We all enlist for different reasons. For some, the Marine Corps was a chance to have a real family for the first time in our lives; for others it was a means to an end: learning a trade, or getting a college education; several said they wanted to serve their country, motivated by the events of 9/11. And for a few, it was the last chance to do something that wouldn’t end with a prison sentence.

Once they figured out I was The Man, they muttered and cussed quietly behind my back. I paid my fucking dues for this rank so until they did the same, they should quit their bitching.

The journey to Leatherneck was hell. What would have been a six- or seven-hour journey back home, turned into 15 hours of heat, dust, and a numb ass as the APC ground along the highway. We stopped at several ANA checkpoints, but I wasn’t needed as a terp. Some of the ANA were good guys and I’d worked with a few of them before. They were determined to get rid of the Taliban, and several listened to rock stations on the internet when they could get a signal, which wasn’t often—the Taliban had banned music. All music. At every camp, there was a black market trade in western CDs and DVDs—all things the Taliban considered un-Islamic at best, and satanic at worst.

I was less happy when I saw men in turbans armed with AK-47s at checkpoints. They weren’t regular army, and they watched us pass with cold eyes. It made me wonder if they were phoning ahead to let the Taliban know that a convoy was en route. Hell that had probably happened the second we left Kabul.

The AK-47 was a good weapon. I preferred my M16 because although it had a long barrel, it was two pounds lighter and the magazine was half the weight. But a lot of guys tried to smuggle Russian weapons back to the US when their tour was over as souvenirs. On my last tour, one dickwad had tried to take back a live and very unstable grenade even though it was a federal offense. My flight stateside was delayed by 20 hours while EOD were called and the device neutralized.

Several of the guys on my APC were straight out of boot camp and on their first deployment. They were ready to kick some Afghan ass, so having my five terps traveling with us was unsettling for them—that and seeing the road ahead was torn up where IEDs had been planted and burnt-out cars pushed to the side, abandoned.

I closed my eyes, dozing as best I could.

Leatherneck, our destination, 50 miles west of Kandahar, housed 28,000 British troops at the adjacent Camp Bastion, several thousand Afghan National Army soldiers at Camp Shorabak, and 20,000 US Marines. Altogether, the three sectors must have covered nearly 4,000 acres. Leatherneck, by itself, was bigger than many small towns back home. It was supported by four gyms, a vast dining area that could serve 4,000 people at a time, three chapels—or so I was told. Best of all as far as many of the guys were concerned, there were calling centers where they could phone and email their families back home. The only person I’d ever called was Ches, and that was maybe once or twice a year.

It wasn’t much, but we called it home. Ha fucking ha. That was last tour. This time, I’d be going further into the boonies, staying at Leatherneck for just one night.

I knew that the camp also housed two- or three-thousand female soldiers. In theory they were kept segregated, although I’d managed some hook-ups when I’d been there before. For a while, I’d had a thing with Lieutenant Susie Harris who worked in the spook office with the FBI. Gotta say there’s something about fucking a senior officer. Just saying.

I’d like to try hooking up with Caro, but I knew that would be dangerous for both of us. Didn’t stop me wanting it though.

Once we arrived, hot, stinking and covered in dust and dirt, Grant called the senior non-coms together to organize transit accomm. I was sharing with the two sergeants who so far hadn’t shown much interest in me beyond the basic courtesies. They knew I was on special assignment, which meant they also knew I couldn’t talk about it.

But I didn’t have time to do more than toss my bed roll onto the lumpy bunk before I was ordered to a briefing room for a sit-rep on some new intel at Now Zad.

“Nice of you to join us, Hunter,” Grant said, his voice terse.

I don’t know what had flown up his ass, so I just took a seat out of his eye-line, sweating freely in the intense heat of the old Nissan hut.

“First: you will have noticed by now, gentleman, that we have a journo on embed with us, Lee Venzi. You will extend every courtesy—but say nothing. Is that clear? Keep all interaction to a minimum. And those of you with training in obs will have noticed that she’s a woman, which means someone has completely fucked up. I’ll send her on some routine foot patrols to keep her busy and out of the way.

“Next: there’s been an increase in Taliban radio chatter in the Now Zad area that has all the brass very unhappy, and that makes me very unhappy, which will make you very, very careful. They’re concerned that word of the op has leaked out, but it’s just a hunch at the moment. Hunter, I want you to go through the radio transcripts and see if you can find anything that they’ve missed. Do not go through your terps. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

I hated going through transcripts. They were usually translated by semi-literate idiots. It was bound to be a waste of my time if the spooks had already reviewed them. But it was an order, not a request. Didn’t look like I’d get much sleep tonight either. Whatever, I was used to that.

Grant pulled out a map of the area and penciled in the position of known local Taliban that we needed to be aware of, then started going into detail about the Afghan elder we wanted to get on our side and the village where he lived.

“Erik, you’ll be in charge of BGAN satcomms.”

Grant nodded his head at a Lieutenant sitting next to me. I thought his name was Jankowski but I wasn’t sure. As far as I knew, he’d be the guy leading the op.

We’d almost finished the briefing when I looked up and saw Caro escorted by a female PFC. I grinned at her before I remembered I wasn’t supposed to.

Fuck, that was so hard to remember—it just didn’t feel right.

Grant still hadn’t seen her.

“If a guy sticks his head around the corner he could very easily have a gun. If you can’t see his hands, he could have something, a hand grenade, say. Pulling a trigger is easy—we need to bring him in. It’s not about that one person, it’s about the team. I’ll need you to go in first and…”

I coughed discreetly, unwilling for him to say anymore in front of Caro—something that might compromise her safety. Grant threw her an irritated look, but Caro stood her ground.

“I can come back,” she offered calmly.

“No, that’s fine, Ms. Venzi,” Grant clipped out. “We’re done here.”

Grant jerked his head at me in dismissal. I saluted and threw Caro a quick smile as I left. I had 10 minutes before the designated mealtime. I’d rather have eaten with the guys, but maybe Grant wanted me under close supervision. It was going to be hell having Caro so close and not be able to talk to her or touch her.

I showered quickly, shook the dust out of my uniform and pulled on a clean t-shirt. That was as good as it was going to get. Another two days and we’d all stink. Now Zad didn’t have showers, just basic strip and wash facilities, and there weren’t exactly going to be washing machines to clean your clothes. After three days, you couldn’t even smell your own stench anymore.

I was starving by the time we ate our long-delayed evening meal. It was the last fresh food we’d have for a while. You could live off of MRE’s, but that was about all. It amazed me how many different ways they could fuck up meat with gravy. The MRE gum wasn’t too bad.

I was seated with Lieutenant Sanders, the executive officer, and four second lieutenants including Jankowski, at the opposite end of the table from Caro.