Raul pocketed the necklace and maneuvered the bed into the corridor.
“How long will you be?” Amanda asked.
“’Bout an hour, give or take.”
4
Yeoman First Class Ellis Cooper looked up from his computer and smiled at Zanna. “Go right in,” he said. “the commander’s expecting you.”
Gant was at his desk engrossed in a medical file. “Help yourself to a drink. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Zanna poured herself a mug of the steaming black liquid that went by the name ‘coffee’. Though she admitted this brew was infinitely more drinkable than some of the nefarious concoctions on offer in the break room. She sat in the chair opposite Gant and scrutinized him while he read. Zanna put him in his early-forties and his athletic build was much like that of her ex, Simon. She leaned forward to place her mug on his desk, but the lack of coasters on the beautiful antique mahogany piece gave her pause. Gant glanced over the top of his file; the flash of his faded blue denim eyes pinned Zanna back into her chair.
Still cradling the mug, she turned her attention to the array of photographs on the wall. The several large ships and one submarine Zanna took to be U.S. Navy vessels. In one picture, Gant wore USMC desert camouflage and was flanked by a couple of unsmiling, heavily-bearded men; in another, the distinctive blue-gray-black pattern of the U.S. Navy. In a third shot, posing for the camera, he was shaking hands with a U.S. Marine four-star general, both in their dress blues. And in the elegantly framed photo on his desk, smiling broadly in his dress whites, he had his right arm around the waist of an attractive Asian Indian woman who was wearing a royal blue and silver lehenga sari. Zanna checked out Gant’s left hand. No ring.
“So,” Gant said, placing the open folder to one side, “now that you’ve come to the end of your probationary period, it’s time to review your work.” He tapped the file. “How would you assess your thirty days here?”
Zanna straightened in her seat. Nice one, Commander. First, you spring this interview on me. Then you expect me to review myself. “A continuous learning experience. I have gained some valuable new skills, which will enable me to help our own injured in a more proactive way.”
“No problems adapting?”
“The language of medicine is universal, so I ran into no problems there. We’re used to American movies and TV shows, so everyday conversation is relatively free from misunderstandings. However, our military terminology or I should say military jargon, differs immensely. Some of it’s easy to work out, but when you start using acronyms.” She passed her hand low over her head.
“How do you deal with that?”
“I ask for a one-time clarification, but I don’t expect to be accommodated. I see it as my duty to learn what the jargon and acronyms mean so I’m up to speed with everyone else, not slowing them down to my pace.”
Gant nodded. “Feedback shows you to be a team player.”
“And what a team. I’ve learned so much from them.” She laughed. “I hope you’re not going to send me back to the locker room, Coach, but if I’m about to be red-carded, I will always cherish my time on the Dream Team.” She paused. “Being serious again, may I ask why two foreign civilians were accepted into the exchange program in the first place?”
Gant folded his hands on the desk. “You’re aware that military doctors are often placed in civilian hospitals, notably the ER to gain experience with trauma cases?”
“Yes.”
“This is just a reversal of that. Giving civilians experience treating injuries they might not encounter often. Or, as in your situation, to be exposed to new techniques and to share with us those that you use.” He unfolded his hands. “And, after a thorough evaluation, it’s apparent your skills are being under-utilized in an ancillary role. You will now be assigned individual patients.”
“Yes!” Zanna hugged herself tightly—flinging her arms around a Navy commander, who was also her boss, might be a step too far—and politely thanked him for his decision.
“I have assigned Petty Officer Raul Garcia as your assistant.”
Zanna clenched her fists and raised her arms to perform a double fist pump. However, a raised eyebrow from Gant turned the action into a two-handed head scratch. She dropped her head while she regained her composure.
He leaned forward in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I see a lot of ambition in you.”
She thought for a moment. “But that’s not a bad thing, right, being ambitious? You never seem to stop. You’re obviously dedicated and extremely hard working.” Catching herself leaning forward and mirroring his steepled fingers, she sat back in her chair and dropped her hands into her lap.
