Chapter Text
Friday, 12 May, 1967
United Nations Treaty Supervision Organization Headquarters, Jerusalem
The second Nate stepped into HQ, somebody called out for him.
There was only one person in the offices used by the United Nations Treaty Supervision Organization who had that particular way of speaking.
Nate promptly presented himself in the doorway of an anteroom. “Yes, sir.”
Captain Bryan Patterson, his CO, glanced up at him with a knowing smile. “I still need that summary of your meeting.”
Patterson, radio call sign Assassin, was the Sector Commander for UNTSO in Jerusalem and Nate’s direct superior. He wasn’t just Nate’s boss: he oversaw all the United Nations military observers patrolling Jerusalem and the West Bank. No small job, these days.
“I know, sir,” Nate assured him. “I haven’t forgotten. The city is just a little unsettled and I’ve had my hands full.”
“All the military observers in Jerusalem have their hands full,” Patterson rebuked him gently, “yet they’ve managed to get their reports in to me.”
“With respect, Captain, you haven’t sent the other MOs to meet with Israeli officials.”
“All the more reason why I need your report, Lieutenant,” Patterson replied. “General Bull needs the information and it may have a bearing on future Security Council resolutions.”
General Odd Bull, who had risen to the rank of Chief of Air Staff in the Norwegian Royal Air Force, had been the UNTSO Chief of Staff, and the UN’s chief diplomat in Israel, since 1963. He was not an imposing man but his intelligence and soft-spoken manner commanded Nate’s respect.
“You could discipline me by sending me to the Sinai or Gaza as an observer.” Nate knew his hope of being sent to Egypt was futile, but it didn’t stop him from trying.
Patterson smiled at him knowingly. “I know you think all the important work is being done in Egypt and around the Gaza Strip, Nate, but if tensions keep rising in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem could very well erupt in violence.”
Yes, sir. I know, sir,” Nate capitulated. “Permission to delay my departure for today’s patrol in order to complete my report?”
Patterson shook his head, amused. “Granted. But only because you can actually get the fucking thing written in a timely manner. If McGraw tried that shit, he’d never make it out for patrol.”
Nate grinned. “I’ll have it to you ASAP, sir.”
He was striding through the high-ceilinged, yellow-stone walled Government House great room, on his way to the communal office all MOs used for paperwork, when another Marine entered from the opposite direction. Nate’s step faltered momentarily.
Dressed in his olive and khaki service uniform, the Marine looked as though he’d stepped straight out of a recruiting poster. He was well over six feet tall; taller than even Nate, who stood a good 6’2”. His shoulders were unbelievably broad and tapered to a narrow waist and hips. His height gave him the longest looking legs Nate thought he’d ever seen.
As the Marine drew closer, Nate was able to assess more thoroughly. He could see the man’s features now. Blond hair, warm and intelligent blue eyes, a generously shaped mouth and – god help Nate – a cleft chin. Nate was a fucking sucker for a cleft chin.
As they drew close enough to one another, Nate could finally make out and Marine’s insignia. His heart sank.
“Staff Sergeant?” he greeted. Nate told himself not to be disappointed that fraternization rules would prevent him from becoming better acquainted with this handsome Marine. Odds were the Staff Sergeant wasn’t even queer. Nate wasn’t interested in a hook-up with a situational queen.
“Colbert, sir,” he provided, snapping to attention with a salute as soon as he saw the bars on the collar of Nate’s olive-drab uniform blouse. “Staff Sergeant Brad Colbert.”
Nate returned the salute and stuck out his hand for Brad to shake. There was no need to stand on ceremony. As an NCO, Brad wouldn’t be staying long in Jerusalem. His assignment would undoubtedly be with UNEF – United Nations Emergency Force – helping to keep the peace in the Sinai.
“Lieutenant Nathaniel Fick,” he said, enjoying Colbert’s firm handshake.
“Thank you, sir,” Colbert replied, inclining his head slightly. “I need to report in and receive my billeting assignment. You wouldn’t happen to know where I need to go?” He shifted the duffel that was thrown over his shoulder, turning his barracks cover in his hands almost nervously.
“Government House is much like Jerusalem itself; very old and very confusing.” Nate gestured in the direction he’d originally been walking. “The UNEF admin offices are this way. I’m heading that direction anyway, I’m happy to take you.”
