Semper Fidelis (23 page)

He rejected hope until he heard Matt’s voice in his ear, advising friendlies were inbound from the east. Jamie ordered his men to cease firing to the east. He watched in amazement as three Humvees, loaded down with Matt and his platoon of Marines, rolled into the village center, M16s and Ma Dueces roaring with each fifty caliber round they sent down range.

Jamie was nauseated with relief. He leaned heavily against the wall, still on his knees, as Marines poured from the Humvees and fanned out through the village. On the roof above him, Jamie’s Marines called out greetings, cheers, and encouragement.

The village fell silent.

Head on a swivel, Matt crossed to the structure serving as Jamie’s shelter. He met Jamie’s eyes through the pane-less window, giving a casual lift of his chin in greeting. Jamie tried and failed to get to his feet as Matt entered the house.

Crouching in front of Jamie, Matt said, “I heard you could use a little help out here.”

Jamie gave a weak laugh. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Thanks, man.”

“Anytime,” Matt replied without blinking. “You’d do the same for me. Can you stand? Are you wounded?” He carefully gripped Jamie’s biceps and gave a gentle tug upward.

Bracing his opposite shoulder against the rough, mud wall, Jamie made it to his feet. He gasped at the myriad sharp pains that came from nowhere and covered the front of his body. Jamie felt as if he’d been hit with a shotgun blast. He hissed through his teeth.

“Shit, Jamie. Is that your blood?” Matt’s eyes were wide as they swept up and down Jamie’s frame.

“What? No,” he answered quickly, baffled by the question. Jamie looked down at himself to determine what the hell Matt was going on about.

Matt’s grip on Jamie’s arm tightened. He leaned out the window and shouted. “Doc! Hey, Doc. Where you at?”

Navy Corpsman Danny Wilson appeared from around the corner of the structure. “Right here, Captain. Whatcha got?”

“Captain Anders appears to have taken some shrapnel,” Matt replied.

Doc Wilson made a beeline for the front door.

Jamie didn’t have the energy or the strength to resist. He hated being fussed over. He needed to check on his men, get them ready to hump it back to their Humvees so they could RTB. Instead, he let Matt help him sit back down on the dirt floor. Slumping against the wall at his back, Jamie gritted his teeth against the pain.

Matt went to stand in the doorway, talking to Staff Sergeant Reardon. The two of them, along with Matt’s platoon sergeant, had everything under control. Jamie was the only one wounded. All the Marines had plenty of ammunition now and there was no sign of any incoming Taliban.

Jamie was barely aware enough to understand Matt’s side of a radio conversation, but he was alert enough to comprehend that Rusty had secured the hill and the remaining hostiles were on the run. It was okay to relax now.

Doc helped Jamie off with his MTV. The outer fabric and webbing were shredded, meaning it had done its job and stopped most of the shrapnel flung at Jamie. Doc’s fingers were warm as they unfastened the chinstrap of Jamie’s Kevlar.

Before Doc Wilson could remove his Kevlar, Jamie gripped it with both hands, slid it off and set it on the floor.

“I gotta cut away your pants, Captain,” Doc informed him, taking Jamie’s actions in his stride. “Only way to get to your wounds without making you strip down.”

Jamie nodded sharply. As the corpsman sliced through the fabric of his uniform, Jamie distracted himself with the damage to his armored vest. Dozens of metal fragments were embedded in the modular plates that had protected his chest. Some of them were pretty fucking huge. Those would have torn him up, if he hadn’t been wearing armor.

“Take these, Skipper,” Wilson said, handing Jamie two white tablets and a bottle of water. “They’ll take the edge off while I dig the shrapnel out of your legs. Then I’ll clean the wounds and bandage you up.”

Jamie took the analgesic without resistance. He hadn’t looked at his legs, but he knew they’d been hit with the same kinds of shrapnel embedded in his vest. This shit was gonna hurt. “Do what ya gotta do, Doc,” Jamie said, choking slightly on the water.

Clenching his jaw against the pain, Jamie ground his teeth. The sound was thunderous in his ears. He forced himself to breathe through the pain as Doc probed his wounds and dug out the smaller debris.

Jamie picked up his Kevlar with trembling hands. He cradled it against his chest, finally looking down at the precious item he always carried tucked inside the liner. Now that he was safe, now that he’d cheated what he’d been sure was certain death, Jamie allowed himself to think of Tucker.

