The Swan and The Sergeant - Alana Albertson

Bret

An-Nu’mānīyah, Iraq

I ripped open the care package from my mom. The contents tumbled out onto the tent’s dirty floor—socks, lip balm, sunflower seeds, a magazine clipping, and a San Diego postcard.

Dear Bret,

I miss you very much. Benny asked me to send you this article. I really wish you would consider his offer. Please stay safe.

Love, Mom

I swallowed hard. A neon sticky pressed onto the wrinkled page had a message scrawled on it from my former master dance coach.

Bret, m’boy,

We’ll make it worth your time.

Cheers, Benny

I barely recognized the sixteen-year-old boy in the magazine picture. My shoulder-length, wavy blond hair was slicked back, not shorn in a “high and tight” like my current haircut. There was no sign of the tattoos or muscles that currently defined my body. My golden skin stained from a bottle, not the harsh sun of Iraq.

My breath hitched at the sight of the other person in the photo. My arms were wrapped around a curvy young girl with long, wavy jet-black hair. The jade Latin gown she wore matched the color of her almond-shaped eyes.

Selena Martinez.

But now she was nothing like the sweet, awkward girl I had fallen in love with years ago. A quick skim of the page reaffirmed that for me, revealing a drop-dead gorgeous blonde posing in a bikini with a sultry pout on her heart-shaped face. If it wasn’t for her eyes, I would swear it was a different woman.

Selena was now a reality star, a complete smoke show. Men around the world lusted after her. But for that one moment in time, she had been only mine.

I pushed her out of my mind, tossed the article aside, and removed the nine-mil pistol from my holster to clean it.

Lance Corporal Hernandez walked by me and snatched the page off my cot. After staring at it, Hernandez’s face brightened.

“Hey, Staff Sergeant, this you?”

“No, it’s my clone who’s also named Bret Lord.” I slid the rail back on my weapon and began disassembling it.

“You danced with Selena Martinez? Did you hit that?”

“Shut up, Hernandez or the one getting hit will be you—with the buttstock of my rifle.” I grabbed the paper out of Hernandez’s hands and smacked him on the side of the head. The kid didn’t flinch.

“Staff Sergeant Twinkle Toes. Hey—can you hook me up with Selena? I’ll be her boy toy. I love her. Man, she’s smoking. Has the nicest ass. Not like all those skinny Russian chicks on that show.” He nodded to himself with an eyebrow dancing. “Selena’s on my list. She’s Latina, too. We’d be perfect together. What was she doing with a gringo like you?”

The thought of a bunch of Marines jerking off to pictures of my first love made me sick. “Hernandez, you’re way out of line.” I reassembled my pistol.

“My bad, Staff Sergeant.”

I grabbed the article, my pack, and my rifle. It was impossible to get some privacy in the tent. I could sit outside in a sandstorm—even that sounded like a welcome retreat from my immature men. I walked about five hundred feet, then plopped down in the hot sand.

The red sky hung above me, obscured by smoke from the nearby town. I struggled to catch a glimpse of the distant mountains. Sand seemed to pelt down from the heavens, blinding me and settling into every crevice in my body. I closed my eyes against the sting of the sand and turned my thoughts to Selena.

Was she the diva the tabloids made her out to be? Even after ten years, I could almost smell her buttery-coconut scent. A welcome change from the overflowing shitters, toxic diesel, and stench of my fellow Marines who hadn’t bathed in three weeks.

The deep popping sound of shots from a nearby AK-47 roused my ears.

I stilled.

As a marksmanship instructor, I could distinguish the sound of any weapon system. These shots weren’t the lighter, faster rounds of my men’s M16s. Looking past the palm trees that peppered the dismal scene of dilapidated shacks, I tried to get a location on the origin of the gunfire. Probably just some insurgents outside of base. The rules of engagement were clear—I couldn’t stop them from killing each other even if I wanted to. And I definitely wasn’t going to endanger the lives of my men.

The sandstorm let up, and I reached into my pack to grab dinner. Spaghetti with Meat and Sauce was my favorite Meal, Ready-to-Eat, even if it did taste like chalk. Maybe I’d get lucky, and it would come with cinnamon apples