What was he going to do to win back Sarah’s attention? Should he continue his other black ops strategy with her? Continue to place an envelope with a stanza of a poem he’d written about her every morning before she woke up? Ethan felt driven to do it by some invisible, unnamed source. His drive to know Sarah to her soul was intense, almost dire. And he’d never felt this before with a woman.
Chapter 5
T
he next morning when Sarah awoke, she
found another envelope waiting for her beneath her tent opening. Rubbing the
sleep from her drowsy eyes, she sat up in her cot and looked at her watch. 0700.
She was sleeping long and deep. Moving her fingers through her loose, tangled
hair, she pushed to her feet. She leaned down and slid the pristine white
envelope between her fingertips. Everything was so dirty and dusty here, and it
looked so clean and untouched in comparison. Her heart beat a little harder as
she sat down on the cot, holding it with anticipation between her hands.
Why did this matter so much to her? Did it contain another
stanza to Ethan’s poem? She slid her finger beneath the opening. The same
blue-colored parchment was folded inside it. The paper felt rich as she slowly
moved her fingers across it. What had he written this time? A part of her was
eager to know. After opening it, she read.
And I am truly honored and humbled
In this brief respite of life
To be given an invitation, however
slight,
To take in the scope of your sacred
blooms...
(to be continued when poet has
time)
Sarah sighed softly, grazing the beautiful calligraphy. The
black ink was bold against the blue paper it was written on. Touched, she
absorbed his words, those pictures he painted in her mind with them. Ethan had
written this. Even though she’d only seen him do it one time, she knew. Looking
up, Sarah frowned. To think even one man at Bravo had this kind of sensitivity
in his soul surprised the hell out of her.
Her mind and, if she was honest, her heart, quietly revolved
back to Ethan Quinn. Frowning, Sarah didn’t dare be drawn to him. But she
couldn’t help herself. His quietness, his insights into her, startled and scared
her. Sarah couldn’t get his rugged good looks out of her mind, either. His gray
eyes... God, his eyes just felt like they had X-ray abilities and he saw
straight through her, wounds and all. Equally important, Ethan wasn’t the type
to judge others from what she’d seen so far. Sarah was constantly being judged
in the medevac squadron, especially by Major Tom Donaldson. He had it in for her
and was being very careful as to how he put the screws to her, always covering
his ass so he couldn’t be officially challenged by her.
The
bastard.
Folding up the envelope, Sarah rose. Day two of her enforced
healing. She decided to go over to the gym after making her instant coffee. And
then to the chow hall for a late breakfast.
As she picked up a clean dark green T-shirt and a pair of clean
trousers, she wondered if she’d accidentally meet Ethan. A part of her wanted
to. A larger part of her didn’t. He was enlisted. She was a warrant. The two
could never legally mix. Mouth quirking, Sarah figured if her commanding officer
ever found out, he’d take great pleasure in getting her into plenty of trouble.
He was a lousy leader, interested only in protecting his career and making
colonel. He didn’t care what he had to do to get it, either. She’d seen him step
on too many other pilots to make himself look good. Him and that damn yearly
budget he kept holding in her face. Keep costs down....
Sarah swore Donaldson was an accountant wearing Army green. He
felt his path to the next rank was achieved by cutting costs. And by doing that,
he was willing to order a medevac flight to wait instead of flying into the fray
to save a man’s or woman’s life. Sarah clenched her teeth, all her warm, fuzzy
feelings about the poem dissolving in the reality of her life. Every day for her
was getting harder and harder to work under the major’s command. And today she
had to go over to the office and see Donaldson.
Sarah’s stomach automatically tightened when she saw Major
Donaldson, his red hair close-cropped, working at his desk. She quietly entered
the office, quelling her anxiety. Donaldson’s thin face snapped up. His eyes
were small and close together, and he rapidly raked her with an angry
glance.
Coming to attention in front of his desk, Sarah reported
in.
“At ease, Chief Benson,” he growled, jerking out a sheaf of
papers from another stack on his neat, organized desk. He threw the sheaf, and
it slid to her side of his desk. “You know what this is?”
