Chapter 1

The grenade detonated a short distance behind his left shoulder.

His body remembered his training and he turned away, shielding himself from the debris and smoke which were tearing through the open doorway that lay on his right.

A short burst of gunfire sounded a few moments later but as far as he could tell only a few of those bullets had found themselves imbedded in the wall opposite him.

He wasn't prepared for the way the smoke clung to the inside of his mouth and throat, making it difficult to breathe.

His tongue felt as rough as sandpaper.

Once the sporadic gunshots had died away, he managed to hear the distant but unmistakeable sound of foreign voices.

He couldn't understand what they were saying but one of the men's voices sounded sharp so he risked a glance outside.

This was his first time seeing the devastation from the grenade. A bit further up the street, less than twenty feet away, one vehicle had been consumed by flames.

A thick cloud of angry grey smoke was already filling the sky as it burned through the fuel, blocking his view of the building across from him.

He focused his eyes but he could see nothing except the outline of the building. Swallowing his uncertainty, he turned back to the men.

The second car had been abandoned and its occupants were huddled in the street. He saw a young man with a rifle aimed directly at him. Panic flared in his chest but then he realised that the man wasn't looking at him, he was talking quickly over his shoulder at someone else.

Raising his own weapon as the man kept talking, he peered through the scope and set up the shot.

As his finger hovered less than a millimetre from the trigger, no quarrels going through his mind that he was about to kill another person, a sudden small gush of wind displaced the smoke that had been lingering near the two vehicles.

As it did so, he caught sight of the building across from him as well as a large, horizontal metal tube resting on one of the men's knees.

Frowning, he watched as the man tilted it up towards the same building which had been blocked from his view moments earlier.

Realising what it was, he re-settled his rifle into his shoulder and took the shot. He saw the man's body drop suddenly but he did not wait to see it hit the ground before he turned to the next insurgent. He had to stop them.

When another round of bullets travelled towards him he ducked back behind the wall and saw a small convoy of military vehicles heading up the street towards them.

But they would be too late.

Raising his hand he clicked on the headset and dispatched with all types of professionalism, his heart pounding inside his chest, "JULES! GET OUT OF THERE NOW!"

He didn't hear what, or if, she replied as a large exchange of bullets occurred outside. The terrorists had spotted the military convoy.

Under the cover of bullets, he got to his feet and ran out into the street. Keeping the building on his right, he sprinted as fast as he could down the street and raised his rifle when a man appeared from behind the second vehicle.

He shot him instantly. The others had moved into the middle of the street to fight the convoy, leaving him free to deal with the last two men. He was nearly there when they adjusted the weapon onto their shoulders and took aim.

Shouting into the headset, he watched the building through the thinning smoke.

His mind wasn't able to comprehend much of anything else as he focused on the weapon that was resting on the man's shoulder.

"RPG!" He screamed into the headset in warning.

Something moved in one of the corner windows of the building, he could only hope she heard him.

Turning back to the men, he raised his gun once more only to find them firing the rocket. A rush of air passed his lips as it felt like he had been kicked in the gut.

His finger slipped on the trigger, shooting one of the men in his neck, as a tremendous BOOM filled the air.

The ground shook beneath his boots before it wasn't there at all.

He was flying backwards through the air, his body weightless for a fraction of a second before gravity threw him to the ground.

The radio crackled in his ear as something warm ran down his cheek.

Groaning against the weight of his own body, he clenched his eyes shut before opening them once again. He saw nothing but an expanse of clear blue sky when it was interrupted by the face of Carlos Ramirez.

He was saying something, he could see his lips moving, but all he could hear was a soft whine.

Carlos was shouting now as he gripped his arm and dragged him to his feet.

The world around him spun for a moment. He saw the carcass of the burning car, the bodies on the ground, the crowd of soldiers that were now spilling into the street and the building-

The building still stood, barely, but there was a gaping hole in the front of it which revealed nearly four floors of the interior. A pile of rubble lay on the street before it and dust seemed to be raining from the sky.

"Jules," Marc whispered, his heart going still in his chest. Pushing Carlos off his arm, he turned and staggered towards the building, shouting her name.

