Honor Courage Commitment

by Jordan Danzig

  “Gunnery Sergeant Torres said he would like to buy you a drink, Commander.”

  One of the other men sitting at the table shook his head. “There’s no alcohol on base, ma’am. If you’re caught with any, it can mean big trouble. This is a Muslim country, you know.”

  Amanda wrinkled her nose at the patronizing tone. “Thank you, I am aware of that fact.” But having spent ten minutes in their company, I wouldn’t put it beyond them to have rigged up a secret still somewhere.

  Every time someone entered the mess tent, Wallace glanced in their direction. When a female officer walked in, he smiled. “Ah, here she is.” He waved her over. “Captain Washington, this is the nurse I was telling you about, Amanda Wilks.”

  The two women shook hands. “The CO tells me you’re observing the work we do here,” Washington said. “However, I thought you might like to accompany me on one of our mobile clinic visits to a local village tomorrow. Hearts and minds SOP; chat with the elders, dispense pills, give kids shots, etcetera.”

  Amanda swiveled to face Gant. “Gosh, would I be able to do that?”

  “You’re aware of the risks. The decision is yours.”

  “In that case,” she said to Washington, “I’d love to.”

  The captain stood. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.”

  Wallace nodded.

  “Nurse Wilks, meet me outside the FST at zero seven hundred.”

  “You sure you’re OK with the aid visit?” Wallace asked once the captain was out of earshot. “You are welcome to observe in the FST if you’d prefer.”

  “The visit sounds like a wonderful opportunity. I never expected anything like this, thank you.”

  When Wallace and his team took their leave, Gant said he had a house call to make and would Amanda like to accompany him. He stopped by his quarters and came out with a bag. She tutted at the carton of cigarettes tucked under his arm.

  “I don’t judge,” he said, “if it helps to relieve the stress of what they do.” He offered her the bag. “You can give them these if you like.”

  Amanda peeked inside. It was half-filled with gummy candy and a mixture of American and British chocolate bars. “Where are we going?”

  Gant smiled. “Torres, in particular, has acquired a taste for your candy bars.”

  Back there! Amanda hugged herself. “Not surprising. Yours taste like the chocolate we use in cooking.”

  He cautioned her against mentioning the funeral Rivera was attending, saying the purpose of their visit was to raise not lower morale.

  Amanda clutched the bag tighter when she didn’t see Angel in the small group sitting at a garden table outside the hut. How do they come by these things out here? Where’s Angel? Whenever she thought of him—and considering she’d only just met him, it was an awful lot—it was in the English version of his name.

  He appeared around the end of the building, fully clothed this time, and despite the evening closing in, Amanda grew warmer. Gosh, I didn’t realize how tall you are. Gant stood around six feet and Angel was at least a couple of inches taller.

  At a signal from Angel, the men rose to their feet. He stuck out his right hand. “Evening, sir. Good to see you again.” He nodded at Amanda. “You too, ma’am.”

  She smiled and nodded back. The way her heart was hammering, she didn’t trust her voice to speak to him.

  The others crowded around to welcome Gant. One of them relieved him of the cigarettes and Amanda gave the bag to Angel. He introduced her to the men she’d met earlier. The Beard was Sergeant Garrett Mason, Scar Face was Sergeant K.G. Lowell, and Towel Twister was Staff Sergeant Ryan O’Malley.

  Gant drew a small bottle of water from a cargo pocket and cradled it like a waiter showing off a bottle of vintage wine. “I thought you might like to toast Rivera’s promotion with his favorite water.”

  O’Malley went inside and returned carrying some small plastic cups. Gant led the group into the gathering shadows afforded by the hut. There he poured everyone a measure.

  Angel raised his cup. “To Gunnery Sergeant Domingo Rivera. About damn time!” The men lifted theirs to drink but Angel stopped them by continuing to speak. “And to Commander William Gant without whose surgical skills we wouldn’t even be drinking this toast.”

  “To Rivera,” said Gant, raising his cup.

  “To Rivera, Gant, and Amanda,” Angel said. He tossed the water down in one swallow. The others toasted and followed suit.

