Red, Hot & Blue 09 - A Prince Among Men (2 page)

“Holy fucking hell.” Nearby, Wally let out an uncharacteristically foul curse. ”I’ll be goddamned. This all started with just a few pieces of dirt hitting me in the head. Look at it now.”

Hoisting himself out of the muck, Ryan ignored the sorry state of his mud-covered cammies as he blinked the rainwater out of his eyes. “Damn. That was close.”

“You can say that again.” From next to Ryan, Hawk agreed.

“What now?” Ryan glanced at his squad leader.

Hawk sighed and looked at the assembled group of shell-shocked soldiers and their scattered belongings littering the wet ground. “Now I’m going to have to go and break the bad news to the company commander. I’ll get back as soon as I can to help clean this up. Meanwhile, Pettit, organize the squad and dig what you can salvage out of that mess. And have a team set up temporary sleeping quarters for the displaced troops in the other buildings.”

Inwardly, Ryan thought Yeah, right. Eight men from their squad and the three most recent arrivals from the British troops had been squashed into what was now rubble, and Hawk wanted them all relocated to the other buildings, which were already fully occupied?

Outwardly, Ryan nodded crisply. “Yes, sir.”

With the responsibility for the cleanup temporarily in Ryan’s hands, Hawk took off in search of the commander.

Now fueled by adrenaline as well as caffeine, Ryan took quick stock of the situation. He would get the job Hawk had assigned to him done, but he could forget about sleep for the near future.

Within a quarter of an hour, he and his squad had the personal belongings on the ground covered with a tarp to protect them from the incessant rain. He had rotating crews digging for more salvage amid the rubble. Meanwhile, a team of soldiers led by Wally had been sent to find any spare mattresses or blankets and begin setting up temporary sleeping quarters in the other buildings.

Ryan’s squad worked together well, whether it was on a mission or digging in the mud. His troops weren’t the problem, but as he looked around, it seemed two of the new British arrivals, who’d done nothing yet to help, just might be.

Walking up to the two men sitting on the sidelines while everyone else worked, Ryan kept international diplomatic relations in mind.

“Is anything wrong here?” He mustered as much politeness as he could in the state he was in.

“No, Sergeant. I’m fine. Stunned is all.” The Brit who’d spoken looked away from Ryan to glance pointedly at his companion as he answered and began to rise.

The other Brit, looking panicked, pointed toward the streak of blood smeared across his friend’s forehead. “You need to see a medic, sir.”

“So you’ve said numerous times. And thank you for your concern, Rumsfield, but I really am fine and I’d like to help.”

“But, sir—”

“Rumsfield, this place is in a shambles. I’m not going to sit around on my arse while the rest of the lads work. I’ll let the medic take a look after I help.”

Ryan watched the exchange between the two with about as much interest as could be expected given he was wet, dirty and tired. He did spare a thought that they bickered more like an old married couple than a couple of soldiers, even for Brits.

“We’re digging out what stuff we can,” Ryan informed Lieutenant Wales, the bloodied Brit’s name according to the name tape on his mud-caked uniform. Hell, if Wales said he wanted to help in spite of what this Rumsfield guy thought, Ryan may as well tell him what needed doing.

Wales nodded crisply in response to Ryan. And with one last glance at the still-concerned Rumsfield, Wales was off toward the heap of rubble, his friend a shadow right behind him as he went.

Ryan watched their departure for a few seconds before heading off to do one of the thousand or so other things that needed to be done before his head would hit a pillow.

It appeared the press conference would be starting late. Again. In spite of the fact that the overly warm room had long ago filled with reporters, the British Prime Minister had yet to appear to answer their questions.

Meanwhile, Vicki Vanover had already checked her email on her shiny new phone, organized her notes and had even cleaned all the old crumpled gum wrappers out of the bottom of her oversized bag.

With an impatient huff, Vicki placed her camera gently on the floor and pulled her cell phone back out of her weathered—okay, perhaps beaten-up was a better description—leather satchel.

Moments of free time were already too few and far between. Since Vicki was unwillingly experiencing one right now, she might as well use the time to surf over to her newest favorite online pastime, reading military blogs.

