She grabbed another piece of meat, prepared to make a cut. Before she could, a truck outside backfired.Pow!It was veryloud, so that meant it was more than likely in the parking lot. My brother was across the shop toward the front.Pow!There it went again.
My eyes shifted to Minnow when I heard the knife hit the floor. My brother started to move toward us, but I held my hand up to halt him. Her shoulders squared, and her breath was gone. When her body moved back and her stance lowered, I knew that she was no longer in the butcher shop with me.
The Night Before
Chaos of The Mind . . .
Location: Southern Afghanistan (Kandahar)
Mission: Female Engagement Team (FET)/Overwatch
It was like the same beat but a different drum, at a different time in a different space. It was 0600, which was one of the best times to be on patrol because instead of the heat from the pits of hell, it felt more like the balcony. The dust was even too hot to damn move. I hated that I naturally had long eyelashes because, at the end of my day, I felt like I had Aloysius Snuffleupagus’s lashes.
My rifle was steady on the second-story rooftop that my spotter and I were assigned to scan a road that came through the village we were in. They called it a routine patrol, but I had learned long ago that routine was an ambiguous term when it came to these missions. Anything could happen at any time that could turn a routine patrol into a day of horror.
Men unloaded crates in the market stalls that were just opening. There were kids scattered about, watching as my squad moved slowly past them. My eyes were sharp as I scanned, breathed, communicated, then repeated the process.
That was when I saw her. To the average person, she was a woman in a faded burgundy headscarf. There was nothing to see there. To me, though, she was a woman out of place—her walk rigid with her arms tight to her side and her hands clenched. I adjusted my scope. Yeah, she could be a problem.
What stuck out the most was her focus . . . the ground. Everyone else around the market was busy with their movements, but they watched patrol as they moved about. She hadn’t lifted her head once to put eyes on them. That was not normal behavior.
“Winters, do you see what I see?” Team Lead’s voice came through the comm.
With my eye still sharp in my scope, I replied, “Your ten, female approaching, mid-twenties, burgundy scarf. Her gait is off.”
The woman continued to walk in the same manner that worried me. The closer she got, the quieter the market got. “Stop her, now,” I said into the radio sternly.
With a calm voice and a steady hand, the woman was ordered to stop her movement. She didn’t obey his order. She took another step. I saw her lips move, then a flash.
It happened so fast. When I finally opened my eyes, the only thing I could hear was ringing and faint screams. Smoke and dust were the only visuals that I had.I have to get up.
As soon as I got to my feet, my weapon went up. It didn’t matter how shaky my hands were. My eyes scanned for secondaries regardless of my limited visuals. Down . . . two men were down. The woman was gone, which was to be expected with a suicide bomber.
My body moved in trained autopilot as I left the roof to drag one of my squad behind cover.I fucked up. I should have handled that.
I tried to assess the injuries of Staff Sergeant Peters. I was in a daze and could barely focus. There was so much going on. This is my fault.
Back To the Present
Back In the Trenches . . .
Staff Sergeant Fredrick Peters died beside me that day. He left behind a pregnant wife and two sons. He died because I didn’t do my job. One squeeze just three seconds earlier could have changed the lives of three soldiers. I failed them.
That was the kind of night that I had and the reason that I dragged this morning. I didn’t have Marie anymore to change my sheets. Since I paid a monthly rate, I didn’t get housekeeping daily, but I did get sheets and things to clean myself. For all intents and purposes, my suite was my apartment, just like my apartment was in Atlanta.
When I got to work, Vic made a comment about my tardiness, and I got a slight attitude. I felt bad after that, butI didn’t plan to apologize. I knew that I should, but my pride wouldn’t allow it.
The change in our relationship was a welcomed change, to an extent. I’d never deny my attraction and want for him. That still didn’t negate my fear of the what-ifs. He served his twenty years, and I wasn’t foolish enough to think that he came out unscathed. It just seemed like he had a better handle on it than I did. He did mention in passing that he attended one of those groups that Mrs. Pressley always preached about.
His hideaway was heavenly, and I loved it there. I loved it even more when he was there with me. His hands felt so good on my body. The rough-soft contrast turned me on to a level that I didn’t know was possible.
I was in a five-year relationship while I was in the military that was filled with bullshit. Our relationship started during my first deployment. From there, it went on to be nothing, because he loved fucking pussy that wasn’t mine. On top of that, he claimed that my PTSD was too much for him to deal with. I should have shot him in his dick and called it an episode.
Once Vic and I got past my tardiness this morning, he told me that he would teach me a new cut. I loved cutting meat. It was my favorite thing to do next to riding Choppa. Sometimes his mother would ride with me. She was such an amazing woman. When she told me stories about Vic that I knew he would never want me to know, I couldn’t stop laughing. I held those stories close to use as leverage one day.
“That looks really good, beautiful.” I heard the smile in his voice, and it made me feel accomplished.
I stayed focused with a smile on my face. “Thank you. I have a great teacher.”
