Authors: Lyn Cote
The fifteen minutes crawled by. Finally, Carly set another rock at the new shadow tip and drew a straight line in the dirt
connecting the two. Then she placed the toe of her left boot at the first mark and the toe of the right foot on the second.
“I’m facing due north now.” She pulled the compass from her pocket. “And my compass is right on. Gentlemen, we are on course.
We just need to go a little farther. The map deceived us about the distance. And I think we’ve been going a bit slower because
I’ve cautioned Bowie about
sabhkas
.”
“What?”
“Salt marshes,” Bowie answered. “Kind of like a dry swamp if we get into them.”
“Yeah, we get into one of those and with a little drizzle, we’re stuck till they get the big tow truck out here for us,” Carly
added.
“And wouldn’t Haskell just love that?” Joe added. “Okay,” said he said to the platoon, “you heard Carly. We’ve just got a
ways to go.”
They all hustled back into their vehicles and Bowie set off again. The topography changed over the next few miles. It had
more contour than the open expanse behind them. Berms of sand and rock made it impossible to drive in a straight line as they
had been. The wind had died down as night was falling. As Bowie drove on the leeside of one of the tall berms, Carly heard
something odd. A clicking noise. “What’s that?”
Bowie shifted into neutral and put his head out the window. The truck behind them halted, too. Over the idling hum of their
motors, that same clicking noise came again.
“Sounds like something out of an old war movie,” Bowie muttered.
The innocent comment sparked a dreadful thought. “Shut off your motor and radio Joe to do the same, and tell everyone to be
quiet,” Carly said, urgency and caution icing her nerves. “I’m going to go to the top of the berm and take a look.” She grabbed
her binoculars. She let herself out of the truck, careful not to make any noise. Heart pounding, she ran lightly over the
sand, mounted the side of the berm, making sure of her footing at each step. Near the top, she lay on her belly. She lifted
her binoculars.
L
ike a white-hot blade, sheer terror seared through Carly. Two enemy tanks were rolling over sand and around berms, rattling
with the tinny sound she and Bowie had heard. Choking down nausea she closed her eyes, praying that when she opened them the
tanks would have disappeared. Fighting hysteria, she bit down so hard on her tongue that she tasted blood. Could this be some
odd desert phenomenon, like a mirage? But mirages didn’t rattle with the scrape of metal against metal, and she wasn’t half-dead
of thirst and susceptible to hallucinations. She opened her eyes. The tanks were still headed straight for them.
She threw herself down the berm, skidding and sliding on the sand and rubble. She raced to the HEMTT, straight to Bowie, and
leaped inside. “Tanks,” she gasped. “Tell Joe.”
Bowie grabbed the shortwave radio and then cursed. “It’s dead.” He jumped out of the truck and ran back to Joe. Carly followed
at his heels. She swallowed the shriek at the back of her her throat and said in a low voice, conscious of how sound could
travel in the dry air, “Joe, two Iraqi tanks headed this way.”
Joe switched off his truck. He jumped out and dashed up the hill near where Carly had been and peered over the top. Within
seconds, he was back with them. “Everyone, get your weapons ready. There’s a chance they might pass us by. It’ll be black
in a few minutes, and they’re moving slow. Now!” Bowie sprinted back to the HEMTT and silenced the motor. Joe grabbed Carly’s
shoulder. “Did we cross the border?”
Her pulse raced and her mouth was dry. “No, even if our map is skewed, we’re miles from it. They must be lost.”
“Or Iraq is starting something.” Joe swore. “I can’t raise anyone on the shortwave. That means the Iraqis could be jamming
it, or the desert wind might be mucking up stuff.” He swore again. “Get back up on that ridge and give us warning if they
head this way. They shouldn’t try to go over that berm. It’s a high one. It will be easier for them to go another way. Then
they could miss us in the dark.” Joe gave her a gentle but urgent shove. “Now.”
Panting, Carly scurried up the berm again and just below its lip, flattened herself on her belly and lifted the binoculars.
Daylight was just a glimmer on the barren horizon of shifting sand. Would the berm and the night be enough to hide their two
trucks?
