by JL Curtis
Jesse finally looked up. “Papa, can we go back to ICU, maybe Aaron came down early.”
The old man nodded, and picked up the detritus of the pastries, dumping them in the trash. He walked back to the table and hugged Jesse saying, “Congratulations, hon. I’m at a loss for words, but know that I’m happy for y’all.” Jesse returned the hug wordlessly, and they walked back to the ICU.
After what seemed to be an interminable wait outside the ICU, Captain Arden met Jesse and the old man. “Mrs. Miller, your husband is here now, and the doctor will be down in about ten minutes. Come with me.”
The old man said, “Jesse, I’ll wait here. You go see Aaron.”
Jesse nodded grimly, and followed the captain back to one of the ICU cubicles. As the captain pulled the curtain aside, Jesse gasped to see Aaron, pale and wan, curled into a fetal position in the bed, propped on his side and with some kind of frame over his lower body. Jesse took a measured step to the side of the bed and said softly, “Aaron?” She reached out and touched the side of his face.
Aaron groaned and blearily opened his eyes, looking up, he said, “Jesse? What are you doing here? How?” He held out a hand to her and Jesse gripped it ferociously.
Captain Arden slid a chair behind Jesse and she gratefully sat, saying, “They called and said you’d been hurt, so here I am. I love you and I wasn’t going to sit home and not know what was going on.”
Aaron said, “I fucked up. Got us caught out, got shot. Don’t remember much after that. What day is it? I’m in Germany, right? Is the baby okay?”
Jesse looked up at the captain, pleading with her eyes for help. The captain said, “Gunny, you’re in Landstuhl. They flew you in from Bagram and you’ve been here a little over twenty-four hours. It’s Thursday. I don’t know anything about a baby.”
Jesse said, “I’m pregnant, about three months along. And yes, Aaron, the baby is fine.”
Aaron nodded, “Patrol was Tuesday. I need to find out how the guys are doing. Can I get a phone call?”
Captain Arden said, “Let me work on that. Mrs. Miller, would you like for your father to come back now?”
“He’s my grandfather, but yes, please,” Jesse said.
“Mr. Cronin is here too?” Aaron shook his head, dumbfounded.
“Papa was already in Rome, and he helped me get set up to get here. He met me this morning and brought me down here.”
They were interrupted by the old man and a doctor in a white smock coming into the cubicle, the doctor said, “I’m Major Paine, no cracks about my name please. I just finished operating on you and wanted to come check on you before I turn over. Gunny, are you aware of the extent of your actual injuries, and would you like for these people to leave before we discuss them?”
Aaron tried to roll over and groaned again “No and no. Doc, the last thing I remember is turning over to Johnson to get us out of the ambush.”
The major flipped open Aaron’s chart and said, “Major injury was a traumatic amputation of your left foot and part of your shin.”
Aaron gripped Jesse’s hand. She studied his face as he stoically listened.
“That was repaired at Craig before they evac’ed you. You have multiple gunshot wounds to your left arm, right arm, and your right leg, and I just finished taking a badly deformed bullet out of your left lung.” Picking up an emesis tray he rattled it and picked out the bullet. “Seems like a lot of you guys want to keep these, I have no idea why. But it’s been sterilized if you want it. If not, trash it. It apparently came in underneath your armpit and bounced off a rib. Might have been a ricochet, as it didn’t do as much damage as I would have expected.”
Aaron grit his teeth. “How long will I be here? I’m guessing I can’t go back to the unit now, right?”
Paine replied, “Probably five to eight days. We want to make sure you’re stable before you’re flown to Walter Reed. Maybe longer, since you’ve got a lung issue, don’t want it collapsing en route. Now if you don’t have any other questions, I need to visit my other patients.”
Aaron and Jesse both shook their heads, and the doctor departed, chart in hand. Aaron looked up at Jesse. “What now?”
Jesse looked at him. “What do you mean, what now? I’m going to stay here until you transfer, then I’m going to go wherever you go.”
