Honor Courage Commitment

by Jordan Danzig

  “He looks like a lithe sea creature,” Zanna said, at last. “Totally at one with the element.”

  “He can keep that up for hours in the pool. Slap some fins on him, put him in open water, he’d be pretty good out there too.” Raul stretched his shoulders. “Looks like he could be a while yet. OK if I go tidy up in the gym?”

  Zanna nodded. “Thanks, Raul.”

  Rivera swam for another ten minutes, then spent another couple floating on his back. He drifted toward the far end and lifted himself out of the pool by his arms, turning as he did so that his legs were still in the water.

  She took a towel from the rack on the wall and kneeled beside him. The water drained off his body, running in rivulets down his head, looking for all the world like tears on his cheeks. He was not crying and his face had resumed its familiar impassive expression. Not wishing to end up in the pool, Zanna draped the towel over his shoulders without touching him. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  He lifted his head and for a fraction of a second, the wall in his intense dark eyes came down.

  How can someone so strong look so vulnerable?

  11

  Zanna ran a finger down the page on her clipboard. “Rivera’s attending the funeral of his friend KIA, this week, isn’t he? I’ll need to revise my schedule if he is.”

  “Yes, you will,” Gant replied. “I’ve arranged permission with Rivera’s command for him to attend on a seventy-two-hour pass. The funeral is at fourteen-thirty on Thursday, so that’s out Wednesday, in Friday. I’m leaving for Afghanistan or I would go with him as he can’t make the trip alone.”

  “So, who’s going in your stead?”

  “Would you be willing to stand in for me?”

  Zanna was taken aback. “Me? Wouldn’t someone in the military be more appropriate?”

  Gant sat on the edge of his desk. “He respects your authority.”

  “What authority? I don’t technically have any authority over him.”

  “Technically, you do. He has been assigned to you by the United States Military. They are footing the bill for his rehab.”

  “So, he has to do as I tell him?”

  “Not entirely. He could request another therapist. And you could request to drop him.”

  “I’ve never walked away from a patient!”

  “Working with him these past weeks, you better than anyone understand his capabilities and limitations. Use that understanding to keep him off that leg as much as possible. He won’t sit at the funeral but make sure he uses the crutches. I’ll write up some extra-strength painkillers to cover the standing, but he’s not to consume any alcohol with them.”

  “OK, Will, I understand.”

  Gant nodded and rubbed his chin. “He’s making excellent progress, but full weight-bearing must be limited at this stage.”

  Zanna cocked her head. “You said he was likely to be abrasive, stubborn, determined, and opinionated, but the only one of those traits I’ve really seen is determination. There’s been hardly any evidence of the others and I think I know why.”

  “Oh?”

  “He has the utmost respect for you. That first day in the gym, you basically told him he couldn’t do anything without your or my say so, otherwise he’d jeopardize his recovery. So he hasn’t. He’s done practically everything by numbers, and it’s killing him. I see that now.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “He said that I have no idea.”

  “What do you think he meant by that?”

  She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “That he doesn’t like feeling confined. That he’s coming down with cabin fever.”

  He gave a wry grin. “The main reason I assigned him to you is the capacity you have to read people.”

  She tossed back her head with a laugh. “You’re joking. If I could read people, I’d know what he’s thinking . . . which would be a bloody great help.”

  “I didn’t say you were a mind reader. I said you could read people, and from what you’ve just said, I don’t think you even realize you have that ability. You’re not military, yet you know instinctively when you can be informal around me, and when you have to be professional. And, most importantly, you have integrity. As ambitious as you are, I know you would never use our off-the-record talks for any purpose of self-gain.”

  “I appreciate the trust you have in me.”

  “Yes, Zanna, I do trust you—and I hope you trust me.”

  “Of course.” Where’s he going with all this?

  “Continue handling Rivera exactly as you have been. You seem to have the measure of him now.”

  “Now, you really are joking! You know, you missed a trait when you described him to me the day you tried to dissuade me from taking him on.”

  “Which was?”

  “Infuriating.”

  Gant sat back in his chair. “A newly-commissioned second lieutenant once wanted to bring a charge of insubordination against Rivera for not answering questions promptly enough.”

  Zanna snorted. “I’m still waiting for the answers to some of mine.”

  He laughed. “The lieutenant was encouraged to drop the charge. Rivera was, and is, a man of few words. You ask him a direct question needing a straightforward yes or no, you’ll get it. You ask him something vague, like maybe, ‘isn’t it a wonderful day?’ you’ll likely get a blank stare.”

