Collateral Damage

4, There's No Keeping Secrets From Officers

I turn over. My head is throbbing. The sheets are warm, the air is cool. My eyes flutter open and take a moment to adjust to the light. A pair of eyes glare into mine, and I jump, rolling off the bed. "Lilly, you're really the clumsiest Warrant Officer I've ever met," the eyes chuckle. I stare, honey-brown eyes that give you this warm feeling: This look that makes you feel like home: A flutter in my chest accompanied by my heart thumping at one hundred miles per hour. Holy shit! I slept with Ferenczy. I slept with a fucking American Sergeant. "Lilly?" he stammers. Holy shit! I told him my name as well. I hesitate, holding my breath. "Yes, that is your name, right?" he replies, a little worried. I nod my head slowly, and a little hesitantly.

I the brain to start working and the memories flood back. I've really made a mistake. I refuse to be attracted to an American, and I certainly refuse to get in trouble for it. "You should probably go... before the CO* catches you," I stutter. Ferenczy nods as he pulls his jeans on. "I'm sorry," I try, but his cute ass walks straight out that door. I can't be attracted to him, I've had enough Military relationships to know they don't work and besides... Tyler... he told me his name, shit. I told him my name.

I bang my head repeatedly on the wall. I'm fucked, I'm screwed. I'm going to fucking die. I refuse to be attracted to somebody so repulsive. He's not even repulsive, he's fucking gorgeous and it bugs me like shit. It is way too embarrassing to admit that I could have caught feelings for an American. How would that plan out anyway? I fall madly in love, dream a future with some fucking sergeant and then he fucks off back to the USA in 6 months? And we never see each other again. Problem is, I really don't have fucking time to even think about this.

A perfectly ironed uniform glares at me, the hideous greens and browns. Fuck my life, I wish I was a yank so I didn't have to worry about tucking this in. My boots are looking a little light on the polish, it may be time to put another couple layers on.

I hop around the base, my head pounding, what exactly happened last night? All I remember is a bar, alcohol and a pair of honey-brown eyes. This is bugging me like shit.

The heat against my neck, the sand is hurling itself at my face. This is the definition of hell. I feel like I'm about to hurl, and I can almost definitely hear Private's laughing behind me.

Hobbling through a desert is certainly not a dignifying 'morning after' look. In addition to this, if the CO* finds out I've been drinking, or I've somehow invited a Yankee into my bed, I'm fucking screwed.

The heat creates waves in the distance, which isn't helping with my already distorted vision. The guard house is just in the distance. At least, that's what I think the squiggly grey lines are. I'm able to find my way to the parade square in a somewhat orderly fashion. I take a brief sheet from the sergeant and skim my way through the information. Training. I fucking HATE training. I suppose it's required

"Moore, you get your ass in my office! Now!" I hear the CO scream. I spin around, his face is red, he looks furious. I stumble after him, my head still throbbing. I'm not even sure what day is it, how the fuck am I supposed to understand what the bastard is saying?

"Miss Moore, please sit down," he says. I promptly sit down, smoothing my skirt over. I'm so fucked. "Please, take your beret off," he continues. I remove my headdress brushing my hair back, trying to keep it neat. The CO removes his own cap, and I realise how serious this must be. I loosen my grip on my pace stick, letting it slip out my palm. It builds up more and more in the silence, the realisation of how screwed I am... no pun intended of course. "Miss Moore, please excuse me. I would like to know why a sergeant major is sleeping with American sergeants," he snaps. Miss Moore? Holy shit I'm in trouble. "Well... sir... I don't know what you're talking about," I stammer, the words 'I'm screwed' on repeat in my head. "Well, perhaps we should ask the Americans," he snaps. I'm in deep shit, the lack of professionalism and the building up of anger, ever so clearly screwed. "Which American sir?" I decide to play dumb, "Sergeant Tyler Ferenczy, 19K," the CO responds, coldly. Somebody must have snaked, clear,ly you can't even trust your own fucking side these days. Absolutely fucking ridiculous. "Did you eat something sour?" the CO asks smugly. I shake my head, "No sir," the sarcasm dripping. I really shouldn't be giving an officer attitude of all people. "Excellent, you won't mind him joining us then," he snarls. He takes a hold of his radio, "Send him in, out," the CO mutters. I can hear my eyes roll at how bad officers are at using radios.