Swallowing hard, Sarah tucked her hands behind her back. “Yes,
sir. It’s a budget, sir.” She wanted to roll her eyes, but if she did, he’d gig
her on it and probably write her up on insubordination. Any little excuse would
send her CO into a fit of glee as he caught her in some infraction. It would
then go into her service jacket, her personnel file, and it would always be
there. Such things could stop her from getting her next rank. She had to play it
cool and remain detached even though she was breaking out in a sweat, feeling
like she was flying into a firefight to rescue wounded men.
“Damn straight it is.” He glared up at her. Jabbing an index
finger down at the thick group of papers, he said, “This squadron is very close
to hitting its maximum number of repairs, Chief Benson. You, of all people, need
to know that.”
Sarah kept her face neutral. There was no way she was going to
blow back on her CO. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Donaldson lifted his lip in a sneer.
“We’re probably damned lucky you got set out for four days.
That’s four days I know I’m not going to have to have our mechanics section
repair one of our birds you flew.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tapping the papers, Donaldson hissed, “When you get back on the
flight roster, you damn well better stop your stupid risk taking. You hear me? I
will
not
lose my colonel’s leaves because of you.
Dismissed!”
“Yes, sir!” Sarah snapped to attention, turned on her heel and
headed out the HQ door and into the main area of Operations.
Her heart was pounding. Donaldson reminded her of the past—of a
horror she didn’t want to revisit. She wiped her mouth, walking straight,
shoulders squared and chin up. Sarah had learned a long time ago never to show
anyone she was scared. It just brought more crap raining down on her.
As she headed out the main doors to go back to her tent area to
rest, she thought of Ethan. God, she couldn’t get involved with him. She had to
keep her head in the game. Donaldson was just aching to bring her down. Nail her
ass to the deck. Embarrass her. No, she had to focus.
* * *
On the third morning, Sarah slept until nearly 0900,
which shocked her. The trauma she’d endured was far deeper than she’d initially
realized. And as she opened her eyes, she automatically looked toward the tent
opening. Her heart raced as she noticed a third white, pristine envelope on the
floor. Sarah didn’t even try to fool herself about the quiet joy running through
her. It was another poem from Ethan. She sat up, pushed the hair off her face
and walked over and picked it up.
Sarah wanted to believe Ethan truly liked her—beyond her
appearance. The chances of that, however, were slim to none. Men saw her in
sexual terms only for the most part. Not romance or love—both yearnings she had
but didn’t feel were possible in her life. Still, as she picked up the envelope,
the idealistic part of her swooned with excitement.
Sitting back on her cot, Sarah opened it up, her hand trembling
slightly. She pulled it out and opened it up.
Who could guess that beneath the pastiche of
outer appearances
You would be imbued with lush streams,
blooming banks of gladiolas
And cypress trees? Everyone agreed
That yours is a colorful
personality,
But until you recently whispered to my
psyche,
Who knew you retained a range and hue of
vivid colors
Streaming to the periphery of awareness, then
back again?
(to be continued as poet gets a
chance)
Sarah closed her eyes, pressing the envelope to her breast. She
felt
this man, his energy and his heart. How
could this be happening to her? She hoped with all her heart this wasn’t a mean
trick being played on her, that his poem was truly as it appeared: a man
courting a woman. Ethan could be doing this to manipulate her.
Her hand fell into her lap, the envelope still in her
fingertips. Sarah had been hurt so often by men who professed to like her,
wanted to get to know her, and it always ended up the same: they wanted to use
her body and that was it. Did Ethan want the same thing, even with such an
elaborate plan? She hoped not, but her years of experience in the military
overrode her idealistic wish.
Slowly rising, Sarah stretched, hands above her head. The gym
workouts were helping, and she was feeling a bit stronger, more together. She
had tried to swallow her disappointment when she didn’t see Ethan at the gym or
chow hall yesterday. Maybe today? It was something she looked forward to without
questioning too closely why.
* * *
On the last day of her enforced medical rest, Sarah
awoke much earlier. She looked toward the tent door and saw a fourth envelope
from Ethan sitting there. Her watch read 0600. This time, she let happiness flow
through her as she retrieved the card. Her heart squeezed with anticipation as
she sat down on the cot and eagerly opened it. The envelope awoke the part of
her life that had been set aside due to her military career. War was harsh and
took no prisoners. The weight of the envelope, its perfect cleanliness against
the dirtiness of daily combat, transported her to another time and place. A
place where civility, romance and social graces all lived. Holding her breath,
Sarah pulled out the creamy papyrus and opened it up.
