–Stay alert men, Jackson barked. –Intel says this area’s crawling with insurgents.
Mark swiped the sweat from his face. The Kevlar vest felt like a damn ton. Ahead of him, Sunny’s dark skin glistened steady as ever in the heat, muscles shifting under the camo. That broad back carried the ruck like it weighed nothing.
He knew that back. Knew the heat of it under his palms, the slow rise and fall when Sunny slept, the stolen hours when the war shut up for a while. He’d left for Lana and the baby — gone a whole month. Then he’d come back like he always did, whistling, grinning, acting like nothing in the world could touch him.
Only this time… he’d come back with a ring. “Chico,” he’d said. “Lo sé, lo sé. I know, I’m loco, but listen. When we get outta here, we’re gonna buy a ranch. In Montana! You can have your horse, a bull, a fucking cow, a dog. No, no, don’t cry. I want you happy, cari?o. I’ve saved some money, and I want to spend it on us. Screw the DADT.” He slipped the golden band onto Mark’s left hand. “Wanna marry me, cabrón? Te amo, white bread. Please say yes!”
And he kissed Mark so hard his lip split.
Of course, he wanted to marry him. But how the hell was that supposed to work? Two guys. Army. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. He couldn’t wear the ring. Kept it in his pocket instead, brushing it now and then, chuckling like an idiot at their little secret.
–Miller! Snap out of it!
–Huh? Mark blinked as his steamy fantasies were interrupted by Jackson’s harsh voice.
–Don’t daydream on me, boy! People are shooting at us!
–Yes, sergeant! Sorry, sergeant, he yelled, blushing.
Sunny giggled. —Ay, mira cómo te quedan esos pantalones de camuflaje…Don’t tell me you’re not thinking the same thing about me.
—ORDER! the sergeant roared. —You two hens over there, quit cackling and watch the front!
Jackson knew. No way he didn’t. Sunny must’ve pulled his ass out of the fire once — something big enough that the man still got that half-salute and a blind eye. And Jackson wasn’t stupid. As long as the job got done, he wasn’t about to wreck two soldiers over who they warmed their beds with. Hell, maybe he even saw some dumb kid of his own in Mark. Whatever it was, Jackson kept quiet. Out here, that was as close to mercy as you got.
They walked in silence.
–Sí, vamos a morir en este pinche desierto, ?no? Sunny grumbled after ten minutes. –I swear if I see another fucking dune I’ll kill it.
The words had barely left his mouth when he spun, slammed a hand into Mark’s chest and shoved him flat into the dust.
A shot cracked — not theirs.
Faster than a rattlesnake, Sunny dropped to one knee, firing straight over the spot where Mark had been standing. Someone screamed ahead in the line. Sand kicked up. Jackson started yelling orders. For a second, Mark just lay there staring at the sky, ears ringing, trying to figure out what had happened.
Sunny grabbed his vest and hauled him up.
–Puta Madre! Sniper. You ok?
–How.. how did you know?
–El Fenómeno knows everything. Joder! Sunny gave him a quick once-over, just making sure he was still in one piece, then spat in the dust. –You must be careful, man. I'm fucking shaking here. He took off his helmet, wiping the sweat running down his face. –Mierda, it’s hot as a fucking Habanero up my culo!!
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–I’ll get you all the cold brews you can handle once we’re back! That'll cool you off.
A grin broke through Sunny's camouflage paint.
–Bien Pepe. And I'll take you to the best taco truck. The works: salsa verde, guacamole, and so much cheese that you’ll think you’ve died and gone to dairy heaven… and then it’s time for El Corazon! Jajaja.
The radio crackled, and the line bunched up.
Bravo 16, this is Bravo 17. Movement at your twelve. Need backup. Over.
Bravo 17, Bravo 16. Copy. Five mikes out. Hold position. Out.
Sunny snorted.
–Mira, looks like today’s the day we finally find Saddam and his stash of WMDs… or whatever they’ve cooked up for us this time, eh. Vamos, pendejo… fuck I'm peeing myself. Wanna see my polla? Hahaha!
