Sometimes, it's difficult to take your mind out of the war zone, even if your body already is. Shaking away my unease, I go back for another piece of cornbread.
Half an hour later, I march the kids back to their tent and turn them over to Riley. I imagine it'll be more comfortable in the big tent and wish Katya could stay there instead of a pup tent. I'm sure Riley would gladly give up his cot, if the two women weren't on the verge of killing one another.
Tomorrow will be an early day. We're starting at six instead of eight. Our team, however, will get to sleep in an hour. I head back to the pup tent and unzip the opening. Stripping quickly out of my wet clothing, I roll everything tightly and enter the tent, which has a lit lantern hanging from the low ceiling. There's enough room for two people and a few feet of space for packs at the other end. By military standards, this is luxurious.
Katya isn't here. Irked, I pull out my phone and text her to ask where she is, not for the first time in the past two days.
Her response is quick. With the kids. Don't wait up.
"Sometimes …" I stare at the phone. I'm not going to let her rattle me tonight.
I hang up my wet rain gear at the other end and set my shoes there, too. The patter of rain on the top of the tent promises to lull me into sleep. Stripping off my layered shirts and pants, I change quickly into sweats and sit on my sleeping bag.
Thunder grumbles. It's far off and reminds me of the sound of a distant battle. I listen to it, recalling when the last time was that I heard a thunderstorm. It was the night before that horrible day four months ago when I lost four men.
My thoughts return to that night, and I close my eyes. I can almost smell blood and sulfur, feel the scorching heat of the explosion that took off Petr's leg, hear the shouts of my team as they struggle to accomplish the mission while rescuing their fallen friends.
Worst night of my life. Yet, it led me here, to the peaceful forest helping children who are a lot like me. It's one of those paradoxes I'm not certain what to do with. When I was sixteen, I mugged a Marine, a man who then became my mentor and the reason I joined the Corps.
If I hadn't been involved in a life of crime, would I be here now? If I hadn't walked into an ambush four months ago, would I be able to touch lives of orphans like me and perhaps inspire them, too, to join a service one day?