The Staff Sergeant seemed grateful as he fell into step beside Nate, his dress shoes clicking sharply on the stone floor. Nate almost felt awkward as his own black combat boots thudded dully with each step.
“Interrogative, sir; are you assigned to UNTSO or UNEF?” Colbert asked, still fidgeting with his cover.
“I’m a military observer with UNTSO,” Nate replied.
“Do you patrol here in Jerusalem or the West Bank?”
“Here in Jerusalem,” Nate said with a sigh. “I have a degree in International Relations and I speak Hebrew and Arabic, so General Bull utilizes me as an informal liaison with the GOI.”
“GOI, sir?”
“Government of Israel,” Nate explained. “We do love our acronyms around here.”
The Staff Sergeant smiled and Nate nearly choked on his breath. Colbert had the most charming overbite.
“They provided us with a cheat sheet but that wasn’t on the list,” the Staff Sergeant explained.
“It’s colloquial,” Nate said conspiratorially. After a few moments of silence, Nate remarked, “Kind of a tense time to be reporting for duty in the Sinai.”
“Isn’t it always a tense time to be patrolling the Egypt-Israel border?” Brad asked. “There are over three thousand international troops stationed on a hundred and sixty-four mile frontier. It’s been a powder keg since 1948.”
“Still, things haven’t been quite this tense since the GOI worked with the Brits and the French to oust Nasser in ’56,” Nate replied.
“If only they’d succeeded. It won’t get better as long as Nasser remains in power,” Brad said.
Nate glanced at him in surprise. As difficult as it was, their positions with the U.N. mandated they at least attempt to be neutral.
“Don’t forget Jordan,” Nate cautioned. “They bore the brunt of all the Palestinian refugees who were forced out in ’49 and they actually have troops stationed here in Jerusalem.”
They reached a doorway with a sign that read, “United Nations Emergency Force”. Nate gestured for Colbert to follow him in.
“’Morning, Lieutenant,” Gunnery Sergeant Wynn greeted.
Nate quickly returned the salute. “’Morning, Mike. I found one of yours wandering the corridors.”
“Staff Sergeant,” Mike greeted. “You must be Colbert.”
“Affirmative, Gunny,” Colbert confirmed.
“Your Platoon Commander is very pleased you’re coming,” Mike said, rummaging through a stack of papers on the desk in front of him. “He’s been without a solid Squad Leader for quite some time and with the way tensions are rising out there, you’re very much needed.”
“Honored to be here,” Colbert said, taking the packet of paperwork Wynn handed him.
Right on top of the papers was the round, aluminum shoulder badge, the blue arm band, and the identification card that were the accoutrements of service with the United Nations. While the badges Nate wore on his right shoulder and on his light blue beret said ‘UNTSO’, Colbert’s read ‘UNEF’. The armband in the Staff Sergeant’s hand was identical to the one on Nate’s right bicep, just above the roll of the uniform sleeve. It was ‘UN blue’ with white lettering that spelled out United Nations.
It occurred to Nate that, given Colbert’s rank, he’d be rotating in as a Squad Leader. He wasn’t just an ordinary grunt who passed the necessary tests to become a Peacekeeper. He had specialized skills and serious leadership capabilities.
Nate suppressed a sigh, once again regretting that they’d have no opportunity to become better acquainted.
“However, you’re stuck here with us for several days,” Wynn explained. “Most of the new UNEF troops aren’t arriving for several more days so the convoy to Egypt isn’t scheduled for almost a week.”
“Understood, Gunny,” Colbert said, reading over the papers in his hands. “I’ll do my best to make myself useful while I wait.”
Nate realized he was no longer needed here. “I leave him in your capable hands,” he said to Mike. He clapped Brad on the shoulder. “Good to meet you, Staff Sergeant. Good luck.”
Nate turned to go but was stopped when Mike called him back. “Lieutenant, I hate to impose.”
Slowly, Nate turned back to see Mike’s mischievous expression. “Captain Patterson is riding my ass about a report I owe him,” Nate said, with a slight shake of his head.
“I got an entire squad of Marines reporting in over the next few days and I’m short staffed,” Mike said, sounding at the end of his rope. “If you could just show Staff Sergeant Colbert to SE06, you can hand him off to his own men and get right back to your report.”
