The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (77 page)

I snapped a quick picture while no one was looking.

“He says there are Taliban up in the hills, sir,” Sebastian said to Grant, quietly. “They moved into position during the night. He doesn’t think they’ll come out in daytime. Not sure I’d take that as an ironclad guarantee, but it could mean they’ll hit us at dusk, or first thing in the morning.”

I saw him glance at me.

“Anything else?” said the Captain.

Sebastian sighed. “He said his father has promised to get him a rifle like mine when he’s ten.”

I couldn’t help wondering how long this war would go on, when children were being used to carry it forward.

Then one of the boys spotted me and gaped, openly pointing me out to his friends. They rattled off a question and Sebastian grinned.

“They want to know if Ms. Venzi is your wife, sir, or if you just brought her to do the cooking.”

I’ll get you for that, Hunter!

Some of the troops laughed, but Grant looked slightly flustered.

“Tell them she does the cooking,” he said.

Sebastian gave them the answer and the boys nodded wisely. Then he handed each of them a hard candy, and we moved on, watching as they waved goodbye.

From a distance, I snapped another photo of them waving, then hurried to catch up with Grant.

“Would you like to explain that to me, Captain Grant,” I said, mildly, while secretly giving him the evil eye.

“I don’t want word getting out that we have a journalist with us,” he said, shortly.

He had a point, and, despite the heat, I felt a shiver go down my spine. As I fell back to my place in the middle of the patrol, I glanced over to see Sebastian looking at me, a serious and worried expression on his face.

We moved slowly next to the dried riverbed when one of the Marines on point yelled out, “Incoming!”

I looked up to see a bright flash in the sky and heard an intensely loud roaring overhead. I half-dived, half-fell into the wadi, following the Marines who’d hit the deck the second their colleague had shouted.

The rocket propelled grenade shook the ground as it exploded, and the percussion from the hot air deafened me. Even though I was terrified, I could tell that the noise wasn’t dangerously near to us.

“RPG, sir!” shouted the gunnery sergeant. “Bastards missed by 300 yards. Up in the foothills, sir. They’ll have us in range any second.”

He was right: we were in their sights and pinned down. The wadi gave us good protection but we couldn’t move either.

Sebastian crouched down next to me.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me. I won’t move. Promise.”

He gave an anxious look, then made his way back to Captain Grant.

Two men moved forward with a small mortar and fired off a couple of rounds. The rush of sound was distinctly comforting.

“Hewitt,” shouted the Captain, “call in air support. I want the shit bombed out of those fuckers. Give them the coordinates—now!”

I managed to turn around in the confined area and took photographs of the Marine on the radio calling air-support, and of the two Marines firing the occasional mortar round.

Two more RPGs came in, each landing a little closer, although not close enough to concern the men around me. I thought I was having an out-of-body experience: everyone seemed so calm, including me; although another, quieter, rational part, was scared witless.

Luckily I had something else to focus on. Despite the heat and despite the fact I’d sweated enough to leave salt marks on my clothes, I was dying to pee. Maybe it was just fear after all, but I didn’t know how much longer I could hang on.

Another fifteen minutes passed and the pressure on my bladder was becoming intolerable. I was seriously considering just peeing my pants right there. It was so hot, my clothes would dry quickly; the sting of humiliation would, however, last considerably longer.

I felt better when I noticed several of the Marines discreetly peeing into the wadi. God, it was so much easier for men. I should have worn a long skirt like the local women, then I could have just squatted down in the dirt and no one would have been any the wiser.

At that moment, I heard the sound of a jet streaking past overhead.

“Harrier,” muttered the bored-looking Marine who was kneeling down next to me.

There was an explosion so loud, it sounded as if a whole mountain had been blown up. A second explosion followed shortly afterward. I pressed my face into the dirt at the bottom of the wadi and tried to remember to breathe. I counted to a hundred before I dared to look up again. A thick cloud of dust and smoke hung over the foothills, lazily drifting down into the yellow valley.

I sat up to take a quick photo. I even remembered to take off the lens cap, which I thought was pretty damned impressive under the circumstances—and I still wanted to pee.

Then I noticed that several of the men were grinning at me.

“Was that your first time under fire, ma’am?”

“First time it was that damn close,” I said, with a thin smile. “I almost peed my pants.”

They laughed easily. “Well, you looked pretty cool, ma’am. We should make you an honorary Marine.”

“I’m sure Captain Grant would be delighted with that suggestion,” I muttered, and winked at them conspiratorially.

I looked across to see Sebastian smiling at me. I pressed my hand over my heart, and smiled back.

After waiting to see if there would be any further RPG attacks, we slowly made our way back along the dried up riverbed.

