Hallowed Ground (Flight & Glory #4)

by Rebecca Yarros

  “Not exactly.” She opened my door to reveal a huge, suited man on our front porch.

  “Miss Howard?” he asked from behind dark sunglasses.

  “Yes,” I answered. He took my bags and walked to the black limousine. I raised my eyebrows at Paisley. “Was there a sale on limos?”

  She pursed her lips and shook her head, her face devoid of most color. The back door of the limo opened, revealing a man with Robert Redford looks and a tense version of the smile I knew well. Holy shit.

  “Shall we go, ladies?” he asked, his voice a perfect balance of concern and efficiency.

  “What did you do?” I whispered to Paisley.

  “I called Jagger’s dad.”

  My thoughts ran amok once we’d taken off in the private plane Senator Mansfield chartered for the trip. Paisley crashed out on the long couch, sorely needing sleep after today’s shit storm, and the Senator handled business at a table toward the back of the jet, aided by a leggy blonde that, I kid-you-not, was named Monica.

  Paisley had been right to call Senator Mansfield. It was the only way we could have left this quickly, but what was Jagger going to think about accepting his dad’s help? It’s not like they were exactly on friendly terms—or even speaking.

  I’d called Josh’s mom to trade information and love, my mom for moral support, and Grams for a little sanity before we took off.

  Now it was just me, my thoughts, and eight hours of flight time from Fort Campbell to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany.

  As thankful as I was that we’d been able to take off ridiculously fast, thanks to super-political dad, I wished that I’d been able to hear Josh’s voice when he woke up. At this rate, we’d be getting there right around the same time their medical transport landed.

  Was he okay? Was his spleen really the only thing he’d needed surgery on? Did they set his arm there? Or would they do it in Germany? I had way too many questions and not enough answers.

  But I’d see him in eight hours. I would hold him, kiss him, simply watch the rise and fall of his chest. I’d know that there hadn’t been some mistake—he’d made it.

  No book or television show could hold my attention. My thoughts flew as fast as the jet. What did I say to him about the other casualties, the other two pilots who had been killed besides…Will?

  Will, who fixed my disposal.

  Will, who had given Jagger his Apache slot.

  Will, who had pulled Josh through the Blackhawk course academically.

  Will, who was coming home draped under a flag.

  Like Dad.

  I pulled my feet onto the soft leather seat and wrapped my arms around my knees. I was in limbo, stuck between my world falling apart and finding out just how much had been destroyed. Would Josh want me there in Germany? Did he need time? Space? There was nothing I could do besides wait. I felt weak, nauseated, and terrified that everything I was wouldn’t be enough for what was coming.

  But he made it. He was alive.

  And just like he’d taken care of me when Dad died, it was my turn to be Josh’s whatever, and that was something I could never fail at.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Josh

  The ceiling of the Kandahar surgical center looked different, or maybe I just didn’t remember it that well from the last time. I blinked, trying to clear the haze of drugs from my vision, simultaneously wishing for sobriety yet desperate to stay blessedly numb.

  I raised my hand to my face but was stopped before my fingers reached the skin.

  “You don’t want to do that yet.” The man’s voice was deep, comforting, familiar. “They just cleaned out the wounds. You’re not going to scar, but you go around shoving bacteria in there and all bets are off, son.” His grip was cool but firm as he lowered my hand.

  “How long have I been here?” I asked, realizing I wasn’t quite with it enough to turn my head.

  “About eighteen hours. Surgery took a little longer than we thought, but you’ll have full use of your leg.” A wave of déjà vu swept over me.

  “Good. And my arm?” The drugs were strong and threatened to pull me back under.

  “It’ll take some recovery time, but you’ll be okay there, too. You were a lucky guy, Josh. I think you’ll still be able to play hockey after recovery.”

  I forced my eyelids open, blinking at the halogen lights above me. “How did you know I play hockey?” As if that’s even important anymore.

  “I’ve seen you play.”

