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  Gray walked over to Iggy’s battlefield cross, and, with tears streaming down her cheeks, she knelt down on one knee and bowed her head. A shadow of sadness had been cast over her. Their last words had been harsh, and although they’d practiced arguing in the past, this one had left her with an empty space in her heart. She couldn’t take back that moment, and he’d died with her words rolling around in his head.

  “I’m sorry, Iggy,” she whispered. She reached out and touched the toe of his boot, and a shudder ran through her body. “Please forgive me, you were right to be concerned.” She stared at his boots, as if he was going to answer her. “I will miss you, Iggy. You were my friend, my brother. You understood me. I thank you for the time we had together. Farewell, brother…rest in peace.” She stood, saluted, then turned sharply, holding her arms firmly at her sides. Facing the other Marines, she called out, “Corporal Jerome Iggy Theobald, United States Marine Corps, killed in action against enemy forces in Afghanistan.” She then marched away, knowing her brothers were all she had.

  •••

  Only in the privacy of her room, Gray let her true emotions flow. Her tears spilled like rivulets, her chin trembled like a small child’s, and rawness in the pit of her stomach reminded her she was alive and her brother was dead. She pressed her hands flat against the wall to try and calm her trembling body, but nothing would alleviate her pain. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, and wished for the anger and bitterness to dissipate.

  A light tapping on her door interrupted her thoughts. She pushed away from the plywood wall and faced the small window that looked out on to the base. “Nothing but the same color. Sand color tents, sand color trucks, sand color uniforms. There’s nothing to look at,” she muttered to herself.

  “Gray?” Blake spoke with a soft tone.

  “What?”

  “Open the door, we need to talk.”

  “It’s unlocked, open it yourself.”

  Blake opened the door and leaned against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest. “He was my friend, too.”

  “So?”

  “Don’t shut me out. The last thing Iggy would want any of us to do is not concentrate on what we’re here for.”

  Gray turned around and cut him a fixed glare with hard-rimmed eyes. “Being in this country is like being locked inside a huge fucking cage. We come here to help the people and yet it’s us who pay the ultimate sacrifice. What does that say about us, about why we’re here?”

  Blake shifted from the doorframe and took a step back into the hallway. “I’m the one who failed him, it’s on my shoulders to protect my unit, and I didn’t do that, because if I had, he would be here with us today.” He turned toward the main door to leave the building, but before he left, he raised his head and said, “There’s a C-17 taking him home. I think we should pay our respects.”

  Turning her face away from him, she wiped her hands over her eyes, and let out a long, soft sigh.

  •••

  Standing in their utilities, Blake and Gray, with Zabba sat on the ground next to her, saluted, as pallbearers carried Iggy’s flag-draped casket to the waiting C-17. It was one of the most difficult times Gray had experienced. Death hung over the base, always threatening each Marine with a reminder that their lives could be snatched away at any given moment, and when someone from their own unit had taken their last path, it etched a haunting fear amongst the brothers left behind. But Iggy’s death had taken on a personal fight with Gray, causing her emotions to play havoc on her bravery.

  Once the casket had been boarded, she and Blake turned to march away, except Gray didn’t take a step when she was faced with a new dilemma. Tabatha and Luke were leaving on the same plane, and were walking not too far behind the procession. Gray had found it hard to continue the interviews with her, and had asked Blake to tell her to use what she had or interview another female Marine on the base. This was the first time since Iggy’s death that she’d seen Tabatha, and a sinking feeling in her stomach let her know her conflict of interest was too demanding. Her inability to focus had brought on a sense of guilt about her decision, but she knew it had been made for the right reasons. She gave Tabatha a single nod, then lowered her eyes to look at the tarmac.

  “I’m not leaving without saying goodbye!” Tabatha told Luke, then quickly made her way over to the lone Marine.

  “I didn’t know you’d hurt your arm?” Gray said with a touch of resignation in her voice.

