Holiday Op

Chapter Two

"Here, plant your feet and lean into your shooting platform. Like this.” Paul twisted his battle buddy's torso around a bit more and pushed his feet into the proper stance with the toe of his boot. He adjusted the other man's hand on the front grip, got him into the right balance points for the stance, then stepped back out of the way. “Now, sight in. Breathe in and then relax. Don't anticipate the recoil, it'll throw you off. As you let your breath out, move your finger onto the trigger and squeeze slowly. Stroke her gently. Ancht! Keep your finger off the trigger until you're in position. That's how bad shit happens.” Paul checked up range and down, double checked his hearing protection, and tapped the man on the shoulder. “Okay, you're clear on the line. Fire when ready."

Fuentes did as instructed and fired off a three-round burst while Paul scoped it from the side with a range finder and chuckled as he watched his bunkmate drop three in the center ring kill zone of the target. Marcy to the rescue again. He had debated telling the guys that his girlfriend had taught him to shoot and decided against it. Older officers would take it in stride, but young recruits liked to think they were the next Rambo and the thought of being taught by G.I. Jane tended to get them all excited… in some very not good ways. Better to just send silent thanks to Mars, ‘The Goddess of War’ in this case, for the lessons that got him through ROTC all those years ago. There were advantages to having a dad who was not only a Lifer, but a qualified sharpshooter and weapons instructor. You got schooled early and often. And if you were generous of spirit, which his Mars was, you shared what you knew.

Paul had become one of his unit's top marksmen and been appointed a peer instructor. If he kept up like he was going, he'd be offered the option of going to sniper school. In the meantime, he'd made it his personal mission to ensure every guy in his class got through the shooting requirements. As he was taught, so he now taught. Four weeks down, two more left to get these guys qualified on the line. He stepped up and tapped Fuentes on the shoulder. “Good. Now, what I want you to do next is…"

Good old Physical Training: PT… pushups, situps, squats, and running… everywhere. Apparently, doubletime was the standard speed at bootcamp. All day every day they marched and doubletimed it all over the base and surrounding area building up stamina and strength, turning raw, green recruits into G.I. Joes. Today had been one of the longest so far. A 20-mile march with full packs, up and over the switchbacks of ‘Jake the Snake’ and back. Paul hurt in places he didn't even have and was so tired all he wanted to do was fall into bed and forget what planet he was on for a few hours, but that time was still a ways off yet. A quick shower and mess call and they were back in their bay just in time for a late Mail Call from the company clerk.

Mail Call! At this time of night? Oh well, never look a gift horse in the mouth, especially one bearing cards and letters from home. Paul always looked forward to Mail Call. Every one of the men did. It was a chance to forget the aches and pains, blisters and bruises, and spend a few precious minutes remembering ‘why’ they did what they did. A letter, especially one with a picture of a loved one, was literally what kept a couple of these guys moving forward some days.

But, as much as he loved getting letters from her, there was also that little tinge of fear, too. It was like living with the Sword of Damocles hanging over his head, never knowing when it was going to fall. But, so far, no bear. Maybe Marcy had just been teasing after all. She had a warped sense of humor, his girlfriend did. A couple of weeks back, he'd gotten quite a bit of ribbing over a drawing of a pair of old-fashioned black silk stockings on one letter that had been scented with her best perfume. He smiled and his heart melted all over again at the thought of those, a blush actually creeping up his neck. Stockings (even drawings of stockings), Yes! Bear (of any kind), NO!

"CALLAHAN, Paul James.” The voice rang out and Paul's tired head came up with a snap. A box was lofted over the heads of the guys in front of him and he raised his arms just in time to catch it. A BOX? Mars! He quickly checked the return address and blanched.