Nate considered this. He wouldn’t mind a little more time in Colbert’s company before he said goodbye for good. Besides, Mike had done Nate more than a few favors. He could spare the five minutes it would take to show Colbert to his billet.
“Fine,” he relented.
They stepped out into the well manicured courtyard of Government House. Nate breathed deeply against the heat and humidity of Jerusalem. He squinted against the sun as he settled his beret over his close-cropped hair. He glanced up to see Colbert pull his barracks cover down low over his eyes.
“SE06 stands for south-east-six,” he explained, leading Colbert past the shrubs and brightly colored flowers and out onto an asphalt path. “We’re all billeted in houses and cottages inside the compound. To keep it simple, it’s broken down into quadrants and then each structure is numbered. I’m billeted with another observer in SE02.”
“So, we’re practically neighbors while I’m here,” Colbert said dryly.
Nate glanced up at him sharply. He couldn’t help but return Colbert’s small smile. “Indeed we are.”
Glancing at their surroundings, Colbert’s pace slowed. Nate dropped back with him. He watched as Colbert took in the stunning view of Jerusalem that was visible from the Government House compound. There was none other like it in either the Old or the New Cities. The white of the stones that made up the buildings and the glint of the sun on the Dome of the Rock made Jerusalem appear almost magical. It was no wonder the British had built their headquarters on this spot when they’d held the Palestinian mandate.
“It’s something else, isn’t it?” Nate asked, enjoying Colbert’s look of wonder.
“It is that, yes,” Colbert murmured, turning in slow circles even as they walked forward, past one of the motor pool lots and its orderly rows of trucks, Range Rovers and hard-top Jeeps.
Reaching the sizeable stone cottage that was SE06, it was obvious someone was already in residence. “Accommodations are tight around here,” Nate explained. “You’re most likely going to be sleeping two to a room.”
“I got used to more than that back in Basic,” Colbert said easily. “I suppose it would be too much to hope that I might be housed with semi-literate modern humans who avail themselves of our access to running water and indoor plumbing.”
Nate once again smiled at Colbert’s speech. “One can always hope, Staff Sergeant. Good luck with that.”
Stepping into the darkened interior of the hooch, Nate waited for his eyes to adjust.
“Here’s another couple of suckers who bought the European man’s recruitment speech,” greeted a short statured Marine with dark skin and a shaved head.
“Oh shit,” muttered the taller Marine, his blue eyes wide as they took in Nate’s collar bars. He snapped to attention, saluting sharply. “Lieutenant.”
The greeting was echoed as the first Marine also saluted.
“At ease, gents,” Nate said. “I’m here on unofficial business. Just delivering the Staff Sergeant to his billet. Don’t let me interrupt anything.”
Colbert stepped further into the house, hand extended. “Brad Colbert.”
“Sergeant Anthony Espera,” the shorter Marine took Colbert’s outstretched hand. “Call me Poke, dawg.”
“Sergeant Eric Kocher,” said the second Marine, also shaking Colbert’s hand.
His mission complete, Nate started to duck back out the still-open door. He was acutely aware of invading space designated for the NCOs when they didn’t need an officer hanging around.
“Lieutenant Fick?”
The sound of Colbert’s voice brought Nate up short. He turned back, eyebrows raised in curiosity.
“Thank you, sir,” Colbert said. His gaze on Nate’s face was intense.
Nodding in acknowledgment, Nate quickly made his escape. The interior of the hooch had suddenly become too close and too warm, with the way Colbert looked at him. He swallowed against his suddenly dry throat and took a deep cleansing breath.
Nate realized it was a very good thing Colbert would be leaving for the Sinai. This level of distraction could mean trouble.
Nate pushed his disappointment and regret to the back of his mind as he headed back toward brightly shining Government House. Reaching the observer’s admin office, he was relieved to find it empty. It was most likely because everyone was out on patrol and it meant he could probably get this report finished undisturbed.
The typewriter clacked loudly as he completed the report. Nate was peripherally aware of people coming and going from the UNEF office, the sounds of scuffing boots and conversation sometimes rising above his typing.
A loud and abrasive voice jarred his concentration.