  With her arm hoisted up in a sling, Tabatha looked back at Luke, who had stopped to wait for her. “Go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute.” She immediately turned back to Gray and bravely tried to explain what had happened. “When I crouched down behind that wall, I slipped and landed on my arm. I have a fracture, but I must say, the medical team here are pretty good…I’m sorry about Iggy, Gray…look, if you’re ever in Seattle—”

  “Seattle?”

  “Yes, that’s where I happen to live. I’d really like it if you came to visit. No strings attached, just as friends, or whatever you want. I just want you to know you have a friend, or more than a friend, if you want.”

  “We really don’t know a lot about each other, do we? I live in Seattle, when I’m not here, that is. Yeah, I’d like that.”

  “Keep an eye out for my piece on you on America’s World News. It should be airing soon; we’ve sent all the footage. I’d like America to see it’s not just the men who are the heroes.”

  “Look, Tabatha, I—”

  “No, I know what you want to say. I overstepped the boundaries, and I never should have flung myself at you like that. I know the risk you took with your job, and I was foolish to think anything would come of it—”

  Gray let go of Zabba’s leash and placed her hands on each side of Tabatha’s face, and without caring what anyone thought, and completely unprepared, she pulled her in close. In a demanding, passionate kiss, her heart beat lightly in her chest like a butterfly fluttering around, and warmth rushed through her body, generating a heightened sense of want. She slowly prized her mouth away, and leaned in a little, pressing her forehead against Tabatha’s. “This isn’t what I thought would happen,” she said softly.

  Seeing a softer side to Gray, Tabatha placed her finger beneath her chin and raised her face, so their eyes met. “I’m glad it did.”

  Their shared gazes lingered, and shy grins passed between them, until Tabatha crouched and gave Zabba a kiss on his head, then patted him. “You look after my soldier, okay, Zabba.”

  “You’d better get going. They won’t wait for you,” Gray told her, and helped her back up on her feet.

  It was a sobering moment for Tabatha as she looked into Gray’s eyes for one final time. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “Yeah, well, I kissed a girl and I liked it.”

  Tabatha gradually let go of Gray’s hand and took a few steps backward before she turned around and walked to the plane, constantly checking over her shoulder to see if Gray was still watching her…which she was.

  “I’m going to miss her too,” she told Zabba and patted his back.

  Chapter Eleven

  Heading away from the camp, Gray’s adrenaline grew strong as she gave thought to Iggy not being at her side. The death of someone close was especially hard to deal with when routine patrols had to be carried out immediately afterwards, and the emptiness had completely sideswiped her.

  The unit walked in single file, each Marine a few feet behind the one in front, and paying strict attention over where to tread. The treelines were an ideal cover for the Marines, but more often than not, they found them to be mined, which forced them to wade through irrigation ditches, and take longer routes.

  “Keep a sharp lookout,” Blake told the troops as he led the way through an open field. “We’re probably being watched right now.”

  In the 50 degree heat, which felt more like 100 degrees with the body armor they wore and everything they were carrying, they continued slowly, stopping every few minutes to check
behind. Inspecting the lay of the land for anything suspicious, Blake communicated with the radio operators, who scanned the airwaves for any chatter, finding out if their position was being reported. This way, they could change their path of direction and keep the Taliban guessing about where they were headed to next.

  Gray kept Zabba on a short leash while they trekked through grassy fields, where it was safer to use a metal detector to sweep the ground.

  “Keep to the left of the markers,” Sanderson called out as he lay them down. Even though these markers indicated a safer path for the unit to follow, it didn’t guarantee there weren’t any IEDs where they trod. At any moment, any one of the Marines could fatally step on one; it was just pot luck playing a hand, and they were all too well aware of it.

  Each Marine kept their head on a constant swivel as they ventured further away from the safety of the base, and deeper into dangerous territory. It was the chance of being caught off guard, and the insurgents thinking that they stand a chance at attacking them, then they would use whatever they had, no matter what the cost.