By now, my bathroom needs had intensified and I practically sprinted the last hundred yards to what passed for restrooms in the compound. ‘Sprinted’ might have been an exaggeration: I was wearing nearly 22 pounds of body armor; ‘staggered’ was probably more accurate.

But the relief could not be exaggerated. I floated out, oblivious to the catcalls and helpfully unhelpful comments from the Marines who were watching me with wide grins on their faces.

All I needed now was a hot shower, a good book, and a hot man. I’d come very near to an up-close-and-personal encounter with the Taliban: some life-affirming sex would be very welcome. I couldn’t see Sebastian among the sea of desert utility uniforms, but I hoped he’d find me later.

I dragged my sorry carcass to my room, dumped the body armor gratefully, then took my laptop and solar charger outside, and sat in the shade, writing my notes.

I could see a small flurry of activity going on at one side, with Marines hoisting up bits of rope and old jerry cans. My body was too weary to wonder what they were doing, and my brain was too stunned to care. But then I noticed that Sebastian seemed to be organizing the work party. After another ten minutes, he strolled over casually and squatted down next to me.

“How you doing, baby?” he said, in a low voice.

“Pretty damn good, Chief,” I replied, “considering I nearly got my ass shot off today.”

He chuckled quietly. “You are so fucking amazing, Caro.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Sebastian.”

We both noticed the speculative gazes we were garnering at the same time. He stood up abruptly. “We’ve fixed you up a makeshift shower.”

“Excuse me?” I said, certain that I’d misheard.

“The guys wanted to do something for you—they think you’re a ballsy woman. So they’ve made you a shower. You’ve got about two-and-a-half minutes of lukewarm water. How’s that sound?”

“What? How?”

I gaped at him and he smiled back.

“I just left some cartons of water out in the sun during the day. They got pretty warm: all we had to do was hoist them up and make a shower head. You’re good to go. Except you won’t be able to take off your clothes, but it’s better than nothing, I guess.”

“God, I love you!” I murmured. “But I think I love them, too!”

He snorted, but thankfully looked amused as I waved at the shower-building team.

“I’ll be right back!”

I hurried to my room and grabbed a small sachet of shampoo. I hadn’t thought I’d need it, but I was so happy that I’d included it after all.

The shower felt wonderful: washing the salt and dust out of my hair felt even better. I even managed to make a stab at washing my clothes while I was wearing them, before the water ran out. Then I sat out in the afternoon sunshine and let my clothes dry on my body, while I chatted to some of the guys, listening to their stories.

Captain Grant came out to check on me and I even managed to get a smile from him. I hoped the truce would hold—provided I managed not to oversleep again, of course.

Another box of MREs, four hard candies, and a really bad coffee later, I crawled into bed. If Sebastian came into my room in the night, he’d have to poke me awake with a sharp stick. My shoulders ached from wearing the heavy body armor all day. I couldn’t imagine how the guys must feel: their armor was even heavier, plus they had to carry their packs, ammunition and an eight pound rifle.

Their entire equipment and packs probably weighed more than I did.

And with that thought, I passed out.

CHAPTER 15

It was dark when I woke up; I realized I wasn’t alone.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you—I just wanted to see you.”

He was sitting at the bottom of my mattress again. I peered into the dark, his outline faint against the darker shadow of the wall.

I rubbed my gritty eyes and reached out for him. “You’re too far away,” I grumbled, holding up my arms toward him.

He uncoiled himself from the floor, and tried to stretch out next to me, but his boots hit the door.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “they’ve given you a damn hutch to sleep in.”

“At least it’s private, Sebastian,” I said, running my finger across his stubbly chin.

He smiled. “Yeah, that’s something.”

He leaned over me, taking his weight on his arms, and kissed me, softly. I think he just had a simple goodnight kiss in mind; I certainly didn’t.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and locked our faces together. Needing more, I pushed my tongue between his lips, and explored his mouth hungrily. He tasted of salt and mint gum. Desire bloomed inside me and I ran my hands down his back, resting them on his fine ass, feeling the rough material beneath my fingers, and squeezed hard.

“Are you sure, Caro?” he breathed.

“Yes,” I whispered back. “Here and now.”

He groaned softly, and I felt the weight of his body press down onto my chest.

“But you’re going to have to get naked,” I added.

He sighed and pushed back from me.

“It’s going to take some explaining if the Taliban attack and I run out of your room with my ass hanging out,” he replied.

It was a fair point, and he was only trying to protect my honor and act professionally, just as I’d asked. And yet … I weighed up the pros and cons, realized he was right, and decided to strip him anyway.

We’d come under enemy fire today, and faced it together. I realized how lucky I was: surviving had made me damned horny, and I craved a bout of rough, life-affirming sex with my gorgeous fiancé. I felt, quite literally, that life was too short not to grasp something so good with both hands.

