A Fallen Hero

by Sharon Kimbra Walsh

Cradling Joe in her arms, oblivious to everyone around them, Katie watched him closely. Sobbing quietly, she rocked him gently.

  Joe stared up into her face as though seeing her through a mist. “I love you,” he mouthed, and Katie heard the weakness in his voice. “Always.”

  “Please,” Katie begged, shaking her head, the tears now trickling faster down her cheeks. “Don’t leave me.”

  In the ensuing silence, she heard the sound of a helicopter approaching fast and she raised her head.

  “It’s the medevac, Joe. Hang on.”

  For an instant she felt hope—hope that the CTT would get there in time to save her husband. Hope was all that she had at that precise moment and she wasn’t going to give it up without a fight. However, as she glanced back down at Joe again, she saw that his struggles to breathe were becoming harder and he was gasping for air. There was a look of panic in his eyes as he suddenly hitched in one final breath. It hissed out of him slowly and his chest did not rise again.

  Katie froze, saw the life fade out of Joe’s unfocused eyes, and shook him violently. Oblivious to everyone around her, she screamed, “No! No!”

  Joe did not move or breathe again—and she ran.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Bending forward on her knees, Katie dug her blood-covered hands into the dust and sand, scooping up a handful and letting it trickle slowly through her sticky fingers. Most of the grains stuck to the dark red, swiftly drying fluid on her skin, each granule of brown sand seeming to hold a fascination for her eyes. It sparkled dully in the harsh rays of the sun, each grain a pinpoint of light flaring in her numb mind.

  Cocooned in a silent zone of her own making, Katie felt safe and protected from the harsh reality of her surroundings. She heard none of the sounds around her, could smell neither the gunpowder odor of explosives, pungent clouds of smoke or the coppery essence of blood. All five senses had fled at the slamming shut of her mental shield, as though defeated at the impenetrable barrier.

  Katie dropped her hand limply to her lap where it landed on her thigh and where she saw blood saturating the material of her combat trousers.

  Where had that come from?

  Sheathed in the same dark red, she raised both hands to stare at them closely, trying to sort through her chaotic thoughts for an answer as to whose blood it might be.

  The medic approached the woman slowly and carefully so as not to scare her. He had watched her run to this place behind a tent and knew that it had been a frantic attempt to hide. Reaching her side, he crouched down and stared at her. She did not acknowledge his presence and when he looked into her lowered face, he was concerned at the blank, almost catatonic expression that he found displayed there.

  “Katie,” he said gently.

  When she did not respond, he tried again, “Katie, look at me.”

  Katie began to rock gently backward and forward where she’d knelt.

  Lance Corporal Henry Barrow placed a hand on Katie’s shoulder, raised his voice slightly, and ordered, “Katie, look at me.”

  Henry Barrow understood from long experience in a combat zone, that if he allowed Katie’s unresponsiveness to continue that she would sink deeper into catatonia—perhaps never to come back from the protective place to where her mind had escaped. Henry squeezed the woman’s shoulder.

  “Katie, you need to listen to my voice. Come on. Look at me.”

  For a brief moment, Henry saw her frown then she glanced at him.

  He tried to coax her to respond to him further.

  “Katie. Come on, love. Come back. It’s all right. It’s me, Henry.”

  He felt sympathy surge into his heart. He noticed that the skin of her face had the pallor of cream and an expression of intense pain twisted her pretty features. Within the space of a few seconds, it was as though a shutter had fallen over her face and she was once more staring at him blankly.

  Henry sighed. “Katie, if you don’t respond I’m going to have to give you a sedative.”

  Katie could hear the voice—much closer now—and her mind shied away from the pull back to reality that it portrayed—a reality which would force her to confront a memory that she felt might destroy her.

  She felt panic well up inside her. The mental shield she had hastily erected was beginning to crumble—slowly but surely. The insistent voice was becoming too compelling in its strength and firmness. Struggling to remain numb and unresponsive but failing, she shuddered inwardly.

