To wrap her with his arms
Hold her body in a strong, warm embrace
Passionate, tender, powerful
Pulsing in spiritual harmony
Their hearts take up the rhythm of the heavens
Beating as one
The song played before the dawn of time
The day’s labor is made worthwhile
The night’s peaceful glow sustained
As they imbibe the wine of their souls
Growing intoxicated
As they drink the vision
Of the radiance of their love
He folded the letter and placed it in an envelope Sambako had provided. After sealing it, he wrote her address on the front, placed it in a small Ziploc bag Sambako had saved from some of the medical supplies he carried, and put the letter into the breast pocket of his camouflage shirt. He hoped that if he died, whoever found his body would mail it for him.
Thirty minutes later, the people of Senga Village moved as silently as possible through the darkness of the predawn morning into the forested hills that lead to safety beyond the horizon.
Chapter 31
Richardson Highway
East of Fairbanks, Alaska
20 December
00:10 Hours
Marcus’s Jeep led Trooper Wyatt and the convoy of SEALs along the highway at almost eighty miles per hour on their way to Fairbanks.
Marcus sat behind the wheel, staring out the windshield onto the long dark highway. Wasner looked at him from the passenger seat.
“So, Mojo. Forgive me for prying, but I have to ask. What is it between you and Trooper Wyatt?”
“Do I have to answer that, Waz?”
“Well, I can’t force you, but I’ve already made several assumptions. I’ve known you for more than eight years, and you never mentioned a woman in your life. I’ve never even seen you so much as wink at a barmaid, even after half a dozen brewskies. I was pretty sure you weren’t a back-door warrior and so always just assumed you were one of those chaste monk-types who got your kicks killing bad guys instead of chasing chicks. Is she an ex-wife or something from before you knew me?”
“No, not an ex-wife. She’s more like, an ex-almost-wife.”
“Oh. Well, that makes it clear,” the chief said sarcastically. “What in the world is an ex-almost-wife?”
“We dated since high school,” Marcus explained. “I proposed to her halfway through my second enlistment. She said I had to quit the Corps to marry her, I asked her to reconsider, and she wouldn’t. When I went missing in Sierra Leone, she assumed I was dead and stopped waiting. She got pregnant and married another guy, and that was the last I heard from her until the day before yesterday, when her dad showed up at the Salt Jacket General Store.”
“Well, she ain’t wearing no wedding band, so I assume she’s single again.”
“Yeah, her dad said the other guy left her a few years back.”
“It’s also exceedingly obvious that she still has eyes for you.”
Marcus was silent.
“Well, she is …” Wasner shifted in his seat. “I’ll only say this, if you promise not to strangle me like that FBI dude.”
Marcus tossed a glance at his friend across the dark interior of the Jeep. “I promise.”
“She is one hot lady, and she was seriously looking at you back there.”
“It ain’t that simple, Wazzy.”
“What?” questioned the Seal. “You are obviously still in love with the woman. Any idiot could see that, the way you jacked up Tomer for his remark.”
“It’s that obvious?”
“Ummm…yeah. Kinda like, your hair is on fire, kind of obvious.”
Marcus stared out the windshield to the dark, empty highway ahead of the Jeep.
“So, she screwed up,” Wasner said. “Just take her back. Be the new daddy to her kid and live happily ever after. No more of this mighty warrior crap. Be a backwoods Alaskan redneck, or whatever it is you want to do, and enjoy life.”
“There is no kid.”
“What, the runaway husband took the kid?”
“She miscarried when she found out I was alive.”
“Oh, jeez.” Wasner scrunched up his eyes.
Marcus’s heart pounded in his chest. Images of Lonnie flashed through his mind’s eye.
“Look, Wazzy, how about you stick to being a Navy Seal and cut the Dr. Phil bit, okay?” “All right,” Wasner said. He turned to look out the passenger side window into the dark night beyond the edge of the highway. Power poles snapped by, reflected in the light of the vehicles behind them. The aurora had again appeared, much smaller than the earlier display. It swirled in the dark night sky above the trees.
“You still love her, don’t you?”
“Like the air that I breathe,” Marcus replied.
Wasner snapped his head around to Marcus. “Whoa…that was kind of poetic. I didn’t know you had it in you, Mojo.”
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll tell you a secret if you tell me a secret.”
Wasner’s voice sounded like a chiding adolescent trying to coerce a younger sibling.
“What?” said Marcus.
“You go first,” Wasner said.
“Oh, man…this is crazy.”
“No, it isn’t. You go first. Tell me something about this relationship with the lovely Miss Lonnie Wyatt, and I will tell you a secret.”
Marcus felt like a little child trying to hide his attraction to a girl in grade school. If it hadn’t been so dark, Wasner would have noticed that his friend’s face had abruptly turned very red. For some reason, Marcus complied. “I write poetry.”
Wasner’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s a good secret. USMC Master Sergeant Marcus ‘Mojo’ Johnson is a poet. What, like limericks, haiku, what?”
“Romantic prose.”
“Uh….what’s that?”
“A kind of poetry.”
“Give me sample.”
“No.”
“Come on, it’s me…Wazzy.” Wasner edged closer to Marcus and muttered, “Remember Jalalabad?”
“That’s not fair,” Marcus protested.
“Let me hear a shot of this ‘romantic prose’ you do.”
“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”
“I’m waiting,” Wasner said.
Marcus sighed and quickly recited,