  Zanna chuckled. “Oh, how familiar I am with that stare.” She tilted her head. “He’s a thinker, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, an invaluable asset to his team. But when he’s asked, what to him, is a dumb question, he doesn’t blurt out the first thought that comes to mind. If you look for it, you’ll notice a micro-pause while he replaces what he wants to say with what he has to say.”

  “Bit of an enfant terrible.”

  “I’ve heard him called worse. Lieutenant Tchibowsky told me what happened. I should have been the one to break the news to Rivera, but I wasn’t here.” Gant sat up. “Was that the only outburst you’ve seen from him?”

  “Yes, why? Is he given to that sort of behavior?”

  “Not at all. It’s completely out of character. The run silent, run deep attitude is standard for him. But he may be in denial about his injuries and this is his way of dealing with the whole situation. However, from what you’ve said it does sound more like he’s going stir-crazy. When you get back, take some of his rehab outside. There’s never been any reason for him not to go there.” Gant wandered over to the coffee pot. “You want a top up?”

  Zanna covered her cup with her hand. “The way you make it, I’ll be awake all night.” She waited for Gant to sit behind his desk. “May I ask who the funeral is for? I heard it wasn’t someone from his unit.”

  He stretched his arms over his head. “It’s for a kid from the barrios in East LA who—”

  “Excuse me, barrios?”

  “Predominantly Hispanic, inner-city areas. Turf controlled by gangs. This Marine grew up in that environment. Rivera mentored him and he was ultimately inspired to enlist.

  “It’s hard to imagine him mentoring anyone.” She stood to leave. “But I’m beginning to see there is more to Gunnery Sergeant Rivera than meets the eye.”

  12

  Amanda wasn’t expecting a British Airways flight into Afghanistan, but she was surprised to fly a regular service into Europe and then a cargo carrier onward to the Transit Center at Manas, Kyrgyzstan. However, the enormity of her destination started to sink in as Amanda walked across the asphalt to the aircraft transporting them on the leg into Kandahar Airfield. She’d been instructed to don her safety gear and the sight of Gant in his sent a shiver up her spine. The desert camouflage he wore blended in with those around them but the sight of a doctor with a pistol strapped to his thigh did nothing to calm her jangling nerves.

  Entering the belly of the vast cargo plane via the loading ramp, her stomach began to churn. There were fifteen rows of five forward-facing airline-type seats down the center of the plane and the fuselages were lined wi
th inward facing, basic fold-down, ones. These were rapidly filling with U.S. Marines in body armor and helmets, clutching rifles and plastic bags of last-minute purchases from the Transit Center.

  Gant placed his laptop on a vacant fuselage seat over the wing. An officer approached him and asked if he would like a forward-facing one. Amanda inwardly smiled at rank having its privileges but her joy was short-lived when Gant thanked the Marine and opted to stick with the one he’d selected, citing his preference for the extra leg room. He offered Amanda the same choice and as much as she wanted the comfort, she declined in favor of staying close to Gant. He stowed his bag, told Amanda to do the same and with a wry grin added that she should try to get comfortable. He excused himself and made his way down the large aisle.

  Amanda shoved her bag under the seat, and wrinkled her nose. The stench of aviation fuel and diesel caught in her throat, triggering waves of nausea. Gant wasn’t kidding about the ‘try’ to get comfortable! She squirmed around in search of the elusive comfort but gave up after she apologized twice to the man sitting next to her for bumping his arm as he played a game on his phone. She craned her neck around the still embarking troops trying to see where Gant had gone.

  He was speaking with someone. The man leaned out of his seat to point Gant further down the plane.

  A large Marine blocked the aisle. Gant must have spoken because the man spun around with a broad smile on his face. They shook hands, then the man rotated his shoulder several times. After a brief conversation, they shook hands again and Gant headed back to Amanda.

  Following a safety briefing, the ramp came up and the engine noise increased as the plane taxied toward takeoff. Amanda’s breathing quickened and she shot a glance at Gant. He arched an eyebrow and she covered her mouth in return. He reached into a pocket of his camouflage trousers and handed her three small folded plastic bags.

  Amanda gagged and employed one of the bags. She tied a knot in the bag and looked to Gant for how to dispose of it. He spoke but she couldn’t hear over the noise inside the unlined aircraft. He pointed under her seat and handed her a small bottle of water when she sat up. She downed a few sips to clear the bitterness from her mouth and turned to thank Gant. On the commercial flights, he’d either been on his laptop or engrossed in a file. Now, he had his feet stuck out in front of him, his hands folded across his belly and his eyes were closed. She was mortified to have thrown up at all and while she may have been the first, she felt better at not being the only one during the almost two-hour flight.