“The reason nobody gets along out here ain’t because of religion,” the voice said stridently. “It’s ‘cause it’s so fucking hot. They can’t agree on nothin’ cause every time they sit down to talk, their balls get sweaty, they all start to stink, and everybody’s in a hurry to get the fuck out of there so they can go find a motherfuckin’ breeze and a beer.”
Nate could hear a voice answer but he couldn’t make out the words.
“Yeah, like how alcohol is against the rules of Islam. They still got bootleggers here,” the first voice said. Nate leaned back in his chair, surprisingly curious about what was going to be said next. “You know how I know they got bootleggers? They wrote down laws against bootlegging and included fucking medieval penalties. It’s human nature, homes, wantin’ to get your drunk on.”
“You’re dismissed, Corporal Person,” Nate heard Mike say, with more volume and more irritation than usual. “You men can go settle into your billets and get acquainted with the rest of your squad.”
Nate glanced up as four Marines passed by the door on their way down the hall. The loud voice appeared to belong to a short, wiry Marine with dark hair and tattoos that showed below the rolled cuff of his uniform. He was being dragged down the corridor by a blond Marine, also short but with the corn-fed baby face of one raised in the mid-west. “Ray, you’ll get us killed if you keep sayin’ shit like that,” he was saying as they walked.
“Hey, Garza, I say we make things interesting and send him out to try to buy bacon,” said a third Marine.
“That’s some crazy, war-startin’ shit, right there,” replied the fourth, thick glasses perched on his nose. He laughed along with his companions.
Nate wished he had that kind of camaraderie with his fellow observers. They were all older than he was and outranked him. So far, he’d found he had little in common with any of them. Even the observer he shared quarters with, Captain Dave McGraw, left Nate feeling discomfited whenever they had contact.
Silence settled once again and Nate pulled his report from the typewriter to read it over. A voice from the doorway broke his concentration.
“Is this UNEF?”
Nate looked up and turned in his chair slightly. “Across the hall,” he said, with a lift of his chin.
Both Marines in the doorway snapped to attention. “Excuse me, Lieutenant,” one said as they both saluted.
“At ease, Sergeant?” Nate asked.
“Patrick, sir,” he supplied when Nate had returned their salutes. “Sean Patrick.”
“Sergeant Rudy Reyes, at your service, Lieutenant,” offered the second Marine. This one looked as though he should be making movies in Hollywood rather than keeping the peace in a desert in Egypt.
“Sergeant Patrick, Sergeant Reyes, I’m Lieutenant Fick. Welcome to Jerusalem.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sergeant Patrick replied. “You said across the hall?”
“Yes. Gunny Wynn is waiting for you, I’m sure.”
“Thank you again, Lieutenant,” Sergeant Reyes said as he followed Patrick down the hall.
Nate turned back to his report, realizing that as handsome as Sergeant Reyes was, he didn’t feel the least bit attracted to him. It was Sergeant Colbert who seemed to now be hovering just at the edge of Nate’s thoughts as he worked. He didn’t remember ever being this preoccupied with a handsome man. He’d never had a reaction that strong to anyone.
Gathering up his completed report, Nate headed for Patterson’s office. When he got there, the Chief Military Observer, Colonel Ferrando, was in conference with Captain Patterson. Ferrando answered to the call sign Godfather. As CMO, he was Patterson’s direct superior and oversaw all the military observers working for UNTSO.
Nate knocked on the sill of the door to Patterson’s office.
“Lieutenant Fick,” Nate was surprised when Ferrando addressed him directly. A bout with throat cancer had left Ferrando with a hoarse and raspy voice. “Godfather thinks you did a shit-hot job of developing your relationship with Foreign Minister Eban.” Calling himself by his own sign was only one of Godfather’s many idiosyncrasies, none of them endearing.
“Thank you, Colonel,” Nate replied, gratified that his work had indeed been noticed. It wasn’t always apparent his reports were making it up the chain of command.
“Got your report done, Nate?” Patterson asked.
“Yes, sir,” Nate stepped forward and handed the papers to Patterson. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll head out for my patrol now.”
He was dismissed. Donning his blue beret, he stepped outside. His hard-top Jeep was parked right where he’d left it the day before. There were few vehicles left in this lot; everyone else was already out on patrol.
