Chapter 1
November, 1978 — QRF Ammunition Storage Site, near Schweinfurt, West Germany
It was a twenty-five-minute drive from Ledward barracks to the ammo dump marked for the 3rd Infantry Division’s Quick Reaction Force—better known as 3rd Squadron, 7th US Cavalry. During the ride, the five men had talked, or smoked or, in PFC Aric Aamutähti’s case, sat with closed eyes while he blocked out the thoughts of the men riding with him as the two and a half ton truck rocked and pitched over the less than improved road like a ship fighting its way through rough seas.
“Hey, Ammo, when you gonna put a ring on that girl of yours?” Green had asked, using his nickname—Aamutähti being too complicated a last name for some GIs to remember, or pronounce. Aric could not remember ever seeing the man without a toothpick in his mouth.
Aric kept his eyes closed. “She doesn’t want to get married.”
“Why the fuck not?” Trujillo asked. “You’re a good looking guy. So I hear. You’ve gotta beat the women off with a stick. Woulda thought she’d want you all to herself.”
“She’s already got me all to herself,” Aric explained as he finally opened his eyes and fished a pack of Camels from his pocket. He’d been meaning to quit. Maybe next week. “I don’t sleep around. She just doesn’t want to get married. She likes things the way they are.”
“You mean she likes when we’re stuck in Coburg or Hohenfels and she’s free to fuck somebody else,” Trujillo suggested before laughing.
“She can fuck whoever she wants,” Aric said as calmly as possible. “She makes her own choices.”
West shook his head in bewilderment at that statement. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Tiscarro leaned forward and tossed the butt of his cigarette out the back of the truck. “It’s called being an adult. You wouldn’t understand.”
West looked at Nick Tiscarro’s face and swallowed the unspoken insult whole.
What Ada had actually said was, “You know I love you. But you’ll be gone next year, and I’ll still be here. And we’re both too young to think about lifetime commitments.”
She was older than him, but only by a couple of years. Still, a woman learned a lot in those two years. Especially if she lived and worked next to a US Army base.
“It’s not because of the other thing?” he asked. He didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t have to.
They lay in her small bed, a pair of spoons nestled together. Their voices carried just enough to hear each other, but not enough to penetrate the paper thin walls of her apartment. They were still naked, but the sweat that had bathed them both earlier had dried. The window was open, allowing in a summer breeze—tinged with the scent of roasting meat—and noise from the Gasthaus below.
“You know it’s not. I think it’s wonderful. I think you’re wonderful. I’m just not ready to even think about getting married. Settling down. Starting a family. Not even with someone as beautiful as you are. Besides, wouldn’t you miss your own family living so far away from them?”
Aric smiled. “I could still see them.”
She knew what he meant. Travel time from Schweinfurt to Boston at Mach 2 was about two and a half hours.
“You know what I mean. You’d be here, they’d be there. You plan on flying back and forth every day? How long until you’re found out? And what happens to me then? Regular old human Ada Kesselman with no superpowers to protect her?”
“I’d protect you.”
“And there it is,” she said, “right on cue. I don’t want you to protect me. I don’t want anyone to protect me. I want to live my own life. I need to live it—and not from inside some protective bubble—yours or anyone else’s—whether it’s made of energy or money.”
He’d realized in that moment that she’d been trying to tell him that—had been repeating variations of it—for some time.
She had no intention of living inside a cage.
Now—finally—he understood.
And he could entirely relate.
2 February, 1978 — The German-American Club, Schweinfurt, West Germany
Thursdays were always a mystery. Feast or famine when it came to tips, depending on how many units were off to one of the many training areas, and how many GIs were saving themselves for a weekend of partying that would officially kick off once the last notes of retreat ceased echoing across the base. This Thursday had been no different.
Except for the appearance of a very attractive face that was attached to an equally attractive body.
She’d seen him once or twice before, always in the company of two or three other American soldiers. As far as she could tell she was the only waitress that hadn’t cooked up some reason to talk to him, or ask his name, or brush against him accidentally. And in some form of universal symmetry he was one of the very few GIs who hadn’t done the same thing to her. He’d smiled at her once, a shy self deprecating turn up at the corners of his mouth, and around his eyes. Which she’d returned. But that was all.
