Rough and Ready (31 page)

Don't you dare die, you lout, you!…

By the next evening, Hilda was so angry she could barely speak. And she was so frightened for Torolf that she could barely speak.

There were two burly men sitting on the solar couch… both of them biker friends of Spike's. They had weapons on the table and spyglasses on the windowsills.

New

locks had been put on the trailer door and windows.

All to forestall an attack by a man who thought she was an ale-yen. Now, Steinolf, him she could see making all these precautions for. But that paltry little sign-tiss. Hah! She could no doubt handle him herself.

Not that Torolf paid any attention to her protests.

Now he and his fellow SEALs were outside, dressed alike in what they called camouflage uniforms, heavy boots and on their sherts metal badges, which they called Budweisers. He looked serious and formidable and not at all the cheery fellow she had come to expect.

While the other SEALs waved to her and piled into a large horseless carriage called an ess-you-vee, Torolf came over and pulled her to the side of the trailer.

"You will not leave this trailer until I get back. I mean it, Hilda. If there's anything you need, Ralph or Pete will get it for you. And your friends can visit you here."

"I cannot believe that you think I will obey your orders."

"You have no choice. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Do not bother."

"You don't mean that, honey. Listen, I know you're mad about the gag and the blindfold. Okay, you're really mad, but I thought you would like it."

I did like it. That's the problem.

"Are you going to give me a kiss good-bye?"

She stood silent.

Hurt filled his eyes, but he straightened and said, "I love you, Hildy. No matter what happens, I love you."

A tiny cry escaped her, and she hurled herself at him. "Be safe," she whispered.

"Be safe." And she kissed and kissed and kissed him till he moaned and the SEALs in the ess-you-vee hooted at him. Then she bit his bottom lip and pushed him away.

'Twas always good to get the last word in, so to speak, even if Torolf was laughing as he left her with a linen cloth pressed to his bleeding lip.

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go…

Torolf and his teammates arrived back at the base before dawn, were soon dressed for work—shorts, Tshirts, and boondocker boots—and made their way down to the grinder, where the other twenty or so members of their platoon were already doing warm-up exercises.

They were in prowl and growl mode now, moving toward a combat duty. Torolf was worried about Hilda, but he couldn't take that worry with him into the field.

So

all he would allow himself to think about was the mission, the mission, the mission.

First, they did a ten-mile ran along the surf, watching with amusement as they passed a BUD/S class doing sugar cookies in the sand. Like SEALs everywhere, they ran, and ran, and ran. But in this case, the new guys were required to occasionally interrupt their runs with a dip in the surf and then a roll in the sand before resuming their runs. Rash city.

Next up was a couple of O-course rotations. Even being away only two weeks, they soon realized how out of shape they were, relatively speaking. The Slide for Life. The Wall. The cargo net. Hand walking on parallel bars. All of them seemed a little harder.

Once they were sufficiently covered with sweat and panting for breath, they went into the special ops building where they would get their first predeployment workup for this mission. Grabbing bottles of cold water from an ice-filled cooler, they all sat down.

Their commanding officer, Captain Gilman, took the podium at the front of the room. Getting right to the point, he said, "We leave for Tikrit on Friday. If all goes well, DEROS should be the following Friday." Then he pulled down a street map of the Iraqi city, pointing out the safe house they needed to take down.

"Our intel says Abu Saddami is hiding there. Check your folder for background on this tango. He's been around in al-Qaeda and other terrorist circles for a good ten years, used to be a cohort of bin Laden."

"Dead or alive?" Sly called out.

"Frankly, son," the gray-haired ex-SEAL said, "I don't give a flying fuck.

This

tango is so bad he doesn't deserve to live."

"Is he the guy who gassed that Sunni mosque?" Torolf asked.

The captain nodded. "We figure he has at least five hundred kills under his belt, half of them civvies. He even strapped a suicide bomb on his wife." The captain grinned. "But then, he had two other wives just waiting in the background."

"Betcha it was the old homely one he sent out there, not the new, younger, hottie brides." This was Pretty Boy speaking.

They all laughed then.

