Model Soldier by Cat Johnson

before that she couldn’t even look at him today? Thinking about it, he realized the answer was most likely yes, and that made him feel pretty shitty. The new “face of the Army”, like it or not, and he was portraying himself as an ass. Probably not the best idea since performing even this bullshit assignment badly could negatively affect his chances at a promotion to first sergeant, and he was due for one.
    Smiling, Rasta-man’s greeting was quite a bit more welcoming than Goldie’s. “Hey, have you heard the weather forecast for today? All I could get on the television in the room was in German.”
    Predicting the weather here in winter was a no brainer. “Cold,” Hawk answered simply.
    Unwinding an incredibly long and multi-colored scarf from around his neck and dreadlocks, Rasta grinned. “Yeah, I gathered that already. But what about snow?”
    The answer to that he had actually heard from one of the guys at chow. “No snow.”
    Rasta grinned. “Good! See, Em. Nothing to worry about.” He turned toward Hawk. “City girl here reacts badly to snow. What about you?”
    Hawk raised a brow, remembering his recent fun in the four-foot deep drifts in the Alps. “Don’t worry about me.”
    Goldilocks aka Em looked as if she wanted to take Rasta’s scarf and strangle him with it.
    Hmm, wasn’t that interesting.
    Very pointedly, she changed the subject. “Jai, can you take a look at the ad mock-ups so we know what more we need to get today?”
    “You mean besides the dress…uniform?” Rasta-man laughed as he walked to a pissed-looking Goldilocks.
    Hawk’s ears perked up, not about the dress uniform part, but about Goldie having the ads done already. She did move fast. He’d assumed these frigging embarrassing photos wouldn’t hit until after next week when he was safely gone, but maybe he had been wrong.
    Trying to not look overly interested, Hawk used all of his vast skill and prowess learned over multiple tours of duty and sidled stealthily behind the two bent heads at the laptop. Glancing past Rasta-man’s dreadlocks, he caught a glimpse of a portion of an ad. His ad. That was his eye glaring back at him off the screen.
    Damn, no wonder Goldie wouldn’t look at him today. He did look kind of scary in that one.
    Goldie turned in her seat, glimpsed his face, and let out a frustrated huff of air. “You don’t like it.”
    It wasn’t a question, but a resignation filled statement of fact.
    “I didn’t say that,” Hawk defended.
    “You didn’t have to. You’re frowning.”
    “No, I’m not.” Hawk consciously smoothed his brow muscles.
    Goldie turned back to the screen but he thought he heard a mumble sounding like, “Yeah, right.”
    With the click of her short pink nails against the keyboard, the picture on screen changed to another one.
    The two marketing gurus were discussing some fine points of demographics and target markets or something and didn’t even notice him until Hawk readjusted his stance to try and see around them, which caught Rasta’s attention.
    “Hey, man. Sorry. I’m in your way. I’m sure you wanna see.” Moving aside, Hawk got his first full-glimpse of himself.
    He heard Goldie sigh. “I’m sure you hate this one, too.”
    Hawk considered the photo before him on screen for another second. Legs planted wide, he stood wearing his tan t-shirt and digital desert camouflage ACU pants, arms crossed in front of his chest, chin set, no smile on his lips, his nose showed and part of his eye, but that was it. She’d cropped the photo so you couldn’t see the rest of his face or even identify it as him. He loved it.
    Realizing he stood in that same pose now, Hawk had to admit, Goldie and Rasta had really captured his essence.
    Hawk decided to throw Goldie a bone for her efforts. “I like it.”
    Visibly taken aback by the compliment, Goldie shook her head slightly as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. “You like it?”
    “Mmm, hmm. You cut off half of my face. I like