Prologue
Denver
THREE YEARS AGO
Come on, five o’clock. This recruiting position is a pretty good gig. It was a hard transition after working in a communications job while stationed on base in the continental United States, though. My assigned year-long deployment to Oahu was to help manage the recruiting office, but I managed to create a situation for myself that would make it hard to leave once the year was up.
Retaining a recruiter position was the only way to remain stateside for Aya. Plus, it’s Hawaii, and I get to stand on a boardwalk overlooking the Pacific Ocean while doing my job, which isn’t a bad deal. Today, though, it’s like ninety degrees. I’m standing in my dress blues sweating my balls off, but I need to appear like I’m not hot at all, or sweating between my thighs, and under my ass cheeks. I have to pretend like this heavy cover (cap) on my head is light as a feather and shielding me from the sun, rather than attracting it with the glossy black rim. Still, things could be a lot worse.
Knowing which passersby to target is an acquired skill. Typically, I look for men around the age of eighteen since they’re the most eager to enlist, making it easier to meet my quota. I try to round out the diversity and take my chances with some of the passing women too. Even though they tend to be harder to recruit, my stats need to show a reasonable ratio of male and female recruits.
To achieve my goal, I typically narrow my selection of women down to those who have a particular look of determination in their eyes. I’ve found that partiular first impression to be the most important if I’m to even stand a chance of recruiting them. I spot the look immediately on the face of a somewhat agitated-looking woman walking past by my booth. I haven’t stopped anyone in the past hour, so I might as well give her a shot and cross my fingers for luck. “Excuse me, ma’am,” I call out to her just before she walks by.
She continues walking. “Ma’am?” I call out again.
She passes by the booth but then stops and turns toward me. “Did you just call me ‘ma’am?’ How old do you think I am? Geez.”
“I was just trying to be courteous,” I tell her. Damn, no one has ever snapped at me for being polite. I guess she is agitated for whatever reason.
“Well, I’m twenty-five, and I don’t consider myself a ‘ma’am’ just yet,” she says with a raised brow and slight snarl. She’s not even impressed by the uniform. If the women I speak to aren’t interested in joining the Marines, they’ll usually still appreciate a good-looking guy in his blues. This one apparently isn’t charmed by me, though.
“I apologize, miss. Do you have a moment to spare?” I ask her.
She reaches into her pocket and retrieves something then reaches over tohand it to me. Although I consider it an odd gesture, I open my gloved fist to take whatever she’s oddly giving me. “It’s all I have on me,” she says.
Fifty cents. “I’m not begging for money, but tell me, what made you think I was?”
“Oh, my bad,” she says with a snide smile. “You reached your hand out, and I just reacted.” She laughs, and I hope it’s the start of her attitude switching around a bit.
I can’t help noticing that she’s gorgeous, even with the cold scowl on her face. The scowl is what made me call her over, though. “You know, you seem like you’d be the perfect type of candidate to join the Marine Corps. Have you ever considered joining us?” Not that I know what her current career is, but I can take a quick guess it’s not bringing fulfillment to her life.
“No. As a matter of fact, I have never in my life considered a new job. Isn’t that just wild? I like to live a simple, boring life, so change isn’t really my thing.” She’s still smiling. Her dry sense of humor could mimic mine while I’m not on the clock, so it’s hard not to play back.
“Cool, well, I’d be happy to take down your information, so we have your name on record in case you ever change your mind and decide you’d like to pursue a career with us. I’m sure you already know that we not only help our country and fellow Americans, but we help ourselves become better people, as well.”
She smirks, possibly stalling in thought. “Now, I think you’re onto something, soldier.”
“Marine, ma’am—miss, sorry. I’m a Marine.”
“I thought soldiers and Marines were the same,” she says.
I can’t tell if she’s serious or not, so I hold my tongue. “We’re quite different actually. We work closely with the Navy and have a different set of skills.”
“So, you’re like a sailor, then?” I’m still questioning whether she knows precisely what she’s saying right now.
“No, I’m not like a sailor either. I’m a Marine, and you could be too.”
“I don’t think the Marines sounds like it would be a good fit for me. I mean, if I wanted to go dig holes in the sand, I could just go to the beach,” she says, trying her hardest not to smile at me. “Thanks anyway.”
I can’t just give up on this one. I feel like she’s not a hundred percent set on her answer. Or, maybe I'm just ridiculous. “Hold up, miss. Are you willing to at least leave your name and number for us to follow up with you, in case you change your mind after you think it over?”
She crosses her arms and leans to the side, then presses her fingertip against her lips. “So, wouldn’t it make more sense for you to give me your information in case I become interested in joining you?”
“Sure, but we like to keep records, as you can probably imagine.”
“Sure, I can imagine,” she says. Another coy smile stretches across her lips, and I know this isn’t going to end well, but I’m knee deep here, and I feel like there’s a slight chance she might be interested.
“Do you need to meet a certain number today?” she asks.
