The War Games Job

The exercise had been three long, busy weeks of planning, and all of it would culminate tomorrow with the start of San Lorenzo’s first war game. Eliot, Tomas, and General Flores had worked tirelessly for days, making sure there were no unaddressed details, and no dangerous situations they had not foreseen. Now all they had to do was get through tonight.

Ophelia had issued a formal invitation to Tomas and Amalia for dinner that evening. Eliot and Tomas could depart from their house, while Amalia could settle in for the upcoming week. They would all have dinner together tonight. Tomas and Eliot could finalize the security for the house one last time. Not that it would allay their worries at the two girls staying alone while they were gone, but Eliot had suggested to Tomas that it was time to stop arguing about this, as he knew Ophelia would not be budged. If it didn’t work out (as Tomas suspected it would not), they could deal with the fall-out when they returned.

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” Ophelia asked again. “Even if you just want me to hand you things.”

“I’ve got it, Princess. Don’t worry about it,” he answered. Sure, he had other things he could be doing, but cooking this meal allowed him to focus on none of those things for a while. Ophelia thought it was outrageously unfair that he was cooking the night before a week of maneuvering.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Then I’m going to get dressed. Unless you want me to help. I don’t want you to claim later that I abandoned you in the kitchen on the night before you shipped out.”

“I would never,” he promised, grinning as he chopped up a tomato. Her references all week would have led an unsuspecting person to believe he was shipping out to defeat the Nazis. He liked the idea so well, he hadn’t bothered to discourage her. It was harmless and charming and exactly how he would have guessed she would act, which was an unusually specific win for him.

On her way to get dressed, she flipped on the sound system to a station she had programmed to play actual music from the ‘40s, covers of music from the ‘40s, and new music made to sound old. It had been playing all week; Eliot hummed along from the kitchen.

She re-emerged not too much later wearing an outfit that, while Eliot wouldn’t have guessed it, didn’t surprise him either. She wore the green dress she’d worn on their first date, with a cropped sweater featuring chevron striping, and an old officer’s hat she’d found in an antique store, plus vivid red lipstick that matched her nail polish. Her necklace was her grandmother’s; it was a tiny book with wings on the front that opened to reveal even tinier pictures of her father and her husband, Ophelia’s grandfather and great grandfather. She came to where he was working at the stove, standing on her toes to rest her chin on his shoulder.

“It’s awful nice of you to have dinner with a soldier who’s shipping out, ma’am,” he drawled, just to make her laugh. Playing along with this was completely harmless, and the upside for him was that if she hadn’t already formulated some sort of story, she’d have one by the time they went to bed tonight.

“I like to do my part,” she replied. “Are those your fancy potatoes?”

“You know they are, Peaches.”

“Maybe I should go wait in the living room so I don’t stand here and eat them directly out of the pot.”

He turned halfway, sliding one hand around her waist and giving her the spoon with the other.

“I saved you this,” he said. “Just to be sure.”

She gave him a wicked grin before blowing on the hot potatoes.

“Delicious,” she confirmed. “I shouldn’t say that. I should tell you that they’re off and I’ll deal with them while you’re gone.”

“I made a double batch,” he said. “You can have them for breakfast next week.”

She laid her head against his shoulder, holding the spoon away from both of them. The food was all cooked, everything was just keeping warm now. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Close enough to smell her light perfume over the other smells in the kitchen.

“You promise there won’t be real shooting,” she asked again. “You’re not just saying that so I’ll feel better?”

“No real shooting, I promise. The only people who use live ammunition in these things are the North Koreans, and those aren’t exactly what I’d call war games.”

“What would you call them?”

She would definitely not feel better about that answer. He changed the subject.

“I’m surprised you haven’t come up with a crazy World War II Faire,” he said. “Every day that I come home and you don’t have an itchy wool uniform waiting for me, I wonder if you’re sick.”

“Oh,” she answered, somewhat confused. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he laughed. “It seems like that’s a thing you’d really like to do.”

He saw her eye the pot of potatoes wistfully, and decided that the temptation was really one thing more than he should ask her to handle tonight. He wrestled the spoon out of her hand and led her to the den, where he started mixing cocktails after she took a seat.

“You don’t think that would be hideously disrespectful?” she asked.

“Should I?” He couldn’t tell what was in her head about it, although worrying about a hypothetical ‘40s Faire would distract her nicely from worrying about his impending departure. While she was excited and very proud for him, the idea also worried her. He had repeatedly tried to assure her that his only real danger was from snakes, not other soldiers. But she had a vivid imagination and he had a lot of scars; it was an unfortunate intersection.

“Don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t, just, do anything you could name to see you in a vintage uniform,” she answered. “But we’re talking about real people and real events here.”

“Careful Princess,” he chuckled. “I can name a lot of things.”

