by Ronna Gage
Landy took desperate gulps to quench his thirst and give his throat relief.
Roger took the water away. “You just vomited. Take it easy.”
With his thirst finally quenched after three good sized sips, Landy sat back. “Thanks. God, I’m so tired. I want to sleep.” Landy lay further into the seat, pulled his legs up, and closed his eyes.
* * * *
“No, not right now, Landy. I need you awake for just a few more minutes.” Roger pulled on his hand. “Get up, boy.”
“I don’t wanna get up right now, Grandpa. Leave me alone.” Landy jerked his hand free of Roger’s grip.
“Landy, I need you conscious. Do you hear me?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You may have a serious closed head injury.” Roger looked at the smoke signal. “What day is it, son?”
“Monday,” Landy mumbled. “I don’t have school today, Grandpa. It’s summer vacation.”
“Laurent, wake up!” Roger ordered and jerked him to a sitting position. Landy’s head fell back. “Fight, damn you.” Nothing. Roger set him back.
A glimmer caught his eye. In the distance, he saw a dust cloud coming their way. “Look, Landy, here come three vehicles.” He gazed at Landy’s prone body. “Trouble is they can be anyone.” He reached for the two weapons closest to him. “If it’s the enemy, I hope I can fight them alone. I’d make a run for it, but you’re in no shape for the jaunt, and you are in desperate need of medical attention.” Landy lay still, turning paler by the minute. “Well, now you’ve shit.”
If help didn’t arrive soon, Roger’s prognosis for Landy dropped considerably.
Chapter Seven
A loud booming sound woke Landy with a start. His head ached still, but it wasn’t as bad as earlier. He tried to sit up but couldn’t move. Am I paralyzed? The darkness swallowed all existence of light, and sent waves of panic rushing through him. He almost choked with the emotional attack.
Get it together, and listen to your surroundings.
Beep. Beep.
Muffled voices speaking German and English.
Moans. No, cries of pain? No.
Where the fuck am I?
“Calm yourself, Laurent. You’re safe,” someone with an unfamiliar, yet gentle voice ordered from the foot of his bed.
Landy tried to open his eyes, but the dark surrounded him still. He inhaled to calm down. He no longer smelled the odor of death. Instead, he almost gagged on alcohol and bleach. The heat of the desert was cooled. The smell of alcohol. “I’m in a hospital?”
“Correct.”
He heard footsteps approach his side.
“I’m Colonel Blakely, Jeremy Blakely. I’m the surgeon who attended your injuries.”
“Why can’t I see?” The idea of being blind for the rest of his life scared him to death. What would he do? He would be out of the Marine Corps with nothing.
“A second explosion, from the information we received from the field medic. The Humvee you were in ignited, and the fuel tank blew. Tiny fragments of shrapnel got into your eyes and tore your right cornea. The left eye is dilated due to the concussion from the bomb blast.”
“Will I be blind for long?”
“No, Private, you will regain your eyesight. Light may be a problem for you while you recover, and it is a possibility in the future. Lucky for you, the blast went off while you were unconscious. If your eyes had been opened, you would’ve lost your sight permanently. The closed head wound from the bomb was pretty severe, but there is no permanent damage. There is a bruise on your chest, but no significant damage. The broken rib will mend on its own.”
“Where am I…exactly?”
“You are in Germany. You flew in here by chopper three nights ago. We took you into surgery almost the minute you came in. You have been resting for two days now.”
Relieved, he took in a deep breath and coughed. “My chest doesn’t hurt too much anymore.”
“No? Well, you’re heavily medicated. The best you can do for yourself is get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Landy heard the shuffle of Dr. Blakely’s shoes. “What are you doing?”
“I am looking over your medical chart,” he answered. “And now, I’m setting it back in the chart file at the foot of the bunk. Is there anything I can get you?
“Water.” Landy wished he knew when he could take the bandages off his eyes.