This man, lying in my arms, had told me over and over again that he loved me—that he’d always loved me. And, despite everything that fate had thrown in our path—time, distance, and age difference—we were in love. The why and how didn’t seem to matter anymore: finally, finally I’d accepted that this was real and that it wasn’t going to go away—that Sebastian wasn’t going to go away. I’d accepted that he was beautiful and sexy and younger than me; and that women with far better bodies and far fewer years would want him, too. And I’d accepted that he wasn’t perfect, and had a string of conquests on at least three continents; and I’d accepted that life was going to continue to throw new hurdles in our path—and I didn’t damn well care.

It wasn’t perfect: so what? Life isn’t perfect: life is what happens while you’re waiting for your moment in the sun and if you miss it, waiting instead for the perfect illusion that Hollywood sells, then more fool you. I’d spent half my life waiting for the right moment: I was done with waiting.

“Time to get naked, Chief,” I ordered.

“Make me,” he shot back.

Oh, willingly.

“Okay, what can I trade you to get you to take your shirt off?”

His eyebrows shot up.

“Trade?”

“Yes. I want you to take your shirt off, but it seems like I’ll have to give you something in return. If I agree to your terms, you lose the shirt. If I don’t agree, you get to keep it on.”

“For real?”

“Yes, Sebastian,” I said, pleased with my invention, but also intrigued to see what he’d come up with.

“A shirt for a shirt, Caro.”

Okay, so he was starting out easy. But I was wearing fewer clothes than he was.

I undid my shirt and watched his eyes widen as he took a deep breath, his gaze drawn to my breasts. His jacket and t-shirt hit the floor and we were both naked from the waist up.

“So far so good: I want you to take off your boots and socks.”

He thought for a moment.

“Okay, but I want you to touch your breasts, Caro; touch yourself until your nipples are hard.”

I ran my hands lightly over myself, toying with my nipples while I stared into his eyes.

“Fuck!” he said, wetting his lips with his tongue.

“Boots,” I said, my voice sharp with need.

It took a minute for him to unlace his boots and tug his feet out of them, then peel off his socks. His coordination wasn’t helped by the fact that I continued to massage my breasts, turning myself on with my hands and his dark gaze.

“I want you to take off your pants, Sebastian.”

“And you have to lose those pajama bottoms, Caro,”

I slipped them off quickly, adding them to the pile of clothes in the corner.

Sebastian matched me, unzipping his pants and tossing them away. My eyes were drawn to the very noticeable bulge in his briefs. But I needed to get them off him first—and I didn’t have any clothes left to trade.

“I want you naked, Sebastian,” I whispered.

“I want you to touch yourself between your legs, Caro. I want to see you come.”

I pulled a face.

“What?” he said, looking confused.

“Sebastian, I can do that any night of the week; frankly I was hoping you’d do it for me.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but it’ll be a real fucking turn on for me.”

“All right then, but you, too.”

“Me, too, what?”

“Lose the briefs, get handy, and make yourself come.”

He hesitated for a moment. “Ah, what the hell.”

He lay on his back and lifted his butt, so he could slide his briefs over his hips. His erection leapt free immediately.

Then he pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall facing me, and started stroking himself. I knelt up, spreading my knees wide and began to rub my clitoris slowly.

I felt utterly aroused watching him touch himself so intimately, staring into his eyes as his breath began to come faster, as I listened to myself moan softly. He wrapped his right hand firmly around himself, and started gripping harder; and I copied him, matching him stroke for stroke, my back arching as my insides began to tremble and my body begged for release.

“Oh, fuck this,” he snarled. He launched himself forward, forcing me onto my back, and slammed into me, pumping hard.

I smacked his shoulder and pushed him off. “Condom!”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

He pulled out of me hurriedly, grabbed his pants and dragged them toward him, fumbling in the pocket for a foil packet. He swore again as he dropped it and had to search for another.

“I’m sheathed up,” he hissed, at last.

“From behind: make it rough.”

I heard his breath catch, but he didn’t need to be asked twice. I rolled onto my hands and knees and felt him grip my hips. He rammed into me so hard, I had to stifle my cry with one hand. I collapsed onto my forearms as he let himself go, hammering into my body, using me for sex, just like I’d told him to. It was rough and raw and just what I wanted—what I needed.

I pushed my ass back against him, and felt his balls slap against my skin as he plunged into me again and again.

He leaned over and reached down to palm my left breast, squeezing the nipple hard enough to make me cry out. Then he let go and moved his hand lower, his fingers circling me and reaching far enough back, so that I knew he was touching his shaft at the same time, feeling himself move in and out of me.

I brought my hand up to meet his, and we twined our fingers together, quite literally feeling our connection.

