“Look, this isn’t gonna be a bad set-up. We’re here as force-multipliers. Every guy is expected to lead one company-size group, up to 100 guys each. It’s our job to teach them how to defend their own country.” Hawke sat in the back with his feet propped up on the seat between Patrick and Jayco.
“Morale is important. We have to build confidence in these men and at the same time establish our leadership role. We always want to give off an aura like we’re the masters of chaos and jacks of all trades. They expect a lot out of us and we have to give them what they expect.” Patrick had been through this before. It could be worse. They could have been sent on a raid of some kind or be asked to locate and disarm IED’s. All he wanted to do was get back to camp and contact Savannah. It had been a week since he got here and they hadn’t had internet service until today. She probably thought he had changed his mind about corresponding with her and that worried the mess out of him.
“Is Lucas on to you? Does he suspect that you’re checking him out?” Hawke was the worrier in the group.
“I don’t know,” Patrick admitted. “Several of the other units are going deep into Taliban territory. I’ve asked Rasib to be my eyes and ears. If their locations get leaked to the enemy, Rasib will let me know.”
“He risks a lot to help us, doesn’t he?” Jayco slapped his cap on his leg chasing away one of the ever present biting flies.
“That he does,” Patrick sighed. “Too much. Just last week two men had their throats slashed and their heads cut off in the village square in Mirianshah for the very same thing that Rasib does for us.” All of the men were quiet for a few minutes; the cruelty of conflict was never far away from them.
“What are we gonna do tomorrow? How about a trip into Kabul?” Jayco tried to lighten the mood. He always had women on his mind.
“You’d better be careful. Messing with the local women is going to get you killed, Boy.” Hawke had seen it happen. “If you get hard up, there are some Russian women you can hire to do your – uh – laundry.”
“My advice is to make friends with your right hand, Buddy.” Patrick had no intention of seeking out trouble. He’d rather fantasize about Savannah. Pulling into camp, he helped the guys unload the gear. “I’ll see you idiots in the morning. I’ve got some correspondence to take care of.”
They didn’t argue with him, each man had his own dreams to keep him company. The mud-wall compound wasn’t a palace, but at least it was shelter. Taking out his lap-top, he settled down to spend a little time with Savannah.
*****
It had been a week since she watched Patrick drive away from the Acadian Memorial, and Savannah was still in a daze. She had gone about her daily work as if on auto-pilot. Committee meetings and fund raisers were second nature to her, but she had to force herself to stay focused. All she really wanted to do was stay at the laptop on the off chance he might try to contact her. At least while she was on the computer she could research the LaVerdure name. If he did email her, she wanted to have something concrete to offer him.
It was funny, really. She was skipping around the house like a schoolgirl. Her little cottage was a joy to her. It was a modern version of the Louisiana swamp house. There was a dogtrot down the center which meant that the front door and the back door were lined up and could be opened to let the breeze blow from north to south or vice versa. In olden days, a dog trot house meant that the dogs could trot from one end to the other. The colors in her house were cool blues and white with Audubon prints and comfortable overstuffed furniture. Savannah loved to pad around barefoot in cool cotton clothes. And she let the TV play on the cooking or garden channel just for noise.
Television or music was okay, but her first love was reading and research. So now, here she sat, plopped down on the couch with her legs tucked up underneath her, surrounded by her laptop, volumes of records, diaries and research directories, combing through them as if seeking for buried treasure. If there was anything to be found of Patrick’s family, the LaVerdures, she would find it.
Oh, she tried to concentrate – but it was hard. Savannah couldn’t help but think about Patrick O’Rourke. Her lips tingled with the memory of the kiss they had shared. “God, the man could kiss,” she whispered to herself. Unable to help herself, she licked her lips, recalling how good he had tasted and the hunger he had awakened in her body. With a shiver, she bent over and pulled a pillow tightly to her face and let out a squeal of absolute delight. Would he contact her again? He said he would. Savannah had checked her email several times already today, but she realized he had been traveling. It was a long way to Afghanistan and he might not have access to a computer right away. Did he have a phone so he could text or access the internet? God, she was just driving herself crazy wondering if and when she would hear from him.
Ding! Out of the blue, her computer announced she had mail and Savannah’s heart stopped beating. Reaching for her laptop, she opened her email and when she saw Patrick O’Rourke on the message list, she couldn’t have kept quiet to save her life. “Thank you, God. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
With trembling fingers, she clicked on the message.
Savannah. Did I tell you I
