Honor Courage Commitment

by Jordan Danzig

“Yes.” He leered. “Wanna see them?”

  “I probably don’t, if you ask like that.”

  Raul’s eyebrows moved up and down. “You got any?”

  “You have got to be kidding! My mother would disown me. I just don’t see the need to have them all over.”

  Raul opened his mouth to reply, but Amanda was now pointing at Rivera.

  “What about those twin scars on his chest? Is that another example of Marine self-expression?”

  Raul beamed. “Ah, those. They say he got his Jump Wings.”

  “Jump Wings?”

  “He’s parachute qualified.” He busied himself tidying the already tidy bed sheet.

  “And the scars?”

  “From the pinning ceremony.” Raul tried to edge his way around the bed to the door, but Amanda blocked his escape.

  “Spill,” she said.

  “Back in the day, they wudda been pinned to his bare chest. It ain’t supposed to happen no more.” He shrugged. “It still does though on a less sadistic scale.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Raul thumped himself in the chest with his fist.

  “You mean—? Eeewww!”

  They had been talking in stage whispers until Amanda’s exclamation. She looked at Rivera; he slept on.

  Raul shrugged. “Boys will be boys.” He stopped halfway through the door. “I’ll be back shortly if you want to finish your ogling.”

  Having been caught out once, Amanda glanced over her shoulder to make sure Raul was gone before she leaned in for a closer look at Rivera’s chest, grimacing at the thought of having two sharp pins pounded into her own flesh. She turned her attention to the distinctive bird on his left arm. She hunkered down and tilted her head this way and that, trying to make it out. Is there something else under there? She tried squinting, but still couldn’t discern anything, so she looked up. Straight into Rivera’s open eyes.

  She stood quickly, smoothing out her top as she did so. “I, I was . . . er . . . admiring your . . . tattoo.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What is it?”

  Rivera’s face remained deadpan. “A design made by ink injected under the skin.”

  Amanda pursed her lips. “I meant the design. It looks like an inkblot test. What does it represent?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Whatever you want it to.”

  “All I see is big Billy Goat Gruff.”

  The lines around Rivera’s eyes softened.

  At that moment, Raul reappeared carrying a box. Relishing the change of subject, Amanda greeted him with a cheerful, “What have you got there?”

  Raul addressed Rivera. “I brought that gadget the commander was telling you about yesterday. Quit scowling at me, I’m just the messenger.” From the box, he took out a pair of open-toed slippers. “I put these on your feet, attach the tubes to this small compressor which alternates pressure on the soles of your feet. It reduces the swelling by getting the blood flowing in your legs . . . like when you’re walking.”

  Rivera looked on in impassive silence.

  Amanda stepped in. “With an injury like yours, the blood has trouble getting back to the heart so there is a risk of clotting.”

  Nothing.

  “So, these foot pads inflate and deflate. They simulate the act of walking, and this pumps the blood back through the veins to the heart.”

  Rivera chucked his chin.

  A response!

  He lifted his head to watch the pads being placed on his feet. Raul set up the pump and nodded to Amanda when everything was ready.

  “This may hurt a little as you get used to the pressure,” Amanda said. Understatement with your leg injuries. She pressed a button and waited for Rivera’s reaction. The skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled but he gave no other outward indication of discomfort. Amanda mentally slapped herself. She’d been giving him a hard time in her head, yet he never complained about anything that was done to him. He never said a word about the debilitating pain he must be in.

  Raul pointed to Rivera’s feet. “The commander expects this gizmo to do what it says on the tin, so we can get you mobile again ASAP.”

  Rivera interlaced his fingers behind his head and lay back in the pillows.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Amanda and Raul returned with Gant. Amanda turned off the air compressor and Raul set about removing the pads.

  “Well, would ya look at that,” Raul said.

  Rivera craned his neck to get a better look.

  Gant inspected Rivera’s right leg. The swelling had noticeably reduced. “Move your right toes for me,” Gant said.

  One side of Rivera’s mouth twisted on execution of Gant’s request.

  “Excellent,” Gant said. “The sooner those drain holes get closed, the sooner you begin rehab. I’m scheduling you for surgery day after tomorrow. I’ve assigned you to a physical therapist. And Garcia, here, will be her assistant.”

  “Her?”

  Amanda frowned. Does he not like the sound of that?

