The only collateral benefit to that last assignment had been the commo gear’s E-mail capability. During a rest break, Stephie had taken the helmet and vest full of electronics and sat at the base of a broad tree for privacy. She had sent a cheery video mail to her mother and stepdad. She had then sent another to the army post office addresses of Conner Reilly, Sally Hampton, and Gloria Wilson. As an afterthought, almost, she had recorded one to her real father, and sent it to “www.whitehouse.gov.”
Stephie’s back ached as she heaved another sandbag onto the roof. Animal returned with an armful of leafy branches bowed under the weight of his machine gun and a belt of ammo. They carried their personal weapons at all times.
“Here!” he said as he dumped the branches and his weapon and ammo beside Stephie’s roof as if finished for the day.
“You’re not done!” Stephie snapped.
He was breathing heavily. His face was beet red. “Yeah, I am.”
Stephie rubbed her back and said, “You’re taking a break from gathering goddamn camouflage?”
He swayed like a tree in the wind. “Simm’s sent me half-f-fuckin’ mile away so w-wouldn’t strip foliage here!”
“Hey, man. Sit down!” Stephie said. “You might have heat exhaustion.”
“Fuck you,” Animal said, but he sat next to Stephie’s hole. He nodded at her roofed fighting hole. “Your little fort ain’t gonna do shit. One hit, and it’s DNA testing to identify you, Roberts.”
“Yeah, well… I’ll live longer than you will. At least this would stop a mortar.”
Stephie’s head ached just as much as her back. She had never been able to sleep on hard ground. She was sweaty and eaten up by mosquitos and bugs. She had cuts, bruises, and blisters. It had rained on them the night before, and she was getting a rash from going too long in damp, dirty clothes. She spread Animal’s green branches over the bare dirt that threatened to betray their position, then crawled down into her dark fighting hole. The air was stale. No breeze penetrated the single entrance, which was barely large enough to squeeze through. You had to stick your face to the firing slit to draw a fresh breath. Stephie wondered how stifling it would be to sleep there at night. She wondered what it would be like when smoke from her M-16 fouled the still, dank air.
Someone squeezed in beside Stephie, trampling her. “Sorry!” John Burns apologized. They were jammed alone together. “There’s a big shake-up with Becky getting commo,” John explained. “Sanders has gone to Second Squad. I’ve been transferred to your fire team.”
“They’re splitting teams up now?” she asked. “Why would they bust up Fire Team Alpha? Becky’s in Bravo! We’ve trained together for, like, a month!” John just shrugged.
It was just like the shrug when he’d been asked why he was a PFC. John Burns had joined their platoon late — after the unit was already formed. He was older than most of the teenagers who filled out the ranks. There had also always been a certain aloofness about him except where Stephie was concerned. Stephie’s First Squad had been full so he had gone to Second. But now, he lay next to her like the blind wheel of fate had just happened to land him there. She snorted. He had gravitated toward her from day one. He must be as happy as a clam now. He really thinks he can get laid, Stephie marveled, playing this strong, silent, protector-type.
“You know,” Stephie said, “this is really a one-person hole.”
“I didn’t get a chance to dig one,” John replied. Stephie smirked. He ignored the unspoken skepticism and said, “Oh, you and I are s’posed to go on a chow run.”
“Oh-h, shit!” Stephie groaned. “I’m dead tired.” She looked out through the slit. It was growing dark.
“I’ll go by myself,” he began, but she cut him off with a shake of her head.
When they climbed out, Animal sat outside grinning at them. He stuck his tongue out far enough to touch his nose. “U-o-oh, Jesus!” Stephie moaned in disgust both at the John situation and at Animal’s mischaracterization of it.
They emptied their field packs and trudged up and over the hill. They walked down a short, newly bulldozed road. “How old are you?” Stephie asked.
“Twenty-three,” he replied.
“You seem older,” Stephie commented. “Did ya go to college?” He nodded. “Then why aren’t you an officer? I mean ROTC was mandatory, right? There’s nothing medically wrong with you, or you wouldn’t even be a PFC!” John smiled but didn’t answer. Okay, she thought all of a sudden, I know who you are.
At every mailbox on the road to the grocery store flew a small American flag. As was the custom, Stephie and John saluted each one they passed. The occasional car and truck that roared by honked their horns at the two soldiers. Kids protruding from windows cheered. They came to the store, which was crowded with civilian shoppers. An old security guard waved them around the metal detector. People had grown used to soldiers in uniform with weapons. Stephie’s rifle and John’s squad automatic weapon took up most of the cart, so they slung them over their shoulders, and down the aisles they rolled.
“Say, John,” Stephie said, “whadda ya think the kids want for dinner? Maybe some broccoli? Spinach?”
John laughed. “How about hot dogs and beer?” He began heaping packages of wieners into the basket.
“Shouldn’t it be more nutritious?” she questioned.
“They’d kick my ass!” John replied, cursing for the first time Stephie could remember.
“What about my ass?” she asked.
“That they wouldn’t kick.”
Stephie laughed. “Why not?” She looked around at her backside as if to see what was wrong with it.
“I wouldn’t let them,” John replied.
Stephie stopped the game. “Look, John, this is kinda getting silly.” She stood there in full battle dress with a rifle, and yet he was assuming the role of protector in chief.
An old woman wheeled her cart up unexpectedly and grabbed Stephie’s hand in hers. Her white hair was done up as if for the occasion of going to the store. She was wrinkled and bowed with age. “I just wanted to come up here and say something to you two.” She reached out and grasped John’s hand also. “I have been passing soldiers on the side of the road for months now, and I’ve never taken the time to stop and say what I have been thinking. But what I have wanted to say to you and to all the other young soldiers I’ve seen is… God bless you! God bless you both, and a-all the other soldiers. I think about you every hour of every day, and I’m so, so proud of you! All the talk about your generation not being as patriotic as past Americans is just bunk. Your parents did right by you. All of you. You’re saviors and heros. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
She left without Stephie or John knowing how to reply. Her words affected them deeply. They finished shopping in silence, then checked out and stuffed their field packs with their platoon’s all-important meal. John insisted on carrying both packs, and Stephie let him, a grin creeping onto her face. When he was laden with as much weight as he could possibly bear, Stephie handed John his weapon and — suddenly, without any warning — kissed him on the lips. She laughed right into his mouth. Her teeth clicked off his so she laughed even harder. But when she stepped back from him, John wasn’t smiling. That was wrong, she knew instantly.