Desert Passions

This is my first attempt at a romance, I'm fully aware that I probably missed the point so reviews and comments are highly appreciated. I usually do much more hardcore and violent work. So I hope you all enjoy!

It was the same day he'd lived before and in all likelihood the same day Corporal Renaud had been stuck in for almost three months. He turned over and kicked his sweat soaked sheet away from him down onto the sand covered wooden floor. The sound of scurrying rats was nothing new to him; he didn't really pay them any attention as he pulled on his desert camouflage trousers. "Another wonderful day in the Corps." He muttered sarcastically reaching down to lace up his beige steel-toed boots. Renaud didn't bother pulling on the olive green tee shirt, instead walking out into the pleasant warmth of the Kuwaiti morning.

He was in a tent nearly big enough to be considered a house, fifty feet long and close to thirty across with an aluminum frame. The floor was built from boxes, discarded wood and cardboard, anything they could salvage from the dump. Little walls were erected here and there with sandbags giving the illusion of privacy, if you lay down and stared straight up. It only took the guy beside you flinging his blouse up to hang on the wall to ruin the illusion though and the Marine had long since surrendered to reality of it all. Besides since they'd built the second deck and used it to store most of their equipment things had opened up, a little.

The rest of the compound hadn't quite gotten up yet, the sun hadn't even risen yet over the distant horizon but it was already uncomfortably warm. It wouldn't be long before it was unbearably hot, probably well above one hundred degrees. Shrugging off the thought he strode through the sand toward his Port-a-san to relieve himself.

Right above the port-a-potty's toilet someone had taped a picture out of Hustler, a pair of girls with their faces partially covered in goo. Around them were several crude drawings of women spread-eagled or in various other lewd positions and a few rotten poems to spice things up. "Here I sit to take a dump. How awful would it be to get a bump? Oh that would be it, me covered in shit!" He shook his head as he buttoned up his pants and stepped out of stall closing the door behind him.

A voice from somewhere behind him greeted him. "Mornin Corporal."

"Not good morning?" Renaud asked slowly turning to see who'd spoken. He fought to keep the smile from his face as he turned to find Private Stien standing and parade rest, hands clasped behind his back, head held high.

"Nothing really good about it." He responded his military bearing shattered as Renaud started to smile at him.

"Yeah I guess not." He replied walking past the barbed wire fence separating his tent and shitters from the workplace. He stared over at the giant wall designed to protect him from his own ordnance should it mysteriously start exploding. Where he was standing, his toes against a single piece of steel, was the minimum safe distance from the missiles, rockets, bombs, warheads and bullets. One more step forward and if they went off he would go with them. He didn't often think about that possibility, the idea that he might die in this desert fighting a war that he didn't believe in, but he did that morning. Thought about it as he crossed the threshold toward that gigantic sandcastle he'd helped build.

He ran his fingers slowly over the steel wrapped paper bags as he walked around to the backside. Looked up at the tower remembering how he'd helped guide the forklifts to build it. On the far side of the wall were four little cells filled with weapons. The first belonged to demolition; it was made up mostly of damaged weapons that could never see combat. Some of it was just unlabeled or too old to be considered stable. The second was filled with bullets, crate after crate of bullets. There had to be well over a million shells stacked up before his eyes. The third was filled with missiles. Renaud loved that cell; there was something special about hundreds of missiles all packaged in bright green boxes, or coffins as they were usually called. There was one in particular, in the back left corner that was "his" even had his name scrawled on it in black marker. "To Saddam. Much love motherfucker. Corporal Kristoph Renaud United States Marine Corps." He always spent the morning here laying on the cool metal and watching the sky turn from ebony starscape to a cloudless azure sky. It helped him get ready for the day, helped him cope with the fact that his own family was thousands of miles away comfortable and safe.

In the cells you could pretend you were away from it all. He couldn't hear his fellow Non Commissioned Officers, NCOs, shouting at the Non-NCOs to do this or that. Didn't see them all standing with military precision addressing the Corporals and Sergeants. He didn't want to, not this early in the morning. This early he just wanted to enjoy the sunrise and let his mind wander to all of the things he had back home.