  Spotting two men walking at the edge of the field, Gray called it out to Blake, who then assessed the situation, and determined they should investigate what they were up to. The two men walked slowly, keeping constant eye contact with the troops until they met up. There was a lot of pressure placed on the Marines when it came to identifying a typical local farmer, or an insurgent trying to pass off as one. Dressing in the same attire in a lot of cases made it harder to control, and there had been cases in the past where they’d got it wrong, and it had caused problems with the villagers. But it was their job to stop anyone they considered suspicious, and even take electronic fingerprints and send them to their database, to identify the people they had stopped, and either confirm, or eliminate them as a person of interest.

  DelAfrooz asked them what they were carrying in the black and white chequered blanket that one man had tied around his shoulder like a sling. The man waved his hands and shook his head, while voicing his thoughts about being stopped. DelAfrooz asked him again, this time in a firmer, more insistent tone. The man slowly untied the knot at his shoulder and carefully lowered the blanket down on to the ground, while his comrade remained silent.

  Every Marine had their rifles aimed at the two men, ready to take them out in an instant.

  DelAfrooz raised his voice and demanded the man to open the blanket up and show them what he was carrying. The man crouched down and pulled each corner of the blanket out, and revealed items that in normal circumstances wouldn’t be of any concern, but in Afghanistan could mean the difference between life and death for a Marine. A wad of cash, more than thought usual for a farmer to carry, had been folded and placed inside a small tin, and a mobile phone, pens, a clock, and camera memory cards, all added to an interesting stash. When questioned, the man informed them they were on their way to purchase goats for their farm, and the used these items as trade-offs.

  “Tell them both to hold their arms out so we can search them,” Blake told DelAfrooz.

  The men held their arms out, and Blake and Sanderson body searched them, and then as he said, “If there’s any fingerprints on any IEDs linked to them, it will be directed straight back to them,” DelAfrooz repeated his words to the two men.

  It was difficult for Gray to feel anything toward these men. All she could see were potential Taliban fighters who didn’t give a shit about American Marines, and who would take great joy in taking their lives. She pointed her rifle at the man who was vocal, Go on, fucker, just give me reason to blow you away.

  They made the men remove their hats, then empty their pockets, which revealed that the second man was also carrying an unusual amount of cash.

  “What’s that for?” Gray asked firmly.

  Although the man didn’t understand her words, he knew she was asking about the money, and once again informed DelAfrooz it was for buying goats.

  “That’s a lot of goats they’re buying,” Gray said.

  Interpreting back and forth, DelAfrooz was told that they were buying goats for the elders as well as for themselves, resulting in carrying more cash than they normally would.

  Not having anything solid to pin on the men, they had to let them continue on their journey.

  When the unit continued their patrol, Blake hung back with Gray. “Calm the fuck down, Gray. I need you to be focused, and I could tell you were losing it back there.”

  “I am calm, sir. I just don’t trust anyone carrying huge amounts of money like that. Goats, seriously? And we couldn’t detain them.”

  “No, we couldn’t. I miss Iggy too, but I can’t allow his death to rule every action I take, and neither can you. Am I clear on that?”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” she grumbled.

  •••

  They’d been out on patrol for almost two hours, maintaining a zig-zag route, in order to attract attention from the enemy. The main purpose of this particular patrol was to trick the spotters, who would follow them and transmit over their radios. It had been silent up until this point, but then the mission plan began to work.

  “We’ve picked up ICON chatter, they sound close, and they’re saying keep them from going anywhere. Over.”

  “Roger that. Over,” Blake answered. “We’ve got ICON chatter, and they’re reporting our movements. They know where we’re headed, so they have eyes on us, so stay sharp.”