I wonder if he’s already seeing someone? she’d wondered at the time. Not that it stopped many of his countrymen. Some didn’t even bother taking off their wedding rings before propositioning her in no uncertain terms. His fingers were free of any sort of jewelry. Her own fingers bore the weight of many rings, but nothing on either hand that signified a relationship of that sort. She started wearing a ring on her left hand, which should have signified to Americans that she was married. Germans wore wedding rings on the other hand, and depending on who she was trying to warn off she would occasionally move the ring from one hand to the other. She stopped when it became obvious that it was no sort of protection at all.
At the moment both her hands were encased in gloves and stuffed in her pockets. They were still freezing. As was her head despite the thick wool hat that ran from her forehead to the back of her neck. The collar of her long wool coat was turned up against the frigid air as her steps carried her away from the Gasthaus where she worked towards the one she lived above.
It was well past midnight and anyone with a modicum of sanity was snug in their warm beds. She had covered half of her kilometer walk home where she would enjoy a mug of green tea and a few chapters of a book about a woman who was shipwrecked and rescued by a handsome pirate. Both were private pleasures. One she would admit to (the tea). The other wild horses wouldn’t drag out of her.
She heard voices up ahead and it took her only a moment to recognize them as belonging to Americans. It wasn’t just that it was approaching 2 AM, and no self respecting German would be caught shouting and laughing when his countrymen were trying to sleep. GIs had a sound all their own. She dipped her head down against the cold as she smiled at the boisterous noise.
When the car passed her she paid it little attention.
The sound of locking brakes and the sickening thud of collision was followed by a moment of silence before the screaming began.
The car was stopped in the middle of the street. Two men stood frozen in place on the sidewalk as a third leapt into action. Ada began to sprint the one hundred meters that separated her from the car, and the man who was now kneeling over the man who had been struck. His cries of pain caused her breath to catch in her throat, and it was not only because of her breakneck run that her heart was beating out of her chest.
She was sweating underneath her winter clothes when the glow began. It seemed to freeze her in place, like the driver who hadn’t moved a muscle, his hands still gripping the steering wheel tightly as he watched the man leaning over his seriously injured friend start to glow like a small sun. The street which had only a moment before been dark became as clear as if it was Noon. But the artificial star set quickly and it took her eyes a moment to grow accustomed to the returning dark. She was still partially blind as she heard a voice.
“Nick. Look at me, buddy. You’re OK. He barely touched you. Got it? He. barely. touched. you. Say it back to me.”
The man’s voice was confused when he spoke.
“He barely touched me. I’m OK.”
Ada’s sight had returned enough by then to see that the blood covering his clothes and face was already freezing solid. The front grill of the man’s Opal was dented, one headlight cracked. But the man named Nick seemed unhurt.
That was when she got a good look at the man who a moment earlier had been glowing like a celestial body. It was the man from the club, the one she’d traded smiles with, but nothing more.
In that moment Ada’s mind reengaged and as the four Americans began to talk with the driver she made a hasty escape, disappearing down a side street before turning her steps towards home. It was only a short detour.
But sleep was still very far away.
5 February, 1978 — Schweinfurt, West Germany
He was back. She saw him immediately as he walked in and made his way to the bar. He didn’t look at the menu before ordering.
Ada turned away as he heart spiked. She hadn’t slept well since that night and the jolt of adrenaline she was feeling now was making her dizzy and slightly nauseous. She set the plates down and spoke briefly to her customers. When she turned back the American was already sipping from his glass, a place setting by his elbow.
He’s ordered dinner, and he’s alone.
Fear took hold of her as she considered what she was planning. What could happen if she confronted him. What he might do to her to keep her quiet. But she was exhausted. Not sleeping. Barely eating. Christopher had asked her if she was sick. She’d lied and said yes. But she couldn’t lay in bed and stare at the ceiling any longer. She needed to do something. And this was the first time he’d ever come in alone. She might not get another chance.
All she needed to do was summon enough courage to do it.
She watched him as he ate his dinner. He didn’t look around. Alwin was tending bar tonight, and he and the man would occasionally trade short sentences. If it had been one of the women making drinks he wouldn’t have had a moment’s peace. it dawned on her in that moment that he was trying not to draw attention. Or as little as possible. Nature and excellent genetics had made it impossible for him to be as invisible as he was trying to be. It finally made sense to her, all the other times he sat with his friends, letting them do most of the talking, or flirting. Whatever he was, he was trying to hide in plain sight.
And she was about to pull him into the open.
