Repatriation - Part 4 of The Vixen War Bride Series, page 29
Patricia smiled. “I’m glad you can feel that way.”
Ben didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, finally...
“Yeah, I guess.”
* * *
“Where do you want us to stop, Sir?” the LTV driver asked Ben as they crossed the bridge into Pelle. “The FOB?”
“No,” Ben told him. “That’ll probably just freak them out. Take us to that tall building in the center of town. Let them see that everything’s good.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The convoy wound its way through Pelle. Although it was night, both moons were out and added to the light given off by the water lamps hanging around the village, illuminating the buildings. As the vehicles turned the corner, the LTV headlights panned over a massive crowd of Va’Shen standing at the other end of the street. The vehicles pulled forward, stopping in a line facing the crowd.
“Well,” Patricia muttered. “This looks... ominous.”
There was no cheering in the crowd, no signs welcoming the commandos home. They simply stood there, waiting.
Without a word, Ben got out of the LTV and walked back to the first truck. Azarin was sitting in the seat right at the tailgate.
Azarin climbed out, looking around in honest surprise.
He took several steps from the truck as the other commandos climbed out, all of them looking at their hometown in disbelief. They had been told it was nothing more than a smoking ruin covered with charred bodies and wreckage, and yet the night was peaceful, the buildings stood tall, and the air remained sweet.
As the commando captain came around to the front of the truck, he saw the crowd of villagers standing before him. They had moved closer as the former detainees exited the vehicles and were now only a few feet from the lead LTV. Ben looked up at the LTV gunner and waved for him to come down off the turret. The last thing he needed was a nervous gunner surrounded by Va’Shen when he wasn’t sure how this was about to go down.
Azarin stepped forward and faced the crowd as other commandos moved up to join him. Standing opposite of him was Alacea, herself, at the front of the mob of villagers.
The commando captain bowed to her.
Ben and Patricia watched from the side as Alacea stepped between the two groups of Va’Shen and approached Azarin. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly.
As if that were some kind of signal, the entire village population rushed forward and surrounded the commandos, each trying to hug, pat or simply touch one of the returning detainees. The odd-sounding hiccups that Va’Shen make when they cry filled the village square as the two mobs fused into one collection of reunited loved ones.
Ben heard a sniffle and turned to see Patricia wiping a tear away. “Makes it all worth it, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“Yeah,” the Ranger relented.
As he watched, Ben’s thoughts drifted back to the video Master Sergeant Marcus had shown him, of his Rangers’ loved ones waiting for them to come home. It left him conflicted as to how he was supposed to feel about this. There was the familiar anger inside him, welling up to the surface about the unfairness of it all. This kind of reunion was denied to his troops by the very aliens enjoying it now.
On one hand he wanted to feel happy for Azarin and the villagers. But on the other, he wanted to curse them for it. In the end, there was no way to feel “good” about it. He would have to settle for the sense of accomplishment that came with achieving a strategic objective. The village would be more positively inclined toward him and his people and therefore less likely to cause trouble later.
That, he thought, would simply have to be enough.
* * *
As the initial wave of emotion crested and began to subside, Va’Shen families began the gut-wrenching search for their family members. Situated away from the group, leaning against the hood of the LTV he had driven here, Senior Chief Warren saw Basilla and Turean weaving through the crowd, searching. He didn’t approach them, not wanting to intrude on, hopefully, their reunion, but he silently rooted for them to find whom they were searching for.
He sighed as he saw Basilla speaking to a group of commandos in orange jumpsuits and saw her break down, covering her chest with her hands as she fell to her knees. Turean stood next to her, his tail slack and his ears drooped over and listless.
“Damn,” Warren whispered.
The sailor knew there would be many more vixens and children going through the same thing, and even those who did find someone had reason to mourn. He saw the familiar flash of red hair as the Huntress leader, Bao Sen, found a tod with a similar mop of reddish hair and embrace, only to cover her heart with her hands, herself, and begin to hiccup in grief.
It was while he was watching Bao Sen and her brother that he suddenly realized he wasn’t alone anymore and jumped in surprise to find Turean standing next to him.
“Sehnor Jief,” Turean said quietly, and Warren wasn’t sure it was a greeting or a plea.
The Navy senior NCO put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. he told him.
Turean told him, his eyes refusing to meet Warren’s.
“I know, son,” Warren said.
Turean told him.
Warren just squeezed his shoulder.
Turean bowed to him stiffly and turned, disappearing into the crowd of jubilant and mourning Va’Shen.
Warren watched him go and sighed.
* * *
Although Azarin was her brother, Alacea was the Na’Sha and could not spend all her time with him. He watched her move among the crowd, welcoming the returning tods, sharing in the joys of the families and praying with those whose tods did not return. His adopted father and mother had found him and embraced him, his mother wailing at the loss of his eye, but he had assured her he was all right.
He caught sight of Tasshas and his parents, Yasuren holding his face in her hands and examining his scars. Many of his younger commandos had taken brides before they had left and many of these young vixens had leapt upon them as they were found, hugging them and nipping their ears in joy. One of his riflemen, Portas, hugged his myorin tightly, but he noted there was something subdued in the way Beretes had reacted. He suddenly wondered how many of these would-be widows had been granted Exemptions. He made it a point to ask Alacea.