Aaron said, “I’m fucked up, Jesse. I’m missing pieces. That’s not going to be pretty—”
Jesse glared at Aaron. “Hey, asshole.” As she poked him in the chest she continued, “I married you for what’s in here. I’m no raving beauty and I’ve got a few holes now myself. And I’ve got a little one in my belly that you and I are going to be responsible for. So what if you’re missing a piece or two. That doesn’t change who you are. We’ll work through it. We will work through it!”
Aaron winced at the pokes in the chest and looked at Jesse. Seeing the tears rolling down her face, his own tears came unbidden. As Jesse leaned over and kissed Aaron, the old man quietly left the cubicle, thinking they would do fine.
Walter Reed
After two weeks of fighting off a lung infection, Aaron was transferred via C-17 to Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland, then by ambulance to Walter Reed Medical Center in DC. Jesse, flying back commercial, landed at Dulles Airport. After catching up on her sleep at a hotel near the hospital, she took a taxi to Walter Reed and was immediately struck by the age of the hospital. It was mainly red brick buildings, and scattered over a large campus. After she finally found the right building, she was escorted to Aaron’s ward and as she entered, she saw he was in the orthopedics ward.
She took that as a positive, and was dismayed to see Aaron looking frustrated when she got to his bed. Leaning over, she hugged and kissed him, then said, “I made it! Sorry I’m a little late, it took me a couple of tries to find the right place. This is a lot bigger than Landstuhl.”
Aaron rolled over and sighed, pointing to the IV bag and needle in his arm. “Yeah, a lot more impersonal too. I feel like a damn piece of meat. They’ve shuffled me around twice since I got here. Apparently, the doc that came in early is concerned about my lung infection, and said I shouldn’t be here, that I’m not ready for ortho or rehab.” Lowering his voice, he nodded toward one of the other beds on the ward. “Apparently, there is still a lot of fallout over some kind of patient care scandal here a couple of years ago, and everybody is still on pins and needles. And my damn foot is itching again.”
The air went out of Jesse’s positive mood at that and she sat silently, holding Aaron’s hand. She finally said, “So we’re not off to a good start; gee, it’s not like we haven’t been here before.”
Aaron managed a chuckle at that, and asked, “Well, where are you staying? And how are you getting around?”
“I got a room at the Sheraton in, uh, Silver Springs. I took a taxi in, but they are damn expensive. For that matter the hotel isn’t cheap, even if I was able to get government rates. I looked at the Fisher House here too, but they are full and I know most of the folks there are not able to pay for a place in town. Depending on what happens to you will determine what I do. So any idea when they’re going to actually do your evaluation and put you in the rehab pipeline?”
Aaron shook his head. “Nope, not a fucking clue. I guess there will be some kind of board, and I have to be assigned a doctor, and a bunch of other shit. I must have filled out ten forms last night, and I was told that was just the start.”
An aide with a wheelchair interrupted them, “Gunnery Sergeant Miller, Aaron Miller?”
Aaron said, “Yep, that’s me. What’s up?”
The aide replied, “I think you’re going to a board. Can you ride a chair, or do I need to get a gurney?”
Aaron said, “If you’ll help me, I can get in the chair. Can my wife go along?”
The aide shook his head. “No, sir. Family isn’t allowed. She can come back in a couple of hours. They should be done with you by then. I gotta take you by for a blood draw first, though.”
Jesse threw up her hands. “Okay, fine. I’m going to go find the damn patient advocate’s office.”
Aaron made a calming gesture with his hand and Jesse shook her head. After Aaron had made it into the chair, Jesse gave him a quick kiss, and murmured, “I love you. You go your way, but I’m gonna go try to pry answers out of somebody.”
Aaron nodded. “Okay, but try not to cause too much hate and discontent.”
Jesse smiled wanly as Aaron was wheeled out of the ward, with her in trail.
Two and a half hours later, Jesse limped back into Aaron’s cubicle and plopped down in a chair, rubbing her hip. “Gah, there is nothing in this place that is close to anything one actually needs. So, what did they tell you? Then, I’ll tell you what they told me.”