She waited for Alwin to be at the other end of the bar serving customers before she moved in.
“Excuse me sir, there’s a call from the base for you in the office.”
Aric looked into a pair of crystal blue eyes that sat below a head of hair that was so blonde it was almost white.
“A call for me?” he asked. No one from the barracks knew he was here. And he was certain that no one who worked in the club knew his name. In the slightly over two months since he’d arrived in country he’d been in here a few times, but always with squad mates. He’d never given his name to anyone in the club, and none of the men in his unit had learned to pronounce his name properly, and had defaulted to calling him Ammo. “You’re sure it’s for me?”
“Yes, sir. A call for you,” she said as she took his hand in hers and towed him off his bar stool. He moved—like a reluctant toddler, but it was movement nonetheless. He didn’t resist, or make a scene as she continued to guide him to the small office. When he saw their destination he assumed that once the door was closed behind them he would be in a struggle to keep both of their clothes on. He’d been approached almost every way conceivable in the past few years, but never in a bar that was open and serving dinner to a full dining room. As a result he was taken totally by surprise—the words I’m flattered, but I don’t think this is a good idea, dying unspoken on his lips.
“I was there on the street Friday morning. I saw what happened.”
Shit, he thought.
He’d been so worried about Nick he hadn’t noticed anyone was there. Besides West and Trujillo. And the driver. The two men had been just as drunk as Nick before the accident. Aric’s healing had burned all the alcohol from his system, and the bloodied man had been as sober as a judge afterward—some judges anyway. The driver was still in shock—his windshield still fogged, which had been the cause of the accident, but had shielded Aric from his sight as he healed Nick. He must have discovered the damage to his car by now. God knows what he thought.
But this woman had been there and seen everything.
“I don’t know what you think you saw…”
She didn’t let the rest of the words leave his mouth.
“I don’t think I saw something, I saw something. The four of you might have been falling down drunk, but I was stone cold sober. I heard the screams. I saw the blood. I saw the car. And I saw your friend walk away without a scratch on him.”
It was a concise summation of the event, Aric couldn’t deny it. Which was a big problem that would become even bigger if he made the wrong move or did the wrong thing. He could continue to deny it. He could simply turn and walk out, refusing to engage in any discussion. Wait for the woman who was almost as tall as he was to make the next move.
But it was an axiom of modern warfare to never let the enemy execute theirs plans first. Better to take preemptive action. She wasn’t his enemy, not yet. Best to keep it that way.
He studied her for several seconds, and she returned the favor. She hadn’t realized how tall he was when she was dragging him to the privacy of the office. He was only a few centimeters shorter than her, which was saying something, given her own height, and the high heels she was wearing. His waist and hips were only slightly wider than hers, but his shoulders were twice as wide. He was young, but his chest was already well muscled, and would be even more so when he came into full adulthood. His short hair was jet black and his gray eyes, set deep beneath straight, expressive brows, could have been made from some exotic metal. His face was long and classically handsome—beautiful even, with strong, architectural lines. His jaw was firm and straight, tapering into a chin that was prominent without being sharp. His cheekbones were high but not gaunt.
Neither of them had slept well recently, but in Aric’s case it had been over two months of disrupted slumber. God help him if he fell completely asleep and his barriers came down in a building filled with two hundred men all dreaming at once. He could feel it when it began and he would snap awake immediately, slamming that mental door firmly shut. But he didn’t need powers to tell that the tall blond waitress was also sleep deprived. The bags under her eyes, and her own gaunt look gave that away. No surprise if she’d been there in the frigid Friday morning air as Nick screamed in pain. That might have been why he let his guard down in that moment—their shared exhaustion that he was responsible for, like he was responsible for so many things. Maybe it was just that he saw where this was going—she would run away, like Janet did. No point investing time and effort only to have it mean nothing. Two years of his life, almost—wasted. Like his love for her had been wasted. His heart shattered, as if it meant nothing to her. He was still picking up the pieces.
He knew he wasn’t being fair. That their time together hadn’t been wasted. That it was never a waste to love someone. He was just hurting. And that was his own fault.
But this attractive woman had seen him—part of him. The same part that had scared Janet away. And—like a firefighter who runs into a burning building as the residents are running out—she sought him out. Confronted him. She might have been anxious and exhausted, but she wasn’t scared.
He was wrong, though he didn’t know it. Ada was scared. Terrified. But not of him.