“I bet,” she said wistfully, gazing out the window. He had no trouble guessing what she saw in her mind. “Anyway, I thought you didn’t like costume dramas.” Now she was definitely teasing him.

“Why are real people and real events more offensive than your regular Faire?” he asked.

“Because you probably can’t name a person in your family tree who jousted,” she pointed out. “But I’m pretty sure both of your grandfathers served overseas. I don’t know,” she admitted, “it just seems wrong to cosplay as real people.”

“You’re from Georgia,” he pointed out, “and people there definitely re-enact Civil War battles. And I bet you can tell me everyone in your family who participated in that.”

“Agreed,” she said promptly, “maybe not the best example, and those tend to focus on more actual battles than just being a Faire. Usually. I mean, there are corn dogs and fried oreos, but not usually shopping. Or fairies.”

He sat down next to her and handed her a drink, which was fruity and tropical and frivolous, and absolutely full of rum. Devil, who had been shut out of the kitchen all day, sniffed at their drinks before huffing out a doggy sigh and putting his head back down.

“Don’t tell Devil,” Eliot stage whispered, “but I made a separate bowl of potatoes just for him to have this week.”

The dog’s ears perked up.

“I made them with some bacon grease I had,” he continued. “And tossed in some chicken. So he can have potatoes with you every morning and not feel left out, and also that’s his reward for being a good watchdog while I’m gone.”

Devil grinned at them both. He would have been a good watchdog anyway, but the potatoes were a nice offer on Eliot’s part.

Finally, it was late enough that Amalia was visibly drooping and Ophelia was trying so hard not to yawn Eliot was afraid she’d sprain her jaw. Neither of them really wanted to go to bed and end the evening.

“You can have whichever room you want on that hallway,” Ophelia offered. “They all have attached bathrooms, so you don’t have to wander around in the middle of the night. Unless that’s a thing you’re into.”

“Which one would you choose?” Amalia asked as Tomas helped her up from the couch. “If it were you?”

“I would choose the yellow one at the end,” Ophelia answered. “It has a view of the mountains and the ocean. And the second biggest bathtub.”

Eliot walked over to the bookshelf and appeared to be looking for something. Amalia was too tired to even stare.

“We will try not to wake you on the way out, Ophelia,” Tomas answered. “Thank you for dinner. We appreciate your hospitality.”

“You’re more than welcome,” she said. “Good luck?”

Tomas nodded solemnly.

“We’ll need it,” he said. “Many of my men are terrible shots.”

Eliot put his arm around her shoulder and his hand over her mouth before she could respond.

“Good night, colonel,” he said, with just barely a glare. Then he steered his wife into their own room and closed the door behind them.

“Do I need to help you, I don’t know, pack or something?” she offered. “I haven’t seen you get out a suitcase or anything. You never mentioned these war games were naked games by the second day.”

He kissed her on the temple.

“It’s not summer camp, Princess. But trust me: I’ve got access to everything I need. And I’ll have a satellite phone if it’s an emergency. Even if you two go to the Flores’ place, you can call me.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. He held her close for a moment, just because he could, then sat down in the large chair he’d moved in after their first week. It was easily large enough to accommodate both of them; she had turned it to look out over the trees. She thought it was an excellent addition to the room. He was pleased she thought so.

In his experience, when she was stressed or anxious on his behalf, she turned her kisses up to 11. He would have bet with any medical expert in the world she was magic, her kiss was magic, and she was protecting him the best way she knew how. He relaxed into it even though he knew he was in absolutely no danger; this was how she showed affection.

She broke their kiss suddenly.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. I got you a thing!”

She could, at this point, mean literally anything. Eliot sat back to see what happened next. She leaned over to the shelves and produced a small wooden box he would swear hadn’t been there earlier. The Navy crest and the initials RCO were engraved on the top.

“Open it,” she coaxed, holding it with both hands.

He lifted the lid carefully, because the box was obviously old. It even smelled old, like cedar and leather and dust and a dozen other smells he associated with her favorite things. He pulled out a vintage lensatic compass the likes of which he hadn’t seen in ages. She was pretty much his go-to girl for old things, and he recognized this as a replica from one of her favorite movies. Except, he corrected himself, this wasn’t a replica at all; it was the real thing.

“Where did you get this, Princess?”

“It was my grandfather’s,” she said. “He took it to war and it brought him back home. I thought maybe you could use it too.”

He unwound the leather strap carefully.

“I had the strap replaced, because it hadn’t really held up all that well,” she explained. “But it’s got a button hole at one end so you can button it to your shirt pocket. Do you still have shirt pockets in the same place? Do they still have buttons?”

“They absolutely do, Princess. Are you sure you want me to take this?” Her gifts were always thoughtful, and many times even practical, but this was a family heirloom.

“I don’t joke about good luck charms, Jones. You know that.”