He ran his fingers through his close-cropped, salt and pepper hair. “You’re not motivated by selfish reasons, but by the ambitions of those around you. Some people go by the physical therapy playbook; this exercise for that injury. I’ve watched you work; you get creative. You involve the patients in their recovery.” His cell phone vibrated on the desk. He glanced at the screen, swiped to reject the call and continued talking. “Given the option, who would you choose as your first patient?”
“The new guy?”
“Joel Watson?”
“No, no. The other new guy in Room Thirteen—Domingo Rivera.”
Gant raised an eyebrow. “He won’t be easy.”
“I don’t expect any of them to be.”
“I mean his disposition. He can be abrasive—you’ve already had a small taste of that—stubborn, determined, opinionated, and—”
Zanna laughed. “Believe it or not, sir, I haven’t led that sheltered a life. I’ve met those types.”
Gant leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “Tell me why I should assign him to you.”
“Because of the qualities you just named,” she said, no longer smiling. “I think his temperament will get him through this, and I believe I can channel his energies in the right direction.”
Gant inhaled deeply. “He’s a very strong character.”
“You appear to know him quite well.” Zanna waited for Gant to elaborate, but when he didn’t, she asked, “Do you think I can handle him?”
“He’s not for the weak or faint-hearted.”
“I don’t consider myself either of those and I’ve worked with men who thought they were tough . . . thought they were hard.”
“There’s no think about it. I was going to assign him to Cornell.”
Zanna snorted. “That’d never work. If Rivera is like you say, I feel he may not fully appreciate Cornell’s, umm, enthusiasm.”
“True. Donetti, then?”
“Opposite end of the spectrum. In my opinion—if you are asking for it—Rivera would benefit from a more proactive approach.”
“Placed in that context, you appear to be his best bet.”
“Thanks . . . I think.”
“He’ll make you want to tear your hair out.”
Zanna’s eyebrows shot up. “Would he make a man want to tear his hair out?”
“I apologize, that came out wrong, but he will be hard to handle—and that is a statement I will stand by.” Gant rubbed a hand over his hair and around the back of his neck before continuing. “You’re resilient, but you’re also sensitive—” He raised his finger to prevent Zanna cutting him off. “No, not sensitive as in thin-skinned and touchy.” He cocked his head and she stared back at him without speaking. “You are observant, perceptive, intuitive . . . empathic.”
She gave a no-hard-feelings smile.
He propped his chin on his thumb. “You’re also comfortable around the many alpha-type males you encounter here.”
Zanna laughed. “I grew up among boisterous rugby-playing, hunting, farming men.” Her smile faded and she lowered her gaze. “He reminds me of—” She raised her head. “So, when do we start Rivera’s rehab?”
“Once the swelling goes down and there’s no sign of infection.”
“His injury was very clean, wasn’
t it? I’ve heard some horror stories about what the Taliban put in the IEDs to maximize infection.”
“All true. But Rivera didn’t step on one; his injury was inflicted by a piece of metal from the vehicle he was in. He has a top-notch corpsman too who got the antibiotic beads in right away.”
“What are these beads?”
“They’re made from calcium sulfate bone cement impregnated with antibiotics. Getting them in quick enough can prevent serious infection setting in before the wound is cleaned up properly at the field hospital. The ones I inserted will resorb over time and aid the bone knitting properties.”
“I’ve not heard of them before.”
“They’ve become so popular with combat medics, who make their own, that the DoD is now looking to make them available throughout the military.”
“But their inclusion doesn’t guarantee there won’t be complications? Of course not, it depends on the type of injury too. Please ignore that comment.”
“Kudos for thinking it through.” He picked up his cell phone. “I’ll be following his daily progress. And if there’s anything you need, or you have any further questions, my door is always open.”
“Thank you.”
Gant was deftly texting with his right thumb which Zanna took to mean the meeting was over and she stood to leave.
He paused his texting. “By the way,” he said, “when we’re off the floor, feel free to call me Will.”
At the door, she glanced over her shoulder. Gant had swiveled his chair around to examine an X-ray by the light from the window.
5
“Here you go, Garcia,” Zanna said, handing him a coffee when he walked into the Staff Lounge. “Wasn’t sure how you like it.”
“Like my women: hot, dark, and Columbian.”
Zanna collapsed in a fit of coughing at his unexpected response. “I suppose that’s better than sealed in a plastic bag and kept in the freezer.”