They searched each other’s eyes as they stood facing each other.
When he let his walls slide down the force of his feelings hit her like a slap in the face. She recoiled as if from a physical blow. The backs of her legs found the small couch, and she plopped down abruptly. Her heart raced as her mind processed what it had just inhaled. It felt like she had a breath stuck in her throat and it took a moment to dislodge.
Nick. Look at me buddy. You’re OK. He barely touched you. Got it? He. barely. touched. you. Say it back to me.
It was his voice, echoing in her mind. But not just that. She was kneeling over a man whose name she somehow knew as he bled and screamed. It was Aric’s eyes she was seeing through as the glow began to surround them.
Aric. How do I know his name?
The office was gone. She was bathed in the light of one undamaged headlight. She knew that if she were to turn to her right and look up she would see herself standing there, frozen in place. But it was only a memory—his memory—and she was just a spectator.
The memory played to the end, and the office returned. Aric was kneeling in front of her.
“Are you OK?”
Her mind acknowledged that he’d asked her something, but not what that something was.
“Vas?” she asked, her English failing her for the moment.
“Ich habe gefragt, ob es dir gut geht,” he explained. I asked if you were OK.
It didn’t register to her confused mind that he had switched languages, or that his German was perfect—quite uncommon for the GIs she’d met.
“Ich bin... Ich bin nicht...”
Her face was pale despite the fact her heart was beating double time. It seemed like none of that blood was getting to her brain. Aric moved closer to her and as she got a close up view of a face that was too beautiful to be natural he placed a hand on her cheek.
“Breathe. That’s all you have to focus on right now. Just breathe.”
She began to feel it then. Like warm water from a shower-head flowing down her back. Her heart began to slow and her breathing became even.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded before it occurred to her.
“Was that you?”
He nodded in return. “Yes. Sorry for not asking first. You looked like you were having trouble. And that was my fault.”
She was still looking into his steel gray eyes as his hand left her cheek and traveled down her shoulder before departing. For some reason in that moment she was acutely aware of his masculinity, and her femininity, and her body’s reaction.
He smiled.
“It’s a perfectly natural reaction,” he said as if he read her mind. “Give it a minute.”
Her face grew hot when she considered the thought she had been building about the two of them, and that if he’d read her mind he’d have seen it. But his face didn’t change as he settled onto the floor. His pants would be filthy afterward, but he didn’t seem to care.
She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was feeling more herself. Whatever erotic tempest had taken hold of her a moment ago was gone. He could see it on her face.
“It’s a brain chemistry thing,” he said with a smile. “I don’t understand it, but I was a terrible student when it came to sciences.”
She laughed at the absurdity of it all and reached out a hand to him.
“Get off the floor. It’s disgusting.”
He took her hand but didn’t need it to move to the couch. It was small, and they sat knee to knee.
“Well, if soldiers learn anything it’s how to mop a floor.”
He had a beautiful smile that lit his face up. When she felt the tempest return again she knew it wasn’t just brain chemistry.
She begged off the rest of her shift, telling Christopher that she was feeling worse. He offered to drive her home but she declined. Aric was waiting outside for her. It was just past eight o’clock, the temperature was dropping, and she shivered in her thin coat and short skirt. She’d still been a confused mess when she left for work earlier, and she’d forgotten her heavy jacket and the bag with her walking shoes, hat and mittens. Aric glanced at her and removed his long wool coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“You’ll freeze,” she protested. But the coat still held his body heat, and the extra layer was already making her more comfortable.
He shook his head. “I don’t need it.”
She looked at him with a confused face and he made another admission to her that he’d never told anyone else in West Germany.
“The cold doesn’t affect me. I only wear a coat so I don’t draw attention.”
“The cold doesn’t—oh. I see. It’s like—”
The thought popped into her head as his face broke into a sly grin.
It’s like that, yes.
He laughed out loud at the expression on her face and switched back to words.
“Well, you pulled me into that office to find out about me. That’s what you’re doing. Do you have specific questions?”
She’d spent the past few days thinking about what she’d seen, and what she’d say to the man responsible. Now—when the moment arrived—she couldn’t think of a single thing to ask.
“I—” was as far as she got.
He waited to see if there was more before speaking again.
“It’s a lot to take in. I know that. Take your time.”
A thought occurred to him.
“How far are we walking?”