Chris remembered he had a younger brother named Kamal who would be graduating from elementary school in his absence. A sister named Martha who in all honesty probably hadn't really noticed he was gone yet. A mother and father who were losing their minds with worry over a bullet with his name inscribed on it. He wasn't worried about death. It's not something you think about on a rear base. You worry about your generator going out, you worry about your Playstation breaking, you worry about your superiors deciding they want to make you play stupid games. You don't worry about bombs when it has been a month since the last time a bomb was launched at your base. You don't worry about bullets racing out of nowhere and splattering your skull into the sand.

You worry about the same thing he was worried about. You worry about how your friends are going to forget about you. How you won't remember how to dance, or know who's in style. You're terrified that the girl you left behind has met someone else, someone better and it drives you insane. At least Chris wasn't worried about the girl he'd left behind, a little slut named Katherine. She'd at least been kind enough to drop him for some thug a few months before he'd gone to Kuwait. Cut him off cold too, refused to return his phone calls or his letters.

"Love isn't brain's kiddies, its blood screaming in your veins to work its will." He whispered. He always said that when he thought of Katherine and how much he wanted to hold her again. He knew it was stupid, knew he should just move on with his life but somehow he couldn't manage it. "Yeah, I'm love's bitch." She was just the most amazing woman on the planet, gorgeous green eyes and curly red hair. Skin the color of sweet caramel with soft lips. A smile well worth waging a war for and tits to die for, full bouncy d-cupped with pierced nipples. She wasn't super model sized; he even teased her about her tummy, a bit of a spare tire that did nothing to distract you from her firm ass and thick thighs that tapered down into slender ankles. When she wore her thigh high boots. "Least I'm man enough admit it." He grumbled pushing the vivid image of his ex out of his mind. "Spike, truer words were never spoken." He thought aloud as he finished the peroxide blonde vampire's quote.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it." He said as he sat up and turned to finish watching the sun rising over the distant sand dunes. He only had a few minutes to get back now so he took in his practiced purposeful stride across the sand and past the fence. Ignoring two of his own superiors he shoved his head into one of the tents barking. "Come on, its 0715 and if you don't want to be left behind you need to get up! Complete uniforms. That means boonie covers, blouses, flaks, kevlars and gas masks! Come on!" A few bodies rolled over and pulled their sleeping bags up over their heads." Renaud couldn't care less, it was the ones who'd managed to oversleep that he was concerned with. He just pulled his shirt on over his head and started buttoning his blouse having left the rest of his gear in the bus. They were scrambling right now, tripping over their own boots, racks and bags to find everything they needed to leave the tiny compound and travel less than three miles up the road.

Corporal Renaud grinned slightly and yanked his head out of the tent repeating the process in the next tent before striding to the first van. "Who's driving?" He asked the pack of Marines milling around the doors. When eyes started shifting quickly from one to the next he pointed to one of them. "PFC Garcia would you go get the goddamn keys?" It wasn't really a request and Garcia didn't take it as one turning quickly and jogging back to what was affectionately referred to as the Head Shed. It was where all the planning for the compound took place, three computers and the Captain and Master Gunnery Sergeant slept and spent most of their days.

"You guys expected the van to drive itself?" He asked looking slowly over the men still gathered. All around sheepish smiles broke out as they shook their heads. "See all you Lance Corporals and below are dumb as rocks." He pointed to the second bus where another group of Marines stood staring at the doors. "But if you look over there you'll see that the sergeants and staff really aren't any smarter. I'm gonna go help them out, save my seat."

"Yes Corporal." Several responded as he turned and walked over to the group of sergeants. "Who's got the keys?" When they glanced around like the Lances had before them he smiled. "I'll get the keys but you gotta take the girls."

"You don't make deals with us Corporal."

Garcia trotted past them both silently and opened the bus letting the marines file into the once white now dusty yellow vehicle. "I'm sorry Sergeant, my bus is leaving." Renaud smiled as he slowly turned on his heels.

"Fine." The sergeant he had spoken to was always an easy sale. There really was no reason for him to make deals but he did anyway. Renaud trotted out to his tent and banged on the door to the girl's tent. "Smith, Darlon! Get the fuck out here they are going to leave you to sleepy bitches!"

