It's Sunday, and for the first time in years, I'm not up. I just don't care. I don't care about eating. I don't care about bathing. And if it wasn't for Lance needing food, I'd probably not be waking up at all except to piss every once in a while. Now, Sunday afternoon, and I'm still deep in the dark depths of depression.
“Mommy?” Lance asks, coming over to the couch, where I'm wrapped in Aaron's green girl comforter. He's tried to be good, I know he has, even though he doesn't understand what's going on. He just knows that his Daddy had some trouble, and that I'm worried about him. But after the forced play of Friday, I haven't been able to keep it up, and a day and a half of sitting around the house is wearing on him. There's only so much Disney channel even a boy his age can watch. “Mommy, I want to go for a bike ride.”
“Not right now, Lance,” I mumble, turning over. “Maybe later.”
“You said that before lunch!” Lance whines, and I turn on him, angry.
“We'll go bike riding when I say we can go bike riding!” I snap, yelling even though I don't mean to. “Now leave me alone!”
Lance backs up like I just slapped him and puts his head down, his tiny little voice breaking my heart. “I'm sorry, Mommy.”
He leaves the room, and a few minutes later, I hear him crying, trying not to be loud, but still, the heart-wrenching sobs rip away the depression I'm feeling, replacing it with disgust at what I just did. My son, and I treated him like that? Worst mother ever.
I get up and go to his room, where he's lying on his bed, turned away from me, still crying softly. I sit down and put my hand on his shoulder, causing him to sniff loudly, trying to be quieter. “I'm sorry, Lance. I was wrong to yell at you.”
He doesn’t respond. Sighing, I shake my head, feeling even more like shit. “Buddy . . . I was wrong. Since hearing about Daddy being in a fight, I've been scared, baby. I don't want him to be hurt, and I didn't want to scare you either, so I didn't tell you everything that's been going on. But that meant that I kept getting more and more scared, and I haven’t looked after you like I should have the last couple of days.”
Lance turns over, sniffing and wiping at his nose. “You’re sad?”
“Yes, baby,” I whisper, starting to cry. I reach out, and he sits up, hugging me tightly. We both cry, so much so that I don't hear the knock on my door until it's repeated louder. I let go of Lance and take his hand. “Let's see who it is . . . and then after that, we'll go for a bike ride.”
Lance nods, and we get off his bed, walking to the front door. There's a third knock, and then a voice outside. “Lindsey? Sergeant Morgan! It's Pete Lemmon! Open up!”
I open the door and see Captain Lemmon standing there, a West Point t-shirt on, a grin on his face. “Sir? What is it?”
“It's good news,” Captain Lemmon says, trying not to smile more. “I just got off the phone with the S-1. He's been a bug in his buddy's ear for the past two days. The Pentagon just got an update from the brigade in Afghanistan.”
“Aaron?” I ask, squeezing Lance's hand. “Is Aaron okay?”
Captain Lemmon nods. “Yes. The officer with the concussion was the CO, who's being flown out of country now. Aaron's being treated at a field hospital, off the line in Kabul for something or the other, but he's going to be okay. I don't have much more info right now, but I'm already working a connection I've got. That hospital has video conferencing capabilities, and I'm going to do what I can to get a call set up ASAP. Earliest is going to be tomorrow though. Think you can hang on that long?”
I look at Lance, who nods, smiling. “Can I see Daddy?”
Captain Lemmon kneels down, looking Lance in the eye. “Yes, son, that means you should be able to see him. Gimme a little time though.”
“Okay, sir!” Lance says, grinning.
I stand there, still shocked and happy, while Captain Lemmon looks at me. “You okay, Lindsey?”
I nod, tears of happiness coming to my eyes. “Yes, sir.”
He puts an arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze, chuckling. “When I'm off duty, I think you can start to call me Pete, okay? Especially if you're Aaron's girl. Just off duty though.”
“I don't think so, sir. But maybe in a few months, when I go on terminal leave, I'd like that.”
Captain Lemmon gives me one last squeeze and lets go. “Good deal, and I'll hold you to that.”
