Duty: A Secret Baby Romance (16 page)

I open it up, and what I read stops my heart and brings tears to my eyes.

I read the letter three times and make a decision. I pull out my phone and hurriedly send Aaron a text.
I think you and I need to talk about Lance. I think he's ready to know the truth.

I hope that Aaron replies soon, but when he hasn't sent anything back by the time Lance comes from the back, his eyes sparkling and his smile melting my heart, I reluctantly put my phone on vibrate. I know it's after five o'clock, but maybe Aaron's got military duties. If so, we can talk later, when we both have some free time.

“Ready to go home, honey?”

Lance nods, smiling. “Did you see my card, Mommy?”

I hand it to him, safely back in its envelope. “I did. I think Aaron will like it very much.”

I lead him out of the daycare center, taking his hand and smiling at my son. “It's one of the coolest things I've ever seen, little man.”

I
t feels
good to be out on the range for a change, maybe because it's at least better than being in the motor pool.

Pillman gives all of us the safety brief. He's looking a little nostalgic about it. His time with the platoon is up next month. “Okay, everyone, remember, you keep your glasses on the whole time on the range. Fulsom, that means you too. I don't care if those over glass goggles you have are hot or not. Check your field of fire each time you squeeze a trigger. It may just be a sting in the ass and a laugh now, but remember that in the real world, you just shot your battle buddy.”

There's a titter of laughter. I know the feeling. We're actually 'playing' live. There is an actual chance for someone to get hurt, even if it is with a plastic pellet. I'd prefer paintball guns, but the hoppers on those are just too damn big to give people that real-world feel. Loading the pellets into their magazines is slightly weird, but we are able to at least replicate the feel of having to change magazines too. Overall, the Army thinks that the increased danger from the pellets is minimal compared to the training value gained from them. Still, we're live.

“Everyone clear?”

“HOOAH!” the platoon answers, and I'm looking around, proud of my Regulators. Even Hardy's doing okay, looking a bit antsy, but I guess I can expect that. He hasn't been allowed out of the barracks except for duty purposes since his arrest, a part of the deal we've worked out with the JAG so far while the echelons above me try to decide whether to court martial him or not. He's at least being busted one rank, but maybe he'll stay out of jail.

“Roger that,” Pillman says, turning to me. “El Tee?”

“Thanks, Sergeant. Great brief,” I respond, walking to the front of the platoon. My rifle's over my shoulder, and I look around, ready to play my little role in the pre-training prep. “Okay, Regulators, Sergeant Pillman got to be nice about it. Now it's my turn. Last time we tried this, we ended up with more Regulators 'dead' than what I find acceptable. Of course, the only number I'm accepting is zero. You all know the drill. Nobody here is a wet blanket private. We're going to be starting rotations, Sergeant Pillman's going to be gone by Thanksgiving, and by next summer, I'm probably gone too. So this is your chance to make sure that you've got your shit tight before some fuck up from Omaha waddles in and makes your job twice as hard! Run your lanes by the numbers, and by the end of the day, I want to see perfection. Got me?”

The platoon's answering roar reassures me, and I nod. “Good. Squad leaders, fifteen minutes with your squads to break it down before we do the walk and talk. Range goes hot at ten thirty.”

Training starts, and I'm encouraged by the work the squad leaders do. I've got good ones, and any officer worth their rank will tell you, good NCOs make your job a million times easier. As wars become more and more decentralized and the individual soldier has become deadlier, decision making has been pushed down the rank ladder, with more stress on the lower ranks. As a platoon leader, I'm responsible for as much firepower and battlefield space as a World War II company, and more than what a regiment would do in the Civil War. And while my higher ups might try and control the battle, facts are that a lot of life and death decisions are now falling on the shoulders of Lieutenants who are barely old enough to legally drink. Thank God I've got good NCOs.

The range is made up of three 'buildings' with two 'streets' in between. It's pretty good, maybe not as good as the FBI’s famous 'Hogan's Alley,' but it's a good system. We go through in fire teams, with me working together with Fire Team Alpha from first squad leading the way. We do well, and we get through building one in less than standard time with no 'casualties' or missed targets. Pausing in the assembly area for the next part of the exercise, we wait for each fire team to go through, eight groups in all.