  There was something wrong with what the man had said—something that I couldn’t do—must not do.

  A frown marred her bloodstained forehead.

  What was it I must not do?

  The man crouched beside her, shrugging out of a med pack and unfastening the Velcro, finally captured her attention. A voice in Katie’s mind suddenly screamed at her and she physically jerked.

  “No!” she whispered, her voice sounding rusty and emotionless to her own ears.

  Henry—hearing the low voice—stopped what he was doing and turned to look at her. “What?” he asked. “Who am I, Katie?”

  Katie swallowed, struggled to remember, and finally answered, “Henry.”

  Henry nodded. “That’s good, Katie. Now, I’m going to give you a sedative.” He went back to the open pack beside him.

  Shaking her head vigorously, Katie said loudly, “No. Can’t.”

  Henry turned his attention back to her. “Why not?” he asked.

  A sudden onslaught of hideous images destroyed the last vestiges of the mental fog that was protecting her mind and Katie suddenly raised bloodied palms to her face, completely ignoring the red smears that streaked across her cheeks. “Can’t,” she repeated frantically. “I mustn’t.”

  She looked wildly at her companion and before Lance Corporal Barrow could question her wild denial, she blurted, “I’m pregnant.”

  Henry Barrow nodded. “Okay. It’s all right, Katie. It’s okay. How far along are you?” he asked gently.

  Katie began whimpering as the nightmarish images in her mind began to become much clearer.

  Joe—her husband—shot!

  So much blood.

  So much devastation to his beautiful body.

  He had stopped breathing.

  He had died. Her husband was dead!

  Finally remembering the events of the last hour, Katie suddenly raised her face to the sky and let out a wail of utter horror and desolation. As she began to topple forward, Henry caught her and completely unprofessionally, folded his arms about her.

  “Joe!” Katie screamed piteously, feeling tears roll down her face. “Oh, my God. No!

  “Ssssh, Katie, who’s Joe?” Henry asked.

  Katie felt a grief and pain that was deep and infinite. All she wanted to do was curl up and die and for her agony to stop.

  “He’s my husband,” she screamed. “He’s dead.”

  Epilogue

  Katie closed her eyes, lifting her face skyward to bask in the warm rays from the sun. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the aromas of a warm summer’s day, her senses immediately noting the smell of newly-mown grass, a myriad of odors from the riot of flowers in the landscaped flowerbeds and the fragrance of pine needles. She heard the abundant song of birds and the soft soughing of the warm breeze stirring the branches of huge fir trees at the end of the garden. Her body began to relax and she opened her eyes to gaze about her.

  The large garden stretched in front of her, the colors bright and pleasing to her. The whole scene brought her a sense of peace and contentment and a small smile played about her lips as she felt the tense muscles in her shoulders and neck loosen.

  A sudden wriggling in her stomach interrupted her relaxed mood and a tiny foot thudded against the base of her rib cage, causing a sharp stab of pain as it collided with her internal organs. Wincing, she rested a hand on her abdomen and rubbed it in slow circular motions.

  “Ouch, little one,” she murmured. “Stop kicking the hell out of your momma.”

  She moaned sof
tly as a second kick followed the first and her lower back vibrated in sympathy.

  “You’re not a baby. You’re a full grown footballer,” she scolded aloud.

  She jumped slightly when, from behind, an arm snaked around her once-slim waist and a hand rested atop hers as it lay on her stomach. Katie felt the tickle of her hair against her left ear then warm breath as a familiar voice said softly, “Hey. I didn’t know talking to yourself was a symptom of being pregnant. It’s supposed to be the first sign of madness, you know.”

  Immediately recognizing the voice, Katie giggled and snuggled back against the man standing behind her.

  “I’m talking to your child,” she answered, “who I think has just succeeded in breaking one of my ribs.”

  She felt the arm tighten about her, pulling her backward more firmly and heard the teasing note in his voice when Joe replied, “Oh, so it’s my child now. It always is when he or she is doing something wrong.”