"Reynolds!" Marc shouted, his own voice sounding strange to his burst ears but hoping she would respond. He was her commanding officer; she had to respond when he called. She had to.

Clambering over the large expanses of brick and stone, Marc could only think about finding her when he scaled an almost vertical piece of stone and saw her.

She was lying on her front on the ground, her face turned away from him. He froze.

The pain in his limbs which were burning from inactivity and cramp was pushed to the back of his mind as he could do nothing but watch her, waiting.

He didn't think he breathed at all as he waited for some sign that she was okay, that she was still with him.

It felt like centuries had passed, though it was probably only a few seconds, when he saw her head give a small jerk and she tried to stand. Her legs gave out before she could fully right herself and she collapsed to her knees.

"Reynolds!" Marc could breathe again and re-started his attempt to reach her side.

As he drew closer, he saw her vomit but he didn't care. He was just happy that she was alive. He was dumbfounded as to how she had survived such a direct hit, but elated none the less.

"Reynolds," He said again in relief as he reached her side.

A moment later she turned and looked up at him, her face contorted in confusion. Dirt and blood stained her face but it was the face of the woman he loved and he began to reach out his hand when she spoke.

"Where's my rifle?" She asked but he didn't need to answer when she found it beside her and got to her feet.

He was by her side in an instant when she threatened to drop again. And the moment he laid his arms beneath her, he felt her body sag against him and saw her eyes grow vacant.

He wasn't taking any chances, "We need medevac!" He shouted into his radio, hoping that it still worked.

"Jules, speak to me," Marc searched her face, "Reynolds!"

"I'm- I'm fine," She tried to brush him off but she was weak as he eyelids began to droop shut.

"Jules?" He spoke her name in warning, she couldn't fall asleep, "Jules!" Marc shook her shoulders, trying to bring her back but he was too late as her eyelids closed and her body relaxed in his arms.

"JULES!"

Opening his eyes slowly, Marc found himself staring at his bedside clock. Its luminescent red letters informed him that it was nearly half five in the morning.

Remaining perfectly still, Marc let his eyes wander past the clock, over the pile of clothes in the corner and past the wardrobe doors which revealed the reflection of a small slip of light which had snuck in through the partly-shut curtains opposite.

As he did this, Marc reaffirmed that the ground beneath him was carpet and not sand. He was lying in his bed and not beside a pile of rubble.

Julia.

Turning over onto his back, Marc looked to his left and saw her. His wife.

Her hair spanned across the pillow unchecked, her lips were parted slightly as she slept and she had an arm draped across her stomach.

His heart, which he hadn't realised, had been racing inside his chest, now started to relax as he watched her chest rise and fall in perfect movements. She was here and she was safe.

Marc wanted to reach out and touch her. He wanted to press his body against hers and feel her warmth seep into him, warming his limbs and chasing the coldness away.

He wanted to remind himself that she was safe beside him and not in Afghanistan being blown up by RPGs.

His hand hovered a few inches over her shoulder, his body fighting with what he wanted the most over what his head was telling him.

In the end his mind won out and he pulled his arm back. He would let her sleep, she had enough to worry about with his unfounded worries.

It was only a dream after all, albeit a reoccurring one.

Nevertheless, this was his problem and she had been through enough already. He wouldn't burden her with it.

She was incredible. Every time he thought about what she had been through, it humbled him to think that she had chosen him, this miraculous woman that had come through impossible odds.

Joining the military alone was a huge thing but then being caught in an explosion and losing her memory . . . Marc had thought it was over. He tried to give her space, to let her go, but he couldn't.

Defying her parents, Jules had rejoined into the military on a programme which helped wounded veterans come to terms with their injuries, forging her doctor's signature in order to do so.

It was hard having her so close to him and yet having her unable to recall the time they spent together. It was harder for her though when, on a mission, they came face to face with the man that caused her memory loss; Abdul-Azim Farhat.

If it had been him in her position, he wasn't so sure that he would have been able to stop himself from pulling the trigger. But Julia did, she knew that he was more valuable alive, that they could save countless lives if she overcame her hatred for the man.