He slid the photograph free of the helmet’s liner. Still secure in its protective plastic sleeve, the snapshot was of Jamie and Tucker, taken by Jamie’s mom just weeks before his deployment.

He’d never understood what heartache meant, until he met Tucker. Jamie’s chest had tightened the moment he’d seen the long-haired, muscled, tattoo-adorned man looking at him from a mere three feet away.

That same, familiar ache stole his breath now as Jamie traced a trembling fingertip over the image of Tucker’s wide, bright smile. Jamie could hear the booming laugh that frequently accompanied those heart-stopping smiles and always seemed to reach Tucker’s dark eyes. It was easy to picture Tucker pushing long strands of dark hair out of his eyes, the entire thick, tousled mass settling against his shoulders.

Jamie swallowed hard, the lump in his throat painful. He remembered his last night at home before this deployment. Even in the dark of their bedroom, Tucker’s intricately and extensively inked skin was vivid. Jamie had memorized each design, just as he’d memorized each expression, each moan and every sigh.

He wasn’t afraid to die. Jamie had never feared his own death, but he was stunned by the strength of his desire to return home to Tucker. He
needed
to get home to Tucker.

“All right, Skipper, that’ll hold you ’til we can get you to sick bay.”

Doc Wilson’s voice yanked Jamie out of his memory. His return to the present was jarring enough to make the room spin. Doc glanced at Jamie’s face repeatedly as he packed up his gear.

“Thanks, Doc.” Jamie’s voice was hoarse and strained. He looked down at himself. His uniform pants were slit from bootstraps to hips. His legs were wrapped in pristine, white bandages. He’d been so lost in his thoughts of Tucker, Jamie had hardly been aware that shrapnel was being cut from his legs. Now, the sharp twinges of individual wounds fused into a single, constant hum of pain.

Jamie replaced the photo in his Kevlar and strapped it on. Slowly, he started to get to his feet, but Doc Wilson was suddenly standing over him, both hands extended.

“Let me help you up, sir.” Danny wasn’t offering. He was making a suggestion that was nearly an order.

It was on the tip of Jamie’s tongue to refuse. He was a Marine Corps captain, a battle-hardened warrior who had just defied Death. Jamie’s hands still shook and he wasn’t entirely sure he had the strength to stand on his own two feet.

“Thank you, Danny,” Jamie said, letting his gratitude show.

Crossing the uneven ground of the village, Jamie shuffled his way toward Matt’s Humvee. Pride be damned, he couldn’t hump it back to where they’d left their own victors. He would have to hitch with Matt.

Doc Wilson strolled along beside Jamie, keeping up a running monolog about nothing of consequence. He talked as if they were enjoying a backyard barbeque, back home in Oceanside, but stayed close enough to Jamie that their shoulders and arms brushed repeatedly.

Matt appeared around the rear of the Humvee. “Good work on Captain Anders, Doc,” he greeted.

“He’s an exemplary patient, sir,” Danny replied, turning toward Jamie. “I’m going to do a final welfare check on all your men. If you bleed through your bandages or your pain gets worse, you need to let me know, Captain Anders.”

“Solid copy, Doc,” Jamie said wearily. He just wanted to climb into a victor and close his eyes for a couple of minutes.

“You ride shotgun, Jamie,” Matt ordered, holding open the Humvee door. “I’ll drive. My guys will run alongside until we reach your vehicles, since they got to ride all the way here.”

Jamie didn’t argue. As far as he was concerned, his Marines had come close enough to death, they’d earned a seven-click ride in a Humvee.

Matt got both platoons rounded up and ready to step off. Jamie sat inside the victor, head back, eyes closed. He felt the photo, safe in its protective plastic, pressed against his sweaty forehead. Even when they were RTB, Jamie kept his eyes closed.

He had four months left on this deployment. Four months before Jamie would be able to see Tucker again. He just had to stay alive long enough.

Chapter Two

Jamie bounded down the steps of the bus. His LPCs hit the asphalt of the parking lot aboard Camp Pendleton. They’d been processed at 29 Palms, so he only had to get his gear and go. Jamie’s rucksack was large and green, just like every other Marine climbing off the bus.

Luck was on his side, for once. Jamie’s was the third ruck he checked. He shouldered the weight, turned on his heel and strode across the blacktop. Pushing his way through the gathering crowd of reuniting families, Jamie murmured apologies and hastily returned words of thanks and farewell from his men.