  He didn’t have to finish the sentence. I already knew what he was going to say. It was the same conversation I’d had with him four years ago. I forced my head to turn and saw him sitting in the chair next to my bed, leaned back with his hands folded in his lap. His scrub cap sat over a pair of piercing blue eyes I knew well, and his mouth held a kind smile.

  This wasn’t real. I was still asleep, no doubt drugged from the surgery they’d wheeled me into.

  For just this moment, I was okay with that.

  “Where?” I asked him, knowing that was the line of the script I was reading.

  “My daughter went to high school with you. She was quite the fan. Took me with her to see you play.”

  “Your daughter?” I asked, my heart burning with the love I hadn’t known then.

  “December Howard. You probably don’t know her. She was a few years your junior.”

  “I know December,” I whispered. “I love her. I’m marrying her. You raised such a flawless woman.” But he didn’t hear the last lines, because they hadn’t been spoken four years ago.

  “You do? She’s a senior this year, hoping to go to Vanderbilt in the fall, but she has an asshat boyfriend who’s pushing her toward CU.”

  “She’ll break up with him,” I promised. “He’ll hurt her, but she’ll heal. She’ll go to Vanderbilt, and she’ll graduate. She’s happy.”

  “You know how those high school boys are.” He laughed, having heard none of what I’d just said, then stood to take my vitals. He looked off in the distance as he listened to my lungs.

  “She misses you every day. She doesn’t say it—keeps everything pretty close to the vest—but I see it in her eyes,” I said as he moved his stethoscope. “I love her with every cell in my body. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her, sir.”

  “I hope she makes the right decision for her,” he said. “She’s too good of a girl to get trapped beneath a man’s dreams. She deserves her own. He won’t give her that, and she’s too young to see it.”

  “I see it,” I whispered. “God, I see it.” I forced my fifty-pound eyelids open again, but I was losing the battle.

  “Don’t you worry, PFC, you’ll play hockey again. I took really good care of you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” My world faded, leaving only the sensation of his hand on my forehead.

  “You’re going to be okay, Josh. I swear it. You both will.”

  “Lieutenant Walker?” A woman called to me from the black. “Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me?”

  A blood pressure cuff went off on my left arm, squeezing to an unpleasant pressure. It was nothing compared to the overall ache coursing through my body. The left side of my chest felt like I’d been beaten in a bar brawl by at least six professional wrestlers. “Yes,” I croaked.

  “Here,” she said and lifted a straw to my lips. I took in giant sips of cool, crisp water, washing away the taste of dead skunk in my mouth. I blinked, looking up to see a nurse hovering over me.

  “Thank you,” I said, my voice closer to normal.

  She smiled. “Can you tell me your name and birthday?”

  I turned my head to the chair next to me, half expecting to see Doc Howard sitting there, but it was empty, of course. I was drugged, not insane.

  “Lieutenant?” she prompted.

  I took a deep breath and focused on the nurse. “Joshua Walker, September twenty-third.”

  “Good.”

  December. Her name rushed through me, soothed me, and then instantly m
y stomach dropped. God, she had to be losing her mind. Had they told her? They usually waited until we could call, but with helicopter crashes, those were too televised to delay notification until a soldier could call home.

  God, had they gone to the house? She must have relived her worst nightmare.

  “Ma’am? Can I call my fiancée? She’s got to be scared. My mom, too.”

  “I understand. The transport airplane is here to take you to Landstuhl, so let’s get you ready, and see if there’s time for those phone calls before we move you.” She picked up my chart and gave me a rundown on everything I’d fucked up in the last twenty-four hours.

  Dislocated shoulder. Radius and ulna buckle fractured.

  I looked down to see the splint covering the lower portion of my right arm, cradled against my chest in a blue sling. That’s not so bad. But she kept going.

  Six-inch gash on my thigh, and I hadn’t done them any favors by ripping the metal out in the field and then walking on it. Yeah, but I lived. I’d had exploratory surgery on that, with both internal stitches and over thirty external ones. It took all my willpower not to rip back the blanket to see if I’d at least had the luck to bisect the gunshot scar that was already there.