Marc was just happy to know that the man was enjoying time at Her Majesty's pleasure, hopefully in some far distant place.

And if she was strong enough to do that all by herself, he could damn well put up with some irksome dreams.

So he let her sleep, but he knew he would not find rest again that morning so he rose from the bed and headed into the bathroom. He would go for a run and be back before she even awoke.

Jules awoke the moment she felt the bed dip beneath her. She wanted to throw her eyes open, but she kept them shut somehow.

She didn't know why. It wasn't like she avoiding him, he was her husband, but there seemed to be something in the way she heard him breathing that told her he did not want to be disturbed just yet.

She knew he was watching her, she could feel his eyes on her.

He was always watching her lately. He thought she didn't know but when she looked up he would avert his gaze and busy himself with something else.

Every time it happened she wanted to walk over to him and demand him to tell her what was wrong. She couldn't stand the not talking, the not confiding in each other when they used to tell each other everything.

Julia could only put it down to the fact that he was disappointed. She was disappointed in herself too but she couldn't tell him that because he refused to acknowledge that anything was wrong.

She wanted to scream at him until he understood that she felt the same as he did, that it was neither of their faults that it kept happening to them.

She was trying to be strong for the both of them but all she wanted was to feel his arms around her, cocooning her away from the real world. Surely he knew how much she wanted this too, and yet he was pushing her away as if it was her fault.

Maybe it was her fault, Julia thought. Maybe she had done something that meant she couldn't-

-The bathroom door clicked shut and Julia heard the sink tap start running.

Now that it was safe to open her eyes, Julia sat up in bed and tried to summon the courage to speak to her husband. Her fingers clutched at the sheets that were bundled in her lap.

Courage, Julia scoffed quietly. Who would think that one needed courage to speak to their own spouse!?

Her eyes wandered around the room as she waited for Marc to come out of the bathroom. The light that filtered in through the curtains illuminated enough of the room to Julia that she was able to see the photo which rested on the chest of drawers across from her.

She had seen it enough times. It was a picture of her and Marc in Afghanistan before she was blown up by an RPG. She was amazed by how young and idolised they both looked.

Right then, Julia would happily trade places with the woman in the photograph. Marc didn't seem to have a problem chatting with her.

No, Julia thought. She and the woman in the photograph are the same person, it wasn't her memory loss that was the problem and she needed to stop blaming it.

The tap in the bathroom stopped running and Julia prepared herself, trying to think of what she should say first, but in the end she needn't have bothered because Marc did not return to the bedroom.

He exited the bathroom through the second door which led straight out onto the landing and the staircase.

A few seconds later, Julia heard the scrape of keys followed immediately by the front door being unlocked.

The sound of the front door banging shut vibrated through her body like a gunshot. Trembling, she stood and walked over to the window where she watched Marc, now dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, jog across the road and head towards the park.

*

Julia was sat at the breakfast bar, her fingers clasping a cold mug of coffee, when Marc returned from his run two hours later.

She wasn't sure how long she had been sat there waiting. All she knew was that after Marc had left she couldn't fall asleep again so she showered, dressed and had breakfast.

But even food couldn't brighten her mood, so she simply waited. She was good at waiting; she had been doing it a lot recently.

Resentment flared through her body when he spotted her in the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to her pain. Why should she wait for him? Why wouldn't he just talk to her?

But then Julia quickly remembered why she needed to wait for him and she relaxed her shoulders, hoping he didn't notice her brief moment of hostility towards him.

Her throat was dry so she took a swig of her coffee, forgetting that it was cold and forced it down, before she spoke.

"Good run?"

Marc gave a small grunt and a nod as he removed the headphones from his ears and poured himself a glass of water.

The air was tense and Julia could feel herself growing hostile towards him again. She had started the conversation, he was meant to keep the ball rolling but he refused to play ball.

Calming herself with a breath, she said the only thing she thought he might hear, "Don't forget we have an appointment with Doctor Barter this morning to discuss the-"

"-I'm going to go have a shower." Marc put the glass down by the sink and walked out of the kitchen. He didn't look at her once as he did so.