Free Wait Until Dark (The Night Stalkers) by M. L. Buchman

cheek. The lines were fading now, but her color was still all wonky. She hadn’t yet reached for the jacket partly wrapped around one of her ankles.
    “So, we’re sitting on our bird, killing time and waiting for the Drills to chase their captives through more sucky swamps. Crazy Tim came up with this whacked idea. I have no idea why I always listen to him. ‘Hey John, you remember what it was like during our Green Platoon?’ Man, did I ever.” He shuddered. The SEALs’ notorious Hell Week had nothing on Green Platoon followed by Ranger School. “Constant downpour for four weeks.
    “These guys had it easy compared to Tim and me. The day wasn’t all that much warmer than this, but it was dry. Not a drop of rain in three weeks. Well, we happened to have a water bag stowed in our gear, left over from a firefighting run the month before. We’d rigged the Drill’s observer chair in front of it in the bird, so we hadn’t bothered to dig it out. The water bag wasn’t hurting anybody sitting in the back of the cargo bay.”
    He pointed up at the clear blue sky. “We dumped eight hundred gallons of freezing lake water on the heads of eighty grunts and eight drill sergeants. Man, did the Drills chew our behinds. Like with so many of Tim’s plans, we hadn’t thought about that part of it beforehand. Maybe Tim does and just doesn’t tell me.” John shrugged. That actually sounded like Tim. Damn the consequences if the joke was a good one.
    “Later, one of the DIs told us how much they’d actually loved it. They’d stood up under much worse, but the kids had no idea what had hammered them.” He let his laugh roll forth.
    He didn’t check on Connie. He just let her be a silent partner. When their world blew apart, soldiers weren’t apt to find laughter, but at least they’d feel welcome or…
    “I don’t care.”
    John spun to face her as if she’d slapped him hard. Why had he even tried to—
    “I can’t want to care.”
    Was she talking to herself? What the hell?
    She turned to face him, agony across her features. “I don’t want to care, John. It hurts too much. Here.” She slammed a fist against the center of her chest and held it there. As powerful as her smile had been, now the pain etched upon her features battered him.
    How had he ever thought her a heartless automaton?
    “It kills me. Each time a little more. Right here.” She thumped the fist again for emphasis.
    Hard enough to make him wince in empathetic pain.
    “Everything I care about is dead. I can’t bring it back. I’d give anything if I could. I’ve given my life already. If it would help, I’d give my death as well. Can you understand that?”
    He looked away. He did. How in hell had she fired a round right into his weak spot? Damn! He looked up at the sky and blinked hard. He knew what it meant to want what you couldn’t have. Why the hell did she think he was in SOAR?
    A glance showed that she’d turned to face the air base and the sky, her fist still in place over her heart, now clenched there by her other hand as she crouched on the dead grass and snow. Her shot in the dark hadn’t been aimed at him. She’d aimed it at herself.
    “I miss him so much.” Her voice broke.
    That explained it. She’d had a man and lost him. Another soldier? Or worse, the civilian spouse who couldn’t survive being with a soldier. Some worthless dog he’d love to pound into a pulp if he ever met him.
    That gave him a focus. Let him shove his own pain aside, back where it belonged, because whatever was going on here, it wasn’t about him.
    “My dad was the best man who ever flew.” She hung her head and shuddered after wrenching the words out from the core of her soul.
    He watched as she went fetal, arms wrapped tight around knees pulled in close. She didn’t weep. But a shudder, then another, pulsed through her, so strong he thought she might break.
    This time he didn’t think or hesitate. Reaching out, he gathered her into his lap and