Actually, one milblog in particular. And it was rapidly becoming more than a pastime. Her interest in one specific blog had become a downright obsession.

She hated to admit it, but she had a little bit of a crush on one of the bloggers. She tried to excuse the attraction to a soldier she’d never met as professional respect for his writing ability. The only problem with that was she rarely found herself all tingly on the inside from reading impressive articles in say…The New York Times.

Vicki dismissed the feeling of shame her arousal at corresponding with this guy caused. Chances were she’d never meet him, so what harm could a little online crush do? Besides, she figured since her next assignment would have her heading into war-torn Afghanistan, she couldn’t be prepared enough. Milblogs were about as real a taste of what to expect as she could get for now.

As usual, the milblog’s author, screen name Groundpounder, had responded to her blog comment with one of his own. Vicki felt the warmth grow and spread throughout her belly as she read it.

My dear Vicki V,

So glad you liked the last post. As you can see by my newest blog entry, I’ve been buried deep, and not in a good way.

Enjoy.

Groundpounder

After reading his brief but suggestive reply twice, and growing warmer with each reading, she moved on to the new blog post he had alluded to. He had named this installment “The Weather is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful.”

Vicki smiled, appreciating yet another one of Groundpounder’s frequent Jimmy Buffet song references, and began to scroll through the post she’d anxiously been awaiting on her cell’s small screen.

The next time our B-team leader acts like the sky is falling, I guess I will have to listen to him, because the sky actually fell. Or at least, it rained enough to cave in the roof of one of our mud huts, nearly crushing eleven sleeping men and successfully burying all the equipment in the operations center that couldn’t be thrown out the door before the collapse. That was almost two weeks ago and, forgive me, but it’s been that long since my last blog post. Here’s a rundown of what happened during that time…

After a few hours of digging that morning—and let us not forget I had just gotten off twenty-four hours of guard duty when the shit, or shall we say the mud, started to fly—we found a few more of the guys’ personal items and cleared a small portion of the rubble. We finally called it quits, at which time the now displaced Joes had to be packed into rooms with the rest of us. So now Sergeant Wallace is sharing our already too small quarters with the squad leader and me.

It took until yesterday to completely clear all of the mess and recover what survived the collapse, and that was on top of all of our usual duties. Luckily, the crappy, rainy weather kept the baddies at bay for a lot of that time. Not one Joe complained about the loss of items or the extra work. We were lucky no lives were lost that day. Tomorrow, we may not be so lucky.

Vicki read the post and sighed. This guy never failed to tug at her heartstrings. At least this time, Groundpounder hadn’t managed to make her cry as he had so often in the past.

“What’s got you sighing so big? What are you reading there on your cellie, love?”

Vicki looked up to find Mel, her favorite Australian cameraman, and felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. She seriously hoped the fact she was lusting over a strange blogger wasn’t written all over her face. “Hey there, Mel. Just a milblog written by a US soldier deployed in Afghanistan. I got approved for the assignment I requested. I’m getting sent to Kandahar. I figure I better get the feel of the country before I get there.”

Mel bobbed his sandy-haired head. He straddled the chair next to her and sat. “So you’re definitely going then?”

Vicki nodded, excited. “It wasn’t easy getting the magazine to agree, but I really think it’s important to have a female’s take on the progress in that country as far as women’s rights.”

“I’ve spent a bit of time in Afghanistan myself. I’d love to chew the fat about it with you over a beer…or maybe breakfast.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.

Handsome in a rugged, Indiana Jones kind of way and over-the-top flirty while always managing to remain a gentleman—that was Mel. Too bad Vicki had a no-dating-men-at-work policy. Actually, it was a fairly new policy enacted about a year ago after the disastrous ending to her ill-fated relationship with a co-worker.

The problem with the no-dating-at-work plan, however, was that Vicki only met men at work. Her self-imposed ban had led to an extremely long dry spell in her dating, and more importantly, in her sex life. Even so, she planned to stick with the resolve. She’d figure out a way to iron out the kinks in the plan later. But the globetrotting ladies’ man Mel and his proposal, as charming as his Australian accent was, still were definitely off limits.