She seemed to be waiting for him to do…something. Although he wasn’t clear what. Idly, he flipped the top open. He knew enough about how she thought by now to be happy but not surprised when he found her picture in the top. She had posed in one of her retro bathing suits on the beach; if he had to guess, Amalia took the picture. But even if Devil had taken it, she couldn’t have looked cuter on the beach in her pin-up pose. Maybe she’d show him the rest later.

“Ah,” he chuckled. “You do want me to take this.”

“I could have left the picture of my grandmother in there,” she said. “And I could swap it out still if you want me to.”

“No offense to your grandma,” he answered, “but I’d rather have you. Every day and twice on Sunday.”

It was one of her phrases. She laughed and leaned forward to kiss him again.

“Really, I hoped you’d say that.”

He put a hand to her face and pulled her very gently closer.

“You don’t have to worry.”

“You know I’m going to anyway.”

“I do.” And there was nothing he could do about it except realize he’d been lucky she’d fallen in love with him.

“Wait right here,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Confused, she watched him dash out of the bedroom; he returned barely a minute later carrying a copy of Catch-22. She had wondered what he was looking for earlier.

“Have you read it?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said. “You don’t decide to write novels about World War II without reading the best examples available. Have you?”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “But that’s never stopped us before.”

It took zero amount of encouragement to get her to come to bed.

He didn’t know exactly what time it was when she fell asleep in the middle of a sentence, but she had been fighting to stay awake for a while. Quietly, he plucked the book out of her fingers, marked their place, and turned off the reading light.

“Sweet dreams, Princess. You couldn’t have given a soldier a better send off.”

“Come back home,” she murmured.

In all too few hours, he and Tomas were up and out. Eliot had left a note for Ophelia, and spoken earnestly to Devil about his role in protecting the house while they were gone. Devil barked quietly to show he understood, then they left.

“They will be fine, yes?” Tomas asked. They had driven away in silence, arrived at the meeting point, mustered the troops in, accounted for everyone, and were on a raft on their way to the island.

“I would honestly feel bad for anyone who tried to get at them,” Eliot assured him.

Their first order of business was to announce that the winner of today’s challenge would get to be night security at Eliot Spencer’s house the next night. Nobody was certain how much of a prize that really was, considering that Spencer himself would kill them in many different ways should there be any sort of mishap. And then Colonel Francisco would have whatever was left of them.

The girls both slept in that morning. Once Eliot was gone, Devil left his crate in the living room to go find Ophelia. She would be sad, and a dog could be a much better comfort going to her than making her come to him. Eventually, he determined that enough time had passed that a comforting dog could legitimately ask for breakfast without also being a rude dog. Ophelia stumbled to the kitchen after him, serving up a healthy portion of kibble and some chicken potatoes that Eliot had left just for him. After he grinned his huge doggy grin, and dove face-first into his bowl, Ophelia went to the living room to take a nap. At some point, Amalia came in too, realized that only the dog was awake, and sacked out on the other sofa.

They had breakfast around noon, then went down to the beach to swim and sun and work on their newest project. Ophelia still hadn’t settled to any one idea for her new book, so they spent no small amount of time discussing that. She let Amalia read some of her drafts of stories she thought could become books, but that she hadn’t pursued.

“Can you send me this one?” Amalia asked. “The one about the vampire?”

“You like that one?” Ophelia was surprised. It was an idea she had laughingly suggested to Eliot when they first started dating. “Really?”

“I am not sure,” Amalia admitted. “I would like to read it again. Then we will discuss vampire sex.”

“I should have guessed,” Ophelia chuckled. “I’ll email it to you. I better not find it on a fan fiction forum later.”

“Fan fiction?”

Ophelia explained as briefly as she could, to Amalia’s hysterical giggling.

“Some of my students wrote fan fiction about Eliot,” she said. “They thought I didn’t know. I did.”

“I must see this!” she demanded. “What did they write about him?”

“The first time he came to my classroom, he introduced himself to the class under a different name,” she said. “It was confusing. But my students were convinced that was his real name, and Eliot Spencer was his cover.”

“Did you show him this?” She was fascinated by the entire idea. “Did he read these things by your students?”

“A couple,” she smiled. “I don’t think he thought they were as funny as I did. And I never showed him the really outrageous ones.”

“These are the ones I most want to see. Please let me have them, Phee.”

The writer grinned and sent a link to her email.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

They returned to the villa for supper, listlessly watched some tv, and Ophelia let Devil out once more with a warning not to go far. She didn’t know if there was anyone around the house tonight, or how they might have been briefed; she didn’t want one of Tomas’s men to get entangled with her dog. That wouldn’t end well for anyone.

“They’ll be fine, right?”

“Tomas was dispatched to the Gulf War,” Amalia answered. “I was not as worried then as I am now, and yet he is with his own people in our own country. Perhaps it is because we were younger then.”

