Christmas in Somalia
It had been three months since Captain Nathaniel Taylor had her transferred to his special operations team. In that time she had earned a reputation as a skilled medic by keeping the men of Bravo 5 alive despite their best efforts to go out in a blaze of glory. The worst by far was Taylor himself and there were times (usually when she had to patch him up repeatedly during a single engagement) that Washington wondered if her new commanding officer had something of a death wish. At least the past couple of days had been quiet as the Rebels and Nationals tried to work out a treaty and she only had to pull her medic kit out to treat Anderson’s infected toenail.
After supper (a meal that consisted of an unidentifiable synthetic jerky warmed over a fire) Washington made her way up to the bell tower of the bombed out church they had turned into a temporary camp for her turn keeping watch. With her riffle within an arm’s reach she settled down against the northern wall and prepared for a long four hours of watching the surveillance equipment. The night was quiet except for the howling wind that seemed to cut through her armor and uniform. A few hours into her shift soft footsteps alerted her to someone coming up the stairs and it didn’t take long for a familiar head of brown hair with a touch of grey at the temples to appear.
“Anyone out there Wash?”
“No Sir.”
She shifted over to give Captain Taylor room to sit down next to her and while she would never admit it Washington was grateful for the company. Relaxing against the wall Taylor reached for a grenade hanging off his belt and Washington watched as he screwed off the top to reveal a hidden flask. He took a swig then offered it to her, the alcohol left a pleasant burn in her throat.
“If it gets any colder you might get to treat some frost bite.”
He took another drink.
“I’ll take frozen toes over gunshot wounds any day.”
If he were any other CO her smartass tone would land her in trouble but with the Captain he only laughed and passed her his flask again. A comfortable silence fell over them as she continued to monitor the equipment and he rested his head against the side of the bell tower. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him slip his hand under the collar of his jacket and pull out his tags and somehow she wasn’t at all surprised that he had hacked into the memory chips to add personal photos. Nudging her shoulder with his elbow to get her attention he showed her one of the pictures.
“This is my wife and our son Lucas.”
The love in his eyes as he looked down on the smiling pair was clear as day and Washington felt the need to share her own piece of home. From around her own neck she pulled her tags and handed them to him once she found the right picture.
“This is my boyfriend Connor.”
“Is he waiting for you back in the States?”
“No, he’s a sniper with the 158th.”
Taylor returned her tags.
“When’s the last time you heard from him?”
“A month ago. His unit was sent to Madagascar and they’ve been cut off from non-operation communication.”
Before she could get lost wondering if he was even still alive Washington tucked her tags back under her shirt. Taylor looked through a few more picture before putting his own away as well.
“What time do you have Wash?”
It was a random question but she didn’t think much of it as she checked her watch.
“Quarter to 0100 Sir.”
Rising to his feet Taylor brushed off the seat of his pants and headed towards the stairs. Just as he reached the trap door he turned and offered her a smile.
“Merry Christmas Wash.”
She smiled back despite how shocked she was that she had forgotten about the holiday.
“Merry Christmas Sir.”