Hot-Blooded. Karen Foley
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“I don’t make the assignments, ma’am. I just make sure the folks get there in one piece.”
Elena took a deep breath and reminded herself yet again that this was an adventure—a new opportunity—and she would embrace it wholeheartedly. She pasted a smile on her face.
“Fine. I’ll go to this outpost.” Reaching down, she lifted her rucksack onto one shoulder and then hefted her two duffel bags with as much dignity as she could manage, considering they weighed about a gazillion pounds each. She started to turn away, and then swung back toward the Major. “Just out of curiosity, what kind of facilities do they have at this place?”
“Facilities?” The other woman’s eyebrow arched.
“Yes. As in dining hall, fitness center, recreation center … please tell me this outpost has facilities.”
Major Dumfries’s mouth twitched. “I understand they’re still in the process of improving the post, but they do have toilets and showers.”
Elena stared at her. “What about a dining hall? They must have that, right?”
“I believe there is a dining facility, yes.”
Elena drew in a deep breath. “Are there any other civilians at this outpost?”
“Several, as a matter of fact.”
Elena supposed she should be grateful for that. If there were other civilians at the outpost, then the living conditions couldn’t be too primitive. But she’d heard horror stories about some of the forward operating bases located on the northern and eastern perimeters of Afghanistan, particularly in regards to their vulnerability. She hadn’t planned on going to an area that was potentially dangerous. After all, she wasn’t a soldier. She had no combat training. She was a contracts geek—a desk jockey, for Pete’s sake. Her job was to meet with the defense contractors who were doing work on the various military bases and to negotiate terms and conditions for performance of that work. Aside from ensuring that the soldiers had the facilities and equipment they needed to perform their jobs, she had no military background.
“I’ve heard some of these outlying bases come under frequent attack by the Taliban,” she ventured. “Is that the case with this particular base?”
Major Dumfries gave her a reassuring smile. “You’ll be in safe hands, ma’am. We haven’t lost a civilian yet. There’s a special-operations detachment based there. They’ll keep you safe.”
Elena swiped a hand across her eyes. “I need a drink.”
She wasn’t aware she’d muttered the words aloud until she saw the amusement in the other woman’s eyes. “Alcohol is prohibited in Kuwait City, ma’am.”
“Great,” she replied. “I can’t even have a last drink before I leave civilization.”
Major Dumfries tucked the clipboard under her arm and leaned forward, glancing around to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard. “This is strictly off the record, but sometimes the U.S. embassy personnel have access to alcohol. I understand they’re having a small send-off tonight over at the hotel for some of their aides who are returning to the States.”
A party? At the hotel? That was the first positive bit of news she’d had since arriving in Kuwait City three days earlier. Since then, it seemed she’d done nothing but schlep her gear back and forth between the hotel and the military airstrip, waiting for transportation to her final destination. Which was supposed to be the Green Zone, not some scary outpost in eastern Afghanistan.
Oh, yeah, she definitely needed a drink.
“Do I need an invitation to get in?”
“No, ma’am. Just take the elevator up to the concierge level at 2000 hours and follow the noise. Nobody will even notice you’re there. But don’t overdo it. The only thing worse than flying in a helicopter is flying in one with a hangover.”
ELENA STEPPED OUT of the elevator and paused. Major Dumfries had been right about the noise; she could hear the festivities from down the hall, and it sounded as if the party was in full swing. She hesitated, hoping she’d dressed appropriately. Nothing worse than standing out in a crowd when all she wanted to do was blend in. While she’d brought five sets of agency-issued uniforms with her, she’d been restricted on how much civilian clothing she could bring from home, and had settled on several pairs of pants and tops, and some comfortable workout gear. The crimson blouse she’d chosen to wear with her jeans wasn’t dressy, but it would have to do. She wore her dark hair loose around her shoulders, allowing it to wave naturally around her face, and had opted for just a touch of mascara and some lipstick.
She drew in a deep breath and smoothed her palms over the seat of her jeans. Crashing a party of strangers was totally out of character for her, not to mention bad manners. She wasn’t sure she had the courage to go through with it.
But then she remembered that by this time tomorrow, she’d be hundreds of miles away from here and nobody would even remember—or care—that she’d been at this party. She’d never even see these people again. Really, what did she have to lose? This might be the last night she had to enjoy herself for the next six months. Straightening her spine, she followed the sound of music and laughter. If this was going to be her last night in civilization, she was going to make it one to remember.
As soon as she stepped into the function room, Elena realized she needn’t have worried. There were dozens of people inside, all of them talking or laughing together in small groups, and none of them paid her any attention. Several even smiled at her in a friendly, offhand manner. The lights had been dimmed to a pleasant glow, and a bar had been set up along one wall. The music was loud and upbeat, and a cloud of cigarette smoke hung suspended near the ceiling. Most of the people were men of varying ages and although all of them wore casual clothing, it wasn’t difficult for Elena to distinguish the active-duty military from the civilians. If their haircuts didn’t set them apart, their physical conditioning did.
Elena skirted the crowd and sidled over to the bar, where bottles of alcohol were lined up alongside plastic cups and an ice bucket. When she didn’t see a bartender, she looked around, uncertain.
“It’s an open bar, hon, so help yourself.”
Elena turned to see a woman approach the bar beside her and liberally pour herself a glass of white wine from an uncorked bottle. She was older than Elena, probably in her forties.
“Are you sure? I mean, who provided all of this?”
The woman smiled and gave Elena a friendly wink. “You know the old adage—don’t ask, don’t tell. All I can say is drink up, because you never know when we’ll have this opportunity again.”
That was the truth, Elena thought bleakly. Just thinking about what lay in store for her in the days and weeks ahead made her unaccountably homesick for her cozy little apartment back home. Despite the fact that she’d volunteered for this deployment, right now she couldn’t think of a single good reason for being here. Most people who volunteered did so because they had some patriotic calling or felt the need to support the troops in some way. Others did it for the money, which was in itself a huge incentive. But not her.
Nope.
She’d come because she’d had something to prove. Because she’d wanted everyone—her sister and cheating ex-boyfriend included—to see that she could be spontaneous and adventurous. She’d wanted to kick-start her life back into gear, but right now she just felt out of place and oddly alone, even in the midst of the party. She’d been excited about going to Baghdad, knowing she’d be just one of hundreds of civilians, and that the quality of life there was pretty good. But the prospect of spending six months at a remote outpost in the wilds of Afghanistan was another matter altogether. Quite frankly, it scared the hell out of her. She recalled Major Dumfries’ assurance that they hadn’t lost a civilian yet, but found little comfort in her words.
“I haven’t seen you around before,” the woman continued. “Where are you stationed?”
“Oh,