  Turning slightly so that she could look at him, Katie’s eyes drank in her husband’s face.

  “Of course,” she answered and smiled, reaching up a hand to trail her fingers lightly down his scarred cheek. His face was still pale from the severity of his injury sustained in Afghanistan, the lengthy time in hospital, surgeries and rehabilitation, with much of his tan faded. There was a slight gauntness to his features from weight loss and new lines etched around his eyes and mouth.

  Joe watched her and eventually bowed his head and kissed her, gently but deeply. The kiss turned from soft and sensuous to hard and hungry—as always happened between them—and when he drew back, his breathing was slightly rapid and uneven.

  Katie heard him utter a small moan. “God damn it! I can’t get close to you anymore,” he exclaimed.

  She smiled regretfully and replied gently, “I know, Joe. We have to be patient though. It’s only for a few more days…I hope.”

  She watched Joe nod, seeing an expression of resignation on his face as he answered, “Yep. But where you’re concerned, honey, patience isn’t one of my virtues.”

  Katie—as heavily pregnant as she was—felt a trickle of tingling pleasure run up and down her spine at his words but changed the subject and asked, “So, how did things go?”

  Joe rested his chin on top of her head. He was silent for a few moments then answered, “It went good. My lung is healing okay and it looks like there won’t be any further surgery. I still need therapy to get my lung capacity back. It will never reach one hundred percent, but the docs say it’s looking pretty okay. As for the other stuff? No court martial if I faithfully promise to attend psych counseling once a week for a few months and take my medication.”

  He fell silent again.

  Watching him, Katie noted a pensive look on his face and when she replied, she put as much enthusiasm as possible into her tone.

  “That’s great. What else?”

  “Well, there’s to be no more combat for me,” Joe replied.

  Sadness edged into his voice and a fleeting expression of regret passed over his face. A surge of sympathy welled up inside Katie, and resting her head on his shoulder, she squeezed his hand where it still covered hers on her stomach.

  “The docs say that I’m suffering from what they call battle fatigue. A more modern term is post-traumatic stress disorder but I guess we already knew that. More time in a combat zone would probably tip me over the edge and send me somewhere…that I might not be able to come back from. They didn’t beat about the bush, just laid it on the line for me.”

  Katie knew what he was trying to say to her. In a nutshell, the psych doctors were saying that if Joe returned to combat—if he was subjected to any more trauma and the stressors connected with that—his mind would shut down and he might not be able to recover.

  “One good thing,” he continued, “is that they’ve given me an instructor’s job. I’m going to train men for deployment overseas, so they’re still keeping me in the marines.”

  Katie felt a profound relief that any opportunity for Joe to volunteer for another deployment was out of his hands. A warm glow filled her when she realized that he could still have the rest of his career in the Marines without losing his self-respect and his dignity, and it made her smile.

  “That’s great, Joe, but how do you feel about that?”

  Joe looked down at her. “Relieved,” he replied at last. “I can’t lie about it, Katie. I don’t have to pretend to be brave anymore or to keep doing something that was slowly killing me.”

  Katie again rested her head on his shoulder, snuggling in against his warm, strong body.

  “Oh, Joe,” she said, her tone soft. “You’ve never had to pretend to be brave. Your courage is as natural to you as breathing. Don’t ever think otherwise. Your men have always loved and respected you and would follow you anywhere. Just remember, the mind and body can only take so much. You’ve done your bit and now’s the time to…”

  Katie suddenly stopped speaking as a strange feeling began in her stomach. Her hand resting there felt abdominal muscles clench and harden and she instantly knew the cause. The pain came seconds later, sweeping like a dagger across her stomach and around to her back. She doubled over slightly and uttered a small moan at the brief intensity of the cramp, then it was gone, leaving her panting slightly.

  She felt Joe’s body tense against hers and heard a slight note of panic in his voice as he asked abruptly, “What? What’s wrong?”

  Katie straightened up, for the moment unable to respond to her husband’s question. She blew air out through pursed lips, trying to relax her body that was suddenly tense. This was the second pain she had experienced in twenty minutes and she recognized the onset of the contractions of labor.