Suddenly the tanks stopped. A soldier popped out of the hatch of one and scrambled over to the other. She heard scraps of
Arabic words on the night wind. The voices sounded worried. Were they lost? Were their radios acting up, too? Or were they
talking about the Americans, deciding whether to attack them?
The weapons Carly’s squad had brought along were no match for a tank, even if they used the M203 grenade launcher in the back
of Joe’s truck. Her whole squad could end up being killed or taken prisoner. Naked terror made Carly’s insides shake. She
felt nauseated. The memory of the Arab grabbing her in Riyadh swooped to mind. Arabs had no respect for women like her, women
who did a man’s job and didn’t wear
abayahs
and veils. She gasped silently, pushing down a consuming panic.
Through the haze, the Sundays she’d gone to church with Chloe and Nate flooded back clear in her mind. These memories eased
her pounding heart, let her draw breath. Chloe had taught her that God was equal to any challenge. And Carly needed help,
help no human could give her.
Now.
Dear God, don’t let them see us. Hide us from their sight. I’m the navigator. I don’t think I read the map wrong, but I might
have. Don’t let my friends suffer because I didn’t get them where we were supposed to go. Dear God, don’t let the Iraqis see
or hear us. Dear God, I’m only seventeen. I don’t want to die out here in this desert
.
Ivy Manor, December 27, 1990
Sitting on their colonial four-poster, Nate watched his wife pack to leave. She had to go back to New York for a few days,
but he’d gotten the week off and was staying at Ivy Manor. They’d decided Chloe shouldn’t be alone after the first Christmas
without Kitty. And Michael would enjoy special time alone with his great-grandmother.
But all this was secondary in Nate’s mind.
I have to find a way to get through to you, Leigh
. If he didn’t, soon the gap between them might widen so far, their marriage could be damaged beyond repair.
I can’t let that happen
. “Why did your mother go back to Arlington yesterday?”
Leigh was folding her clothing neatly into the dark bag lying open on the Wedding Ring quilt. She didn’t meet his eyes. “I
don’t know. Perhaps she had social engagements.”
He never became inured to his wife’s fair beauty, a beauty she never used to manipulate him. His Leigh always came right at
him, honest and outspoken. He loved that about her, yet it sometimes drove him crazy. “You mean you think she had a date with
Dan?”
Leigh shrugged.
“What’s wrong with your mother dating someone?” he pressed her, watching emotions flit over her expressive face, her large
blue eyes troubled. “I’ve been surprised she hasn’t dated before this,” he continued. “Your stepfather’s been gone almost
twenty years.”
“If Mom wants to date,” Leigh snapped, “it’s none of my business.”
“You’re exactly right, but you know and I know you don’t mean that. You were icily polite to Dan all day yesterday.” He took
a chance. “Did you do that just to get back at your mother for siding with Carly over enlisting?”
Leigh turned away and went to the armoire. She glanced inside as if making sure she hadn’t left anything there. Ignoring his
question, she said, “I’ll be back before New Year’s Eve.”
“That’s good of you,” Nate murmured, letting irritation slip into his tone. He couldn’t let her get away with running this
conversation. He had something to say, and he was going to say it his way.
“I have to get shots,” she retorted, “and the magazine is still working on my visa application.”
“What happens if it doesn’t come through in time?” He hoped that would happen. So much easier and not his fault.
“It will,” Leigh said with evident confidence and unconcern.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, ready to broach his real concern. “I want to find a counselor and get some help for us, for
our marriage.”
Leigh halted where she stood and turned to gawk at him. “Counseling? I can’t believe you want to go to a counselor. Don’t
you want
me
just to go to one and get fixed?”
“Why do you have so little faith in me?” Nate asked, his patience holding. She looked so exquisite, so proud standing there
in the winter light. His hand itched to brush her soft ivory cheek. “Why do you distrust my every word?”
Looking abashed, Leigh went over and sat down on the bed beside him, making the soft mattress dip. “Is that how you see me?”
He let the back of his hand sample the velvet of her cheek then. “Do you think I’m being disingenuous? I’m talking about us.
I’m not going to bring up you and your mother or you and Carly. This is about us, just us.”
“How do you think a counselor could help us?” She glanced out the window, chin down. She looked like a lost little girl.
