Freedom of Love (Letters From Home Series Book 2)

by Maryann Jordan

  Susan’s smile matched mine as she listened to my community service project. I showed her the article I had cut out of the paper and she took notes as I explained my proposal. It really was very simple—I could take the books we were sending to recycle and box them up for delivery to the closest military base. Considering there was an Army base about fifty miles away, I hoped that would not be an insurmountable problem.

  “So you see, we have the excess books and the soldiers need them.” Shrugging slightly, I added, “I’d really like to work on this.”

  “Molly, I think it’s a brilliant project,” Susan agreed, her enthusiasm settling over me as acceptance. “And I feel so strongly about it, I’ll make sure the books are carried to the Army base to be sent overseas.”

  Feeling the air leave my lungs in a whoosh, I grinned. “Thank you,” I gushed, pleased to have chosen a project, near and dear to my heart, that was so readily accepted. “When can I start?”

  “I have to get it approved by the Warden, which won’t be a problem. And then I’ll inform Ms. Purdue. So give it a few days and then you’re in business.”

  As I walked back to my room, now filled with a sense of purpose, I breathed lighter than I had in months.

  Chapter 2

  (February – Brody)

  “Medevac! Medevac! Medevac!”

  Jumping up from the old sofa in the command center, I ran through the door with the other seven members of the team, our boots pounding the floor almost in unison. Cases of medicine and weapons were grabbed as we exited, each knowing just what to carry. Medics and pilots raced toward the helicopters as other traffic came to a stop, allowing us to pass uninhibited. It was only a quarter-mile from our command post to the airfield, but we sprinted to the aircraft knowing every second counted. The cold wind slapped at our faces, stinging our cheeks. I knew the bird would offer very little warmth, but hoped that for the first part of the flight, we would be able to keep the wind off us.

  Jumping inside, I buckled on my flight vest just as the pilot engaged the auxiliary power unit and the huge General Electric T-700 turbine engines began to roar. In just a moment, the 54-feet of rotor blades rotated, drowning out everything except the sound of radio calls in my headset. I mentally went through my checklist, attempting to prepare for what we were about to head into. The only thing we knew about this mission was that we’d be picking up a victim of an IED blast near a small combat outpost. Fuck, I hate these. There’s no way of knowing the extent of the injuries, which could range from simple to near death for the soldier.

  With the winds whipping outside, I trusted the pilot to get us there and back safely, so I began my prep work. Setting up IV bags, monitors, and bandages, I worked while being bounced around in the back. Used to the movements, I spread my legs apart to steady myself as we banked for a curve.

  The pilot set the bird down on a small landing area and four soldiers ran while bending low under the whirling blades, carrying a stretcher. The side doors slid open, allowing the wind to blast through the helicopter, threatening to toss our materials around.

  A soldier on the incoming stretcher was covered in blankets and bandages. Time for me to go to work. As the doors slid shut, the bird lifted into the air, banking sharply to the right as we headed back to base. With the dark interior of the helicopter hampering our vision, the light on our headgear was the only illumination for us to see what we were dealing with.

  I placed my hands on the injured soldier’s chest, leaning over to reassure him. “We’re going to take care of you. You’re in good hands and we’re getting you to the hospital.”

  I’ve got no idea if he can hear me or understand what I’m saying, but I do it every time. If there’s the least chance that this injured person in my care can hear that someone is helping them, then I’ll always take it. I got the IV line in, easily on the first stick, immediately pushing in pain meds, watching the patient slowly relax. Beginning the assessment, we worked efficiently, taking care of the immediate needs.

  The pilot touched back down at the base with a little bump and one of the other medics slid open the door, allowing the wind to whip around us again. Six soldiers emerged from a nearby, concrete barrier wall and crouch-ran to the helicopter. It took a moment to maneuver the stretcher out of the bird and transfer over to their care. They placed the stretcher on the back of an open vehicle, the driver quickly shifting into gear and hurtling down the road to the hospital.

  With him passed on to the hospital, I sat down for a moment to collect my thoughts. Dropping my chin to my chest, I sat in the back of the helicopter, attempting to shield my body from the cold wind. I did this ritual every time…just a moment to let the adrenaline slow down in my body and to remind myself that he or she made it safely to the hospital care. Scrubbing my hand over my face, I stood and methodically collected the wrappers and plastic caps littering the cabin floor. The crew worked to get ready for the next mission while the pilots went through the process to shut down the bird. While we readied the inside, the airfield crew immediately began their service of the helicopter to make sure it was flight ready.

  We repacked the equipment, sticking it anywhere it fit in the helicopter cabin in preparation for the next call. Finally finished, we jogged back to the Dustoff building that served as a combination command post, lounge, office, operations center and storage facility. Appreciating the warmth of the building, I headed into the lounge first, stripping off my blood spattered Army Combat Uniform shirt tossing it in the special laundry bin. Pulling on a clean one, I bypassed the lounge sofa and headed to the row of metal desks in the center. Sitting down, I pulled out a form from the files on the desk. Not my favorite chore, it was time to write the reports and wait for the next call. Sighing heavily, I found both comfort and fatigue in the routine.