Leaving the compound, Nate waved at the U.N. Security Officer staffing the gate. The Jordanian Legionnaire manning the second gate lifted the arm for him, and Nate headed for his assigned area, neighborhoods in North Jerusalem that ran along the armistice lines that separated the eastern and western quarters of the city.
He drove slowly through the narrow streets, some paved in stone, some nothing more than dirt, watching diligently for pedestrians who might stray into the road. All around him, women came and went from the market while children ran and played.
North of the Old City, Nate’s route took him through Arab neighborhoods as well as Jewish ones. He crossed through the Christian Quarter and the Armenian Quarter. There was little difference between them that he ever noticed, save the head coverings worn by both men and women, and the symbols found on the various religious houses. It excited Nate that Jerusalem was the last place on earth where the ancient language of Aramaic was spoken. He’d like to learn to speak it, but there never seemed to be the time.
Reaching the northern most neighborhood in his zone, Nate parked his Jeep. He retrieved his radio pack from the back seat and struggled to get the straps over his shoulders and the heavy electronics settled comfortably on his back. Clipping the handset to his uniform, he started out on foot. Nate didn’t worry the vehicle would be disturbed: the large blue ‘UN’ painted along the side would keep it safe.
Nate returned the frequent waves and friendly greetings he received as he made his way through the neighborhood on foot. Most of the residents recognized him now, and he them. Those that didn’t know him on sight were familiar with the light blue beret and armband he wore.
This neighborhood was Jewish and looked much like all the other Jewish neighborhoods in the city. The streets were narrow, barely wide enough for two adults to pass. The buildings were tall, towering over the streets and giving them an almost claustrophobic feel. They were paved with cobbled stones and sometimes contained steps. These were the streets of an ancient city; one that had existed when everyone traveled on foot.
The tall buildings were made of blocks and ranged from a single story, up to three. Some were roofed with red tiles; others were flat topped and served as spare rooms for guests and as gathering areas for the family. Still others connected across the bustling streets with archways that were more artistic than functional.
As Nate approached a small house, the narrow door opened. Out stepped an elderly woman dressed in a long skirt and tunic made of brightly colored fabric; either cotton or linen. She smiled at Nate, tottering in his direction, arms extended.
“Shabbat shalom, Nathaniel,” she said in heavily accented English, taking his hands in her rough ones.
“Shabbat shalom, Shalhevet,” he answered, returning the Hebrew greeting wishing others well on the Sabbath.
“We have not seen you in many days,” she said, tugging him toward her home. Shalhevet had come to Israel in 1949 from Poland. She had told him horror stories of the Warsaw Ghetto, things he’d only ever read about previously. She’d lost several children but her husband and a son had somehow survived. Like many Jews who had fled Europe in the wake of the Holocaust, Shalhevet had renounced her Polish name and adopted one in Hebrew.
When the armistice line had been drawn in Jerusalem and the state of Israel opened its doors to the Jews of the world, over seven hundred thousand Palestinians had been uprooted when emigrating Jews had moved in. Shalhevet and her family had arrived then. The house in which they lived had once belonged to a Palestinian family, the members of which had most likely been forcibly relocated to a tent city on the West Bank of Jordan or the Gaza strip in Egypt.
“I’ve been very busy,” Nate explained, watching Shalhevet reach through a window into her kitchen. She brought out a plate covered in rugelach, a pastry she often made that was filled with nutmeats and spices. She always fed him several when he visited. “I have other neighborhoods to patrol and I’ve had to meet with Minister Eban.”
Shalhevet made a sour face. “Eh, that man is a crony of Eshkol. It is Ben Guiron we need to have in charge again. He will make sure Egypt does not destroy Israel.”
“The Prime Minister wants peace, ma’am,” Nate said gently. “Foreign Minister Eban works for peace in Israel, at the request of his Prime Minister.”
“Eshkol is weak,” Shalhevet insisted, a stubborn set to her jaw. “Ben Guiron is strong enough to stand up to Egypt. He will force the Arabs to back down and that will bring peace. He will make Israel safe.”
“You know the U.N. is here to make sure Israel stays safe,” Nate assured Shalhevet. “Israel can’t go to war; it would hurt too many people.”
“They want us all gone, Nathaniel,” she replied, handing him another rugelach. “The Arabs want all Jews gone from the face of the Earth.”
