Chapter 12



Julia lay awake in her top bunk unable to sleep as images of her five-year old self rolling over the edge kept creeping into her mind. Seriously? Julia scoffed quietly. Three weeks ago she was blissfully working in a book shop, unaware of the adrenaline-filled life she had led before and the man she was engaged to. And now, she was sleeping in a run-of-the-mill cot surrounded by men and she was worried about falling out of her bunk?

Sitting up in her bed, wincing as the springs creaked loudly beneath her, the air held that early-morning glow as the light began to fill in through the line of windows that rested just below the ceiling.

Turning onto her stomach, Julia's bunk was level with the foot wide window and she wasted no time in looking outside at her new home.

A slight mist covered the ground but the rows of barracks were unmistakable as they stretched out in a line and the sound of rattling jeeps passing on the road was enough to keep Julia's mind from settling.

She was suddenly regretting her decision; Lieutenant Ray Matthews had already berated her in his friendly way that suffering from amnesia was more a gift than a curse.

Julia looked across at the top bunk on her left. The man was asleep, his left eyelid twitching whilst his right remained eerily still.

The entire right side of his face seemed to be melted, his nose had changed shape and the corner of his mouth was tilting downwards.

The man below him had lost both his legs below the knees. Julia swallowed uncomfortably as her eyes travelled up from the bottom of the bed and saw how the sheets lay flat where his legs should have been.

All of these men had been through some trauma and Julia's mind thought back to Marc.

He was deployed at this very moment and whilst she might not love him like she used to, she still cared for him.

He hadn't been the one to lie to her. He had told her everything she wanted to know and kept nothing back.

The fear of him being hurt was a constant cloud at the back of her mind but now, seeing these men in real life, brought that fear hurtling to the front of her thoughts and her breathing pitched.

"Hey," Ray's voice whispered, penetrating her thoughts and Julia leaned over the edge of her bed, her hair falling in front of her face.

"Ray?" Julia whispered, "Are you awake?"

Ray may be blind but he was still able to look at her as if she was stupid.

Of course, he's awake.

"Worried about today?" Ray asked as his blue eyes flickered, unsure of where to look.

Julia momentarily wondered what he saw. Was everything black?

"Not really," Julia lied, "How about you?"

"I'm terrified," Ray smiled kindly, trying to make her more at ease, "What if they give the blind guy a gun? I'll injure more people than any Taliban insurgent,"

The remark was meant to be funny but in this setting it only made Julia sober up; it had been a Taliban bomb that had caused her to gain amnesia.

"If they do," Julia rose to his challenge, "Give me a heads up first. I may not be able to remember Afghanistan but I'd like to remember everything else, thank you."

Julia felt a bit better when she saw Ray's lips tilt upwards in a smile.

But that feeling of accomplishment was quickly shredded away as the lights were thrown on above them, the door to their barracks was flown open and two men barged in, shouting through a megaphone.

Everybody's hands flew up to cover their ears against the deafening assault as the men passed by their bunks.

Two men dressed in camouflage with blank stern faces ordered them to assemble in front of the hall in ten minutes.

Julia's heart was racing as the men walked back down the line, heading towards the door before they stopped in front of their bunk and looked at them both with guarded looks.

"Sergeant," the man on the right with tanned skin and greying hair handed up her uniform, folded into neat edges.

The fabric was cold beneath her fingers.

"Lieutenant," The man turned to Ray and placed the uniform on his lap, guiding Ray's hand onto the clothes.

Julia frowned at the man's actions. Ray was blind not retarded. He knew how to find clothes that were put in his lap.

But Julia was too kind and she gave everybody the benefit of the doubt; maybe the man was just being polite.

Maybe this was his first time with injured service men and women.

Julia didn't know but the moment those officers left and the doors slammed shut everybody was jumping into action.

They had only minutes to get ready before they were due in formation.

Despite not being able to remember anything about her training or her time in the services, even she knew that being late was not an option.

* * *

It seemed like only yesterday he had been leaving this country.

He barely had time to tap the sand out of his boots before he was returning to the dry, hot land of Afghanistan.

The moment he stepped off the plane, Marc pressed his lips shut and rose the scarf to cover his nose from the gritty air that threatened to gag him.

He blinked rapidly, trying to create some moisture under his eyelids and his skin immediately broke out into a sweat beneath his service clothes.

Returning with a few other men, the plane ride had been silent with Marc's mind preoccupied by Jules.

Jules.

Marc closed his eyes. Her name was Julia. Jules no longer existed.

Marc had been hoping that if she only knew the truth then she would remember everything; who she was, what she had done and who he was.

But none of that had returned; he had simply turned one loving young girl with a firm confidence that her family never lied to her into a self-conscious woman rushing to get back to war.

Marc wouldn't have minded if she remembered who she was; but as Julia he could not tell if she knew the tactics and manoeuvres or if those too had been lost.

Marcus thought about the café where she had stabbed the drunken lout in the leg with a fork. It seemed like something the old Jules would have done but those hopes were soon dashed when he remembered the rest of the scene.

The way Julia had panicked.

The old Jules wouldn't have hesitated in breaking the man's arm before he laid a finger on her.

He didn't want to believe it but maybe the old Jules was gone for real but Julia was still here.

She stared at him with the same eyes and face as his fiancé.

The fiancé he had allowed to be blown up by an IED.

Bypassing the registration office, Marcus hurried through the maze of tents, greeting a few of his friends with firm handshakes.

It wasn't long before he was approaching his old tent, only to find his mates lingering out the front, their chests bare to the Middle Eastern sun and their attentions fixated on something in the distance.

Marc frowned as he looked over their heads and saw the fading shapes of female marines heading for the showers.

Nothing changes.

Approaching quietly from behind, Marc licked his lips and broadened his shoulders, waiting for the right moment.

Putting on his best commanding voice, Marc barked the name and rank of his friend, "Private First Class Ramirez!"

Carlos Ramirez, along with the other five, spun in fear. Expecting their Captain, Carlos nearly collapsed in rage at Marc.

"You're back!" Carlos let out a cheer as he grasped his friend by the arms, "When did you get in? Did you remember to bring it?"

Marc rolled his eyes at his friend's list of questions before he reached into the bag behind him.

"One box of Cinnamon Crunch cereal," Marc laughed at the expression on Carlos's face.

Carlos was looking at Marc as if he was Moses parting the red-sea right in front of him.

As he handed out the various gifts he was charged with returning, Marcus was glad for the distraction when Carlos's expression turned sombre and he gazed at Marc with curiosity.

"So, how did it go?" Carlos didn't need to say anymore; both of them knew what they were talking about.

Marc looked away from Carlos to see everyone in their company looking at him, eagerly awaiting news.

"Yeah, boss," Ian asked from where he was lounged on his bunk, "How's Jules?"

"Will she be coming back? I mean, they can't keep her out." Steve 'Twitch' Thompson asked, his left eyebrow twitching uneasily.

"I don't know Twitch," Marc sighed.

"Well, how is she?" Ian persisted from the other end, "Does she remember us?"

Marc sighed; he couldn't lie to them.

"No," He closed his eyes slowly, "No, she doesn't remember."

Dumping his bag at the bottom of his cot, Marc collapsed onto the bare strings, his mattress still rolled up at the foot of the bed.

Carlos herded the men away, providing Marc with some space as reality hit into him. His Jules was never coming back.