We go step by step through each of the five zones before taking a break for lunch, MREs for those who forgot to pack a lunch, although I just munch on a protein bar. After the wonderful weekend, I kind of indulged a little yesterday, and I don't want to let it get out of hand and put on weight. Chubby isn't good for Lieutenants, or for boyfriends.

I'm thinking of Lindsey when suddenly, there's a yell from near the toilets, and I rush over to find Corporal Nadar, the fire team leader for Bravo Team, holding his ankle. “Fuck!”

“What happened?” I ask, kneeling down next to Nadar while a bunch of the other troops come running. “Where are you hurt?”

“Slipped on some mud, sir,” he says, groaning and holding his leg. “My ankle . . . I heard something crack.”

“Okay, just relax,” I say, looking around. “Sergeant Pillman!”

“Sir!” He calls back, stepping forward. He kneels down, looking at Nadar. “What's up?”

“Nadar slipped, says he heard a crack,” I tell him, putting my hand on Nadar's shoulder to keep him on the ground. “Call in to the hospital, and take my Hummer. Evac him to get X-rays. I'll notify the CO and take over the range. Keep me in the loop.”

Nadar's injury puts a damper on the good mood everyone has going into the afternoon's training, which has four teams going through in staggered starts while the other three teams act as range safeties. With me stepping out of Alpha Team of 1st Squad and Bravo Team, 3rd Squad losing their leader, we adjust, condensing down to seven teams.

“Okay everyone, remember, this is what happens in real life too,” I remind everyone as the team leaders work their people into new positions. “Stay sharp, and go by the numbers. There's no pausing this time—you go from station to station as your range safeties say so. Squad leaders, keep your teams safe, and we'll have a good afternoon.”

With the quicker pace and redistributed teams, things are rough the first run through, with the platoon suffering six more 'casualties' from missing angles or slow reaction times that miss the targets set for the exercise. I check my watch. It's only three o'clock, and I decide to run it again. We'll go past five o'clock, but that has to happen sometimes. “All right, one more time. Keep your heads on a swivel and do your jobs. We're not accepting fifteen percent dead!”

Thankfully, the second run through goes much smoother, and only three of the teams suffer 'casualties,' which isn't too bad. We run an evac drill for each team and start to head back to the company area. While I'm riding, I feel my phone buzz, and I pull it out, seeing that it's a text message from Lindsey. Whatever it is, it can wait a little bit, and I shift it aside to call Pillman. “What's the deal, Sarge?”

“We're waiting on a second eval of the X-rays, sir, but the tech thinks that Nadal might have just sprained the hell out of it. He'll be on profile a while either way, but I think he's looking forward to goldbricking it for a while.”

I laugh, relieved. “Okay, that's not too bad. Let me fill in the CO. We're headed back now.”

I take a moment to read Lindsey's text since we've got a few minutes left before reaching the motor pool, and as I read the words, I can't help it. I'm excited. I can barely contain my desire to call her back, but I feel like I need to be sitting down for this, and I don't want to have to rush things.

Walking from the motor pool back to the company area where my car is parked, I can't wait any longer, and I dial up Lindsey. “Hello?”

“Lindsey. I got your text. What's up?”

There's a pause, and I hear her tell Lance that she needs to step outside to talk on the phone about adult things, and the creak of her screen door opening and closing. “Hey, sorry about the delay. He's happily eating his dinner. So how was your day?”

“I've had better,” I admit. “One of my troopers had to go to the hospital. But what's up with your message?”

“Well . . . after seeing what Lance made for you in daycare, I made a decision. I think we should tell Lance who his father is. The four-day training holiday is coming up the weekend after next.”

I stop, stunned. “You know I’m all for it. But are you sure?”

“I’m positive. You should see the card he had his teachers help him write for you. It says,
Big Brother Aaron, Thank you for the sleepover. I love you. Your Little Brother, Lance.
The only thing I can think of that would make it better is if it said
Daddy
on it.”

I’m stunned, unable to form any words. I take a few seconds, then compose myself with a deep breath, ready to say the words I never did before, but I won’t hold back any longer. “I love you, Lindsey. I've loved you for years, and I don't want to lie about that anymore. I can’t wait to be a father to Lance.”