The box had obviously been opened and inspected. Instead of taping it back shut, it had just been four-squared on top, and not very carefully done at that. There, right at the top front edge of the box, barely poking out but still visible, was his nightmare come true… white fur! Oh, dear God… she didn't! Oh no! Please Nooooo…

"Hey, Callahan. Whatcha got in da box? Sumptun from home to eat?” a hopeful voice penetrated his adrenalin-muffled ears. What? He started up guiltily from staring into his doom. The box shifted and a small jingly sound… like muffled bells… could be heard from inside.

All over the bay, heads popped up from letters at that question like a bunch of meerkats scenting the wind. Paul looked up and around to see half a dozen of his closest ‘kill-you-and-eat-you-if-necessary’ buddies zero in on him, their grins spreading wide across their expectant faces. Even his Battle Buddy was looking at him funny.

"Uh. Um. No. No brownies. No candy. Nothing to eat, guys. Really.” Paul tried to close up the box so that the bear wasn't visible.

"Yeah, sure. Look at his face. There's something good in that box and he don't wanna share."

"No, it's just something personal from the girlfriend…” Paul realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. He looked from one salivating, predatory grin to the next and all of a sudden understood-better than he ever had before-the concept of fight or flight. Flight won out.

Without a word or a warning he clutched the box to his chest like an all-star running back and sprinted for the door and his escape, ‘the hounds of hell’ hard on his heels, their whooping and war cries echoing off the walls of the hallway outside their bay. It was no contest. He made it down the stairs, past the instructors’ room and out the door onto the frost-encrusted ground outside the barracks, but they caught him there and he went down under a dogpile of bodies. Scuffling. Scrambling. Swearing and sweating. And then the box was ripped from his hands and he was positive that life as he knew it was over.

Paul could hear the tearing of the cardboard, the jingling of the bells, and the whooping of his fellow grunts as they ripped into the box. He was going to kill her. He had begged her not to. Pled with her. He thought she loved him and understood just how bad this was going to be for him. A damned teddy bear. With his luck she'd put lace bloomers or some other ‘dolly drag’ on the blasted thing. He was so totally scre-

"Awwwww… would ya look at this?"

"Where's the brauw-nies?"

"No brownies. Just this."

"Ah hey, that's cute."

"Cool!"

"Ooh-rah!"

It was his own damned fault. If he'd manned up and asked her to marry him that night like he'd intended to do, he wouldn't be in this mess now. He'd planned it down to the last detail. The dinner, the romantic gondola ride… he'd even had the engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket. But as the night wore on, he began to realize what he would be asking her to commit to and he loved her too much to ask her to wait around on the chance he would make it into the Rangers, and come back from deployment in one piece… or at all. Face it, soldiers died every day in war, and Rangers were good, but they weren't bomb or bulletproof. So at that last second, when he was going to ask her to be his wife, he looked into her beautiful caramel-colored eyes that he loved so much, and just couldn't do it.

'Will you take care of my dog?’ He'd seen the bright sparkle fade from her eyes when the realization of what he'd said sank in. She'd withdrawn from him in a way she'd never done in all the time he'd known her, all the time they had been together. It scared him how hard that had hit her and how her reaction had reflected back and hit him. They were ‘back to normal’ by the end of the evening, at least to all outward appearances, but there was still a distance that hadn't been there before. A ‘demilitarized zone’ of protection that was invisible, but palpable.

The next day he'd gone to see his sister and brother-in-law. When he told them what had happened the night before, Jeff and Sarah had looked at him like he'd grown two heads. They adored Marcy and had been looking forward to welcoming her officially into the family. And, apparently, neither of them considered that he might not make it back as sufficient reason for being an idiot. The whole concept of ‘if she's still single at the end of my enlistment and if I'm still all in one piece and functional then I can ask her’ was met with some very blunt assessments from the distaff side of the family and her spouse.

Jeff didn't mince words either and told him flat out that he was a jerk-and a fool-to let that one stay on the market without his ‘brand’ on her. So okay, it wasn't the most PC statement he'd ever heard, but he understood the reasoning behind it. Sarah, on the other hand, chewed Jeff out for that totally sexist comment, but then turned right around and told Paul he should have taken Beyonce's advice-"If you like it then you should have put a ring on it!"