  Coming off the twenty-four-hour shift, I wandered back to my tent, the pre-dawn sky just beginning to lighten. The cold wind cut through me as I burrowed deeper into my jacket. Rubbing my face, I felt the whisker scruff but put off detouring to the showers, the need for sleep overpowering the need to be clean. Walking along the main path, I passed tent after tent, all alike in their dusty tan color with piles of sandbags at the front. The bland surroundings only served to hasten my footsteps as war fatigue pulled at my body.

  Finally arriving at the tent I share with eleven other MEDEVAC medics, I made my way to my bed, sitting to pull off my Moon Dust covered boots. The sand-colored dust covered the entire camp, settling on our boots, our uniforms, and when the wind kicked it up, settling it on everything we owned. Another reason I’d be glad for my tour to be over.

  Jerking the blanket down, I pulled it back over me once I had flopped onto my bed. It was a large tent and I was thankful we each had a bed that wasn’t bunked. Six metal framed beds with real mattresses lined each wall with a center path through the middle. Tall lockers stood between the beds and we each had a trunk at the foot of our beds. There was even room for a couple of card tables and chairs in the middle as well.

  I was on my second tour in Afghanistan as a combat medic…long hours and sometimes more gore than I ever thought to see. There was a time when I was unable to sleep right after a shift, particularly if it had been a bad one, but now? I was learning how to compartmentalize everything and when I entered the tent, I was ready to crash.

  I barely heard a few of my squad members returning as well, the smell of soap and shampoo wafting over offering evidence that at least some of them hit the showers before coming in to sack out. The last thought I had before falling asleep was that I hoped the water was still hot when I finally managed to get there.

  My day off started with a pick-up game of basketball with a few of us who were not on duty today. It was cold but I soon ditched my coat, playing in just my ARMY sweatshirt and ACU pants. Ready for lunch, we headed to the Dining Facility (DFAC), glad for the warmth of the tent as well as the chance to chow down on some hamburgers and french-fries. Sitting at the long tables, our conversation revolved a
round a discussion of which fast-food restaurant had the best burgers back home. Grinning, I listened to the younger men as they debated the subject as though debating the meaning of life. Shaking my head, I finished my lunch and stood to toss my trash.

  After lunch, a movie was playing in the DFAC, offered by Morale, Welfare, and Recreation, but declining I detoured into the MWR’s regular tent to grab a book. Their facility contained a library, computers, pool tables, and games. They gave out whatever they could to keep up morale. The Army tried to make us forget we were fighting a war on the other side of the world, but there was only so much they could do.

  The MWR tried to get new books in as often as possible, but I had read most of them. I played sports to stay in shape, but my first love on a day off was getting my hands on a good book. Smirking, I remembered as a kid, no one picked on me for being a book nerd…not at my size. I was bigger than most of the other boys, so that kept any bullying at bay. Now? Hell, us soldiers looked for anything to take our minds off what was going on in this war, so a good book was the perfect solution.

  I stepped through the door, the warmth of the MWR a welcome relief to the freezing temperatures outside. The large tent held comfortable chairs facing a large screen TV in the middle with computer stations lining one wall. To the right sat two pool tables and two ping-pong ball tables. A section near the back held phones in small wooden cubicles. A large connecting tent held gym equipment, weight benches, free weights, and treadmills.

  I waved to one of the workers, who had become a familiar face in the last three months since I’d been back in this country. Moving toward the side where the makeshift library was located, I noticed another worker unpacking a large box filled with paperbacks. For a reader like myself, it was a huge gift. Drawn to the table, I peeked in the box as the MWR worker was taking the books out. They had been packed well and each book, while used, appeared to be in good condition. Even the smell of the printed paper was a welcome treat, reminding me of the old library in my hometown when I was a child.

  “Hey, Sergeant Molina,” he greeted. “I figured you’d be in here first to grab some of these.”

  Grinning, I replied, “Just like a late Christmas present.” Scanning the titles as he placed them on the table, I ran my fingers over the spines of some of the books, loving the feel of the paper. No e-reader for me…I wanted to hold the printed books in my hands as I read. Snagging a few of the longer mysteries, I turned toward the MWR worker. “Mind if I go ahead and take these?”

  “Nah, go ahead. Just write the titles down on one of the cards on my desk and you can take them now.”

  Jotting the information down as instructed, I waved as I pulled the collar up on my jacket before heading back to my tent. I had the rest of my day off to enjoy some new stories. As I entered my tent again, I nodded at the few squad members lounging inside. The bitter cold had chased most of us indoors, the winter Afghanistan wind making everyone hustle to get from building to building.

  “Got more books?” Todd called out, glancing up from the card game he and three others were playing.

  “They just got a new box in,” I replied, gaining their attention.

  “Did you get the mysteries?” Chuck asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll send them your way as soon as I finish.”

