Chapter 6

Sinking to my knees on the plush

carpet, I tell myself the sting in my eyes is more sweat, not

tears. I’m not crying because I don’t know anything yet, and I’m

not going to give in until I know what’s happened. Please, I

pray. I’m not sure who I’m praying to or what I’m praying for, but

I’m not going to stop until I see my boy again.

Please

Alden makes me a strong cup of coffee;

even though I can taste the brandy lacing the brew, I drink it down

without a word. Together we sit on my couch and watch the TV,

changing channels during commercial breaks and learning nothing

new, nothing at all. Outside activity has picked up—we can hear

large transports rattle past my quarters, heading for the barracks

and the squads ready to join in the fight. Choppers fill the skies,

the heavy beating of their blades drowning out the TV when they fly

overhead.

On every channel it’s the same

thing—different voices but the same images, the same words.