Anything, Anywhere, Anytime by Catherine Mann Page B
Authors: Catherine Mann
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Contemporary, Adult, War & Military, Adventure and Adventurers, cookie429, Extratorrents, Kat, Women physicians, Soldiers
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food palatable. Apparently not. "What the hell did they put in this? Goat guts?"
Across the table, Jack Korba paused midbite. "Goat? Probably." He spooned the stringy meat to his mouth, winced, shrugged. "Could be horse, though. Seems like that's what we ate during Afghanistan."
"Probably the same damned batch from then." Drew jammed a LifeSaver in his mouth, sucked, subduing the curse he really wanted to spit out faster than the vile stew. He was getting too old for this shit.
The orange LifeSaver melted. Drew smiled. Victory.
Another day won in his personal cussing-cutback campaign. He was a grandfather now, after all, goddamn it. He may have done a piss-poor job being much of a role model for his daughter, but he'd do better by his granddaughter.
Starting with less crass language.
Of course twenty rough-talking years in the Army trenches couldn't be undone in a day. Hell, no. He figured he'd take it a step at a time. Address one letter of the alphabet a month.
April: eliminate "F" words.
Since he'd been reading up on all those child psychology books he never made time for twenty-one years ago, he knew modified behavior deserved a reward—like a LifeSaver for every time he swallowed back any curse starting with "F."
Drew stared into the bowl of mushy potatoes bobbing in grease. He sucked harder on the taste of orange while the clatter of dishes and conversation swelled from soldiers, aircrew and a lone table of SEALs filling the dining area. Not surprising the food blew monkey chunks in a place with dust and drab the decor of choice.
Spartan, but serviceable. Like his life and place back at Ft. Benning.
A month ago the stew wouldn't have bothered him. But a month ago he hadn't been a grandfather suddenly realizing he'd never been much of a father, too married to the military. Was he going soft?
Scanning the packed tables, he watched the hungry troops, more his kids than his own blood. Kids who kept an M-16 close by even at lunch.
His troops shoveled the stew so fast he prayed they wouldn't be doubled over with stomach cramps later.
At least they were all drinking plenty of water, which may have had something to do with the young local woman passing out refills and snagging their lonely eyes with her hip swishing.
Trouble.
He assessed her as a potential problem. Attractive kid, probably about his daughter's age. A tomato-red scarf with bursts of white flowers in the print covered most of her dark hair in a surprise splash of color, but left her pretty little face free to smile at all the men sniffing after her. Not much to her, but more than enough to wreak serious mayhem among his men.
Damn. Just what he needed, his captains and lieutenants restraining troops from a girl angling for a green card. As if this place didn't have enough uproar brewing. Hell, the locals were already clamoring at the gates for food rations and medical aid— part of the deal with the Rubistans in exchange for free rein to use this shithole airport.
With crappy stew.
Age might be softening his language, but nothing else. If she stirred trouble, out she went. He could still eat the goat slop and do his job. Hell, he'd already logged through a discussion on the drop zone pictures before even finishing a bowl of...that.
Drew glanced over at Korba, a top-notch operational planner, even if he was a little rough around the edges. "While you were in a cushy mess hall during Afghanistan, flyboy, I was in a canvas tent eating MREs." He took refuge in the comfortable camaraderie of good-natured rivalry between the services.
Shoveling another spoonful of the questionable substance into his mouth, he yearned for one of those tiny Tabasco sauce bottles packed with the Meals Ready to Eat. "Although gotta admit, an MRE tastes better than this."
Korba swiped coarse bread around the bowl to scoop up the last bite. "Wouldn't doubt it, sir."
"Of course once we cracked open those MREs, the wind started blowing and filled the damn things with
Across the table, Jack Korba paused midbite. "Goat? Probably." He spooned the stringy meat to his mouth, winced, shrugged. "Could be horse, though. Seems like that's what we ate during Afghanistan."
"Probably the same damned batch from then." Drew jammed a LifeSaver in his mouth, sucked, subduing the curse he really wanted to spit out faster than the vile stew. He was getting too old for this shit.
The orange LifeSaver melted. Drew smiled. Victory.
Another day won in his personal cussing-cutback campaign. He was a grandfather now, after all, goddamn it. He may have done a piss-poor job being much of a role model for his daughter, but he'd do better by his granddaughter.
Starting with less crass language.
Of course twenty rough-talking years in the Army trenches couldn't be undone in a day. Hell, no. He figured he'd take it a step at a time. Address one letter of the alphabet a month.
April: eliminate "F" words.
Since he'd been reading up on all those child psychology books he never made time for twenty-one years ago, he knew modified behavior deserved a reward—like a LifeSaver for every time he swallowed back any curse starting with "F."
Drew stared into the bowl of mushy potatoes bobbing in grease. He sucked harder on the taste of orange while the clatter of dishes and conversation swelled from soldiers, aircrew and a lone table of SEALs filling the dining area. Not surprising the food blew monkey chunks in a place with dust and drab the decor of choice.
Spartan, but serviceable. Like his life and place back at Ft. Benning.
A month ago the stew wouldn't have bothered him. But a month ago he hadn't been a grandfather suddenly realizing he'd never been much of a father, too married to the military. Was he going soft?
Scanning the packed tables, he watched the hungry troops, more his kids than his own blood. Kids who kept an M-16 close by even at lunch.
His troops shoveled the stew so fast he prayed they wouldn't be doubled over with stomach cramps later.
At least they were all drinking plenty of water, which may have had something to do with the young local woman passing out refills and snagging their lonely eyes with her hip swishing.
Trouble.
He assessed her as a potential problem. Attractive kid, probably about his daughter's age. A tomato-red scarf with bursts of white flowers in the print covered most of her dark hair in a surprise splash of color, but left her pretty little face free to smile at all the men sniffing after her. Not much to her, but more than enough to wreak serious mayhem among his men.
Damn. Just what he needed, his captains and lieutenants restraining troops from a girl angling for a green card. As if this place didn't have enough uproar brewing. Hell, the locals were already clamoring at the gates for food rations and medical aid— part of the deal with the Rubistans in exchange for free rein to use this shithole airport.
With crappy stew.
Age might be softening his language, but nothing else. If she stirred trouble, out she went. He could still eat the goat slop and do his job. Hell, he'd already logged through a discussion on the drop zone pictures before even finishing a bowl of...that.
Drew glanced over at Korba, a top-notch operational planner, even if he was a little rough around the edges. "While you were in a cushy mess hall during Afghanistan, flyboy, I was in a canvas tent eating MREs." He took refuge in the comfortable camaraderie of good-natured rivalry between the services.
Shoveling another spoonful of the questionable substance into his mouth, he yearned for one of those tiny Tabasco sauce bottles packed with the Meals Ready to Eat. "Although gotta admit, an MRE tastes better than this."
Korba swiped coarse bread around the bowl to scoop up the last bite. "Wouldn't doubt it, sir."
"Of course once we cracked open those MREs, the wind started blowing and filled the damn things with
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