Aaron groaned as he rolled over. “Well, apparently this is the only open bed, so I’m here unless somebody in worse shape comes in. I’m apparently still not over whatever the hell I caught with that ricochet. They’re prescribing extra antibiotics in my juice.” Pointing to the IV, he continued, “And, apparently, they will make me drowsy or dizzy, or something. So I’m not even going to start rehab till they knock this crap out of me. And my BP is high, white cell count is off, and the stump is sensitive. And my foot itches, and I can’t scratch it. Hell, I don’t even know where it is!”
Jesse laid a hand on Aaron’s arm. “Well, at least they have a plan. I swear the patient advocate was reading from a checklist, the number of times she cautioned me that all dates and possible procedures were for information only, and none of what she told me was to be considered an actual treatment plan.
Jesse detailed what she remembered from the patient advocate’s discussion. The bottom line was that Aaron would probably spend at least a month, maybe more here. They would run him through physical therapy, rehabilitation, and fit him with which prosthetic they decided would be best for him. One of the keys, the patient advocate had explained, that Jesse neglected to mention, was how much support Aaron would need.
She’s been pretty forceful about the potential for nightmares, depression, and PTSD. She had given Jesse a checklist of things to watch for, which Jesse had stuffed in her purse for later reading when she had time.
The doctors came around and Jesse was asked to leave during the exam. That stunned Jesse, as she thought back to her time in ICU and the hospital. But she did as asked, thinking about the differences between military and civilian hospitals.
Aaron was nodding off, and he finally told Jesse to get out and get some rest, so Jesse kissed him, told him she loved him and took a taxi back to the hotel. As soon as she got back to the room, she called the old man and unloaded on him about the situation. The old man listened in silence, and then told Jesse to go buy a cheap car, and find a set of furnished apartments that was close to the hospital. He explained it would be cheaper and safer for Jesse than trusting taxis and paying multiple thousands of dollars for a hotel for a month.
After talking to him, Jesse called Aaron’s parents and gave them an update, which they politely listened to and then hung up. Jesse next called Felicia and they talked for over an hour as Jesse poured out her fears and concerns. Felicia agreed with the old man on the car and furnished apartment, but Jesse still balked after looking at the prices in the DC area.
***
Jesse groaned as she climbed from the car, sweating in the heat. She started the long trudge up to Aaron’s bedside, and thought to herself three damn months. Aaron should have been out of here in a month, but no. First, it was the damn lung infection. And two relapses on that before they finally got it knocked out. Now, it’s the problems with the stump. And they claimed it was psychosomatic the first time, then finally admitted it might be a nerve issue, so they screwed around with that and shots and now? Another fucking operation, and another inch off his leg; I don’t know how much longer Aaron can take this. Or how much longer I can pump him up.
Jesse walked into the ward. “Hi, Liz, Mike. Is my hubby back down yet?”
Liz, the ward nurse, smiled. “Yep, they brought him down about an hour ago. Hot enough for you?”
Jesse smiled ruefully. “Liz, I’m pregnant, what do you think?”
Liz laughed. “That’s why I made sure I delivered no later than March for both of mine. You know where Aaron is go on back. He’s pretty upbeat today, which is good!”
Jesse nodded. “Thanks, that’s good to hear!”
Jesse walked back to Aaron’s cubicle, and steeled herself before she stepped through the curtain. As she did, she saw that Aaron was apparently asleep and she grimaced at seeing him once again hooked up to an IV. He was pale and shrunken compared to the Aaron she remembered, and she truly hoped this surgery would be the end of it. She eased into what she now thought of as her chair. Mike had stolen it from some office, but she was truly thankful, as it was actually semi comfortable. She sighed with relief as she eased down. Junior was raising hell in her womb over the heat again. Well, that and climbing the stairs. But hey, exercise.
She looked up and saw Aaron looking at her, and he smiled, saying, “Hey Jesse, you doing okay?”
She got up and kissed him. “Yeah, but Junior is not liking the heat. How are you feeling?”
