Midnight Kiss.

The ops tent was quiet.

We’d been sitting around earlier and talking. But there was only so much to talk about. We’d gone quiet for longer periods of time. Now, the only sounds were the muffled burning hiss of the MoGas-fueled stove that kept us warm. Occasionally, a breeze would blow through, and the tent would creak and ripple, but even that didn’t happen very often.

I leaned back in the metal chair, listening to the metal it was made of creak. I put my feet up on the desk.

“Sgt. Muniz,” Spc. Cheryl Hanson said. Her job tonight was to help me in whatever way I needed. “Be careful. Don’t knock over our weapons.” They were leaning on the other side of the desk.

“I won’t,” I assured her.

The desk was a desk only in the loosest of definitions. It was a table that held a military-type portable desk. On another table were the radio and field phone that connected us to the rest of the division.

A wind-up clock was on top of the radio. Its ticking counted down what was left of 1990.

Pvt. Tom Stevens was in there with us tonight. He was my runner for the night. If I needed an errand run, he ran it.

But tonight, all ur jobs seemed to center on keeping each other awake.

“Ten minutes left,” he said, glancing up at the clock.

“Not how you expected to spend New Year’s Eve?” I asked.

“No,” he replied.

I paused, thinking it through. I’d had more than my share of New Year’s Eves. One of them had put me in the hospital. But Stevens was young. He hadn’t had that many, so I wanted to know what he’d expected.

“So, tell me how you wanted to spend this New Year’s Eve?” I asked.

“I turned 18 just after I enlisted. I graduated from AIT and came right over here. I had hoped to be out on the town tonight. Partying, you know. I hoped to find a pretty girl to share a kiss with at the stroke of midnight.

“But no. Here I am in Saudi Arabia and in the middle of nowhere because Saddam got stupid and invaded Kuwait!”

 I let him rant a little. None of us were happy being here, and he was just blowing off steam.

The rant ran out sooner than expected.

“A kiss?” Hanson asked a little while later. She’d focused on something he’d said. “Why?”

Stevens shrugged. “It’s what Mom and Dad did every New Year’s Eve. I wanted to start the tradition in my life.”

Hanson was quiet for a moment, then said. “My mother always wanted the same thing. But dad had died, and she spent her whole life trying to set a good example for us kids. But she said she missed it. That it was to strengthen the bonds they already had.”

“But I’m not married,” Stevens said. ” I know some think it sets the tone for the rest of the year. That sets the year up for love and connections.”

“And still others,” I said, ‘believe it staves off loneliness and bad luck. That it sets up a year of hope and relationships.”

I sipped my coffee.

“Five minutes and counting,” I said, looking at the clock.

Most of the time, you never noticed the soft ticking of the clock in the tent. It was just one of the many sounds you got used to.

Tonight, every metallic click was like the clanging of a gong. If anything, it reminded us of just how far out of the norm we were.

“Tom,” Hanson said, addressing him by name. “I’ll share a kiss with you at midnight.”

Stevens’ eyes went side. I don’t think he’d expected that.

She looked at me. “That is if Sgt. Muniz doesn’t mind.”

I chuckled. “I don’t think it will hurt the army one-bit by relaxing regulations this time.”

Stevens nodded thinking about it. “I think I’d like that.”

I looked at the clock. With that decision made, I returned my gaze to the clock. “Two minutes and counting,” I said.

Outside the tent, there was no sound. In the dark, we had a roving sentry. I wondered how they’d celebrate the birth of 1991. At one minute till, I made a radio check with them.

“All quiet,” they reported.

“Thirty seconds,” I said, still seated at the desk.

Hanson and Stevens stood up.

“Five, four, three, two, one,” I chanted.

The minute hand clicked over to the straight up and down.

“Happy New Year, 1st Armored Division,” a voice said over the radio. It was an unexpected call and totally unmilitary. It was the only acknowledgement of the event.

On cue, Hanson and Stevens embraced and shared a kiss that lingered for several seconds.

“Happy New Year, Tom,” she said.

“Happy New Year to you, Cheryl,” he replied.

Then she did something I hadn’t expected.

She came over, sat down in my lap, and grabbed my face.

“Happy New Year, Richard.” I don’t know which surprised me more. Her calling me by name or what she did next.

She planted a kiss on me. I remember her lips being dry and cracked from the desert. But just the closeness of another human being seemed to scare away the feeling of depression and loneliness the night had brought.

She released the kiss. I was a little disappointed. Her closeness had made me wish the kiss had lasted a little longer.

 What she said next was almost a blessing. ” I hope 1991 is good to you. You’re a good guy. You deserve it.”

She stood, poured us all a cup of coffee, and we got back to work.

Outside, the wind picked up a little, and the fabric of the tent rattled a little. We’d managed to kill five minutes of a long night.