He ran his index finger around her delicate earlobe. “I think we need to come to terms about boundaries. Both of us have demanding
careers. That’s good, but it’s not good if they cut into our time together too often.”
“You’re just saying the same old thing.” She looked into his eyes, defiant. “You think my career means more to me than my
family.”
“I think that sometimes your actions make it appear that way,” he said very careful to keep his tone even. “But I am very
sure that, however much you irritate me, you love me, Michael, and Carly.” He lifted the side of her shoulder-length hair.
He ran his fingers through its silk. He never tired of touching it. “It’s just that you get distracted. A part of you is still
driven to achieve. Again, that’s good, but it can take over a life and squeeze everything else out.”
She turned away from him, her head bent. “I do love you, Nate. But my career is at that stage where I’m getting to do things
that I only dreamed of twenty, even ten years ago. It’s not that I want to be away from you.”
He put a tender hand on her shoulder and she fell silent. “Leigh, we need to do some work on our marriage. We’re a team and
team members don’t make decisions—like this trip to Saudi—without discussing it first with the other team member.”
She turned back to him. “I want to do this assignment. And I don’t think you’re going to divorce me over it, are you?” She
nailed him with her eyes, but guilt colored her face.
“No, but I think that you’re making a big mistake and that you should have discussed it with me first.” He bent close enough
to smell her floral shampoo.
Looking away, Leigh stared at the portrait of Lily Leigh Carlyle, her great-grandmother, dressed as a Gibson girl in the 1890s.
Had Lily ever had problems like these? “Why do you have to make so much good sense? It’s irritating.”
He half-grinned. “We’ve gotten in the bad habit of being angry and snapping at each other. I want to break it and do better.”
He ran his hand up her arm, trying to remind her of the bonds between them, both physical and emotional. “What about it?”
She sat very still. “Okay. Shall I find a counselor or shall you?” She hazarded a glance at him.
Relief like warm honey flooded him, filling all the jagged cracks etched by their discord. “Why don’t we both look into it
and come up with a few to try out? We may not find the one we want to work with right off the bat, and I don’t want to just
pick a name out of the phone book.”
“Okay. When I get back from Saudi, we’ll set up some appointments.”
He nodded and braced himself to bring up one more point, one that could blow the lid off everything. “Now, one thing more.
Have you thought of how your trip is going to affect Michael?”
“What do you mean?” She stood up, looking perplexed.
“He’s already really scared about his sister being in a war.”
She frowned. “How do you know that?”
“I was home when his teacher called last week. She says that he’s been acting out in school.”
“How?”
“Fighting. Since picking fights wasn’t usual behavior for Michael, she had the school counselor talk to him. The counselor
dug out the fact that Michael is very worried about his older sister’s being killed or hurt in this war.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Leigh reached out to him.
Nate took her cold, slender hand. “I was hoping for a moment alone together and the holiday ate up all our time. But the counselor
suggested you and I not discuss your going to Saudi in front of Michael. That’s why I’ve kept quiet. I didn’t want Michael
to overhear any angry words or sense any more conflict between us.”
Sitting, Leigh said, “I didn’t realize.”
“He loves his sister and his mom, and he doesn’t want anything to happen to them.” Nate stroked her gleaming hair back from
her face. “I love his mom.”
Leigh leaned forward and pressed her soft, urgent lips to his. “I love his dad.”
Nate drew out the kiss, feeling their long attraction flare to life again and wanting to prolong it, cherish it.
There came a sharp tap on the door. Rose didn’t wait for them to answer. She pushed the door open. “I’m sorry to bother you
two, but you got to come. Miss Chloe is bad. I think she needs to go to the hospital.”
“What?” Parting, Nate and Leigh jumped up and followed Rose down the hall.
In the next bedroom, Chloe sat up in bed. Her face was very white. “I’m sorry,” she said and then coughed into a white tissue.
“I think I may . . . be coming down with something.”
Leigh hurried to her side. “Did you have your flu shot this fall?”
“Yes, but I feel so weak and my chest hurts.”
“I think she may be getting pneumonia,” Rose interjected. “I’ve seen it start this way. I was coming along the hall and I
heard that rattle deep in her throat. I heard that rattle before, and it always means pneumonia.”