“The U.N. won’t let that happen,” he replied.
“If only you alone could save us all,” Shalhevet said with a smile, patting his cheek gently. “You don’t stay away so long this time.”
“I’ll try not to,” he grinned down at her. “Thank you for the rugelach. It was as delicious as always.”
“L'hitraot, Nathaniel,” Shalhevet said, sending him on his way.
“Kol tuv, Shalhevet,” he replied, taking his leave.
Nate’s walk through the neighborhood took him through more narrow, cobbled streets along the armistice line and its unsightly barbed wire and barricade walls. He crossed into an Arab neighborhood, careful to skirt the minefield and keeping a careful eye on the sniper positions.
Children ran through the streets here, in loud packs that flowed around Nate as he walked. The women, in various types of head coverings, marked his progress without making eye contact. Men gathered in doorways or sat in groupings of chairs in front of one home or the other. They watched him openly and in some cases, with hostility.
As Nate approached a large, two-storied block house, he glanced up toward the roof. This house was flat roofed and several men were utilizing the social area on top. They leaned over the block wall and watched him with what Nate knew to be a feigned casualness.
As Nate neared the darkened doorway, an elderly man stepped out.
“As-Salāmu `alayka,” the man greeted.
“Wa `alayka s-salām,” Nate replied.
“It is busy times for you, Lieutenant.”
“It’s always busy times, Ramiz,” Nate replied.
“Allah willing, Nasser will prevail and my people can come home,” Ramiz said this without hostility. He stood stiffly in front of Nate, wearing the traditional Palestinian keffiyeh. Many Arabs resented the U.N. for its support of Israel, but Ramiz was not among them.
“President Nasser is certainly stirring things up in Egypt,” Nate conceded. “You do realize that if he closes the Straits of Tiran to Israel, it will be difficult for you and your family to get certain things you’re used to having?”
“Closing the Straits to the Zionists will only be the beginning. President Nasser will unite all Arabs and wipe the Jews from the Earth.” Ramiz’s words were nothing Nate hadn’t heard before. The hopes of the entire Arab world seemed to hang on Gamal Abder Nasser.
“All of the Arab countries would have to finally cooperate with him,” Nate cautioned. “It’s been more than ten years since the United Arab Republic was formed and Syria and Jordan still can’t seem to stop bickering with Egypt.”
“When Allah wills it, all will fall into place,” Ramiz said with such confidence that Nate had to wonder if it was genuine. Sometimes he suspected it was wishful thinking on their part.
Nate simply nodded in reply before he shifted the topic. “How is your family, Ramiz? Is everyone healthy?” Ramiz’ home was occupied by his immediate and extended family. It was the house Ramiz himself had been born in. His parents still lived there, as did Ramiz, his wife and their four children, along with Ramiz’ younger brother and his family of four.
“They are, Lieutenant. It is kind of you to ask after them.”
“Stay safe, Ramiz,” Nate cautioned, already moving off down the street. “Things may get a little rough in the next few days.”
“I have faith,” Ramiz replied with a small smile. “Ma'a as-salaama.”
“Allah yasalmak,” Nate said, giving a small bow.
Several hours and several neighborhoods later, Nate was tired. The mood in every Jewish neighborhood he visited was tense and fearful. The Arabs were angry yet hopeful, an undercurrent of hostility nearly tangible. The Christians and Armenians felt caught up in the middle, wanting to be left in peace to live and worship.
He’d planned on visiting the GOI offices today but the time he’d had to spend completing his report for Patterson made that impractical now. Ordinarily he wouldn’t mind being outside of the DMZ after nightfall, he’d even patrolled at night when he’d first arrived in Jerusalem. But until things resolved themselves with Egypt, Nate thought he’d better be back at Government House by dark.
He found Captain Patterson in his office. “Reporting back, sir,” Nate said from the doorway.
He watched Patterson make a notation on a clipboard. “Good. What’s it like out there?” the Captain asked.
Nate sighed. “There’s talk on the street that hardliners in the Israeli government are growing more vocal. Everyone’s nervous about the accord between Egypt and Syria.”
“That seems to be the mood all through Jerusalem and Tel Aviv,” Patterson said, his expression dark. “General Bull doesn’t think Eshkol wants war.”