He dropped a shoulder and flicked his hand at her. “Better if you call me Raul,” he said. “Makes life easier when me and the other Garcia work the same shift.”
“No problemo, mi amigo.” She pulled down the corners of her lips. “Please tell me that was correct and I didn’t just commit murder.”
His smile showed no offense. “Murder? No. Manslaughter, maybe. It should be ‘no hay problema’, not ‘no problemo’, but the rest was muy bien.”
Zanna ran a finger across the headed paper on her clipboard. “I’m glad we’re allowed to informally call this place The Hacienda. The Lieutenant Michael J. Kahn Memorial Medical Center would be rather a mouthful each time.”
“It can be shortened to The Michael J. Kahn or even The MJK, but The Hacienda stuck after somebody compared it to the one built by William Randolph Hearst. You know it?” At Zanna’s denial, he pulled out his phone and brought up some photos of the two buildings demonstrating the similarities in design.
“MJK was injured in Operation Desert Storm?” Zanna said.
“Yeah, stepped on a landmine.” Raul took a swig of coffee. “He may well have survived those injuries now, but back in the day they didn’t have the same medical know-how.”
“When I saw how small the facility was, I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so state-of-the-art.”
Raul jerked his head. “Yeah, that surprises everybody.” He waved a hand. “I’m not dissing big hospitals, but I reckon there’s a more individual style of care here. With only the twenty-four beds, we get to know all the patients—and they get to know most of us too.”
“You’re really passionate about this, aren’t you?”
Raul shrugged. “And you’re not?”
Zanna dipped her head in acknowledgment. “I can see why you like this place so much. It has a good vibe.”
“It’s got a good skipper at the helm. He steers a steady ship.” Raul downed the last of his coffee. “When he came on board, things changed.”
“In what way?”
“He shook everything up. There was a shift toward more research. He brought in new surgical techniques, trialed alternative drugs and treatments. He was also instrumental in setting up these intense one-on-one rehab programs.”
“That struck me immediately—how assigning the patients a specific team of therapist and assistant maintains a continuity. You get to know the guys you’re working with and familiarity breeds trust.”
“Yeah, that’s the idea: continuity of care. From intensive care through rehab and psych, each department in close comm with the others.”
“With all it has to offer, I’m surprised it isn’t more high profile.”
“Walter Reed does high profile.” Raul chucked his chin at the ceiling,” He convinced the brass to keep this place out of the media spotlight because the work is so specialized.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Being tucked away in large Marine Corps base helps. And if you say you work at the base hospital, everyone assumes you mean the one that serves those stationed here.” He took their mugs and rinsed them out.
Zanna checked her watch. “Onwards and upwards. I’m off to speak with Donetti about massage techniques.” She lifted a finger. “Shut up. You know it’s legit. You’re back on the floor now, right?”
Raul nodded, a huge smirk on his face. “See you at lunch.”
* * *
“Jesus, Raul!” Amanda jerked upright.
Raul shrugged. “That’s what my girlfriend said in bed last night.”
Amanda covered her reddening cheeks. “Don’t creep up on me like that!”
“What are you doing,” he asked.
“Nothing.” She adjusted the sheet to cover Rivera’s chest. “OK, I admit I’m curious about his tattoos.”
“So that’s what you were doing bent over him while he’s asleep? Ogling his tats. Yeah. OK.”
“I was not ogling.”
Raul’s impish grin cut short her indignation.
“Seriously, what is it with Marines and tattoos anyway?”
“It’s tradition.” He winked. “And it has a lot to do with self-expression.”
“Some of them certainly express themselves more than others.”
“They’re not just random bits of art, ya know. They have meaning . . . at least to the wearer it means something.” Raul pointed to Rivera’s right upper arm which displayed the USMC’s emblem of an Eagle, Globe, and Anchor over a dagger. A banner emblazoned with the words ‘DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR’ wound its way down and around the knife. “Some of them take hours, and several visits, to complete.”
“OK, I get the heady sentiment in that one, but what about the tribal bird on his other arm?”
“Probably something personal.”
Amanda rubbed her upper arm. “Do you have any?”
Honor Courage Commitment Page 3