  “It’s okay,” she eventually replied. “They’re not that bad. I’m okay.”

  She turned to look at Joe, hoping that she had forced enough reassurance into her voice to allay the concern that she had heard in his.

  Joe stared at her. “Huh? What are they? What aren’t bad?” he asked.

  Feeling amusement at the befuddled expression on her husband’s face, a small smile tugged at her mouth.

  “Labor, Joe,” she answered. “You know, it’s usually the prelude to giving birth to a baby.” She wanted to laugh aloud as she saw a look of shock flit across his face at her words.

  “Labor?” he echoed. “You’re in labor! We need to get you to hospital.”

  “No…” Katie began but before she could finish her sentence, Joe interrupted her.

  “Come on, honey. Let me help you into the house and we’ll get going.”

  “Joe!” Katie raised her voice a little, attempting to pierce what she thought was the imminent-father-to-be mode into which Joe appeared to have retreated.

  He put his arm more firmly around her burgeoning waist and, ignoring her, said, “Lean on me, sweetheart, I can take it.”

  “Joe!” Katie pulled herself slightly away from him, almost shouting his name aloud. She felt his body tense again at her firm tone and saw an almost comical expression of bemusement cross his face.

  “I am not about to give birth here on the patio,” she explained, enunciating each word slowly and carefully, as though to a child. “You won’t have to deliver our baby imminently. I’ve had two contractions. There is no danger, and I’m not about to collapse. I will go into the house though, but I’ll make it without your help. Walking is good for labor.”

  “Right. Okay,” Joe responded slowly. “You want to go on a patrol to help this labor?”

  Katie glared at him. “Ha! Ha! So not funny,” she said feeling uncharacteristically irritated. “Give me your hand.”

  She took Joe’s hand as he reached out to her and she began to lead him across the concrete patio toward the open French doors.

  Joe quickly followed her—reaching her side—and he watched her every move as though she were about to drop to her knees and deliver their child on the concrete slab.

  Once inside the lounge, Joe stopped at
the large plush sofa as though waiting for Katie to seat herself. She, however, had other ideas. Restlessness had taken control of her and she wanted to keep walking. Dropping Joe’s hand, she continued to move up the length of the lounge and out into the hallway, where she stopped by a small hall table. She ran the tips of her fingers across the rosewood surface and said abstractedly, “This needs dusting.”

  She turned to see Joe appear in the hallway, his pace almost a run. He had obviously heard her strange statement and his jaw dropped.

  “Dusting?” he queried. “Oh. You wanna do some housework now? Shit.” Taking a deep breath, his voice shattering the stillness of the house when he suddenly yelled, “Mom! Dad!”

  There came the sudden sound of shattering crockery from the direction of the kitchen and Jack came striding out from its depths.

  “What?” he almost shouted. “What’s the emergency?”

  A calmer voice sounded from the top of the stairs and Maggie descended slowly.

  “What is the noise about for heaven’s sake? I’ve just got Josie off to sleep.” She stopped halfway down the stairs and gazing over the banister railing, glared at her son.

  “Katie’s gone into labor,” Joe exclaimed. “She wants to do the housework.”

  “Okay. Okay,” Jack suddenly stammered. “I’ll get my shoes.”

  Bemused at the almost comical antics of the two men, Katie watched as her father-in-law ran to a door located under the stairs, opened it, obviously realized that it was the door to the cleaning cupboard, opened yet another door next to it, bent over and grabbed blindly for a pair of shoes.

  Maggie stared at her son. “And…?” she asked.

  Katie had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing aloud as Joe frowned. “And…what?” he asked.

  Shaking her head, Maggie turned to stare at Katie. She raised an eyebrow and murmured calmly, “Ahhh, good,” then added, “It would appear that I’m not going to be able to get any coherent answers from these two,” causing Katie to laugh again.

  Jack joined Joe and said, “Let me get my keys and we’ll be off to the hospital.”