“I agree,” Nate replied. “But, as I’ve said repeatedly in my reports, the military establishment is itching for a showdown with the Arabs.”
“The General concurs with your assessment, Nate.” As Patterson searched his desk for something, Nate leaned against the doorframe and absorbed the fact that the Chief of U.N. forces in the Middle East was reading his reports and agreeing with his assessments. “Godfather says you need to get over to the government offices tomorrow, both here and in Tel Aviv. United Press International reported today that, quote, a high Israeli source said today Israel would take limited military action designed to topple the Damascus army regime if Syrian terrorists continue sabotage raids inside Israel. End quote.”
Nate chewed on his lower lip briefly. “Is there any indication who the Israeli source is?”
“None,” Patterson gave a shake of his head. “See if you can verify the veracity of this report.”
“It’s UPI, sir, they’re pretty reliable,” Nate said darkly.
“The Security Council is going to need something concrete if they’re going to come down on the GOI.”
“Understood, sir. I’ll head out first thing in the morning.”
“You have a good evening, Nate.”
“You as well, Captain.”
Nate’s mind was spinning as he walked toward his hooch. He took his time. Dave was most likely back from patrol and Nate wasn’t in the mood for his unhinged chatter.
“Officer on the deck!” Nate’s head snapped up.
Before him appeared to be an entire platoon of Marines, shirtless, standing at attention on and around a U.N. Range Rover.
“As you were, Marines,” Nate called out to them. He noticed Colbert among the men, and was instantly far too aware of Brad. Half-naked. Tanned. Gorgeous.
As the platoon relaxed back into whatever they had been doing before Nate had approached, Colbert came around the front of the Rover. His chest and stomach were well muscled, his tanned skin covered in a light sheen of sweat that glistened in the lamplight. Nate’s pulse raced and he struggled to keep his eyes locked on the Staff Sergeant’s face.
“Evening, Lieutenant,” Colbert greeted, approaching Nate.
“Evening, Staff Sergeant,” he replied, ignoring the way the olive BDU’s rode low on Colbert’s narrow hips. “What are you and your friends up to?”
“Keeping busy, sir. I retrieved a vehicle needing repairs from the transportation pool and set everyone to working on it.” He nodded toward the vehicle around which the men were gathered.
“Bored Marines are dangerous?” Nate asked with a grin.
“Marines are always dangerous,” Colbert returned his smile. “But without something to keep them occupied, there was a good chance furniture would end up broken and things would start getting blown up.”
“Understood. Are all of you rotating out to the Sinai?”
“Affirmative, sir.”
Nate rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “We’re all off duty, Staff Sergeant. I think it’s okay to call me Nate.”
“I’ll try, sir,” he replied with a grin, then turned to the platoon. “Gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Nate Fick. He’s one of the MOs here. Nate, you remember Sergeants Kocher and Espera from earlier?”
Nate nodded at the two Marines he’d met while showing Brad to his hooch. “I’ve already met Sergeants Reyes and Patrick,” he said inclining his head in their direction.
“Rudy and Pappy are forced to billet with us, along with Sergeant Lovell.”
“Pleasure,” Nate greeted.
“These housing arrangements are gay,” said one of the Marines bent over a fender of the Rover. “Have you noticed how gay this is, Brad? We gotta sleep in pairs, two guys to a room. At least when we’re in a bunkhouse, you know there’s one guy to a rack, but when there’s only two in a room? Gay, Brad. It’s gay.”
Nate’s eyebrows lifted as he listened to the ranting of the Marine he remembered from the corridor earlier.
“This sorry excuse for an inbred redneck is Corporal Ray Person,” Brad said patiently. “Next to him is Corporal Walt Hasser.” The sweet-faced blond Marine, that had been with Corporal Person earlier, glanced up and nodded respectfully in Nate’s direction.
“You’re the fag, Person,” the narrow featured blond Marine who had also been with Ray earlier called from the driver’s seat of the Range Rover. “The way you keep talkin’ about gettin’ to sleep alone in a room with Hasser and takin’ dick up the ass.”
This kind of talk was so common among Marines that it didn’t really mean anything. Nate never joined in, even though he often wondered if that didn’t throw suspicion onto him. He glanced surreptitiously at Colbert, gauging his reaction even as he knew not participating in this kind of talk was no real indication if a man was a homo.