"This afternoon and for the next three days, we'll work on urban mobility scenarios using a Hummer."

Pretty Boy raised his hand.

"Yes, Lieutenant Floyd, you will be the driver. And Petty Officer Dawson, you'll be the backup driver. Think you boys can handle a Hummer in those narrow streets under fire?"

"Yes, Captain, sir," both men answered smartly. Pretty Boy could barely hold back his grin of pleasure. Driving a vehicle in a hostile situation wasn't for everyone, but Pretty Boy loved the danger and showing off his driving talents.

"CQD must be employed in this situation. We have no idea if there will be friendlies in the building. Once you secure the tango, put a tight package on him while you leave the building till he's in the exit vehicle."

"Ten of you will go in the building, two men stay in the vehicle, and ten sharpshooters will protect the perimeter. You never know who'll pop up in some of these neighborhoods. We had a suicide bomber jump out of a trash can in Tikrit last week."

"And if there are more tangos than Saddami?"

"Take them all… every freakin' one of the bastards… even if we have to send in backup transport. There'll be helos in the vicinity, if needed."

They all nodded, understanding the vehemence of his words. Since 9/11, terrorism had become a global problem, and the viciousness of some of the assaults was beyond comprehension. As a result, the role of SEALs had changed dramatically, both in number and in skills. There were at least two squadrons and twelve regular platoons forward deployed at all times. No rest for the weary. Almost every SEAL harbored a hatred for terrorists… the worst kind of tangos.

"Okay, every daylight hour for the next four days will be spent in PT, O-course, CQD, and MOUT. We've got to practice over and over military operations in urban settings. Go to the chow hall now, and then we'll do hooded box drills or paint bullets, all afternoon." Hooded box drills were role-playing exercises simulating upcoming missions. "After that, more PT, chow down again, then come back here for some videos of the area."

"Should we bring popcorn?" one SEAL joked.

"Or crawfish poppers?" Cage added.

The captain relaxed his stern demeanor and smiled. "As long as you don't bring girlfriends. No necking in the back."

"Necking?" Pretty Boy hooted. "That is so sixties. I'm thinkin' more like f—"

"That'll be enough, Lieutenant," the captain said.

Torolf and his teammates had just left the chow hall and were heading toward the building where box drills were being set up. Thoughts of Hilda were occupying his mind when he literally ran into Ragnor, who had just arrived on the base.

"Where the hell have you been?" his brother asked, pulling him into a big bear hug.

"Would you believe eleventh-century Norselands?"

"Holy Thor! You did it?"

"Yep. Cage, JAM, Geek, and Pretty Boy went with me."

"Do you make mock of me, Brother?" Torolf had been in this country and time period for more than fifteen years, but Ragnor had only arrived five years ago; so his language still reeked of another culture.

"Nope."

"And Steinolf ?"

"Gone, gone, gone."

"You ever were a slyboots. Didst occur to you even once to call me or our father to tell us this good news?"

"I've been busy." I couldn't tell you without telling you about Hilda, and what a can of worms that would open!

"A woman? You've been with some woman." His brother, sharp as a KA-BAR knife, guessed immediately. So much for hiding Hilda.

Torolf's face heated, confirming Ragnor's suspicion.

"I should beat your ass to the ground for putting us through this agony of waiting."

"Like you could!"

Ragnor was the first to relax his foul mood. "So, tell me true. Who's the new wench in your life?"

Torolf hesitated, then a slow grin crept over his lips.

"What does that smirk mean? What secret do you harbor?"

"Brunhilda Berdottir."

"What did you say? You cannot mean that Brunhilda Berdottir."

"The one and only."

Ragnor's left eyebrow raised a fraction, a trick he had mastered long ago.

"Son

of a troll! Are you in love with a woman who lives a thousand years ago?"

"I am crazy nuts about her. And she's here… by accident." Torolf's mouth turned up in what was probably a loopy grin, and he could not care less.

"How… when… I do not understand. Where is she now?"

"Hog Heaven. Don't ask. It's a long story, and you are not to tell anyone else.

She's in hiding. I'll explain later."