This was his first deployment since he and Tucker had met. This was Jamie’s first homecoming since the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. He didn’t know what to expect—he wasn’t sure how to act. Tucker had vowed, over and over, to be here to greet Jamie when he got home. Until Jamie had begun the final leg of his journey home, he’d thought he wouldn’t mind Tucker greeting him at the house.

For the first time since accepting his commission, envy twisted sourly in Jamie’s gut. He was surrounded by husbands and wives, wrapped in fierce embraces, exchanging passionate kisses of reunion.

“Jamie!”

He almost stopped walking, but he wasn’t sure he’d actually heard his name.

“Jamie!”

His heart slammed against his ribs. He surreptitiously scanned the civilians, careful not to turn his head.

“Jamie Anders!” The resonant masculine voice cracked on the final syllable.

He gasped at the sight of Tucker, eagerly making his way through the crowd. His muscles were barely contained by the bright red, short-sleeved Henley he wore. His jeans were the well-faded, comfortably soft pair that Jamie had frequently stripped off Tucker’s body.

Finally pushing clear of the throng, Tucker sprinted the final distance between them. His long, dark hair floated around his shoulders, his dark eyes locked on to Jamie’s. Need was a living thing inside him, driving him to drop his rucksack from his shoulder and open his arms wide.

Jamie stumbled back several steps when their bodies collided audibly. He released a laugh that masqueraded as a sob. His arms were full of Tucker, warm and firm against him. Jamie curled his hands into fists, gripping the soft cotton of Tucker’s shirt. He buried his face against Tucker’s neck, inhaling the scent that had lingered in his memory. Fragrant strands of long, silky hair tickled Jamie’s cheek, adding another layer of scent and overloading his senses.

Tucker’s breath was hot against Jamie’s ear. His strong arms, wrapped around Jamie’s shoulders, held him down and made this homecoming
real
. To his amazement, a violent shudder ran the length of Tucker’s solid frame. The soft sound he made against the shell of Jamie’s ear was part sigh, part sob. That sound reached into Jamie’s chest, wrapped a fist around his heart and cradled it lovingly.

“I missed you so fucking much,” Jamie murmured, his lips dancing along Tucker’s bristly jaw.

“I’m so glad you’re home.” Tucker’s voice was raw with emotion. He swallowed audibly. “I’m glad you’re home and that you’re okay.”

Jamie only nodded. The fronts of his legs were peppered with fresh, angry red scars. He saw demons in his dreams and couldn’t wash a dead man’s blood from beneath his fingernails.

“I wasn’t sure you were serious about meeting me here.” Jamie pulled back but couldn’t meet Tucker’s eyes.

Once again, Tucker proved he was the braver man. Jamie’s face was held between Tucker’s rough hands and their mouths pressed together. Jamie opened for Tucker, welcoming his seeking tongue and licking back against him. It was better than he remembered and as good as he’d dreamed.

They parted reluctantly and Jamie suddenly realized what had just happened. A quick glance around told him no one was paying them any attention. They were just another couple, happy to be reunited.

“I couldn’t wait a second longer to see you again,” Tucker breathed against Jamie’s lips.

Jamie struggled for a long moment. He understood Tucker’s words, but not their meaning. He smiled with sudden comprehension, agreeing completely.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jamie said, nipping at Tucker’s lower lip.

Tucker stepped back, smiling blindingly. “Do you need to check out with someone?” His hand slid down Jeremy’s arm to grip his hand.

“Already done,” Jamie replied. “Where’s the car?”

Pausing only long enough to throw his rucksack over his shoulder once more, Jamie let himself be led by the hand to where Tucker had parked his pick-up.

They couldn’t stop touching each other as Jamie tossed his ruck into Tucker’s truck bed. They parted long enough to climb into the cab. Once belted in, they shared another long kiss. Jamie twined their fingers and rested their hands on the console between them.

Finally on their way home, Jamie tried to relax. Their surroundings were familiar. Tucker’s hand clasped in his own felt comfortable, just like he remembered.

They stopped for a red light. A crowd of civilians on either side of the street began to cross. They met and mingled, a chaotic mess of colors and shapes. Jamie’s back ached with tension. He scanned the mob, watching for weapons, keeping an eye out for suspicious behaviors.

The crowd thinned. A few stragglers darted across the street but made no threatening moves. The light changed and Tucker drove on.

“Everything okay?” Tucker looked at him askance, giving their joined hands a brisk shake.