Leeanne looked up and stared. “Good morning, sir. Probably another hour or so.”
“If you didn’t take so many damned breaks, you might already have it done.”
Leeanne smiled sweetly. “Would you prefer I just come into your office and bend over, or do you want to keep pretending nobody notices you staring?” Pétin’s face turned a ruddy red and he stormed out. “Asshole,” she said under her breath.
It wasn’t much past her estimate when she finished the last of the messages, and although her tea was cold, she didn’t dare leave her office until the morning task was done. Pétin was on the warpath, and she could only stand so much ogling in one day.
She opened her office door, looked at the female petty officer, and sighed. Silvia Gratton smiled and crossed her fingers. Everyone knew to stay out of Pétin’s way when he was like this, but the hazards of the job sometimes forced people into impossible situations.
Leeanne knocked before entering. “Commander,” she said, trying to sound somewhat cheerful, “here are the morning’s messages. I put the posting messages in a separate folder. There are quite a few of them today.”
Pétin looked up and their eyes met. “For Christ’s sake. Just once, Morgan, could you please drop off the mail and not prove how goddamned nosy you are.”
Leeanne turned and walked away, but stopped at the door. “Is there any chance, Commander, that you could succeed in performing a sexual act upon yourself that is physically impossible?” She walked toward the captain’s office leaving Pétin looking highly confused and the people who overheard the comment struggling to stifle their laughter.
Captain Marc Leroche, the Navy’s senior administrator on the west coast, looked up as she knocked on the doorjamb. “What did you tell him to do this time?” he asked casually.
Leeanne glared. “Sir, the conditions in this office are fast approaching intolerable. Everyone is at their wits’ end with that man.”
“He’s on his retirement posting, Leeanne. He’s got four months left and he’s out.”
“Sir, if you don’t do something to control that vile creature, I will.”
“Now, now. There’s no need for threats, Sub-Lieutenant Morgan.”
She smiled. “That wasn’t a threat, sir. That was a promise.”
Leroche chuckled. “You sound more like your husband every day. What’s that?”
Leeanne finally smiled and relaxed. She respected Captain Leroche, even liked him as a person, and had known him most of her life through his friendship with her father. “Mostly routine messages, sir, except for the last one. What’s Sovereign Night?”
Leroche looked through the papers and shrugged. “Just some exercise the Americans want our help with. Nothing too important at this stage. Anything else?”
“No, sir.” Leeanne came to attention, and then walked out.
Leroche closed his eyes. He was suddenly very tired. He reached into his desk drawer and retrieved a message pad.
TO: CO, Royal 22e Regiment
FROM: ADM O, MARPAC
SUBJ: Missing Generator.
Nil Rtn.
End
He looked at his watch and walked into Pétin’s office. “Commander,” he said, as he closed the door. “Send this message for me. When you’re done, go home. Go home before that woman kills you.”
Pétin bristled. “She can’t—”
Leroche held up his hand and cut him off. “Yes, Commander, she can. You know it as well as I do. Go home and calm down. You can still lose your pension if you piss her off too much, and there’s only so much I can and will do to protect you.”
Pétin snatched the message and turned away. “Bitch,” he mumbled as Leroche closed the door and left him alone.
U.S. Army Command, Germany
4 December, 0245 Hours
She rolled over on the regulation army-issue twin bed and looked at the phone as it rang. The dim red numbers of the alarm clock showed 2:45. Shit. She sat up, pushed her feet into her slippers, and picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“Good morning,” the voice said. The woman’s eyes shut and her hand began to tremble. “I need something that will work slowly, permanently, and is untraceable.”
“I said I never wanted to hear from you again.”
“Life is full of unpleasant little surprises. Have it to me within a week.”
The line went dead and she lay down again, her mind racing with options, fear, and the memories of a life she thought was far behind her.
Chapter 2
Former Republic of Yugoslavia
4 December, 0655 Hours
Morgan sat with his head and shoulders sticking out of the commander’s hatch of the Cougar, and his thoughts wandered back to the beginning of the deployment.
As the battle group disembarked from the flight that first day, they saw the desolation and destruction caused by years of civil war. The scene was the same almost everywhere: bombed-out buildings, crater-filled roads, and an almost palpable fear emanating from the locals.
Driving to the compound a few kilometers outside the city of Bihać, many found tears welling up as they passed the refugee camps. Here, they saw an even deeper desolation in the eyes of those most affected by the long battles. The innocence and hope of those on their first international deployment were instantly dashed, yet they still looked forward to doing a real job.
Croatian and Serbian forces had agreed to a cease-fire shortly after the PPCLI arrived, and other than a few vehicles hitting stray mines, things were relatively quiet. However, a major Serbian offensive two weeks ago ended the cease-fire. Several hundred peacekeepers around the country had been taken hostage, and from day to day, nobody knew what to expect. While the kidnappings were militarily unacceptable, it was a better solution than what followed. While attacking a UN outpost, Serbian soldiers killed five French peacekeepers.
France led the cry to rescue and avenge its compatriots. The UN reluctantly backed out and NATO moved in, bringing with it new rules of engagement. The blue berets and helmets, UN symbols of peace, disappeared.
NATO was there on a “peacemaking” mission. It was at war. As the indigenous factions quickly realized the change, the kidnapped peacekeepers were released unharmed and tensions returned to a more acceptable level.
#
The roaring of the Cougar’s diesel engine and the sound of its six wheels crushing everything they touched dulled his senses. “Who’s up for a little bet?” Morgan called over the intercom. He shook his head to ward off the stupor he felt creeping over him.
“What’s up, Cap?”
“Leeanne let me keep an extra twenty bucks this month. I say we get home with nothing happening to us. Who wants to be a pessimist?”
“Shit, Dusty,” Morgan’s gunner, Corporal Frank Emerson, said over the radio. “You know most of my money goes home. After Connie’s alimony and the support for my little Jinny, I get crap, but, then again, I’m only a corporal so that’s about what I start out with.”
“Wimp.” Morgan looked out upon the foreign terrain. He couldn’t help but wonder how his own family was faring. Not a day passed when he didn’t think about his wife. Her picture sat by his bed, and her letters reminded him that, this time, someone was waiting for him