Simon never thought it would end up like this, sleeping with an enemy soldier. But not just a soldier, a woman—sweet and beautiful. The weapons and the uniform did not suit you, but the marks he left on you did, as a man starved for touch. Can you blame him?

Now he stares at the ceiling, holding you by the shoulder with one arm, while with the other he smokes a cigarette as you lie together on the bed in the bunker. His team is probably looking for him, but he does not care, because he craves affection.

“Bravo 0-7, how copy?” Price says over the radio.

“Don’t worry, they’re not likely to look in here,” Simon whispers to you. He smells of cigarettes and whiskey.