“That would be Corporal Chaffin,” Brad supplied. “Behind him is Corporal Gabe Garza.” The Marine from earlier, wearing the thick glasses, gave Nate a casual salute which he returned. “These two wet-behind-the-ears-need-mama-to-wipe-my-ass-for-me children are PFCs Evan Stafford and John Christeson.”
“Yo, Staff Sergeant, that ain’t cool,” Stafford said with a hint of resentment.
“He’s flippin’ you shit, Q-tip,” Christeson said, punching Stafford in the arm. “He knows we’re the same dead-eyed killers as him.”
“Just because you managed to make it through the same vetting process, you are still a very long way from being able to compare your own level of competence to mine,” Brad said dryly before stooping to look beneath the Range Rover.
The action brought him briefly into Nate’s space. He caught the scent of engine oil and Brad’s sweat. He swallowed hard against his suddenly dry throat.
“Lilley,” Brad barked. “Get your ass out here and show the LT a little respect.”
Emerging from beneath the Range Rover was a thickly muscled, handsome Marine. He smiled broadly at Nate.
“Corporal Jason Lilley,” Brad said with a derisive shake of his head.
“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Lilley said, still smiling. “Had some trouble screwing in the bolt for the oil pan.”
“No harm done, Corporal,” Nate replied, realizing he’d probably find Lilley attractive if he weren’t already standing mere inches away from Brad.
“Okay, gents, button it back up,” Brad ordered. “It’s getting dark and almost time for chow.” He turned back to Nate. “How was your patrol?”
“Tense,” Nate said, surprising himself with his own honesty. Brad was most likely just making conversation and didn’t really care about his answer.
“Nasser’s saber rattling has the Jews going on the offensive?”
Nate was surprised by the astuteness of Brad’s question. “That seems to be the case,” he admitted.
“Do you patrol alone?”
“Not usually,” Nate answered. “Lately though, I’ve been spending quite a lot of time with Israeli officials and it’s best if those are solo missions.”
“Even with mutual animosity running as high as it is?” Brad crossed his arms over his chest and Nate wet his lower lip in response. For a moment he thought he saw Brad’s eyes drop to track the movement. Nate had to be imagining that.
“It’s still a war of words at this point,” Nate assured him.
“Even so, be careful, sir.”
Nate lifted an eyebrow.
Brad gave a self-deprecating snort. “Be careful, Nate,” he said, lowering his voice.
“I appreciate the concern,” Nate said. “My orders for tomorrow are of a more diplomatic nature so my safety is assured.”
Brad nodded his understanding. His next question surprised Nate. “How’s the chow around here?”
“It’s actually pretty good,” he replied. It was almost as if Brad was making small talk, trying to keep Nate engaged. “The C-rations they give us to take on patrol are as bad as the C-rations anywhere else. I think you’ll find our mess hall superior to most others. The staff is civilian.”
“I look forward to it,” Brad replied. He looked like he was about to ask another question when they were interrupted.
“Brad, I’m hungry,” Person shouted, slamming the hood on the Rover. “I want pudding. Do you think they have pudding here? Ask your Lieutenant if there’s pudding.”
“You are a sorry motherfucker, Person,” Sergeant Espera said with an annoyed tone. “You’re here in one of the oldest cities on the planet, the spiritual center of the three largest religions in the world, and all you can talk about is booze and food.”
“And pussy,” Person added.
Espera shook his head as if in disbelief.
Nate chuckled. He took a step in the direction of his hooch, preparing to take his leave. “You gents have a nice evening.” Without thinking, Nate started to step past Brad and laid a casual hand on his bare arm. He bit back a gasp at the feel of Brad’s warm skin beneath his palm. Nate snatched his hand back quickly, as if he’d been burned.
“Won’t we see you in the mess, sir?” Brad asked, his blue eyes seeming to darken as he looked at Nate.
“I have some paperwork to complete,” Nate explained, fighting to keep his voice steady as he moved away from Brad, putting space between them. “I’ll get something later on. I imagine you’ll all want to eat early.”
“In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow, Nate,” Brad said, turning to watch Nate flee.
Nate nodded once and turned away, suppressing the urge to break into a run.