The commando leader informed his parents he needed to speak to the Na’Sha and would be right back and waded into the crowd in search of his sister. Before he realized it, he found himself standing in front of a blue and white-haired vixen, who looked at him in surprise, her tail whipping about and her ears standing straight up.
Azarin swallowed and strained to keep his tail under control. He bowed respectfully to the Mikorin before him.
Hestean’s back remained ramrod straight as she looked at his face, her ears drooping at the sight of his lost eye.
he told her.
They were both silent for a moment, not wanting to draw the wrong kind of attention, but not wanting to part ways yet.
Azarin’s ears twitched a rueful smile. he admitted.
Hestean told her with a twitch of her own ears.
He bowed back and paused for one more look before turning to go.
Were it not for you, he thought to her, we would never have returned home at all.
* * *
Ben rubbed his forehead and looked at the clock in his hooch. It was approaching midnight. They had had to wait more than an hour before the crowd in Pelle’s town square had thinned out enough to move the truck convoy to the FOB. Then he had to make sure the drivers and crews of those trucks had a place to bed down for the night. He also had to call the COC at Jamieson to let them know they arrived okay and that the freed detainees had been delivered.
Sleep, at this point, was a distant memory for Ben, something that happened in the before-time, in the long-long-ago. But as he finished writing the report of the day’s events at the little table in his hooch, he knew there was no way he was going to put it off another minute.
He removed his camouflage jacket and tossed it over the chair, intent on collapsing into his bed as-is. As he reached over to turn off his lamp, a gentle knock came at his door.
Sleep was, once again, a distant memory...
Ben sighed and changed course, going to his door and opening it. Since it was unlikely to be Alacea given the celebrating the Va’Shen were doing, Ben assumed it was one of his NCOs trying to get him to sign something that needed signing while he was away and was now overdue. So, he was honestly surprised when he opened the door and found the violet-haired priestess standing at his door.
Ben cocked his head and pointed at her.
Her ears twitched a smile.
Ben took a minute to decode what she said, and, seeing that, Alacea tried to dumb it down for him. she said as she sat down on the floor between his desk and his bed.
Ben thought about it and shook his head.
Alacea said uncomfortably.
She pointed at his left side.
He didn’t say anything, and apparently his Myorin knew him well enough by now to know that meant “no.”
The Ranger pulled off his sand-colored T-shirt, and Alacea’s ears jumped straight up. It looked like the entire left side of his body was one huge bruise.
Ben knew he had no way to adequately explain what happened, so he opted for brevity instead.
“Déjà vu,” he said as he laid down on his back.
She rubbed the brown slurry-like ointment on her hands and began to gently apply it to his shoulder. The priestess worked in silence, one that became more awkward as time went on, until finally it was broken with a barely audible question.
He looked at her and arched an eyebrow.
Her hand paused as she focused on his expression. Despite her time with him, it was still incredibly difficult to understand his state of mind without benefit of ears and a tail.
Ben told her.
Mention of her brother made her pause again.
She stood up and wiped her hands with a towel hanging from his desk chair.
Ben sat up and moved his shoulder around a bit. It was already starting to feel better.
Alacea bowed to him, acknowledging his gratitude.
“Oh!” Ben suddenly cried, startling the priestess. He hopped up and went to his black duffel bag, which he still had yet to unpack. he told her.
He removed the flat, square object wrapped in an AAFES bag and turned, handing it to her.
Alacea gingerly took the package and fiddled with it until she found the open end of the bag. Removing the object, her ears pointed quizzically downward. It was a rather wide book with alien writing on the front and a picture of a stream moving rapidly over blue rocks.
Alacea opened the book, and her ears began fluttering in wonder. A photo of green grass and a blue sky with three moons hanging over it looked back at her. The detail in the artwork amazed her, not understanding what photography was and how it was different. To her, it appeared that the artist was amazingly talented. Flipping the page, she saw white, snow-capped mountains and blue ice floes. These were things Alacea had never seen or even knew existed.
She flipped through the book a little faster, just enough to catch glimpses of the worlds she had never seen. Finally, the priestess shut the book.
Ben refused to touch it. he assured her.
Far from a “rich gift,” Ben had found it on the rack at the Exchange while checking one last time for a new combat knife. He had failed on that point, settling for a Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife instead of his beloved mini-Kabar.
Alacea pulled the book to her chest and looked down at her feet.
“’Thank you,’” Ben corrected. <”Mahalo” different peoples.>
Ben smiled. “You’re welcome.”
She held the book out to him.
Ben took the book and checked the index. Finding what he was looking for, he flipped the pages in the book until he found a large, double-page photo of a city sitting on the shore of an azure bay. He turned the book and showed it to her.
She reached out and touched the page with her fingertips. “Par-sefu-nay,” she sounded out. The Va’Shen girl smiled.
Ben reached over the top of the book and pointed at a group of buildings in the bottom right of the right page.