“Sure. You’ll have to stick with the bandages a few more days. The dressings will be changed every day until then, but that will be it for now. So don’t give the nurses your Marine Corps attitude. I will take off your bandages in about four days. Then we will try your eyes out with the light, and see how well your vision has improved. If it improves enough, we will cover the damaged right eye with a patch until it is fully recovered.”
“Doc—Colonel? How is Bassham?”
“He’s all right. He told me to tell you he did need stitches. Said you knew what that would mean.”
Landy smiled. Just like Bassham to make a joke. “Yes, sir. I told him his eye gash looked like it needed some stitches. That it was ugly as hell. He reminded me that he was the medic.”
Colonel Blakely laughed. “Get some sleep, Laurent.”
“Aye, sir.” Landy listened to Colonel Blakely’s soft steps fading into the sounds of the ward. “Thank God, the blasts didn’t affect my hearing.”
“Private Laurent,” a woman called him.
He stiffened, alerted by the new person invading his personal space. “Who’s there?”
“My name is Cora. I am here to give you the medication your doctor prescribed.”
He settled back. “Oh, okay.”
“I will inject your IV. You will feel drowsy in a bit. Just rest. This will help relax you and help your eyes recover faster.”
Landy nodded, and as warned, the medications took effect. He tried to stay awake but couldn’t for the life of him. He dozed, but it was not a restful sleep. In his mind, he relived the awful experience of the first explosion. He saw it in fragments like a movie playing out in his head. Fear surrounded him when Dick took the brunt of the blast. The smell of blood, smoke, burned flesh, and death was everywhere. He tried to calm himself, but the fear almost strangled him. He couldn’t get out of the fog. The medicines kept him there, stuck in a nightmare a burden he wished for no one. Just before sleep overcame him, he saw Rae Anne. Her smiling face watched over him while her gentle hands caressed his chest, and the pain became easier to bear. She settled in beside him on the small bed. Warm hands held him. Small kisses soothed the injuries on his eyes and chest. Whispered words comforted and lulled him.
Sleep, my love. I’m here. You’re not alone. I love you, Landy.
He fell into a peaceful sleep, feeling her arms hold him through the hardest time of his life.
Chapter Eight
“Have you heard anything more about your Landy?” Sarah asked. She set a pile of papers down on Robert’s desk.
“No, but let me ask you. How can you lose a Marine?” She lifted her arms and opened them enough to make a visual point. “He’s a big guy. I don’t get it.” The ugly head of Rae Anne’s frustration with the lack of intelligence from the military surfaced. She had spent the better part of two days pleading her case to find Landy’s whereabouts.
Sarah held up her hands in mock surrender. “I don’t know. Has anyone confirmed if he’s dead or missing?”
“Nope, and those are the same questions that bombard my mind on a daily basis.”
“What’s the latest you’ve heard?”
Rae Anne shuffled through a stack of papers on her desk. She picked up the one was she looking for and skimmed the note. “The last official report they gave me was that of the attack and a second explosion, nothing more. So, I don’t know if he was injured or if he is one of the two bodies positively ID’d.” She rubbed her temples to relax the straining tension. “He was reported as MIA/POW on December second while out on maneuvers close to the border.
It seems they anticipated an attack on the people in that area so they are reporting. That is where everything ends. Even identifying myself as not only his fiancée, but also the daughter of a US senator got me nowhere.”
Sarah sat up on the edge of the couch. “So what are you going to do now?”
Rae Anne thought for a second. “I’ll start a letter-writing campaign. I figure if I give them enough trouble, turn over a few rocks, one way or the other, these military officials will have to talk to me and give me hardcore answers.” She sat down at her writing table. “First thing I’ll do is make a list of people to contact.”
Sarah joined her. “Where do you plan to begin?”
“With the senior officer at his camp.”
“I’ll help.”
By the end of the day, she and Sarah resigned to sending letters to everyone in a position that could help her—from Washington, DC, to Fallujah—someone had to know something.
“I wish I had your discipline,” Sarah commented an hour and a half later.
“It’s not discipline so much as motivation.”