My body gave way as I came, and Sebastian hooked his arm around my waist to hold me up, until his own climax had him collapsing onto my thin mattress.

I was almost passing out, I was gasping for breath, and Sebastian was breathing hard. I could feel the sweat on my chest and back.

Sebastian pulled out of me, a movement that made me wince. I’d asked for rough sex and I’d got it. Oh, boy had I got it.

I felt his breath on my neck and his hand rested on my hip.

“Are you okay?” he breathed, softly.

“Yes,” I gasped. “Apart from the fact I’ll be walking like I just got off my camel tomorrow. You?”

“Yeah, I think I ripped my foreskin—what’s left of it,” he muttered.

“Really?” I turned around to face him. “Are you okay?”

He smiled and stroked my cheek. “Kidding, Caro. That was fucking awesome. You were like some wild woman.”

“You were pretty wild yourself. But you’re right: I don’t know what got into me—other than you, of course. Do you want to go again?”

“Christ, Caro! Are you trying to kill me?”

“Hmm, death by orgasm. What do you think? A handful by morning?”

“If you want, Caro, but you know what I’d really like to do now?”

“Thrill me.”

He pulled me into his arms and looked at me seriously. “I want to make love to you, Caro. I freakin’ loved that, but it was just sex. Can we take it slow, baby? Take our time? I want to touch every part of your body.”

He kissed me gently and ran his hands across my shoulders and down to my waist, expressing with his hands what he’d told me in so many words.

His movements were tender and loving and gentle: there were so many different sides to this complex man. It was an education learning all his facets, and learning how trust was growing between us.

At last he fell asleep, his body curled around mine, his head resting on my chest.

As the night drifted past, and morning was just a breath away, I was reluctant to wake him. He’d missed a lot of sleep to take care of me the last two nights, and he needed to be alert. I waited until the very last possible second to wake him.

“Time to get up, Sebastian,” I said reluctantly, running my hands over the silky skin of his back.

He blinked and tried to stretch, but ended up kicking the door again.

“Very stealthy, Chief,” I remarked, watching him sit up and search for his briefs.

He grinned back at me. “Yeah, trained in stealth, camouflage and concealment, baby.”

“You were certainly concealed in me last night—several times, I seem to remember.”

“Did ya lose count, baby?” he smirked.

I didn’t bother to answer that one; instead, I had another question. “By the way, how come you’re managing to get in here without anyone noticing you’re not where you’re supposed to be?”

He frowned. “It’s not that hard—I’m kind of separate from everyone. I’m on attachment so none of them know me; I’m in charge of the other interpreters, but they’re all Afghan, so I’m not part of that either. It was different when I was still with my unit, but this way no one knows when or where I’m on duty. Except Grant, and he’s got more to worry about than where I sleep. Works out pretty well, huh, Caro?”

I realized that his job must be lonely on occasions, and spending time with me meant he wasn’t bonding with other members of the unit.

The military machine worked at its best when everyone knew their job and did it properly: lives depended on that. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t help thinking that men fought for their friends, for the guys in their unit, rather than for their country. That came into it, sure, but in this kind of guerrilla warfare, your life usually depended on the other guy you broke bread with. They were your family.

I looked up and saw that Sebastian was gazing at me, his head on one side, as if he was trying to read what was going on in my mind.

I smiled at him, hiding my concern.

“Time to move your ass, Sebastian. I’ll see you later?”

He kissed me quickly, and then darted out through the door. Half a minute later I saw him strolling casually across the compound, greeting some of the other men who were either waking up or coming off watch.

I yawned and stretched, and took a moment to freshen myself up with some more baby-wipes, before heading out to join the line for chow.

The day’s new gossip was that fresh rations would be dropped in by helicopter in the next couple of days. Other than the butt-clenching fear of being under fire, it was as exciting as things got.

I realized that if there was going to be a food drop, then there might well be mail, too. I decided I’d keep my promise to Sebastian and write him a letter.

Thankfully, the day passed far less eventfully than the previous one. I wasn’t sent out with Sebastian, but accompanied Lieutenant Crawley and a cheerful Afghan interpreter called Gawhar, who told me his name meant ‘jewel’. He was fascinated by the fact that I wasn’t married and didn’t have children. He kept asking who was ‘in charge’ of me. He couldn’t comprehend my answer of ‘no one’. I wouldn’t like to imagine how puzzled he’d be if he ever met a woman officer with men under her command. I hoped my presence gave him another point of view, at the very least.

Gawhar thought women should be educated “up to the age of 11”, so that they could be more useful in childrearing. At one time, women in Afghanistan had been able to go to college, but now anyone attempting to educate girls was living very dangerously. Gawhar’s attitude was relatively liberal, compared to many.