  “But the shocker was your spleen. It ruptured, which we didn’t catch until you were here.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  Her smile was apologetic. “You were pretty heavily drugged. But we took it out, and you’re going to be okay. You’ll need a couple months to recover, but you will.”

  “Jagger? I mean, Lieutenant Bateman? Specialist Rizzo?”

  “I’ll take it from here,” Lieutenant Colonel Dolan, our battalion commander, answered, filling the small doorway of my curtained partition. Cover in hand, he ran his hand over his shaved skull, over his eyes, and down to his mustache. “I’m glad to see you’re okay, Lieutenant.”

  “Sir,” I answered. “The other guys?”

  “Rizzo’s okay. A little banged up, but okay.” He took Doc Howard’s chair.

  “Bateman?” I forced out and held my breath. He hadn’t been awake, even after they medevac’d us.

  “He’s pretty mangled, but alive. He’ll need some pins to salvage his legs, but they fixed all the internal bleeding in surgery. He’s not awake yet.”

  My breath released on a ragged sigh, and my eyes closed in a silent prayer of thanks to God. Jagger was okay.

  “You saved his life, son.”

  “At the expense of Captain Trivette and”—I took a steadying breath and tried to keep from losing my shit—“Lieutenant Carter.” Will. You got Will killed.

  He nodded slowly. “You were close to Carter?”

  “Yes, sir. We went through flight school together, both Primary and Advanced Course. We were friends.” Against all odds.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  He lives for them. Will’s whispered order echoed through me.

  I nodded, unable to say anything else about it. There was no opening that Pandora’s box. Not here. Not now. “The other Apache pilot?”

  He shook his head. “No. CW3 Thorne didn’t survive.”

  I nodded again like a fucking bobble-head doll. “Yeah, that’s what we thought, but everything out there went pretty quickly.”

  The nurse came back in and smiled at us both. “Sir, we need to ready him for transport.”

  “Of course.” He stood and turned to me in the doorway. “Lieutenant, I know today has been tragic for you, for the entire battalion, but you accomplished your mission. It took a great deal of bravery to do what your crew did. You can be proud. I know I am.”

  “Thank you, sir.” My words were lip service, and we both knew it. I’d killed Will and Captain Trivette because of my single-minded need to save Jagger.

  I wasn’t even sure I could regret it, which made me ten times worse of a person.

  Will had died protecting me. How the fuck was I ever going to repay that? Earn that?

  The nurse squeezed my left hand and pushed a drug into my IV. “This dose should get you through to Landstuhl. Transport is here, and you’re up next to go.”

  “My phone?” I asked, my voice raised in panic. I had to call Ember. There was nothing as important, including oxygen.

  The nurse handed me a Ziploc bag from the table across my little room. “Here are some of your personal effects. Your uniform was beyond repair. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, digging through the small bag to reach my international cell phone. One new text message.

  December: I bet you’re flying, but I wanted to tell you a quick I love you.

  When had she sent it? While I was still in the air? On the ground? In the firefight?

  Two soldiers came in, checked my chart, my bracelet, and confirmed my name while my suddenly noncompliant fingers fumbled with the numbers. They popped the brakes on my bed and began wheeling as the phone dialed.

  Four rings and voicemail.

  They wheeled me out, through the hallway, and the déjà vu hit again, taking me back four years. My eyelids and I resumed our drug-induced battle.

  “Hi, you’ve reached Ember. I’m sorry I can’t get to the phone, but leave a message and I’ll call you back. If this is Josh, I love you, I miss you, and I wish I could kiss you!”

  We came to Doc Howard’s picture, taking me over the very same floor he’d taken his last breath on.

  Beep.

  I locked eyes with him, even though he drifted in and out of focus as the meds took full effect. “Hey, baby. I’m okay. Banged up, but okay.” I stayed with him until we wheeled past. I’ll take care of her. I swear, she won’t be trapped under my dream. “December, I love you. Hold tight, I’m coming home to you.”