  Dropping the books on my bed, I leaned back against my pillow, supported by the headboard. With my legs stretched out in front of me, I took a look at the reading bounty. I picked up each book, flipping it over to read the back cover. One, in particular, caught my attention and I pushed the others to the side as I settled in to read.

  As soon as I opened the book, a folded piece of paper fell out. Knowing the books were used, I wasn’t surprised to find something placed inside. I’d found business cards, bookmarks, even recipes. I almost crumpled it up, but the handwriting on the paper lifted my curiosity and I unfolded it to discover what someone had left in their book.

  To the soldier that receives this book,

  I hope you enjoy the books I packed to send to you. I read an article in a newspaper that told about how soldiers needed more books, so I decided to help. I work in a library and part of my job is to go through the donated books. We receive lots of books and I choose the ones appropriate for us and some are unfortunately too damaged to save. But many we simply don’t have room for and those are the ones that we can’t keep. I asked if I could box them up and send them to a place where soldiers would appreciate them. So, that became my project.

  Anyway, if you have the chance to send me an email to just let me know you got the books and if you liked them, I would appreciate it. I’m supposed to be able to provide evidence of the project’s effectiveness and this is the only way I can think of. I’ll list my email at the bottom of this letter.

  I decided to place this in one of the mysteries because I love to read mysteries also.

  Thank you and I hope you enjoy the books.

  Molly

  I held the paper in my hand, re-reading the note several times. Molly. Grinning, I imagined a blue-haired, little old lady sitting in a library sorting books and boxing them up for us. The image of the librarian at my high school crossed my mind. She used to peer at us over her glasses as we would try to flirt with girls during study hall. I refolded the piece of paper and laid it to my side. I’ll send a note when I return the book to the MWR…it’ll probably make her day. Settling back, I opened the book, soon transported to another time and place as I spent the day immersed in the story.

  I took one of my books with me the next day as I reported for duty. Now serving as a MEDEVAC medic, my twenty-four-hour shifts could be boring if no calls came in or they could fly by in a rush as call after call mobilized us into action.

  I’d started a second book but had to admit the one Molly recommended was better. Thinking of the woman who had carefully packed the books, I smiled. Once off shift, I reminded myself to send her a thank you note.

  With the birds fully stocked and ready for this next call, I settled down on the faux-leather sofa in the workroom. I opened the book but barely got a page read when the screech of the radio blasted through the room.

  “MEDEVAC! MEDEVAC! MEDEVAC!”

  Tossing my book down behind me, my duty began again. The mystery novel would have to wait.

  Chapter 3

  (March – Molly)

  Six weeks incarcerated…seven and a half more months to go until I can see my sister again. At least I hoped I would be allowed to visit her. Walking down the hall toward the library, I was pleased to see no one inside. Stepping into the quiet, carpeted room, I reveled in the feeling of calm. Breathing in the scent of old books, I smiled. Libraries and bookstores had always filled me with a sense of peace and I was grateful I had this oasis here in prison.

  By court order, I was not allowed to email my sister, but she had slipped one past her foster parents’ watch when she was in school, using a friend’s account and fake name. So, while it was only one contact, knowing she was safe in a good foster home made my lack of freedom more bearable.

  I powered up the six computers in the library, as I did each morning, before sitting down at one of them. Pulling up my Corrlinks access, I lifted a thankful prayer once more that I was able to use the internet…or at least part of it. I had to apply and was forbidden to contact my sister, but I was able to send and receive a message after it had been reviewed and monitored. It was a small comfort that my assigned email address did not scream “I’m a convict!” Especially since it was the only way I could communicate with the soldiers for my project. My mailing address would have given that away, and that was information I preferred to stay private.

  With a quick scan, I knew there was nothing new from Rachel. Damn! I hope the school did not catch on to her writing to me. My eyes focused on an unfamiliar name, but the email address ended with ‘mil.gov’. Military? With excitement I had not felt in months, I clicked on the email.

  Molly,

  I received your note in the b
ook and wanted to thank you for the carefully packed books that came. They arrived in perfect condition and I, for one, was thrilled to get my hands on some new mysteries. I have to agree that the one your note was in has become a favorite of mine as well. It was a new-to-me author and I’ll have to see if I can find more they have written. I assume you must be a librarian since you work in a library so you might be able to let me know of any other good ones to read. This is my second tour in Afghanistan so you can imagine I have gone through a lot of books. Again, thank you for sending them. We appreciate the gift.

  SGT Brody Molina

  A smile curved my lips as I read his email several times over. Some soldiers got the books! And someone wrote back to me! I re-read the email again, my smile spreading across my face. Sharing an email with someone over a love of books, made me feel almost normal for the first time in months. The grin only lasted a few minutes until Ms. Purdue and Greta walked in, and I quickly flicked off the computer, but the excitement filled my soul. I knew I would not reply to the soldier, but it had been nice for a moment to be thought of as a librarian and not judged as an inmate.

  Now, with renewed vigor, I moved to the box of books near the back, more determined than ever to send as many as I could to the military base. This is something I can do for someone else!