He left the trail aiming for a scrubby rock, already fumbling with his belt. Then he stopped, like he'd hit a wall.
?Culo!
He looked over his shoulder and tried to smile.
–Pepe. I fucked up.
An ear-splitting blast shook the ground as the IED detonated. A second later, gunfire opened up from the ridge ahead, and more explosions followed as the desert turned to hell. Through the smoke and fire, Mark saw a Humvee lying on its side. Sergeant Jackson's feet were sticking out from under it. He crawled over. –Hang on sergeant! he shouted while grenades exploded around them, making it impossible to hear a thing. He dug through the rubble. Metal scraps were cutting his hands, but he didn’t care. With a roar, he flipped the three-ton vehicle over. No time to think how he’d done it.
There was Jackson. Half his head gone. But somehow he was alive, fingers scraping at the wreckage.
–Jesus, sergeant, Mark yelled, fighting the ringing in his ears. –We need a medic over here!!
–Miller, it’s okay… Jackson rasped. –They won't hear you. You’re a damn good soldier. But don’t let him take your soul. Promise you’ll keep… something for yourself.
Sergeant Jackson’s fingers went still. He was dead.
Crying, Mark keyed the radio:
–This is Private Miller, Bravo Company! We hit a damn IED, multiple casualties! Need medevac now! Over!
Senior Medic Taylor’s steady voice came through.
–Bravo Company. We read you. Medevac and reinforcements en route. ETA 20 mikes. Hold your position and engage any hostile forces if necessary. Stay sharp. Out.
–Copy –– ARGH!
The bullet tore through his shoulder. Fuck! He fired back. A scream — someone was hit. Good. He clamped a hand over the wound; the arm felt wrecked, but he didn’t have time to think about it.
A few meters away, he saw a helmet with a Mexican flag sticker on the side. The ground around it was soaked, a dark wet trail leading uphill. Keeping low, he sprinted up the dune, bullets slicing through the air. At the top, he froze. Down below, a man lay sprawled in the dirt, his blonde hair shimmering like it was any other day. But it wasn’t.
He had no legs.
Mark threw the rifle aside and tore down the slope faster than he’d ever run.
–Ay… me duele… me duele… Sunny moaned. –I crawled up, but I rolled back down. Mierda...
–Shhh. We’re gonna get you outta here, you hear me? I’ll wrap my shirt around the stumps, stop the bleeding.
–Wait… Sunny gasped, red bubbles forming on his lips. –Wait…
He moved his arm from his gut. The Kevlar was torn open, and through the hole, intestines were spilling out.
–Perdón… too late.
Mark couldn’t breathe.
–No. No!!
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Private Miller, eighteen years old, held his dying lover in his arms.
–You’re gonna be fine! Just… just don’t you dare close them eyes!
–Pepe… don’t you cry.
–Damn you! Don’t leave me!
–Mi hermoso chico... Sunny whispered, each word a struggle. His grip on Mark’s hand loosened. –Te amo. Eat some tacos for me.
The light in his eyes went out, and he was gone.
He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there rocking Sunny back and forth when he heard a Blackhawk. The chopper’s noise blocked out everything else as it landed, and paramedics rushed out. Taylor dropped to his knees beside them, assessing the situation right away.
–Rodriguez is dead, soldier!
Mark looked at the serene face. No, Sunny was just sleeping, and any second, he’d wake up and punch him in the arm for being an idiota. They were leaving this hellhole together, eating tacos, drinking cold as ice beer, fucking. They were invincible, weren’t they?
He shook his head.
–He ain’t dead!
–He’s gone kid, I’m sorry, Taylor shouted, trying to be heard over the chopper. –You’re losing blood fast. We need to move!
–I ain’t leaving him here!!
–I’m sure he doesn’t want you to end up the same way. Come now.
He fought and screamed as Sunny's body was torn from his grip. The medics lifted him onto a stretcher, strong hands tying him up. There was a sharp prick in his arm, and he started to fade away as they loaded him into the bird.
–I'm dying.
–Not today, Miller.
Then everything went black.