Free I'll Be Home For Christmas (A Coming Home Novella) by Jessica Scott Page B

lieutenant whisperer. Randall finished gesticulating wildly and stomped off. Iaconelli hesitated a moment before he walked back toward Carponti.
    “That was impressive,” Carponti said as Iaconelli walked back to the waiting convoy.
    “I have my specialties.”
    “You have to tell me how you did that.” It was strange truce between them. Half the time, Carponti was certain that Iaconelli was going to whip his ass if Carponti made one more smart-ass comment. Which of course, Carponti did. Iaconelli never laughed, though.
    “I threatened to knock his front teeth out if he didn’t stop fucking with my platoon.”
    Carponti laughed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. The piece of fabric made him think of his wife. Something slipped out, something briefly happy in the midst of the fucking sadness that had been haunting him since he’d watched them put Garrison on the plane.
    He needed to call home. Right then, before they rolled out the gate. He glanced toward the company ops.
    He didn’t have time. Damn it, he didn’t have time.
    He brushed his thumb over the fabric in his pocket. He’d call her when he got back to the FOB.
    He swallowed and pulled his helmet on. He’d finish sewing when he got back to the base.
    It would have to be good enough. He’d been an ass and he really needed to hear her tell him that she still loved him.
    * * *
    Carponti ducked behind the tire of the truck that was currently the only thing providing even a smidgen of cover for the last half of their convoy. Rounds exploded overhead even as Tigger manned the fifty cal and tried to lay down suppressive fire.
    Their convoy had gotten hit exactly one block outside the base. Carponti would be angry later. Right then, he needed to get his boys set on the defense and figure out if anyone was wounded back in Sarn’t Iaconelli’s truck.
    Iaconelli, in the trail vehicle, had been hit by the IED that had blown the front end of his truck all to shit.
    Carponti ducked and rushed from his own vehicle to where Iaconelli was leaning on Carponti’s seat, blood running down the side of his leg and talking on the radio. “Sarn’t Ike, you realize you’ve got blood pouring out of your ass?”
    “Shut the fuck up, Carponti. I’m trying to call this in.” He paused, his face going grey for a brief moment. “Where’s the LT?”
    Carponti glanced toward the front of their patrol, where he saw Miller directing some of the guys. “He’s getting the lead vehicle out of the kill zone.”
    “Security?”
    “Security is set. I’ve got Foster and Sloban manning the rear position. LT is going to recover the downed vehicle or blow it in place, then we’re going to get the hell out of here.”
    Iaconelli was leaning against Carponti’s truck, the hand mic from Carponti’s radio in his hand. “Casualties?”
    “None, other than your ass, apparently.”
    Iaconelli looked like he wanted to punch him. A piece of concrete blew off the building and Carponti ducked. It bounced off his eye pro and he jerked his head, cracking his helmet on the side of the vehicle.
    “You’re going to want to apply pressure to that,” Carponti said when his vision had cleared up. He reached for Iaconelli’s first aid kit.
    Iaconelli slapped his hand away as he listened to the radio. “Not in this lifetime.”
    Carponti stood there for a second, completely speechless. Then he started laughing. “Then you need to let the medics check you out, because that’s a shitload of blood and you’re so pale you look like the Emperor on
Star Wars
right now, which for a brown guy is pretty fucking pale.”
    Iaconelli shot him a dirty look. “Are you ever serious?”
    “I try not to be. Bad things happen when I’m not making jokes. It upsets the cosmic order of the universe or something.” He glanced around at Iaconelli’s bloody uniform. “Still bleeding. And the sergeant major is calling you.”
    Iaconelli sighed heavily and lifted the hand mic to his face so Carponti could get