  “Zanna Carpenter is the right person to deal with your injury.” Gant’s voice hardened. “I’ll talk to her about what she has planned for you, but I trust her judgment, and I expect you to do likewise. Understood?”

  Rivera held Gant’s gaze and answered with an expressionless, “Aye, sir.”

  6

  Having been given the go-ahead to commence Rivera’s physiotherapy after his latest surgery, Zanna awaited his arrival in the Rehab Department’s gym. She flipped through the pages on her clipboard, reviewing the preliminary program she had developed for him. In an attempt to clear her mind she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, but it drifted to the circumstances that had brought her here. Her journey began at Nursing College where she forged a close friendship with Amanda, but a fork in the road appeared shortly after receiving her degree. The switch to physical therapy happened after witnessing the wonders it worked on injured personnel at the Defence Medical Rehabilitation Centre. The unexpected detour to The Hacienda had come about while she and Amanda were working in the same hospital with recently-wounded service members.

  Amanda’s enthusiasm at the opportunity had been infectious and she made no bones about it being the ideal chance for Zanna to make a clean break from her ex-boyfriend Simon, who was sniffing around again. She added nonchalantly that while the exchange would look impressive on their CVs, it might also be a great opportunity to meet someone new. Zanna scoffed and countered that while she spent a lot of time working with injured soldiers, she had no desire to date any of them. Too full of themselves, for the most part. Of course not, Amanda had teased, because you’re far more interested in the cocky, overbearing, womanizing doctors!

  Smiling at the memory, Zanna made a weighing motion with her hands. British squaddies versus American grunts. Her hands came down in an even balance. British civilian surgeons versus American Navy surgeons. One hand dipped a little lower than the other.

  The automatic doors swung open and Raul entered pushing the wheelchair of a scowling Rivera whose right leg, still held together with the external fixator, was supported out in front of him on the elevated leg rest.

  Look at that face, you’d think I’d invited him to a wet weekend in Wales. He ought to be in a blooming good mood now he’s finally getting to move again. Though, it’s good to see some color back in his cheeks. She greeted him with a warm smile. “Hi, there.”

  Without looking, he reached behind him and punched Raul in the thigh.

  She placed her fists on her hips and glared at Raul. “What did you tell him?”

  Raul clasped his heart. “Me?”

  Zanna switched her gaze to Rivera. “What did he say?”

  He stared back until she broke eye contact.

  “What did you tell him, Raul?”

  He laughed. “I might have told him you’d been substituted and he was now getting a PT who looks like a Russian shot-putter.”

  She shook her head, but she was secretly delighted at R
aul being made her assistant. Not only was he upbeat and fun to be around, he was also a walking encyclopedia of all things military. “So, Staff Sergeant, shall we start again? Good morning.”

  “Hey,” he replied. His peaty eyes softened, and his lips parted into what could almost have been described as an expression of amusement.

  Wow! I wonder if you have any idea how much that smile changes you? Zanna cleared her throat. “Ready for the fifty-cent tour?”

  Therapists and their assistants were dotted about the gym helping their patients work out on various pieces of equipment. One rode a stationary bike, one used a stepper and another pumped iron on a bench. Other equipment included rowing machines and motorized treadmills.

  Rivera showed little interest in the racks of Swiss exercise balls, medicine balls, kettlebells, and balance boards. The blocks of steps in varying heights earned a little nod.

  They stopped near some waist-high parallel bars. “You might be using these later,” Zanna said.

  At the far end of the bars stood Joel Watson.

  “He was fitted with his prosthesis yesterday,” Raul said. “Today is his first attempt at walking on it.”

  Rivera watched in silence.

  “OK, Joel, let’s give it a go,” said his therapist, Lieutenant Cornell.

  Joel did not appear the least bit encouraged but he loosened his grip on the bar, took a tentative step, then grabbed at the rail to stop himself from falling. He took another hesitant step, his gaze riveted on the floor in front of him. Nearing the end of the runway, he looked up in Zanna and Rivera’s direction and stopped. Rivera shifted almost imperceptibly in his chair. Joel gave a tiny nod, took a deep breath, let go of the bar, and walked the last three steps on his own. Cornell was clapping him on the back, telling him what a good job he’d just done. However, Joel’s focus remained fixed on Rivera.

  Zanna’s gaze bored into Rivera’s back. What on earth did you do?

  Rivera angled his head to the side. “What else you got here?”

