Page 11 of What is Lost

“Same diff, except we have nicer guns.” In a perfect world, as doctors,theyshouldn’t. Except, modern combat being what it was, doctors and medics were often targeted first. (Dogs were a close second, which John thought totally sucked.)

The Geneva Convention said that if a doctor popped off a shot, even in defense of a patient, the doc forfeited the right not togetshot. Which was a losing proposition in John’s book. Honestly, having a weapon was way better than waving a Geneva Convention card. That thing was only in English anyway.

“True.” Narrowing her deep, jade-green eyes, Roni cocked an eyebrow, Spock-style, which she did exceedingly well. (Roni had become a sucker for anythingStar Trek.) After DCC, she’d shed her long hair for a very hot Sharon Stone pixie. Withthose eyes and that smooth tapered oval of a face, she often looked like a sexy elf with attitude. “Tell me something, Doctor,” Roni drawled, dropping her voice an octave, that eyebrow still arched. “Are you afraid of flying?”

“What? Me?No,” he lied. Flying drove him nuts, a reason he never considered the Air Force as a way of paying for medical school. (Though he looked terrific in navy blue.) Boats sank, so the Navy was out. Which left the Army, a service that hethoughtprincipally kept its soldiers on the ground. So, ending up in an airborne division was some kind of cosmic joke. Right this very moment, the universe was laughing behind his back. “I don’t like taking risks, that’s all.”

“You’re a soldier.”

“No, I’m a doctor.”

“Going to a war zone.”

“Yeah, but not really. We’re evacuating people. Like almost right away.”

“Won’t be done until the end of August.”

“That’s still leaving.”

“Yes, but from awarzone.”

“You keep saying that.” Next, she would say they might get shot in the back. “I just like playing it safe.”

“By joining the Army?”

This was an excellent point. He was sure he’d have dredged up some snappy reply, but a staffsergeant at the cabin door called, “If you two are done picking out the curtains, the rest of us would like to board. I’ve aged about ten years here.”

Embarrassing. But that was the two of them then: John Worthy and Roni Keller. John...and his beloved.

If he’d only had the courage, he even might have said that out loud.

After all the windup,the flight was spectacularly normal. Nice-enough stewardesses. Plenty of water and soda and peanuts and pretzels. Indifferent sandwiches for lunch. Screwing in noise-canceling AirPods, John listened to a jazz mix—Coltrane, Mingus, Cyrus Chestnut—while Roni worked on a new needlepoint for her brother’s fiancée. (The guy had apparently proposed as the couple hiked the Himalayas. After the proposal, they went down the Indian side into a village and picked out rings from a local bazaar.22K gold, Roni said, letting out a long sigh.I think it’s very romantic.John didn’t point out that oxygen deprivation might have impaired the guy’s judgment.)

Things on their flight were going pretty okay until John looked out the window, saw they were over the Atlantic, and thought,Uh-oh.

Because everyone knows, if a plane has to ditch in water, bend over and kiss your ass goodbye.

They survivedthe flight to Ramstein. Refueling took two hours, which was just long enough for everyone to disembark and wash up a bit before piling back onboard for the flight to Qatar.

At the last minute, four bearded, rough jocks in civvies hustled onboard and took seats in the center and a row up from him and Roni. From the puzzled looks, no one in the battalion knew who they were, and the jocks didn’t bother introducing themselves around. Once in the air, though, he caught Roni eye-checking the group. “Problem?”

“No, it’s nothing.” She worked another few stitches: spikes of purple monkshood, smaller daisy-lookalikes with bright yellow centers, and other flowers native to the Himalayas. “It’s nothing.”

“Baloney.” Anyone who had to reiteratetwicewas telling you: that nothing wassomething. He snatched a quick peek at the guys and was surprised to find a tall muscular dude with a flop of black hair and equally dark eyes in an aisle seat studyingthem. Or, more likely, eyeing Roni. “You know that guy? The one on the aisle?”

“I…” She flashed a quick look then dodged her eyes away. “No.”

“You know, for a shrink, you are a terrible liar.”

“Thanks, I’ll take that up with my psychoanalyst.” She stabbed the canvas. “It’s nothing.”

Threenothings. “You’re torturing an innocent flower there.”

“Funny.”

“Not to the flower.”

“That guy,” she murmured, slipping John a sidelong glance. “He’s…familiar.”

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