There's a moment of silence, and I pause, standing outside the company building when Lindsey speaks again. “I love you too, Aaron.”

I can't help the smile that's on my face. Finally, it's out. “Okay. Listen, I've got some company stuff to take care of, then we can talk maybe Thursday afternoon, make some plans?”

“That sounds good. Talk to you later, Aaron. I . . . I love you.”

“I love you too, Lindsey. Good bye.” I put my phone away, and I’m practically whistling when I head into the company offices, stopping when Captain Bradley calls my name.

“Lieutenant Simpson!”

There's nobody else in the office, but the CO sounds pissed, and some of my good mood evaporates as I head to his office. “Sir?”

Bradley's got his glare going, he and points at the chair across the desk from him. “Sit down, Simpson.”

He never calls me by just my last name anymore unless he's pissed about something. Fuck it, time to man up. “Sir?”

“You should be more careful about your phone conversations, Lieutenant. I happened to have my window open, and I overheard you,” Captain Bradley says, fuming. “Now, thank God that nobody else in the goddamn company knows who Lindsey is, but I happen to because I processed the paperwork on your enrollment for this Big Brothers program. For fuck's sake, Simpson, what the hell are you thinking?”

“Sir . . .” I start, then shut up. Nothing to say, really. “What happens now, sir?”

“What happens is, I'd like to bust your ass,” Captain Bradley says, slamming his fist down on his desk. “I'd like to have you standing tall before the man. However, I can't. I've already got our asses in a sling with the Hardy situation, and now you've got another soldier in the goddamn hospital because you're too busy fucking some admin clerk in the MPs instead of being a good platoon leader!”

That pisses me off, and I glare at him, my jaw quivering. “My personal life has
nothing
to do with these incidents. Nadar slipped on mud, completely out of my control. And I take offense that you're even insinuating that I would be that unprofessional.”

“Don't you dare talk to me about being unprofessional!” Bradley hisses, his eyes blazing. “You . . . of all the fucking rules to violate, fraternization? Fuck, man, isn't there enough pussy running around Fayetteville that you could have kept yourself satisfied outside of post? Fayetteville girls nearly walk bowlegged because of the 82nd!”

“I don't operate that way, Captain. So, what are you going to do?” I ask, ready to feel the hammer drop. “Do I need to talk to JAG?”

Bradley stares at me, fuming for a long minute before shaking his head. “No. First off, I can't stop your promotion, and busting your ass days before you pin 1LT is going to embarrass the battalion commander, who's already informed me that he would like to be the one to pin you Thursday morning at the officer's professional development meeting. Second, if I bring you up on charges or an Article 15, the whole deal for Hardy goes out the window, and he's going before a court martial. I won't have a trooper under my command suffer because his Lieutenant can't stick his dick in the right place. But I’m giving you a direct order. You will break it off with this Lindsey. Do you understand me?”

“I hear you, Captain. Is that all, sir?”

Bradley sees the set of my jaw and shakes his head. “Get the fuck out. The next thing I want to hear about is some broken-hearted MP S-1 clerk who's pissed at you and keys your goddamn car or something. I already know about Nadar's injury status. Dismissed.”

I stand up and leave the office without saluting, probably a first for me. I'm pissed, upset, and also scared. I want to call Lindsey, but I don't. She doesn't need this dumped on her head just yet. I need to calm down. Instead of calling, I get in my car and drive home to sit in the dark, thinking.

The darkness matches my thoughts, which is helpful.

* * *

“
S
o he overheard
?”

Lindsey and I are sitting on the blacktop, watching as Lance plays happily in the late afternoon sun. Thursdays are normally short days for troops, and we're able to actually meet up here at an elementary school close to my place.

“Yeah. I guess . . . I didn’t realize I was that loud.”

Lindsey shakes her head. “We bucked the odds for how long at West Point? And let's face it, Aaron, it had to happen eventually. So, what did he tell you?”

“He told me to break it off with you, that the next thing he wants to hear from me is that you're broken-hearted and keying my car,” I say, and Lindsey tenses. “Don't worry, I'm not going to do that. Fuck Captain Bradley. I love you, Lindsey. And that's more important than what some Captain says.”