The pressure eased up as one by one the guys climbed off of him and ambled back into the barracks and out of the cold night. He was still alive. They hadn't tortured him overly much. At least nobody was calling him ‘Teddy’ or ‘BooBoo’ or any other bear-related nickname… yet.

He sat up and looked around at the now empty grounds. At the door as it closed behind the last man. At the ripped open box next to him… with a big, beautiful Christmas stocking laying carefully on top of it to keep it off the ground. A stocking with a huge white fur ruff around the top, and little jingle bells dangling from the bottom of the snowy topping. His name, embroidered in gold above the bells, practically glowed up at him, lit by moonlight and lamplight… and the light of the love that was stitched into it. A beautiful cinnamon-colored bear with pink satin ears and feet and small brown button eyes, dressed in letter-perfect Army camo BDUs and holding a small red and gold box with a big red bow on top was appliqued onto the front. Ranger Bear Callahan.

Paul stared at the stocking for a long time, not moving, then reached out and picked it up and brought it closer. He was careful not to get it dirty, but needed to touch it, feel it. Make sure it was real. He reached out one finger and flicked the tiny little bells attached to the embroidered mistletoe on the cap and smiled. He jingled it a little and the bells sewn around the bottom of the cuff tinkled merrily into the night.

A slight breeze whuffed around him and a flash of white caught his eye. Paul looked back at the flattened box, and there, under where the stocking had been, was an envelope. He laid the stocking across his lap and reached down, retrieved the Christmas card and took out the letter he found inside. He slowly began to read.

"My Darling Paul,

I hope the Stocking wasn't too ‘unbearable’ for you. He comes to you with a lot of love and holds not only Christmas goodies (which I'm pretty sure your DI will have confiscated), but my love for you as well in his fuzzy little paws.

I've spent a lot of time lately with the wives and girlfriends of the guys here on Redstone arsenal. I know from my own family what military life is like, at least for the women, and I'm good to go with whatever you need to do. You have not only my love, but my support, always. Just wanted you to know that.

Love,

Mars

PS, I've organized the Officers’ Wives here into an all-female shooting club. We hit the range every Tuesday/Thursday and some of them are getting pretty good. BTW, Captain Weck's wife wanted to know if you figured out the difference between your rifle and your gun yet? You'll have to explain that one to me when you get home. I'm still working on the whole bridge playing thing … not doing so good on that one… so far.

PPS… Hurry home. Alex misses you… so do I.

As he sat there staring at the stocking, dealing with the aftermath of that rush of adrenalin, a small white flake landed on the nose of the bear, followed by one on its fur-which Marcy had perfectly matched to Paul's own soft brown hair color. Paul looked up as another one drifted down to land on his own nose and then another and another. It was snowing! Two weeks before Christmas and it was snowing in freaking Georgia! Did this mean that hell had frozen over? Or were the silent, peaceful flakes beginning to blanket the earth a sign… perhaps that something rare and special was happening in his life and he should take notice of it? He started to laugh, quietly at first, then louder, until his sides were aching and he was practically rolling on the ground. When he finally stopped and came up for air, he'd made a decision.

This was the woman he wanted to be with forever. He had to confess that he loved her. Desperately. Passionately. She was his heart, his soul, his life, his very reason for living and he couldn't endure another day without her as his wife. He needed to make up to her for that last ‘non-proposal’ with something as unforgettable as she was. But what?

He stood, the stocking carefully protected against his chest, the bear pressed close over his heart, and headed for the barracks and all those dog-piling ‘buddies’ of his. He was almost to the door when he stopped dead still and practically howled at the moon with laughter. All of a sudden he knew exactly what to do to set the seal on this proposal. Paybacks were such a…