A lush and virtual wilderness is
encamped
Next to your orderly hymns, and it is a
telling, glowing omen
That a symphony of melodies is vibrating and
humming
Beneath your outer carapace.
We thought we had glimpses of your depth, and
our own
In truth, we had barely scratched the surface
of being.
(to be continued as poet gets
time)
Sarah sighed softly, allowing the words to vibrate through her.
This felt so real. As if this man were reaching out and invisibly sliding his
finger down the slope of her cheek, softly touching her lower lip with his
grazing thumb. Her heart opened, and heat pooled in her lower body.
Sarah wondered again when Ethan was placing the envelope
beneath the tent. She never heard his footsteps again after that first day. Was
this whole thing a game for him? Intuitively, she didn’t think so. If nothing
else, Sarah thought, as she slowly read each luscious, juicy word Ethan had
written, his poem gave her hope and solace. His words, how he saw her and
himself, were far removed from the daily violence surrounding their lives here
at this forward operating base. His words fed her starving soul in a way she
couldn’t describe but could only feel on a deep, visceral level. His words were
healing and gave her hope.
* * *
Ethan sat with three other SEALs on the end of the
runway in a QRF, quick reaction force, Black Hawk helicopter piloted by Night
Stalker pilots. He had Beau, Teddy and Mac in his team. The noontime sun was
beating down on them as the Black Hawk idled on the runway, awaiting orders to
lift off. He had his helmet and an earpiece on, listening to all the
communications between their helo and a Marine squad that was pinned down by a
Taliban ambush near the Pakistan border. His heart beat slowly as he listened to
the gunfire, the cursing and orders between the Marines. They were in the thick
of it, having triggered a Taliban attack that had cut off their only route of
escape on a hill above a valley thirty minutes east of Bravo.
Ethan shifted, one leg hanging out the open door of the Black
Hawk, the other pulled up against his body as he leaned back on the airframe,
listening intently. SEALs often provided QRF to Special Forces, Delta, the Army
and the Marine recons in the area. It was his turn today to take his team into
the fray if they were given orders to launch. A QRF was exactly that: reacting
swiftly, decisively, to any enemy force that was trying to overwhelm another
U.S. force out there in the badlands.
Master Chief Gil Hunter’s voice came over his radio headset.
“Avalanche Actual, this is Avalanche Main. You are authorized to engage.”
That was what Ethan wanted to hear. He threw a thumbs-up to his
eager team, who were more than ready to enter the fight. “Roger, Avalanche Main.
Out.” He quickly switched channels to speak to the Night Stalker pilots who
would take them into the firefight. Sweat trickled down his temples. Adrenaline
started leaking through Ethan, but his heart rate remained slow and steady. The
Black Hawk’s powerful engines engaged, and the gravity pushed him downward as it
rose into the air. The wind felt damn good against his sweaty body; all the gear
he wore held in the heat.
Normally, QRFs took place at night, the Taliban’s time to be on
the move. A day patrol being attacked, in Ethan’s experience, meant it was a
much larger force that had been waiting to ambush the Marines. Wiping his mouth,
he pushed his wraparound sunglasses snugly against his face. The sun was
blindingly bright and it was over a hundred degrees midday. It was going to be a
sonofabitch of a battle because men dehydrated so damned fast under these types
of brutal conditions. He’d made sure his shooters had eight quarts of water in
their rucks as well as the CamelBak they carried on their backs.
The wind whipped around him, tearing at his body as he rode on
the lip of the helo, his M4 rifle nose down and hanging off the nylon harness
across his right shoulder and chest. It was safed to make sure no bullet
accidentally got fired off into the helicopter, potentially causing a crash or
accidentally killing someone. Ethan’s mind churned over the intel and he closed
his eyes, visualizing where the Marines were trapped. The hill was a small one,
and there were Taliban coming up two sides of it, the north and east. Rocks sat
on the top of the hill, where the ten-man Marine force had taken cover and were
fighting for their lives.