“The situation seems stable,” I can hear him say to his next in command, “but this isn’t a friendly zone. I want you guys clearing houses. I want all military-age males in the village square so that we can make sure we have any threats contained until we clear out.”
My eyes wander as we walk. The many women I see peering through windows, eyes shaded by their burkas, make me wonder what they are thinking right now. Do they look at the uniforms of our armed forces and think savior or enemy? Their eyes express nothing. Barefoot little boys sit on thresholds, eyes wide as saucers with both fear and curiosity as they watch the brigade of desert camo uniforms stomp through their town. A constant keening sound has become white noise to my ears, but I can see women and kids bent over at the waist in certain courtyards, mourning whomever they think they’ve lost. I force myself to put up my fourth wall, shut my own emotion off so that I can report objectively and not be affected by the sights and sounds of devastation around me as best as I can. It’s not as easy as it looks, but I know Beaux is documenting everything: the emotional destruction in candid shots now, and then the physical destruction for Worldwide when we reach the epicenter.
I glance over at her as we walk, taking in her hair braided down her back beneath the helmet, camera bag slung over her shoulder and Kevlar vest, and the black Canon an extension of her hand as she snaps the shutter over and over, changing the angle to get a new shot every few clicks. She must feel the heat of my stare because she lowers the camera momentarily, her vibrant green eyes meet mine, and a soft smile forms on her lips.
The thought flickers in my mind again how she is this little piece of Heaven in this land full of Hell.
“Remember the rules,” I tell her, which earns me an even bigger smile.
“Yes, Mr. I’m-in-control,” she teases, adding a little bit of lightheartedness to this oppressive atmosphere. “I won’t leave your side. I’ll listen to you. I won’t leave your side, and I won’t leave your side. Satisfied?” She shrugs, her smile turning into a lopsided smirk as she raises the camera again.
“Smart-ass,” I murmur, although I feel a tad bit better hearing that she knows how important it is not to wander off.
“You wouldn’t know what to do with me if I was any different,” she fires back, causing me to just shake my head.
When I move to adjust my backpack, the weight of all of my reporting gear heavy enough to cause discomfort, I can’t help but think how Pauly’s going to kick my ass for once again getting the story first. I’m sure the other news agencies will be here inside of sixty minutes of my first report due to travel time. No doubt some are already en route, sniffing their way here after hearing the Hornets overhead and subsequent explosions.
But we got here first, and I can’t wait to get set up and go live. I have Rafe on standby waiting to patch me in.
My mind wanders to Omid and how his intel was wrong. I wonder whether he was protecting me or playing me for the opposition, except I can’t give it much more thought once the edge of the bomb zone comes into view. Beaux and her camera are back in action as we step into the scene of destruction, the steady sound of the shutter click a reassurance because when I hear it, I know she’s okay.