Lance grabs at my shirt. “Mommy, can we go ride now?”
I smile and hug my son, relieved. “Yes, baby. Let's go on a bike ride.”
Chapter 23
Aaron
The first sound I'm aware of when I wake up is the whir of an air conditioner. That's something I haven't heard in a very long time, and I open my eyes, wondering what the hell happened.
The tent I'm in is white on the inside, and I've seen one of these before. It's a field hospital. I remember doing an exercise with a Combat Support Hospital one time and helping set up the equipment. The white vinyl on the inside of the tent is supposed to be like the operating room at a regular hospital, so that blood or other bodily fluids are easy to see and clean up.
“What happened?” I ask, lying back. “I was just closing my eyes.”
“No, what you did was pass out from blood loss and exhaustion,” a nurse says, coming over. “Next time you get shot in the leg, make sure you remember to not wait a couple of hours to put a pressure bandage on it. As it is, you're going to be here a little while. Probably better for you anyway.”
“No way,” I grumble, sitting up. I see the IV connected to my arm and reach for it, but the nurse takes me by the wrist and pulls it away. “I've got to get back to the Spartans.”
“You plan on flying yourself?” the nurse asks, giving me a raised eyebrow. “Because you're fifty miles from your unit right now.”
“I can steal a vehicle,” I grumble, lying back. “Shit. So, who's running Alpha Company?”
“I believe your battalion commander assigned his XO to the company for now. Between him and your First Sergeant, they're in good hands,” the nurse reassures me. “Relax, let me go get the doctors, and we'll see about getting you back to your unit as quickly as possible.”
“Captain Stephens?” I ask. “What about him?”
The nurse shakes her head. “I don't know. Maybe the doctor can tell you. Relax. We'll get you taken care of.”
I nod and lie back, still tired, but I can't go back to sleep. When the flap on the tent opens again, I see a Major come in, but he's got the air of a doctor, and most military docs like their patients to be casual with them. “Hey, Doc.”
“How're you feeling?” he asks, coming over and looking at my chart. “Captain Burns said you were awake and had some questions.”
“Yeah, pretty much. Like when I can get back to my unit.”
“Not for a while,” the major says. “Besides the blood loss, you tore the hell out of your calf muscle.”
“What happened?”
“Shrapnel clipped one of the veins in your calf. Thankfully, it was a vein and not an artery. It's why you didn't lose your lower leg, honestly. The foot kept being supplied with fresh blood, but then you just pumped it out the other side. If that vein had been bigger, you might have just passed out from blood loss earlier.”
I look down at my leg, where my ACU pants have been cut away, and funnily enough, the first thought through my mind is that I'm going to have to go buy another set of pants. Still, I guess they'll get replaced. It is a war zone, after all. It's then that I realize I can't feel anything. “So what's the damage? It's still numb.”
“The wound was a clean pass-through. My guess is a ricochet, judging by the cleanliness. It took a nice chunk out of your calf muscle. I hope you're not into bodybuilding,” the doctor jokes, poking my leg to check sensation. “But because of that, there's no way I'm sending you back to a unit that's walking all over the damn mountains on a regular basis. You'd end up crippled for life within two months, limping for the rest of your life from the scar tissue and other
problems. And the numbness should wear off in a few hours. We wanted to make sure you had a chance to recover some before the pain sets in. And yes, it's going to hurt when that block wears off.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Sit here and slowly go apeshit?” I fume, sitting up. “If you keep me in a bed past the next two days, I'm going to be bouncing off the tent poles.”
“We'll find something for you to do, son. Don't worry about that. You're not the first person who's come through the CSH with more energy than common sense. Just sit back for now, and I'll send someone to bring you a little pushcart of books. Not a lot unless you like Stephen King, but it should pass the time.”
“Great. The man in black fled west, and the gunslinger followed him,” I quote, shaking my head. “Okay, okay. I'll do my best to not annoy your staff.”
“Good. And I'll do my best to get you into a normal room where you can talk with other patients or at least some real people. And maybe we can find some desk duty around here for you to do too, if you really want to keep yourself occupied. Square deal?”