The girl's tent was tiny in comparison to his, built for four men and housing only two girls though the space inside was great. He was nearly bowled over as Smith threw open the flap that served as a door. "Get the keys." He muttered to the nearly overweight blonde. He'd never liked Smith; she had an attitude completely unbefitting her position. She wore glasses and was dumpy to say the least, no breast just stomach and hips so she looked almost like an egg. It never ceased to amaze any of the male marines that she'd managed to put on so much weight out there.

Darlon peeked out a moment later and seeing Renaud only slowly emerged from her tent. She wasn't any more attractive than her peer. A girl so skinny she seemed unhealthy, an image only furthered by her pale skin and tiny stature. "Just go get in the van." He said turning and jogging across the sand to get to his own van.

Garcia started driving as soon as Renaud had a single hand on the vehicle forcing him to jump the rest of the way. "The bloody hell?" He growled playfully as he pulled himself in. As he'd ordered his seat, the third seat on the right, just over the rear wheels had been left empty. Garcia didn't respond to him, just continued swerving around the rock barricades leading into the compound. "What do you boys figure we're having for breakfast today?" He asked pulling a piece of paper from his pocket and starting to read.

"Let's see, they'll be eggs." Stevens started. He was the other Corporal in the bus, young white and had probably been on the football team back home. If you listened real hard you could occasionally catch a hint of the southern drawl he'd practiced so hard to disguise.

"Those aren't eggs. I'm not sure if they ever were. Don't eat that crap you won't get wood for a week." Jones cut in adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Before he'd come to Kuwait he'd let a small nest of brown curls rest on top of his head. Once he'd arrived though he'd shaved himself bald and he looked hilarious. Six feet tall but barely one hundred fifty pounds with a bald sun burnt head. He looked like a matchstick.

"That's just a rumor." Renaud countered still busily reading his letter.

Dear Chris

Guess what hun, you'll never believe what's happened! You know how I was supposed to be going to Al Saleem to be shipped back to the rear? Well my unit has been extended for another six weeks, something about the 143^rd being stuck in combat. I don't know all the details just that our rides can't get out here. Instead we are going to take a convoy back and stop in Riyadh and Ali al Tikin! Isn't one of those bases where you are? I would love to meet you.

Love and kisses

Nikki.

PS. Don't forget I'm with the 382^nd. :-)

His eyes widened as he read the letter over several times as he tried to absorb was he was reading. Nikki, PFC or Private 2 or whatever the fuck they called them in the army was a net friend from way back. He'd met her online the year before he'd joined the Marines. Just a chat buddy, they played a little role-playing game called Rhydin and cybered a lot. When he'd gone to boot camp she'd been the one who kept him going, writing a letter to him every week regardless of if he sent her one. Always telling him how proud she was that he'd become a man and how handsome he looked in the various uniforms. He'd fallen in love with her then, always looking forward to getting her next letter. Sometimes she'd send him pictures, he'd shown them around claiming that the she was his "other" girlfriend.

It had come as a shock when she'd told him of her plans to join the army. Of course he'd teased her for her decision to join the name brand military. Spent almost a full day explaining to her that you don't buy store brand cola, you only want Pepsi and that's why he was a Marine and not some stupid ass soldier. In the end he hadn't been able to change her mine but he had returned the favor, making time to write her while she was going through her training. He'd been the first to be deployed to Kuwait leaving his family behind in early January. She'd come over in April keeping in touch through e-mail, which seemed to go down on a daily basis.

"What you got there Radney?"

"A letter from my baby." He replied folding it back up neatly and tucking into his pocket. "And how bout what do you have there Corporal?" He added as he without facing Private Pittman. "I want to talk to you after we get off the bus understand?" The private nodded and slouched down deeper into his seat.

"She's coming here." He thought turning slightly to stare out the window. There wasn't anything to look at, just golden hills as far as the eye can see. The only thing to break the monotony of the desert was the occasional tent, sometimes with an unfortunate guard standing post with an M16. It didn't matter that there wasn't anything for him too look at though, his mind was lost anyway thinking about the girl he'd never met and always dreamed of.