“What motivates you?”
“Fear and love.”
“How, exactly?”
“The day I received the news of his disappearance brought that never-ending wave of uncertainty in my life, but nothing can compare to the fear that replaced the loneliness.”
“You fear him dead.”
“Not exactly, but I fear I will never have that one love of a lifetime again.”
“That is a good motivational tool.”
“I will keep working on that task until I bring him home—either dead or alive.”
“And I will do what I can to help.”
Rae Anne sat in the window of her father’s apartment overlooking a schoolyard. Kids ran around playing in the snow, throwing snowballs at one another. She smiled and rubbed the swell of her stomach. “Your father loves the snow,” she told her developing baby.
She turned to the list of names written on the pad in her hand and finalized the last details for her letter-writing campaign. She patted her stomach again. “Tomorrow, I will do what I can to find your daddy.” She looked up at the starry sky. “God, for the sake of our baby, for my sake, please guide him and me together. Help me find him.” Tears welled up in her eyes distorting the view of the pristine beauty outside her window. She plugged in a candle lamp and placed it on the sill. “This is for you, Landy. Come home to us.”
She sat on the floor, gazing out at the snow. On the sidewalk, she saw him. Her heart and respirations raced. He looked worn, smaller in bulk, but he came home safe. She smiled. Taking another step, she noticed he limped. Concern tore through her. What happened? His handsome face grinned at her giving her an inner peace she thought didn’t exist. Suddenly, he disappeared. Her heartbeat slowed so fast that she thought it had stopped altogether. “Landy, wait!” she cried. “Why are you doing this to me?”
His voice echoed in her heart. I do this for you.
Cupping her face in her hands, she cried her disappointment. “God! Keep him well and bring him home to me.” The first of many nights and prayers ended. Her new routine had begun.
Chapter Nine
Robert watched Rae Anne through the opened door of his office. He sighed at her efforts to locate and bring home the father of her bastard child. I knew the moment I saw him that he would be nothing but no good for her.
“What are you doing?” Samantha Madison-Folsom asked behind him.
His stomach fluttered responding to her presence. “Watching Rae Anne.” He gave a deep sigh, shook his head in disappointment, then turned and faced Samantha. Her warm smile greeted him almost every morning. His eyes roamed over her, inspecting her for presentable flaws. Her professionally cut and styled dark brown hair added to her attractiveness. An impeccably tailored dress suit fit her small frame in a feminine, glamorous business style to envy all the women in his office, if not in Washington itself.
A divorcee, the victim of a public affair, Samantha seemed in her element in the nation’s capital. According to Robert’s research, she had been born into and raised by a prominent Texas family. From the cradle, she had been molded and bred to be a politician’s wife. Robert considered her the perfect match to be his second wife, but like all good men of politics, he had done his homework first. At thirty-two years old, just a mere twenty-two years younger than Robert, she had the ability to give him a son, and who wouldn’t like to see a child raised in the White House? Another fact in her favor.
Samantha looked at him with adoring brown eyes.
“You look lovely,” he said.
Her smile blossomed. “Thank you. You don’t look bad yourself.” She looked over Robert’s shoulder. “How’s she doing?” she asked of Rae Anne.
Robert shook his head. It galled him to see Rae Anne work so hard on finding that piece of white trash and not so much on his campaign. That was his personal dilemma. If he said anything like that aloud, he’d be the despicable ogre he knew the world would view him. How in the name of God, or the love of his daughter, could he deny her this job?
“I’m worried about her,” he said softly but didn’t turn around.
“What’s she doing that causes you concern?”
“She works too hard on this letter-writing campaign, as she calls it. And the results aren’t guaranteed to even finding him.”
Samantha eyes reflected pity. That galled Robert even more. If Rae Anne got the sympathy vote from his potential intended, how would the rest of the world feel?