“Hooah, sir. Thanks.”
The doctor is good to his word, and three days later, I find myself sitting in a slightly dusty office in Kabul, scanning mail for the censors. It's boring, and I feel a bit like a voyeur, but at least I'm able to keep my mind occupied. My leg throbs a little, but it's more of a deep itch, and I'm glad that I have on a fresh set of ACU pants to go with the bandage. I'm pretty sure I'd tear the fucking stitches out otherwise.
“Hey, El Tee?”
I look up and see Specialist Maravilla, one of the brigade morale specialists, knocking on the jamb of the door. She's tiny, barely five feet tall, and has a perky personality that fits her job personality. I don't think anyone doesn't smile when she comes around chattering constantly. Seriously, she's a one-person USO tour. “What up, Spec Marvelous?”
Maravilla laughs. “You know, sir, most people don't know the meaning of my name. Anyway, I got a message for you from the MWR folks.”
“Really? I thought I returned that book already. Was it damaged?” I ask her, thinking of the little paperback sports story I'd returned this morning.
“No, that's all good, sir. Actually, you've got a video call set up for this evening. Think you can make it to the MWR building at zero eight thirty tomorrow morning? The caller is on the East Coast. Fort Bragg, I think the message said.”
I hide my excitement and give Maravilla a thumbs-up. “You just made my day, Marvelous. Put yourself in for a promotion.”
Maravilla laughs, waving me off. “Can I get to be an officer then?”
“Make yourself a one-star general. I'm sure the Pentagon won't mind,” I joke, and she laughs again before walking off. I turn back to my mail, and perhaps it’s just the hope setting in, but I can barely feel my leg as I go back to making sure that the mail that leaves Afghanistan is clear of sensitive information. Ah, nope, you can't give the name of the town you're in. Sorry.
The video shakes for a moment as someone adjusts the camera before steadying, and Lance is there, sitting on a couch. I know this type of room. A lot of the MWR buildings and FRG buildings have a high-def video camera set up, a remnant of the early War on Terror days when webcams were a rarity, but the military still hangs onto them. It's nice though, you can see their whole bodies that way. “Daddy!”
“Lance!” I answer. I don't know what the hell is going on or how the Army knows about Lance, but right now, I don't give a shit, either. “How're you doing, buddy?”
“I'm good,” Lance says, bouncing. “How are you?”
“I’m going to be just fine,” I tell him, my words stopping when Lindsey comes into view. She's wearing her ACUs, but still, she's so beautiful. “Lindsey . . .”
“Aaron,” Lindsey replies, reaching out toward the camera. “I . . . we were so worried.”
“It's okay,” I reassure her. “Here, check it out.”
I stand up, turning around and pulling my ACU pants leg up. I can't wear a combat boot on that leg yet. I'm using a running shoe for now, and the docs are due to change my covering after this, so the bandage is off. The stitches are still bright red, but nowhere near as ugly as they were four days ago. “See? Still there. I'm just glad I didn't get shot in the butt. I don't want to drop trou on a military network.”
Lindsey laughs and waves her hand as I turn around and sit down, getting used to putting most of my weight on my left leg to move right now. “You'd love to drop trou if your son wasn't here.”
“You got me,” I admit, smiling. “Um . . . I guess this means people know?”
“We know,” someone says off camera, and Pete Lemmon comes into view. “Don't worry about stuff on this end, Aaron. She'll be taken care of. Lance and your new baby too. Your class ring too. You really should keep better track of that thing. It’s like what, a thousand bucks to replace? You just keep your ass safe over there, okay?”
I swallow and nod, unable to express my feelings. Finally, the only words needed come to my mind. “Go Devils.”
“Damn right. I'm gonna give you a few family minutes. I know how MWR are tight asses on time. Party hard.”
Pete leaves, and Lindsey whispers in Lance's ear. “Daddy?”
“Yes, buddy?” I ask, leaning into the computer.
“Are you a hero?” Lance asks. “People say you're a hero.”