Vicki laughed. “Thanks, Mel. I’ll keep that in mind.” He probably wouldn’t know what to do with himself if she ever said yes to him anyway.

As usual, Mel grinned good-naturedly at her sidestepping around his flirting and winked. “I hope you will, Vicki, and if things do get dodgy in Afghanistan, give me a jingle. I know some blokes there.”

“I bet you do.” Vicki had no doubt that after all the time he spent embedded as a cameraman there, the man was familiar with Afghanistan. She would definitely not hesitate to call or email him if things got dodgy, as he had put it.

A door in the wall behind the podium opened and the prime minister, along with his entourage, funneled into the room, interrupting Vicki’s thoughts.

Mel rose from the chair with a sigh. “Time to go and make a quid.” He hooked a thumb back toward his video camera set up on a tripod along the sidewall.

She laughed at his ever-colorful dialogue. “Talk to you later, Mel.”

He smiled handsomely. “Abso-bloody-lutely.”

Vicki had barely managed to hear him over the hustle and bustle of a roomful of restless and high-strung members of the media as the press conference began. The prime minister’s press secretary adjusted the microphone’s angle before announcing, “The prime minister will make a brief statement before taking questions. Please hold all queries until the end.”

Vicki snapped a few quick photos as the prime minister took the podium, before she stowed the camera and took out her notepad and pen. She wasn’t there so much for pictures for her magazine as she was for information. The prime minister was supposed to be speaking on Britain’s continued involvement in Afghanistan. Of course, their allies’ troop movements were of interest to Vicki’s US readers, but more importantly, with her own departure for the region looming, Vicki was interested on a more personal level. When he began speaking, she tuned out all else and concentrated fully on his words.

“Currently, Britain’s Foreign Secretary, David Miliband, is in Kabul meeting with Condoleezza Rice and Afghan President Hamid Karzai. He’s there on my behalf to recommit the British government to the plans set out in the House of Commons in December. We are determined to work with our allies against our shared enemies. One of these enemies is terrorism, but also we fight the common enemies of poverty and ill health, which conspire against economic development and the aspirations of the Afghan people to build a decent life for themselves. Britain is dedicated to helping the Afghan people gain those privileges rightly due to them.

“Secretary Miliband is also there to reflect on progress, to recognize the refugees coming back to the country, the children going to school and the improvements in healthcare, none of which would have been achieved without the support of the international community.”

Glancing around the crowded room, the prime minister concluded the reading of his written announcement by saying, “I’ll now take questions.”

The hand of every reporter in the room rose, including Vicki’s.

“Mr. Wood. Go ahead.” The prime minister pointed to a foreign-press correspondent seated in the front row and addressed him by name.

“Thank you, Prime Minister. Is it true the decision has been made that Prince Harry will be joining his unit in Afghanistan?”

“Prince Harry is proud to be serving his country and looks forward to continuing to do so.”

Vicki raised a brow. Did sidestepping questions they didn’t want to answer, as the prime minister had just done so effectively, come naturally to all politicians? Maybe they went through some sort of training course to hone the skill.

Still standing, Wood tried to get more clarification. “But given that Prince Harry is third in line for the throne—”

“Members of the royal family have proudly served in the military throughout history. The Princes William and Harry, like their father, as well as their aunt and uncle, are no exception.” In spite of the foreign-press correspondent’s attempt at a follow-up question, it was clear the prime minister was done with that particular topic. He moved on, pointing to an American reporter. “You, sir. In the second row. What is your question?”

“Jonathon Gorlin, Associated Press. Do you agree with the assessment last week by an independent panel in the United States which said Afghanistan is the forgotten war and that the state is at risk of again failing unless there is a more concerted international effort?”

“The defeat of al-Qaida and terrorism, both of which were prevalent in the region for so many years, was achieved in less than a month and a half. Since then, Afghanistan has moved forward. Highways have been completed. Healthcare is being provided for the entire country. There is a better economy and better wages, more business, a constitution, a free press and so on. All of this proves that Afghanistan has not been forgotten. Next question.”