"Corporal?"

"Hmm?" He asked as he blinked and looked around. He hadn't even noticed them pull up to the monstrous chow tent. "Oh." He replied sliding out of the seat and out of the van. Pittman was standing just outside the van hands clasped behind his back. "Come here." Renaud said motioning him forward and eventually throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Look you know I don't give a shit right?" Pittman nodded. "With that in mind you still have to do the right thing around the right people. You can't be callin me Renaud in front of the Corporals and shit cus it comes back down on me. They go and tell Gunny and shit and he comes and gets knee deep in my ass. You know what I'm talking about? Lean over and take the great green weenie, no lube either. If it were up to me you could call me Kris. My mother named me that for a fuckin reason and it wasn't so everybody could call me Corporal Renaud." He sighed softly and shook his head. "Long as we understand each other get the fuck out of here. I wanna eat."

"Aight corporal." Pittman smiled slightly and walked into the tent. Kris always stared at the tent when he stood beside it; it had been designed to be a portable hanger for jet planes and could easily have fit his house inside it, two or three times.

On this base all of the chefs were Kuwaiti, a fact that more than once got rude remarks from the Marines. "Just put it all on." He grumbled thrusting his trey across the table. To him they all looked pretty much alike, he couldn't tell an Iranian from an Iraqi from a Kuwaiti and the idea that could just poison him didn't settle with him. They never did anything more than scoop powdered eggs and reheated pancakes onto his plate before handing it back politely.

He holding his tray with one hand he opened on of the many refrigerators and pulled out two tiny pint cartons of milk and what he assumed must be orange juice based on the picture before sitting down with the rest of the Ordnance Marines. "Honestly, how do any of you know what the fuck it is we're drinking? I don't read no Hajji shit. For all I know this could be triple strength arsenic you know?"

"Shut up Radney." Jones managed around a mouthful of eggs. "You're scaring the boots man. Hell you're startin to scare me a bit so sit down, shut the fuck up and eat your goddamn food aight?"

"Just sayin, shit you don't need to jump down my fucking throat." Kris replied thrusting his straw into the milk and drinking.

'Yeah whatever man. Need to think before you open your mouth." Jones finished before he started shoveling the food into his mouth again. The trick was to eat so fast that you didn't get a chance to taste it and Jones was a pro at that. Renaud watched for a second in awe as the man ate so fast that none of it had a chance to land on his tongue.

"Wow." Kris whispered gripping the jar of peanut butter and spreading a thick layer over both pancakes before drowning the entire plate, fake eggs and all in syrup. He using the plastic fork he scooped the eggs up onto the pancakes and started eating them together in syrup drenched messed. It really didn't have much flavor that was the idea; let the maple drown out everything else. When he finished he went back to the bus pulling on his gas mask carrier and flak jacket for the rest of the wait.

Three more times as the bus filled he read the letter again imagining he could smell her scent on it. It was dated that two days ago that morning. "She might already be here." He realized watching the dozens of other marines walking from their tents to the chow hall. He knew it was stupid, he wouldn't see her even if she were walking right by him. "I hope I get to see her."

Just before the bus was filled he stepped off walking over to the staff bus. "Gunny Cary I need to ask you a question." Renaud asked standing on the first step of the bus.

"What is it Corporal?"

"What do we have goin on today? Rocket builds, deliveries, pick-ups?"

"No."

"Would there be a problem with me spending the day up here? Need to pick up some stuff from the PX and I want to see try an get through to my folks. I just didn't want to run off if I was needed."

"You're fine Corporal. Just make sure you check in when we come back for afternoon chow, even if you aren't ready to leave you need to check in. Let us know you're still ok."

"Not a problem Gunny, thanks." Renaud slipped down off the bus waving at Garcia to drive off as he went started walking around the expansive part of the base known as tent city. Just like its name suggested it was a city made up of tents. Centered around the giant chow tent he'd just left Tent City had a PX, like a tiny military 7 Eleven, a medical/dental tent, a phone tent, a computer tent, shower tents and working washing and drying machines. Tucking the letter back into his pocket he started walking toward the PX but one look at the line sent him toward the phone tent. The line there would be longer but worth it.