Emily shot up in the bunker in a cold sweat. The air outside that was flowing in through the open flap chilled the droplets running down her back. She looked around at Sophia and Allen who were fast asleep in their cots. Twig was in the east corner snoring away.
The only shade of light came from the moon shining down on the Afghani desert.
They were leaving again for one of the small villages in the morning. Emily couldn't stand it. She had seen enough since she got there. It hadn't even been two months yet. She could slowly feel herself losing her mind.
The death toll she had on her shoulders was slowly rising. Every time Meyers insisted she went out on a mission with a unit, she was forced to pull a trigger. She watched her brothers and her sisters die along side her.
Thankfully, none of them were the girls she had grown exceptionally close to. Yet.
There was one time where Emily ducked away just in time as a bullet grazed her arm. She bled for a couple of seconds, but with a little bit of pressure, it eventually began to ease up.
She had cried. She couldn't help it. That was when it fully registered that she wasn't in Rosewood anymore. She was in an active war zone. People were dying.
Meyers had reached down and pulled her up to check it while the other insurgents were put down.
"It's just a flesh wound," he had told her after the soldiers ceased fire. "Look at me Fields. And stop fucking crying."
She had looked at him with tears streaming down her face. What was she doing out here? Why was she doing this? And just how stupid was she really?
"You're fine. Get the fuck up. Get your fucking weapon, and grow up. I have seen Marines fight after having both of their fucking legs blown off. I have to keep all of you alive. I don't have time to babysit the solider who gets hurt after falling on the playground. Do me a favor. Man up," he growled.
She knew better than to argue and wiped her tears away on her sleeve. She didn't even mind that some of the dirt wiped onto her face along with it. That was what bothered her the most about Afghanistan. It wasn't the insurgents who almost always tried to kill her. It was the goddamn dirt.
Returning to reality, she swung her legs over the side. They had learned to eventually just sleep in their uniforms. Roll call in the mornings left them no time to properly change. If you weren't ready, you went out in whatever you had on.
Emily snuck through the cots and brought her hat with her. She tried her best not to wake the others. None of them stirred. She slipped out through the tent and into the night.
Outside, she could just vaguely see the sun rising over the Afghan mountains. She stared at it. She wished she wasn't on a battleground. She wished she was in Rosewood with Alison, sitting on her rooftop watching the sun rise with her.
"Couldn't sleep, I assume? Usually you newbies are so particular about your sleep," she heard Meyers say behind her.
She spun around to face him and he chuckled. He was sitting on one of the hoods of the Hummers while lacing his boots.
"Just anxious, I guess. It's not as bad as it used to be though," Emily said.
"That's expected. But you feel yourself changing, don't you? You feel it finally setting in," he said.
She shook her head confused. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"That means it hasn't clicked yet. Let me ask you this. Do you still wake up in cold sweats because you're scared or because you're disturbed over how many lives you've taken?" Meyers asked.
Emily didn't want to answer honestly, yet she did. "Yes."
"Okay, so that's the REAL reason you're awake. But guess what, Fields? Have you wondered why I keep continuously sending you out to fight?" he asked again.
She shook her head. "All due respect Sir, but I have no idea where you're going with this."
"I'm trying to make it click. One day, you're not going to care anymore. You're not going to care who's standing in front of that barrel. All that will matter to you is how fast it takes them to hit the ground after you've pulled the trigger," Meyers said.
"So you want me to become a murderer?" Emily asked, shocked.
"I don't want you to be a murderer. I want you to wake up and realize who the real enemy is. You're not the bad guy for killing the bad guys. These people blow up children, they burn people alive. They behead people. They fly planes into skyscrapers in overly large cities. They participate in suicide bombings in peaceful places. You are not the bad guy for trying to keep thousands of good people safe. One day, you will pull the trigger and you won't give a damn about it any longer," he said.
Emily gritted her teeth and found her knuckles were clenched by her sides.
"Is that what happened to you?" she asked him.
He took out his pocket knife and showed her the blade she was so used to seeing him toy with. "See this? I stabbed one of those bastards in the eye. He was about to blow up a playground. A playground, Fields. There were children and women harmlessly playing on it. They never would have seen it coming. Now you tell me. Would you rather have him walking around, or dead?"
She didn't answer. But she didn't have to. Meyers knew what she was thinking. He stood up and walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder.
"Tell me. Is there somebody back home that you miss? A guy, maybe?" he asked.
"Why, Lieutenant, are you flirting with me?" Emily joked.
He laughed and shook his head. "Afraid not. I have a wife and two very beautiful baby boys at home. But I sincerely mean it. Who do you want to go home to?"
Emily didn't have to think about it. "Actually, there isn't a guy. But there is a girl. Two girls. My mom and Alison," she said.
"And is this Alison your girlfriend?" he asked.
"No, not really. She's just somebody I want to go home to," Emily said quickly and looked down at her boots which were scuffing up dirt.
"Well, this Alison chick will see you again. If you want it bad enough, you'll get to go home to her."