“Hell, she works from the time she gets up in the morning until she goes to bed, I’m sure.” He continued to sway Samantha to his point of view. “Every morning she comes to breakfast with her planner, reviewing task lists, contact leads, wiring memos, planning new strategies to return that whi—while I sit idly by and watch,” he said, catching his near blunder. Robert shook his head. “When she’s here at the office, she writes a string of letters to send out with the day’s mail run.”
“To whom exactly?”
“The mail clerk tells me she writes one to Mr. Laurent, which undoubtedly she pens first. Another one she addresses to the post commander and one to the War Department.”
Samantha’s pity did change, to one of mushy romance. Robert’s irritation notched up another level. “She embraced the job wholeheartedly, doing whatever it takes to get Landy home. I tell you, Samantha. If she worked this hard on my campaign, I’d be in the White House permanently.”
Samantha gave a small grin. “Robert.” She rested her hand on his forearm. “She’s in love and will do what she has to in order to locate him.” Her eyebrows knitted together to form a thinking line. “I tell you what. Think of it as she’s finding closure.”
Robert dared a glance at Rae Anne. He gritted his teeth to hold back the thoughts running in his mind, the disappointment he felt for her actions. He turned back to Samantha. “I hope this resolves quickly so she can get back to her life.”
“It will happen soon as humanly possible.” She gave him a wink.
Robert’s heart skipped a beat. The gesture was unlike anything he’d expect from an upper-class lady, but he liked it. It turned him on. He viewed her as not only his society match but also his lover in private. “I wonder”—he shifted his position and leaned closer to her—“have you ever been to the Inn at Little Washington?”
“No, but I hear it’s wonderful.” Samantha’s cheeks flushed.
“I thought about going this weekend. Would you care to join me?”
Samantha looked around, smoothed her tongue over her shaky top lip. “I don’t know.”
Robert got the impression that although she wanted to go, her ex-husband’s public affair and their messy divorce had left her skittish in regard to how society saw her. God, I can love this woman. She’s fucking perfect. “I understand if you’d rather not spend the weekend. But, if I may suggest, we can get separate rooms.”
“Can I think about it?”
; The quiet request gave Robert a small ray of hope. “Of course. We can talk Thursday evening.”
Samantha nodded. “I believe you have a conference in the main room. I’ll oversee the setup.” She turned and walked in the direction of the aforementioned room.
Robert stood back, watched her swaying hips rock in sensual motion of her steps. His cock hardened a small degree. He let his mind divulge in a small fantasy that starred Samantha as the wife who catered to him and only him.
“Senator Jamison, I have the figures in from the latest poll,” his assistant, Marcus Carmichael, said, coming up to him. He looked in Robert’s direction. “Ah, I see your distraction. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“No, that’s quite all right, Marcus. What do the polls show?”
“You are still rising in the people’s favor. I don’t think they would figure you to do any wrong,” Marcus commented with a glimmer of admiration in his eyes.
“Yeah? Well, would they consider me a good guy if I don’t jump on the bandwagon of my daughter’s efforts to find her man?” Robert shivered inwardly at the thought. “I would be hailed an uncaring cad of a father if I didn’t support her. God, why can’t he just go away for good and stay away from her?”
“Senator Jamison.” Marcus swallowed hard, looked around, and pulled Robert into a small conference room. “Think about what you are saying. He is a hero, a MIA/POW. If you demolish his reputation…”
Robert shot up a hand to silence his aide. “Don’t you think I know the repercussions?” He fisted his hands at his sides. “That’s why I have stood by silently,” he stressed, “and let her do what she felt necessary. Until this thing runs its course.”
“If it helps, I will keep an eye out for her and lend support in any way I can.”
Robert looked back at Marcus. The ray of light in his eyes eased his tension. “Thank you, Marcus. I appreciate your help.”
Marcus nodded. “I’m happy to help.”
Robert and Marcus filed out of the room. Robert looked down the hall and spotted Samantha discussing something with an intern. He gazed at her, admiring her skills of communication. Her delightful, warm, cheery smile made his heart putter. With Marcus tending to Rae Anne, I can focus on an even bigger goal.