the box, then pulled the dinner out. First chance he got, he was driving into town to get some real fucking food.
“Like you’ll ever find out, cupcake.”
Josh smiled, tossing the frozen dinner in the microwave. He keyed in the cooking time. Outside the wind picked up, throwing rain against the windows. Josh opened a few cupboards until he found a stack of plates, taking one out. He followed that with a beer from the fridge, twisting the cap off as he waited.
“So, we gonna hook up that fifty-five-inch bad boy there or is it gonna languish in the box?”
“It’s fine right where it is.”
“We get it hooked up, we could be watching football on Monday night.” Josh pulled his dinner out the microwave. “You know, all those manly men in tight pants. Some of them even play in the mud.”
“It’s nice to know you’re so into the game.”
“You betcha. You can’t tell me you don’t like football, dogface.”
The fire took the damp chill out of the air. Josh put the plate under his dinner and with his beer in the other hand joined Mark in front of the fire, sitting on the large sofa. The heat was soothing, as Josh tucked one leg up under him.
“It won’t be a big deal to mount that thing and hook it up.”
“There are TVs in almost every fuckin’ room in this house, including your bedroom. What’s wrong with those?”
“Hello? Fifty-five inches! High def! You’ll be able to count the stitches in the seams of their pants, that’s how fucking awesome that bad boy is.”
“Outstanding.”
Josh rolled his eyes, then forked up some meatloaf. “Christ, I’m going into town in the next few days and getting some real food. These things will kill ya’.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re not one of those granola eatin’ health nuts, are ya’?” Mark pointed at him with his cigarette between two fingers. “It’s bad enough you’re a gay ex-jarhead but if you’re one of those, I’m kicking your flowered underwear ass outta here.”
“Former jarhead, you idiot dogface. And no, I’m not a health food nut.” Josh gave up on the dinner, setting it on the box beside him. He reached for his beer instead, deciding he’d make a sandwich later. “I am, however, a steak and potatoes guy, among other things. The occasional fresh vegetable never hurt anyone either.”
“Whatever. But you get it, you cook it.”
“Like I’d let you grill a nice steak? Yeah, right.” Josh leaned back against the sofa, letting the heat soak in.
"I never said I couldn't cook, jarhead."
"I can tell with that vast variety of frozen dinners in there."
"Give me a fucking break here, will ya?"
Josh flashed him a quick smile. "Now what fun would that be?"
Silence wrapped around them with only the muted rush of the wind and the sound of the rain ticking against the windows. Under that, there was the roar of the crashing surf. Mark got up, stirred the fire, then tossed another log on.
“You never did answer me. Is it commando or boxers?”
“You need a life, jarhead.”
“Oh, I’m working on that, believe me.”
* * * *
With the TV on low for company, Josh sprawled into the comfortable chair in his bedroom. On nice days, he had no doubt it was perfect for looking out over the ocean from the French doors that opened onto the deck. Now he’d shut the drapes so he could watch television.
He pulled his laptop across the bed, setting it on his lap, then powered it up. The local news out of Norfolk was on, showing the weather as Josh watched it in the darkened room where only the TV and his laptop cast any light.
He'd gotten a kick out of pushing Mark's buttons and seeing the guy's reaction. Josh liked being a free spirit, being outrageous. Going for his morning coffee wearing only his dog tags seemed only natural.
But Josh never meant to cause Mark's flashback to a war some forty years ago.
He’d already assumed that Mark had been in Vietnam. It was simple math and intuition that came to anyone who’d been in the military, no matter the branch. Josh suspected that Mark was a kid when he went over, but then most of them were. So many didn’t come back. He brought up Google along with a couple other search engines and started digging.
Mark had scared the hell out of him earlier that day. Josh was sure it was a flashback. He had his own demons that came back at him at the worst of times, so he could sympathize with the other man. It was clear Mark wouldn’t discuss it, even with someone who could understand on some level, although he hadn’t been in ’Nam.
He studied what the search engines brought up, muttering under his breath. Mark Connor was a popular name; he would have to narrow it down some. That was okay. Josh was patient. He also loved a good hunt. He was an internet junkie anyway, so this was a challenge he enjoyed. He put key words in all the search engines, paging through the results.
Josh glanced up at the TV when the news showed a nasty accident up in Virginia Beach, an overturned tractor-trailer with a couple of cars tangled in a mess on Interstate 264.
He sorted his new searches, tossing out what he knew was useless. It was still a lot of shit to sift through. Bookmarking a few possibilities, he changed the search again, studying what came up.
It took him the better part of an hour, the local news having long since signed off to be replaced by the late show. Josh barely noticed as he closed in on what he wanted. You could find pretty much anything on the internet, if you knew how and where to look. In this case, it was his expertise along with some pure dumb luck when he stumbled across an eyewitness account from a soldier whose platoon had gotten pinned down.
Josh scanned through the account of how the unit had been caught in an ambush, unable to do more than try to defend itself until help arrived. They were being picked off, their situation beyond desperate as the North Vietnamese Army kept coming at them. Mark’s buddies had dug in but they were running out of ammunition, time and hope. It was hours before help reached them.
When it did, only a handful of men were alive.
Josh scrolled down the names and clicked on Mark’s. The history given showed that this was Mark’s second tour. He’d been wounded, shot both in the shoulder and the leg but continued to fight. As one of the survivors, he’d been considered a hero, credited with saving the other men’s lives. He was awarded a Silver Star and a Purple Heart. Clicking on some links, Josh found two other accounts of the same fight, all much the same as the first. All three credited Specialist Mark Connor with saving lives. With a bit more digging, Josh found that Mark had already received two Bronze Stars, one during each tour, as well as several other commendations.
Sweet Christ, the man was a genuine hero.
Josh sat back in his chair, considering what he’d learned. Six men, including Mark, had survived
