Marine for Hire by Tawna Fenske

looked fondly down at the boys. Jeffrey squealed and tried to throw the teething ring again, then shrieked as it spun overhead like a piñata.
    “I’ve got this situation under control,” he added, giving the babies a reassuring smile.
    Jackson smiled back and farted. At least, Sam thought that’s all it was. Then he saw the telltale seepage leaking through the onesie and realized he’d made a terrible miscalculation.
    “Oh, shit.”
    Literally.
    Jackson started laughing, but it quickly turned to howls of distress. Jeffrey joined in, wailing with an urgency that made the peacocks scatter.
    Frantic, Sam patted himself down, looking for something to make the noise stop. “I forgot the diaper bag. Dammit.” He scanned the gardens, hoping to see some other parent strolling nearby with the necessary provisions.
    There was no one.
    Sam was on his own in this bizarre, foreign jungle with two comrades equally unprepared for this mission. He scooped up the baby, glancing around for a faucet or someplace he could clean the little guy.
    Jackson howled louder.
    “Don’t worry,” he panted. “I’ve got your back, buddy. Semper fi.”
    Cradling the baby in one arm, Sam jerked his dive knife out of the pocket on the back of the stroller. He’d felt silly stashing it there when he left the house, but now he was grateful to have this crucial tool of his trade.
    “Hang on, man—I’ll get you out of this.”
    Sam slid the blade between the buttonholes on the onesie. With one swift stroke, he sliced the stained fabric from the baby’s delicate skin. Jackson blinked, mesmerized into silence. Sam made quick work of the diaper, letting it drop to the ground like a fallen warrior.
    A really smelly fallen warrior.
    “I’ve got you,” Sam told Jackson, striding toward the pond ten feet away. He called over his shoulder to his brother in arms. “You stay put, Jeffrey! I’m not leaving, I swear. I’ve never left a man behind.”
    “Behind,” Sam repeated, turning his attention back to the naked behind entrusted to his care. “Sorry, man—it’s the only way.”
    He stooped down and stuck a finger in the water to test the temperature. Finding it pleasant, he took a deep breath and plunged Jackson’s bare bottom into the pond. The baby squealed, equal parts confusion and delight. Sam swished him around making motorboat noises as he washed away evidence of a hard-fought battle.
    Sam lurched upright again, spinning the baby around in an effort to air dry him. Jackson waved his arms, enthralled with his own nakedness.
    “I know the feeling,” he muttered, sprinting back to the stroller to search for anything resembling a diaper. Could he weave one from palm fronds? Fashion something out of peacock feathers?
    Nope. There was only one option.
    “Sometimes a man has to make sacrifices on the battlefield,” Sam said solemnly, placing Jackson back in the stroller.
    Straightening, Sam picked up his dive knife and grabbed the hem of his favorite Tennessee Titans T-shirt. He sliced it from his body, stretching the fabric out to form a crude sling.
    Grabbing Jackson again, Sam dropped to his knees with the T-shirt spread on the grass in front of him. He placed Jackson on it, swaddling the baby awkwardly with the soft fabric. He looped shreds of navy cotton to create a sort of loincloth, careful to make sure all the vital parts were covered. He folded and tied, fashioning a bowline on a bight, a half hitch, and several more knots he’d forgotten the names for.
    When he finished, Sam sat back on his heels and wiped his brow, admiring his work. It didn’t look half-bad. From a distance, it almost resembled a onesie with a built-in diaper.
    “There,” he said, patting Jackson’s belly. “It’s not pretty, but it’ll do the job.”
    Jackson smacked his heels on the grass and laughed, a musical baby giggle that made Sam smile in spite of himself. In the stroller, Jeffrey hooted with glee. Sam stood up and tickled Jeffrey’s belly as