I shake my head. I've heard the whispers myself the past few days, and I can't believe that people are saying this about me. “Lance, a hero is just a person who is as scared as anyone else, but he still somehow manages to do his job, and a little bit of luck falls his way. I'm lucky, and I'll let you in on a secret. When I was fighting, I had only two thoughts—you and Mommy.”
Lance looks confused, but Lindsey gives him a squeeze and whispers in his ear. He nods, then looks back at the camera. “I love you, Daddy!”
“I love you too, buddy. And Lindsey?”
“Yes?” Lindsey asks, her eyes shining with what I'm sure are held back tears. I'm feeling the same way, honestly.
“When I get back stateside . . . there's a question or two I want to ask you. I'd like to ask now, but over a video link just isn't the right time to do it.”
Lindsey nods, smiling. “If it's the question I'm thinking of, I already know my answer. I'll make you a deal. You keep that question safe and sound, and I'll be there for you when you get back. After all, I'm your combat support, right?”
I smile, nodding. “Damn right. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
We wrap up our call, the last few minutes filled with mundane updates on Lance's time in daycare and Lindsey's work, but when the call finishes, I'm feeling refreshed. I get up and grab my crutches. I'm still on a limited movement profile, but I’m surprised when Lieutenant Colonel Kierney comes in the room. He's picked up a few stitches himself in his face, and he's going to have a nice scar when he gets back stateside. “Sir?”
“Relax, Lieutenant. How's your leg?” he asks. We leave the computer room—I don't want to delay anyone else's morale call home—and make our way toward my 'office'. “The doctors say you were an idiot.”
“Just stupid enough to make me Infantry, sir. How's Captain Stephens?” I ask, and Kierney's smile makes me grin. “He's gonna make it?”
“Got word right before seeing you. He's comfortable in Germany right now, and probably driving the hospital staff nuts already. He's got some long-term stuff that'll mean he's rotating home early, but he's going to be able to return to duty when the battalion rotates back to Drum,” the Colonel says. “Actually, I came because of a few things I've found out.”
“Yeah . . . I figured someone would come to talk to me about Lindsey if they know back at Bragg,” I reply, not backing away at all. “Am I busted?”
“Busted for what?” Kierney asks. “All that happened at Bragg, but you got your new evaluation reports. Now, I’m putting a counseling statement in your file. From what I've heard, she's been barred from re-enlisting,
so there are consequences. But, I also have some good news for you as well.”
“What's that, sir? That you're sending me back to the Spartans when I can put a damn boot on again?” I ask, and he laughs. “What?”
“Maybe you don't remember, but after you were put on that chopper, the stories that your company told on you . . . hell, son, you put on just about the greatest show of leadership and fighting since Audie Murphy. I came by to tell you that I submitted the paperwork to brigade. I'm putting you in for the Silver Star. Only downside is, I can't even get the Spartans to go back to their old greeting anymore. It's confusing the shit out of every new person they run into. They're greeting everyone with If. Next time, quote William Wallace or something. It's easier to understand.”
I laugh, touched. We reach my 'office', and I see the pile of mail on the table, ready to be gone through. “Deal, sir. Still, I'd like to get back to the Spartans.”
“With a woman, a son, and a baby on the way? I don't think so,” Kierney says. “Besides, Captain Ortiz from the S-4 shop is going to do just fine in the CO slot, and brigade is sending over an experienced 1LT to be the new company XO. Your First Sergeant has the troops squared away. Which kind of puts me in a bind.”
“How so, sir?” I ask, sitting down. “I've got no problems being XO under Captain Ortiz.”
“Here's what's going to happen. You're going to spend another three weeks here. I talked with your doctors about that already. When you can walk, you're coming onto my staff as the supply officer. It's not a cushy job. It's supposed to be for a Captain, and you'll have a pretty steep learning curve. But it'll limit your movement while you rehab that leg.”
It's a good assignment, and I know that Kierney's also trying to protect my butt too. Supply officers have to make constant runs back to the rear to get stuff for the troops, and most of the time, I'd be riding in an armored Hummer. “Roger, sir. One request, though?”
Duty: A Secret Baby Romance Page 21