Torolf turned and walked away from his incredulous brother. He couldn't wait to implement his plan for talking Hilda into staying, because it hot-damn sure was going to involve seduction… his favorite thing.

You could say Hog Heaven became Hog Haven…

One day in this metal prison, and Hilda was ready to pull her hair out.

Her jailers were personable enough fellows—one a former policing man and the other a painter of buildings—but they took their job too seriously. Not only did they refuse to let her leave the trailher, but they stood outside her sleeping chamber or the bathing chamber when she was inside those rooms.

There was one good thing about these men. When Jolene arrived on her doorstep that afternoon with a bloody nose, a black-and-blue chin, and bruises on her upper arms, Pete took her chin in his big hand and declared, "This was caused by a closed fist. Who did this to you?" Pete called his friends at the policing station, and they took Earl to a jail. An order was filed stating that Earl could not come anywhere near Jolene, and assault charges were filed. A hearing would be held next week.

In the meantime, Jolene was staying with Hilda for fear Earl would come after her. Which he no doubt would have done if her jailers were not standing watch.

The incidents had been so upsetting to Hilda and Jolene that both of them had ended up hurling the contents of their stomachs into the privy. And that's when Serenity had arrived. She had left her husband—for the time being—following a horrendous argument about see-gars.

The three of them sat at the scullery table, dining on the provender Torolf had purchased for the duration. Serenity and Jolene ate heartily of pasta, which resembled white worms with blood on top… a dish that Ralph had prepared for them, saying he loved to cook. Hilda sipped at tea—a delicious beverage she had discovered here—sweetened with white sugar, an absolute luxury in her time.

And

toast. Her stomach still felt unsettled because of the earlier melee but also at the sight of the edible worms and blood.

"I know it's probably just the menopause," Serenity said. "I tend to overreact to the least thing. But Spike insisted on smoking those blasted cigars around me. And you know how the curtains and bedding soak up that smell. Well, I had enough when—"

"What is menopause?" Hilda asked.

"That's a stage in a woman's life when her periods stop and she is unable, usually, to bear children anymore. Not that I've ever been able to bear children, but—"

"Me, neither," Hilda said, squeezing Serenity's hand in shared sympathy. "I was barren through three marriages."

Serenity returned the hand squeeze.

"What is a period?"

Serenity and Jolene both laughed, becoming accustomed to Hilda's constant questions.

"A woman's monthly flow," Serenity explained.

"Ah, the bloody flux." Hilda munched on a piece of toast, while Serenity and Jolene talked about birth control and how Jolene had secretly taken pills to prevent having children with Earl. Hilda's mind tuned out their conversation as a niggling thought pricked her brain, something prompted by the previous conversation. "Oh, my gods!"

Serenity and Jolene stopped talking and looked at her.

"I have not had a flux for many sennights, since before Torolf and his SEALs came to The Sanctuary. It must be the stress of all that has happened to me, though my time has always been so exact in the past."

"Or you could be pregnant," Jolene offered, unsure whether to smile or frown at the possibility, not knowing what Hilda's reaction would be to that suggestion.

Outrage, disbelief, exhilaration. That's what her reaction was. " 'Tis impossible. Torolf always used a cone-dumb."

Serenity and Jolene smiled, probably because she had mispronounced a word, as she was wont to do.

"Condoms aren't infallible, Hilda. That's why I take the pill, as well."

"No, it cannot be. I am barren."

"Well, there's one sure way of finding out."

Hilda tilted her head in question.

"A pregnancy test. I'll go to the drugstore," Serenity said.

An hour later, Hilda stood in her bathing chamber with two women looking at an ominous color on a piss stick. She was pregnant.

The other women were laughing and congratulating her, and Hilda was happy. In truth, the sorrow of her life had been her inability to bear children, though she had never seen that lack till now. But this complicated matters so much.

Will I give birth in this country or the past? Would my unborn child be harmed traveling back in time? Will I be able to time-travel back myself, let alone with a child? And what if I go back now, and I am not pregnant in that time period? Will this be my last chance to breed? She put a hand over her flat stomach as if to protect the tiny being there.