“I’m pretty sure Eliot was there too,” she replied, although she didn’t have a clear picture of whether he’d been there with a recognized organization. “I didn’t know him then. This just….feels weird.”

“It will feel less weird as it goes,” Amalia assured her. “They will be fine. There is nothing to worry about. And if anything goes wrong, whoever made it wrong will answer to Papa.”

Somewhat reassured, Ophelia suggested a movie. Neither of them seemed to be all that tired.

“Need anything?” Ophelia asked after the movie ended. “If you wake up in the middle of the night and want something, help yourself. Devil knows you’re here, so he won’t mind.” She turned to the dog. “Don’t bark at Mali if she gets up in the middle of the night, okay?”

Devil woofed in the affirmative, and Amalia gave him a gentle rub on the ears.

“I’m good. I think I will go to bed,” Amalia said. “See you in the morning.”

“Holler if you need me.”

While ‘holler’ was not a verb with which Amalia was familiar, she could guess at its meaning. She went to her borrowed room, got ready for bed, and turned out the lights a few minutes later. It was very quiet here.

Some time later, although Ophelia wasn’t really sure how much time, she heard a light knock on her door.

“Mali?”

The other girl slid into the room like a shadow. She held up a copy of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.

“I could not sleep,” she explained. “I wondered…? Eliot said it was about your home.”

Ophelia sat up and patted the empty side of the bed as she switched on the reading light.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” she said. “Let’s read about Savannah.”

“This is a true story?” Mali asked. She crawled into the empty side of Ophelia’s bed without hesitation.

“I mean, parts of it. Some of it has been changed.”

“To protect the innocent?”

“I think it was just to annoy a bunch of people. It worked amazingly well.”

“You knew these people?”

“Several of them,” Ophelia nodded. She almost didn’t need to open the book to get started.

“You will tell me about them more,” Amalia said.

“More than you can stand to hear,” Ophelia promised.

The week passed, eventually. Tomas and Eliot agreed it was a long week because they had to sleep outside. Ophelia and Amalia kept themselves busy, but found themselves checking to see what day it was just a little too often.

Saturday arrived, and Amalia took her leave after lunch. She wanted to be home when Tomas got there, she explained. They hugged at the door while Ophelia said no explanation was necessary, and they’d talk tonight or tomorrow. With just her and Devil in the house, Ophelia found the place to be profoundly empty. Lacking the creativity to come up with anything else, she assembled dinner and put the bowl in the fridge to wait, then went to do some laundry. Eliot had suggested he’d be home around 7 pm; she tried not to stare at the clock.

The oven was pre-heated, their dinner quietly cooking, and she went to put the bathing suits she had just dried into the washing machine, but not because she was in any way distracted. So Devil was the first to know when Eliot came through the front door, and ran to meet him.

“Hey dude,” Eliot knelt to rub the dog’s ears as Devil leaned against him affectionately. “Everything okay while I was gone?”

The dog woofed in the affirmative.

“Great job, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear. I brought you back a surprise!” Devil’s ears perked up in anticipation as Eliot pulled some fish jerky from his duffel bag. “There you go. Why don’t you take it to the living room? I didn’t bring enough for Phee too, so maybe keep it quiet?”

The dog was gone in a flash. Ophelia stepped into the hall; she’d heard him bark from the laundry room.

“Jones! You’re back!” Knowing she would be worried and concerned and careful in case he was injured, he crossed the foyer in two steps and pulled her against him. After the very slightest hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him.

“Your compass did the trick,” he whispered. “Brought me straight back here.”

“Are you okay?” She stepped back, still in his arms, to look at him. He was, in a word, grimy. A week of being outside had left him caked in sand and mud and a dozen other things he hoped she wouldn’t consider, because she felt really good with her entire body pressed against his.

“Fine,” he said. “Tired. A little gross. What smells so good, Peaches? Besides you, I mean.” Even if she’d been outside at the beach most of the time he’d been gone, she had access to running water and soap and perfume.

“Dinner. I made lobster pot pie. Is that okay?”

“I swear to god, if you’d said iguana pot pie it still would have been fine,” he promised. “I’m excited to eat something that hasn’t been reconstituted.”

“I’ve got vegetables marinating too,” she added. “But it’s going to be about an hour before it’s done, if you want to pass out or something.”

Right now, if he walked into the kitchen, he knew he’d find three timers, plus she probably had the one on her phone running as well. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust any of the kitchen timers, it was just that she liked to make really exceptionally sure that her food didn’t burn.

“A shower,” he declared. “I want a shower. We got one of those?”

“I think we do,” she grinned. “I’ll go get you a towel and stuff. You remember where it is?”

She’d thrown the door open, he would be crazy not to walk through it.

“I could probably use some directions, ma’am,” he drawled.