By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс
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the terminal. This is an airfield, ma’am, as in airfield. They’re not really set up like you’re used to at home. Look, they’re bringing the luggage out now.”
Kate watched as a group of soldiers began systematically dragging baggage from the cargo hold of the plane, only instead of stacking the items on a small trolley to be transported into the terminal, they literally threw the bags into one enormous pile right there on the flight line. When the mountain of duffel bags threatened to fall over, they started a new pile right next to it.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “How am I supposed to find my bag?”
The soldier gave her a grin and straightened. “Well, ma’am, that’s half the fun. Welcome to Afghanistan, and good luck.”
Kate watched helplessly as he departed, then scooped her shoulder bag up and fell into line behind the soldiers. As soon as she stepped out the door of the aircraft, the heat slapped her in the face like a hot brick. To compound the discomfort, the air itself was filled with a fine, powdery dust that immediately infiltrated her mouth and nose and sent her into a fit of uncontrollable sneezing.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped, when she could finally catch her breath.
The soldier in front of her turned around and gave her a quick grin. “You’ll get used it.”
Kate doubted it. She’d never experienced heat like this. It seemed to suck the very moisture out of her skin and left her gasping for breath. Even Las Vegas in the summer hadn’t been this oppressive. At the bottom of the airplane steps, she automatically turned toward the piles of luggage, but found her way blocked by a military police officer.
“Just follow the line for processing, ma’am,” he said briskly, indicating she should continue toward the nearest hangar. “You’ll be notified when all the baggage is out of the aircraft.”
In dismay, Kate saw that the line snaked across the tarmac and disappeared inside one of the makeshift hangars. It was moving at a snail’s pace, and Kate knew she would die of heat stroke before she ever made it into the building. She could almost feel the sweat evaporating from her skin as she stood under the baking sun.
Hefting her shoulder bag higher, she looked around her, astonished at the sheer number of men. There were men everywhere—soldiers who seemed to be waiting for transportation, soldiers sleeping or sitting upright against their gear, soldiers reading books, standing around in small groups, playing handheld video games or listening to music on their ear buds. There was a handful of female soldiers, but they were hugely outnumbered by the men. Kate couldn’t help but notice that all of them—male and female—carried some sort of weapon.
She was acutely conscious of her own vulnerability. She carried no weapon, unless you counted the Montegrappa pen that Tenley had brought back from Italy as a gift for her. She didn’t even possess a helmet or bulletproof vest. Who would protect her in the event of an attack?
“Miss Fitzgerald?”
Kate turned to see a soldier striding toward her—a tall, muscular soldier who looked like he kicked ass for a living. He had the easy, loose-limbed gait of an athlete, and as he drew closer, Kate swallowed hard. The growth of beard he sported couldn’t hide his square jaw or detract from the chiseled cheekbones and proud nose. With his broad shoulders and powerful arms, he looked more than a little dangerous. The thought flashed through her head that given a few spare hours, this guy could singlehandedly end the war.
“Yes?” Her hand went self-consciously to her hair, and she tried to ignore the way her pulse kicked up a notch.
As he came forward, he yanked his sunglasses off and she saw his eyes were a translucent green, startling in his tanned face. Her breath caught and she found herself helpless to look away. He was the stuff of heroic action movies, a combination of masculine strength and confidence all wrapped up in a mouthwatering package. She’d never had this kind of immediate reaction to a man before. Her heart raced, and her knees were actually wobbly. Feeling a little panicked, Kate tried to recall the last time she’d eaten. Her blood sugar must be low. Either that or she was dehydrated.
The soldier extended his hand and his eyes swept over her in sharp assessment. “Ma’am. I’m Major Rawlins. I’ll be your military escort for the duration of your visit.”
His hand gripped hers, and she barely had time to register how warm and callused his palm was against her own before he released her.
“If you’ll follow me, please.”
Without giving her an opportunity to respond and without waiting to see if she would do as he said, he turned and walked toward the hangar. Kate watched his retreating back, feeling as if she’d had the wind knocked out of her. Then, realizing her mouth was hanging open, she snapped it shut and stepped out of the line to hurry after him, her oversize shoulder bag bouncing uncomfortably against her hip.
“Major Rawlins,” she called as she caught up with him.
He glanced over at her but did not slow down. “Yes?”
“My understanding was that the USO would provide a civilian representative who would be my point of contact.” As he strode briskly along, Kate tried to simultaneously walk and fish through her bag for the paperwork she had received from the USO, but the task was nearly impossible given the pace he set. Maybe she’d misunderstood him. Maybe he was only her driver. Oh, God, please let him be the driver. She’d never felt so self-conscious or tongue-tied as she did with this guy, evidence that she’d gone too long without male contact. Or at least, gorgeous male contact.
“You understood wrong, ma’am,” he said smoothly, never breaking stride.
Abandoning the search for her papers, Kate concentrated instead on keeping up with him. Arriving at the front of the long line, she saw several military police scanning everyone’s identification cards. Flashing his own ID, Major Rawlins stepped into the front of the line and looked expectantly at Kate.
“You should have been assigned a temporary identification card when you arrived at the processing center in Kuwait,” he explained carefully. “Do you have it with you?”
“What? Oh, yes!” Setting her bag down on the table, Kate began rummaging through it. She’d purchased a bright orange lanyard for the card, specifically so she could locate it in a hurry, but with everything else she’d managed to stuff into the large tote, she couldn’t locate the identification.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, uncomfortably aware of Major Rawlins’s growing irritation. “I know it’s in here somewhere.”
Pulling out two paperback novels, an MP3 player and a bag of trail mix, she set them on the table and continued digging through the contents of the bag. Behind her, she heard several soldiers mutter something under their breath and knew she was holding up the line. She glanced at the military police officer who watched her impassively with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Sorry,” she muttered again.
“Here, let me help you,” Major Rawlins offered.
Kate thought she saw the hint of a dimple in one lean cheek, and before she could protest, he took her bag and upended it, spilling the contents onto the table. Ignoring Kate’s gasp, he swept one finger through the assorted flotsam and came up with the ID card attached to the orange lanyard. Yanking the card from the holder, he handed it to the military police officer.
“You see? That wasn’t so difficult,” he said, amusement lacing his voice. Accepting the ID card back from the officer, he returned it to Kate. “Wear this where it’s visible. Follow me, please.”
Dropping the lanyard over her head, Kate watched with rising annoyance as he made his way back toward the flight line. With one hand, she swept her personal items back into her shoulder bag and determinedly followed Major Rawlins.
“Find your gear and let’s go,” he said, nodding toward the three enormous piles of duffel bags sitting on the tarmac.
Kate glanced at his face to see if he was