  I managed to hit end before falling asleep.

  The drugs started to wear off as we descended into Ramstein Air Force Base. I even felt us touch down. I fought to open my eyes, but the next thing I felt was being lifted into the transport vehicle.

  I pried my lids open and turned to the side. I heard nurses talking. The vehicle was lit well enough to see Jagger across from me. He had an IV bag and looked like shit, but I probably wasn’t ready for a beauty pageant, either. He made it. No ventilator, so he was breathing on his own. He’ll see his baby born.

  I blinked, the task way more difficult than it should have been, and tried to sober up. I needed to call Ember. Needed to hear her voice and tell her that I was okay, that I wasn’t going to die on her.

  “We’re approaching the gate,” one of the nurses said.

  “I seem to have misplaced my ID card,” I said quietly with a small tilt to my lips.

  “Oh, this one has jokes.” One of them laughed. He leaned over me and then checked the drip on my IV. “You’ll be just fine, Lieutenant.”

  As soon as I talked to her, I would be. “What time is it?”

  “A little after two a.m. on Monday morning.”

  Fuck, we’d crashed over twenty-four hours ago. “What the hell have you guys been giving me? Time-suck painkillers?”

  He laughed. “Ah, you’re on the good stuff, son. But don’t get too used to it.”

  Hell no. I wanted off it as soon as possible.

  We parked at the hospital’s intake bay, and they started the unload process. I flexed my stomach in preparation to move and groaned, falling back to the bed.

  “No, no, don’t move. Not yet,” the nurse said.

  Yeah, that wasn’t going to be a fucking problem. Every part of me hurt, from the sharp throbbing in my leg to the ever-present ache in my chest where they’d removed my spleen. I couldn’t wait to see what I’d done to myself.

  What would Ember think? The scars had never bothered her before, but these?

  My thoughts cut short as they lowered me to the ground and began to wheel me through the hospital. “Can you put me next to Lieutenant Bateman?” I asked yet another nurse.

  “I’ll see what we can do,” she said in a sugar-sweet voice. “Are you hungry? It’s the
middle of the night, but I’ll see what I can get together for you.”

  I shook my head. “The idea of food makes me want to hurl.”

  Her smile was bright against her skin. “Well, let’s not do that, shall we? We can work on that in the morning.”

  The lights above me passed at measured intervals, feeling more like a strobe-light than the last club I’d been to. An elevator ride and long hallway later, she wheeled me into my room.

  There was a window to my left and a bathroom door straight in front of me. I didn’t have to pee…great, that could only mean one thing. “When do I get to pee on my own?” I asked her.

  She gave me a knowing half smile. “As soon as you’re ready.”

  “Yeah, can we make that happen now?”

  She nodded. “Let me get the doctor. We’ll finish your intake, make sure you can get yourself to the bathroom on crutches, and solve that problem.”

  “And my phone? I really need to call my fiancée.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Pretty little redhead?”

  My mouth dropped. Had she gone through my wallet? Seen the picture on my kneeboard? “Yes.”

  “Let’s get your intake finished, and then get you that call.”

  The doctor came in, checked my vitals, poked at incisions that I wanted to punch him for, and gave me a general once-over. The trip to the bathroom was successful…and excruciating. My leg throbbed the minute it sank beneath heart-level, and that throb turned into a full-on screaming pressure the minute I stood, even with my weight on the opposite leg. It didn’t help that I’d dislocated the opposite shoulder and was basically hobbling with the full use of only one crutch.

  I was a fucking mess. I looked briefly in the mirror as I left the bathroom. My face was ashen. There was a laceration above my eye and several scrapes along my right cheek. I’d gotten a glimpse of the white bandage that consumed my upper thigh. But I was alive.

  Will wasn’t.

  Captain Trivette wasn’t.

  I struggled back to bed, accepting the nurse’s help because I was scared I’d end up on the fucking floor and tear something else. She raised my bed so I could sit up slightly, and her eyes sparkled with a grin. She was way too happy for three o’clock in the morning.