his goofy grin.

CHAPTER 10

Camp Leatherneck/Bastion

Helmand Province, Afghanistan

August 2013

Crash pushed through the door of his CLU mid morning to find Zippy on the computer for his usual lunchtime break.

Guiltily, Crash glanced at the screen to see if Zippy was online with his sister. Crash and Trish had exchanged a few casual emails over the past few weeks. Him thanking her. Her responding and asking how he was. Him replying.

Nothing serious, nothing much, but enough contact to keep her uppermost in his mind. Enough to make the off chance he'd get to see her on video on Zippy's computer screen enticing.

No such luck today. Trish's pretty smile wasn't on the computer. Instead, some ugly dead guy stumbled his decaying corpse across the screen. Zippy was watching that television show he liked so much. Something about zombies. The man had gone insane when he realized the Wi-Fi in the cans wasn't strong enough to stream video. Thank God the tech guy here had managed to get this season saved on an external hard drive. It might have been the only thing that prevented Crash from strangling Zippy to stop his incessant ranting about missing the new episodes.

Zippy hit pause and glanced over his shoulder as Crash walked across the CLU toward his rack. "Did you see the email that came through this morning?"

"The one from the Maintenance Chief about keeping our weapons close? Yeah. That's why I'm carrying that thing again." Crash tipped his head toward the M4 he'd leaned against the wall just inside the door when he'd walked in.

General orders specified that they carry a weapon at all times on Leatherneck/Bastion, but the week they'd gotten there his OIC, Captain Lee, had told Crash just carrying his pistol was enough and he could lock up the semi-automatic rifle. Today, after receiving that ominous email that troops were to not only carry their weapons but also make sure to keep them close, Crash had gotten the M4 back out. Why the change, he wasn't sure.

"What do you think is up?" Crash asked.

"Who the hell knows? There must have been some sort of a threat. I swear, the way the press is nowadays, Trish gets more information at home than we get from the command, and we're the ones freaking here." Zippy frowned at Crash. "What are you doing?"

"My mom emailed. It's my aunt's birthday next week and I forgot. I gotta send her a card."
 

"Next week?" Zippy cocked a brow. "It's not gonna make it in time."

"Nope. Probably not, but at least I can say I tried." He was in friggin' Afghanistan. His aunt would just have to understand.

Crash pulled his address book out from the drawer of the rolling plastic storage unit the last inhabitant of this CLU had left for them when he'd shipped out. It was one of the better things they'd discovered upon moving in.

They'd also inherited a bunch of cans of protein powder from the last occupant, but a few doses of that had taught them that all it did was give them gas. Two guys in a tiny confined space, both farting up a storm thanks to some body building powder, was not worth whatever muscles it was supposed to give them. He'd dumped the rest of the cans on the shelves at work for the other guys to take if they wanted.

Having gotten what he'd come for, the book containing his aunt's address, Crash grabbed his weapon and glanced at Zippy. "You going back soon?"

"In a bit. I just want to finish this episode."

"A'ight." Crash shook his head at Zippy's taste in television and headed back out into the glaring sunlight, across the annoying rocks and into the steel headquarters building where he worked twelve, sometimes thirteen hours a day.

The Master Sergeant glanced up as Crash walked in. "We just got word from the Maintenance Chief."

"Yeah, I saw the email."

"No, not that one. A runner came by to pass new word. Apparently the Chief just had a meeting."

That news piqued Crash's interest. Here might be an explanation about the reason for the heightened security. "Yeah?"

"He reemphasized about the weapons. To not just have them with us, but to keep them at arm's length at all times."

Arm's length at all times. That meant Crash would have to sleep with the M4 next to his rack rather than by the door, and he'd need to figure out how to take his pistol into the shower with him. Lovely. "That all?"

"Nope. There's more good news." The sarcasm was clear in the Master Sergeant's tone. "We're all going to have to take roving duty after work. The shift runs from eighteen hundred to twenty-one hundred hours. I worked it out. There are enough of us we'll only have to do it twice a month to cover all the slots."

Jesus, now they had senior staff pulling guard duty? What the hell was going on? "Any hint as to why?"

"No, but maybe we'll hear that in the meeting."

"What meeting?" Crash had left for less than an hour to eat lunch in the chow hall and run by his can, and it seemed he'd missed all sorts of shit.