Semper Mine (Sons of War #1)(55)

“Movie day?” he asks with a charming smile.

“Sure. I’ve got a conference call at five.”

“Not a problem.”

I need something to take my mind off Sawyer’s letter and the good luck charm I don’t know what to do with.

If I could take Mikael’s place that night and spare you your pain, I would gladly do it. Sawyer’s words kill me. I knew he was broken by the event that destroyed our lives, but I didn’t understand how deeply he felt.

I don’t want him hurt, and I definitely don’t want him dead. I’m not entirely certain what I want, except that I find myself wishing I’d sat down with him and just … talked. Like normal people. Learned more about him, how he thinks, why the hell he was so nice to me when I was determined to hate him.

Too late. I messed that up beyond repair.

There’s always Oliver, I guess. And the duck.





Chapter Nineteen: Sawyer


DECEMBER

IRAQ



“You should go home for the holidays, Marine.”

I stand and go to attention when my commander comes into the command center for his walk through. Colonel Howard is lean and half a foot smaller than me with large blue eyes. I used to think he’d make a good Marine Corps promotional doll with those eyes.

Not that I’d ever tell him that.

“This is my home, sir,” I reply.

“Leave it to the Marines to hold down the fort.”

He’s looking around at the empty center. He’s been here every month to visit, the only one above the rank of captain to venture out here routinely. We’re far enough away from Baghdad that even the brass who like to brag about being associated to spec-ops don’t want the hassle of traveling to our base to hang out with us.

“At ease, Marine,” he tells me.

I relax.

He motions to the chair at the computer where I was sitting and takes the rolling chair beside it.

“Fuck the food here,” he grunts.

I smile. What tastes like shit to those stationed on bigger bases is gourmet compared to what we eat on operations and at the FOB.

“How’s life?” he asks gruffly.

I know what he’s asking. Even less of a warm, fuzzy type than I am, Colonel Howard rarely talks about anything aside from missions and duty.

“Maintaining mission readiness and taking care of the personal thing,” I reply.

“Good. Dr. Gomez seems satisfied with your progress.”

“It helps being able to stay active in command.”

“She says the same. Routine and discipline make for a quiet mind.”

“They do, sir.”

“Whatever it takes to keep you out there. You make my life easier,” he says with a rare smile. “You’re always on target and ahead of schedule. Doesn’t hurt that you can string a sentence together with proper grammar. I’m not embarrassed to send out your reports like those from some of my captains. Can’t ask for more.”

I snort. “Thank you, sir.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Package, Captain Mathis.”

I glance up at the Army specialist holding a few boxes in his arms. He sets them down on the desk nearest the door.

“Santa’s late this year,” Colonel Howard says. “Give that shit to Marines, and we’ll make sure it’s on time with a pretty f*cking bow.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The specialist tosses me a small box.

I catch it, not recognizing the return address. “Why the f*ck does it take so long to get here?” The postmark is four weeks ago. I set it on the table and return my attention to the boss.

“Because you’re in the middle of nowhere,” Colonel Howard replies. “Too small to be cookies.”

“Yeah.” I glance at it again, not sure who would’ve sent me anything. I keep in contact with one of my foster families and the widow of the Marine who mentored me when I was a teenager. No one else, outside of military channels, sends me boxes. “Thanks, Smith.”

The specialist gathers his boxes and leaves.

“Dr. Gomez recommended a couple weeks off at some point,” Colonel Howard continues.

“Staffing is low over the holidays,” I reply. “I can wait, sir.”

“Don’t wait too long, or I’ll have to order you to take it.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Last convoy to Baghdad leaves in two hours, if you change your mind.” He rises. “Happy holidays, Marine.” He claps me on the shoulder.

“You, too, sir.”

I wait until he’s gone to pick up the box again. I’m not exactly excited about the idea of taking time off. Dr. Gomez has been telling me I should for a month. Guess she got tired of me brushing her off and went to my boss.

Damn civilians. I pull the knife on my belt out of its sheath and slice the tape on the box. Not sure what to expect, I replace the blade and open the package. A ring-sized jewelry box is inside, and my brow furrows. Did someone send me the wrong thing? Sometimes, we get care packages shipped to us by charity or volunteer organizations Stateside that collect donations and send everything from candy to socks to deployed service members.

Every once in a while, one of us will get something odd, possibly shipped by mistake.