  A voice came over the intercom announcing the approach to their destination and prompting those who’d removed their helmets during the flight to replace them. Gant opened his eyes, sat up and nodded at Amanda. The white lights of the interior changed for red ones and Amanda waited for her ears to signify the descent into Kandahar. Her ears barely got a chance; the plane came in steep and fast and had touched down before Amanda’s panic at their being about to crash could surface.

  The ramp lowered and, after receiving a nod from a crew member, Gant told Amanda to grab her bag. She followed him down the ramp into the Afghan dawn. Gant strode toward a building and Amanda had to jog to keep pace. Once their arrival was logged, Gant said they had some time to kill before the last leg of their journey and would she like some breakfast. She mumbled that what she’d really like was somewhere to freshen up, so he took her to a place he called the Boardwalk where Amanda was amazed to see all the familiar fast food outlets from home. She used the facilities in the restaurant they chose to wash her face, clean her teeth, and run a brush through her hair. Joining Gant at a booth, she had a simple toasted English muffin and a hot tea to settle her stomach while he devoured what looked like an entire fried breakfast in a burger bun washed down with a bucket-sized mug of coffee.

  Transport to their end destination turned out to be a large tandem rotor helicopter like the ones she sometimes saw flying low over her home in the UK. Zanna would love this! She always waves at them to show her support.

  Gant introduced her to a man called the Loadmaster who settled her into a jump seat. This one had none of the leg room of the airplane due to four large pallets containing supplies occupying most of the available space. Gant waited outside to meet with the pilots. Handshakes and smiles all round.

  Does he know all these people? Or is it just his manner?

  He climbed aboard and buckled into the seat next to her, warning her not to be alarmed at the descent the helo would make when it came into land at the end of its ninety-minute flight. She smiled and hoped not to throw up this time.

  Once airborne, the burly Loadmaster told her about the U.S. Army CH-47 Chinook she was flying in. Other than the name, nothing sank in, but she was grateful for him taking her mind off the flight. And even more for the fact he let her clutch his hand during the hair-raising corkscrew maneuver the pilot used to land. Her stomach hit the back of her throat, but she held her gorge.

  Ducking under his arm to exit the helicopter, she patted his back in thanks. He replied with a wink and a lazy salute. She stepped off the ramp into a scene from another world. If plant life had ever entertained designs on this barren landscape, military efficiency had put an end to them. The desert camouflage didn’t really live up to its name in the urban areas of the Marine base in America but here its efficacy was in no doubt.

  A U.S. Marine second lieutenant approached, and extended a hand to relieve Gant of his ruck. The young officer glanced at Amanda, who’d unslung her backpack, intending to hand it over also, but seeing Gant politely decline the offer, she turned the action into searching a pocket for her lip balm. It was only a five-day trip and Gant had been clear in his instructions to travel light—and he was carrying his own bag.

  Amanda continued to survey her surroundings on the walk to a waiting vehicle. Pinch me, someone. From England to America was enough of a culture shock, but this is surreal. They climbed into the Humvee for a mercifully short drive. The seats had been getting progressively worse and Amanda rated this as officially the most horrendously uncomfortable vehicle she had ever ridden in. Unless we swap onto mules now, in which case, I will scream! The vehicle pulled up outside a single story construction fashioned from geodesic tents and modular buildings. A large red cross over a pair of double doors to one of the tents identified the main entrance from a distance. So this is what a Forward Surgical Team looks like. The updated version of M*A*S*H.

  Gant dismounted and thanked the lieutenant for his assistance. To Amanda, he said, “Come with me to report in.”

  She followed him into a building at one side of the main entrance where a young female U.S. Army lieutenant sat at a desk behind a mountain of paperwork. She stood to attention as soon as Gant entered. “Good morning, Commander.”

  He briefly stood at attention too. “As you were, Lieutenant Edmunds. Commander Gant reporting for Temporary Additional Duty accompanied by Nurse Wilks.” He held out some papers, glancing at the door to the lieutenant’s left. “Is Colonel Wallace in?”

  “No, sir. Things got a little busy last night, but he said to notify him of your arrival.”

  “No, let him sleep.”

  “He said you’d say that, sir.” Edmunds smiled. “And that I was to disregard it. He also said you are welcome to use his office to catch up on what’s been through here recently.”

  “I’ll take a quick shower first. Same quarters as last time?”

  “Yes, sir. Would you like me to show Nurse Wilks to hers?”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Gant headed for the exit. “Amanda, now would be a good time to take a tour of the hospital while it’s quiet. Never know how long that will last.”