  After maintaining a watchful eye and waiting, a man was spotted coming out from behind a mud wall at a nearby compound. Unsure whether he was an insurgent or a farmer, the troops yelled at him to stay where he was. DelAfrooz translated for him to raise his hands in the air and turn around. The man did as he was ordered. He was then ordered to walk toward them, and Sanderson checked him over for any weapons. He was clean, and they had to let him go, but just ahead was thick treeline, and nerves were setting in with the Marines, as in some cases villagers laid low within the compounds, knowing that fighters were ready to ambush military troops. This was one of those patrols.

  Finding her focus after giving herself a pep talk, Gray spotted two men hiding behind a tree in the direction they were headed. “Two guys to your twelve o’clock,” she told Blake.

  “Keep an eye on them. If they move along with us, fire a warning shot,” he responded.

  The troop continued to walk across the open field, and the two men continued to make their presence known.

  “Gray, fire a warning shot,” Blake instructed her.

  Gray ordered Zabba to lie down, while she knelt on one knee and positioned herself to take aim. She fired a warning shot in their direction, and the two men immediately moved away and headed east, constantly looking back at the troop.

  The unit pressed forward, and with Sanderson sweeping the treeline area, they crossed an irrigation ditch, then base informed them that a burst of ICON chatter had been transmitted over the radio. The messages were saying there were big things about to happen, which could mean only one thing - IEDs. The Marines knew they had to act fast, and mentally prepared themselves for an ambush.

  Four men ran behind bushes at the edge of the field, and into a house to the Marines half-right. The Marines fired a volley of warning shots, but the men didn’t run away. Then Blake gave the order to shoot to kill.

  Every Marine aimed their rifle at the house, and as soon as movement was seen, rounds were fired.

  Zabba had been trained well not to panic during a firefight, and stayed behind Gray. It was just what she had been waiting for, and determined to get justice for Iggy, she aimed her rifle and waited for the right moment. Then it came. A fighter moved in front of the window to fire at the Marines, but before he was able to shoot, she took him out. He fell forward and collapsed over the window opening, his arms dangling down the wall, and his rifle hanging by its strap from his shoulders.

  The other three fighters continued to shoot, but their aim was far from perfect and, within moments the onslaught of bullets ceased, and the Marines carefully mov
ed in on the house.

  Two of the fighters lay dead in the same window opening, one collapsed on top of the other. A third man had been shot in the head and had fallen backward inside the house, and the fourth man had shot at them from an open side-door, and now lay face-down in the dirt.

  “That was fucking good shooting,” Gray said, feeling triumphant. “Come, Zabba.”

  “ICON chatter has stopped. Over.”

  “Roger, out,” Blake replied.

  The unit closed in on the house, still maintaining a watchful eye for any other insurgents ready to ambush them.

  “Area’s clear,” Sanderson informed them

  Blake held his hand out to stop the rest of the unit from pushing forward. “Pull back. We have our results. The Taliban could launch a revenge attack on us, so let’s get back to base.”

  It had been one of the longest patrols they had done, and once they had made it back to the safety of the base, they were given a welcome cheer by those who’d been operating the radios.

  “Patrol complete,” Gray was happy to report.

  Chapter Twelve

  While giving thought to the outcome of the patrol, Gray sat on the edge of her bunk, drumming her fingertips together. Her peace was short lived, as Paige knocked on her door and entered her room.

  “You’re on the news, Gray, come on. The boys are cheering in the chow hall.”

  Gray stood and immediately followed Paige to the mess hall, where Tabatha Steel was on TV, presenting a war piece on Afghanistan and the women behind the uniform.

  “Yay, here she is,” Bobby called out over the rowdy crowd.

  “Quiet, everyone. Let’s hear what she’s got to say,” Paige yelled out over their voices.

  “Hello, I’m Tabatha Steel, and I’m reporting from Jelawur, Afghanistan. Behind me, as you can see, are many troops, Marines, all ready to go out and patrol the surrounding area of this base. We were invited to join in on one patrol, and follow a female Marine, Lance Corporal Lara Grayson, and her K9 unit, Zabba. Zabba is a dog specially trained in searching out IEDs.”