Aaron replied, “Actually a lot better. Doc told me they did find some nerve tissue that was in the stump and it was folded over somehow. They apparently, what did he say, um, polished the ends of the bones a little bit, and relayed the muscle over the ends of the bone this time. He thinks this should take care of the problems I’ve been having with the stump since day one.”
Jesse smiled. “Oh, that would be good news. God knows we need some!”
Aaron said, “Yeah, he thinks I can transfer to rehab in two weeks if it works out!”
“Two weeks? Wow, that’s quick!”
Aaron said, “Well, he told me they need the beds, and they might actually transfer me out.”
Jesse looked at Aaron. “To where? Pendleton? Or Balboa?”
Aaron shrugged. “Dunno. It all depends on the next two weeks.”
Jesse spent the rest of the day at Aaron’s bedside, and did her best to keep the mood light, even when Aaron retreated into another funk as the pain hit. Aaron hated taking anything for pain, as he had once told her he hated losing control.
Tentacles
Roberto knocked and entered Montoya’s office. “You called, Jefe?”
“Si, Roberto, though our contacts in Texas it appears that bastardo deputy sheriff Cronin has once again cost us money and caused us problems. He took out four of our people and stopped one of our smuggling operations moving some of the Muslims into Texas.”
Roberto bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Jefe. If Eduardo had done his job, we wouldn’t have these problems. Do you want me to put a team together to take him out?”
Montoya shook his head. “No, Roberto. I want you to take care of this problem for me. I know about your nickname, Chuiloloco, and I know you were a loner when you came to us. I know you carry Zapata’s knife, and I think that would be poetic justice to have this pendejo taken out with that knife. Do this for me, and you will be rewarded, Roberto.”
“Si, Jefe, I will not fail. May I use our forgers for papers and a credit card?”
“Si, si. And have them provide you with a clean car also. I think maybe as a representative for our trucking company out of Oklahoma City would give you the freedom to move around that you will need,” Montoya said grandly.
Roberto bowed and silently left the office, caressing the butcher knife he’d carried ever since Zapata had been killed. He didn’t even realize he was doing it, and didn’t see Montoya quietly shudder as Roberto left.
Roberto picked up his new papers, and found they had a low level dealer working the Fort Stockton area. Roberto figured he could use him and his customers to track Cronin. Roberto had always had a niggling suspicion that Cronin might have been the one to shoot Zorro and El Commandante, because those shots were long range, quick and accurate. Grudgingly, Roberto admitted
to himself, Cronin was probably that good, considering the shots he’d made from the helicopter down at the golf course when he stopped the coyotes.
After a good night’s sleep, Roberto was up early and at the border with all the day workers crossing, and made it across with no problems. He’d had the cartel accountant make a weeklong reservation for him at one of the budget hotels along I-10, using the trucking company as the front. After a few hours of driving, Roberto arrived in Fort Stockton, and drove around until he found the lower end Hispanic part of town. Using a throw away cell, he called the dealer and told him to meet him at a small Mexican restaurant he’d seen. About fifteen minutes later, the dealer walked cautiously through the door.
As the dealer looked around, Roberto quietly motioned him over and said quietly, “Sit, Sanchez.”
As the dealer settled in, Roberto passed him a business card with a symbol doodled on the back and continued, “I’m Lopez from the home office. You’re not in trouble. We need to have you assist us with a personnel problem.”
Sanchez leaned forward. “Personnel problem? Is there somebody horning in on us?”
“No, a different— well, actually, yes, somebody is horning in. A pendejo deputy sheriff up here. I need to get information so we can fix that problem,” Roberto said as he passed over an envelope with Cronin’s information.
Sanchez asked, “One of us or an Anglo?”
“Anglo, named Cronin. I want to know what his schedule is, and what routes he drives to and from work. What you’ve got there is what we came up with.”
Sanchez sat back. “Aieee. Cronin, he’s a cabrón that has a lot of respect in the community. I’m not sure how-”
Roberto leaned in. “If you need some motivation, pick one of your runners that owes you and tell him he gets the job done, we forgive his debt.”
Sanchez grinned. “I have an Anglo that is putting a lot of his profit up his nose. He’s into us for about a thousand, and its due Friday.”