  Raul wheeled him over to a large rotating climbing wall. “Be a while before you’re ready for that, but you’re gonna lurve what’s in here, ’mano.” Grinning from ear to ear, Raul turned the wheelchair around so he could use his own back to push the easy-opening, double swing doors that lead into the next room.

  Raul made an expansive motion with his arm. “This here’s the Wet Room.”

  Oh, there’s that sweet lop-sided grin again. I think that means he’s happy.

  They circled two above ground 5m x 5m pools designed for non-weight-bearing activities by those in the initial stages of rehab. Each had a wheelchair ramp and the design allowed the therapist to stand close to the patient without actually being in the water.

  “You’ll get started in one of these when your stitches come out.”

  A man worked in one of them now. An overhead-attached safety harness partially suspended him in the water so that he was able to use his legs in a walking motion.

  Rivera scratched at an eyebrow.

  No likee, hmmmm? “It lets you get the muscles working again without putting weight on the injured leg.”

  Rivera bobbed his head and rubbed his nose.

  Zanna sighed and, out of Rivera’s line of sight, pretended to throttle him, much to Raul’s stifled amusement. They pulled up between an in ground 10m x 25m swimming pool and a 25m single lane length pool.

  “OK, then . . . would this be more to one’s satisfaction?”

  Rivera squinted at the length pool and nodded. He turned to check out the remaining equipment. His eyes lit up and he gave an overt display of appreciation.

  Now that’s a smile that breaks hearts, I bet!

  The reason for his apparent delight were two above ground exercise pools where a patient could swim in place against a current provided by powerful, variable speed jets. They also had adjustable side nozzles to correct the swimmer’s course should any unevenness in the chosen stroke cause them to deviate.

  “OK,” Zanna said, “let’s get back to the gym and start work.”

  On the other side of the doors, Gant stood by one of the four padded tables in the center of the rehab room. “Got something for you, Marine.”

  Shooting Zanna a glance, Raul immediately wheeled Rivera in Gant’s direction.

  Bloody hell. When that guy says, “Jump” they don’t even ask, “How high?”

  “Have you taken a look at his leg yet, Zanna?” asked Gant.

  She shook her head.

  Gant patted the table. “Hop up here, Staff Sergeant and lie down.”

  Before Raul even locked the wheels, Rivera was up on his good leg and pivoting around to sit on the table.

  Neatly done. Zanna praised him in her head, figuring he was not the type for vocal encouragement.

  Gant placed a pillow under the injured leg then ran deft hands over the scar tissue and musculature. Satisfied, he invited Zanna to do the same. “Note how it feels now so you can spot the subtle changes as they happen.

  Mindful of the freshly sutured area and avoiding the fixator on the outside of his leg, Zanna cautiously ran her hands over the still very raw-looking, but healing, scar tissue. She felt the lumps and bumps in his calf muscle where the fibers had been painstakingly sewn back together. His lower leg was dotted with pockmarks from tiny shrapnel wounds that would likely fade with time.

  “OK,” Gant said, “Let’s get you fixed up with these. With your upper body strength, I thought you’d prefer forearm over underarm crutches.”

  Rivera sat up and broke out one of his full-on smiles.

  Those eyes! The corners still showed crow’s feet, but the startling white of the cornea against his restoring deep tan drew Zanna in. The iris, bounded by an outer halo of mahogany, darkened into the depths of a starless night as it merged with the pupil.

  Gant was issuing more instructions. “You do not put any weight on your leg until I give you permission. Is that clear?”

  Rivera nodded.

  “What do you not do, Staff Sergeant?”

  “Sir, this Marine does not put any weight on his leg until the commander tells him he can, sir,” he said, parodying the way Marine recruits address the Drill Instructors at boot camp.

  “That’s an order, Rivera,” Gant said, the sternness fading with a shake of his head. In a softer voice he continued, “If you start weight-bearing too soon, you’ll do more harm than good. You could cause the bones in your leg to move, and then you’ll need more corrective surgery—which will not only annoy me—it will also prolong your recovery time.”

  “Understood, sir,” Rivera said.

  Gant adjusted the crutches for Rivera’s height and arm length. “I don’t want you overdoing it on those either. For the time being, Garcia will transport you to and from the gym in the wheelchair.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  Zanna and Gant chatted while Rivera puttered around on his crutches, getting used to being mobile again for the first time in almost two weeks. A subtle cough from Raul caught Gant and Zanna’s attention. With a toss of his head, Raul indicated the variable height pull-up bars.