  Sorry, Mother. When in Rome. Amanda gulped hers down too. Her throat exploded in racking coughs and she spat out more liquid than she swallowed. “Was . . . that?”

  O’Malley slapped her on the back. “Like the commander said Rivera’s favorite water. Or rather, his favorite blue agave juice.”

  Angel tilted his cup to let the last bit drip onto his tongue. “The best. Thank you, sir.”

  Mason stuck out his hand to Gant. “Thank you, sir, for all you did.”

  “I was only a part of the team that saved him. It included you, Mace. And Ski, of course. I take it he’s—? He inclined his head.

  “Yeah, he’s out with the captain,” Angel said. He rummaged in the bag and tossed some candy bars to the men before biting into one of the British bars himself. He chewed thoughtfully for a while, then stopped and stared at the chocolate. He cast an anxious glance from the candy to Mason and back again. Mason turned to Amanda with a worried frown.

  “Are there peanuts in any of those bars?”

  “I think so.”

  Angel sank to his knees, gasping for breath and holding his throat.

  Mason’s eyes widened. “He has a peanut allergy.”

  Angel was now lying down, clutching his abdomen and wheezing loudly.

  “Oh, my God, he’s going into anaphylactic shock!” Amanda dropped to her knees beside Angel. “Does he carry an EpiPen?”

  “A what?” someone asked.

  She patted his blouse pockets. “A shot of adrenaline to reverse the allergic—” He’s stopped breathing! Quick, chest compressions. She placed her hands over his sternum and inhaled deeply. The instant she began to apply pressure, Angel grabbed her wrists and yelled, “Arrgghh!”

  Amanda let out a terrified shriek. She toppled over and Angel sat up facing her. So close, she could see the glint in his green eyes.

  “You beast!” She slapped him on the chest. “I thought you were dying.”

  “You should have seen your face,” Angel said, stroking his neatly trimmed black beard.

  Amanda pointed an accusing finger at Gant. “I wondered why you weren’t doing anything.”

  “It’s his party piece,” said Gant. “Fooled some pretty good doctors with it too.”

  “You?” By now, Amanda was laughing as well.

  “Yep, even me.”

  Angel was up on his feet, offering his hand to help Amanda. She tentatively reached for him and the electricity flowed again, not as jarring as before, but still enough to send a tingle up her spine. She braced herself expecting him to haul her to her feet. Instead, he supported her like a dancer assisting his partner to arise at the end of a sensual routine. They stood looking at each other in silence.

  O’Malley thrust a mug under her nose. “Coffee?”

  Angel let go of her and wandered over to talk to Gant. The two men sat apart from the others, engaged in a private conversation.

  Mason steered Amanda over to a couple of crates where they drank their coffee and chatted. He wanted to know all about Rivera’s progress. She filled him in as best she could. She wanted to know all about Angel but was afraid to ask. Across from them, Gant stood, stretched, and shook hands with Angel, which then turned into a back-slapping hug.

  Gant walked over to Amanda and suggested they hit their respective racks. “It’s been a long, tiring day and tomorrow we both need to be fresh for what lies ahead.”

  Amanda turned to say goodnight to Mason, but he’d melted into the night—along with Angel.

  Gant escorted Amanda back to her quarters
where the two nurses were outside drinking coffee. He bid them all goodnight and headed for the FST.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Wallace told him to get some sleep,” Amanda said. “We’ve been up for nigh on twenty-four hours.”

  “He’ll probably grab a power nap on a gurney,” the Navy nurse replied.

  Gant reached the entrance and stepped aside to let the three tribesmen pass. The Glaswegian, with his ankle now strapped, walked unaided but with a severe limp. They stopped to speak with Gant. Amanda couldn’t hear what was said, but their laughter carried on the clear night air. Blackbeard extended his hand and Gant took it in a double hold. They parted and Gant continued into the FST. Blackbeard helped the Glaswegian into the front seat of their vehicle, then climbed into the back and it headed toward the main gate.

  “Who are those men?” Amanda asked.

  The Army nurse slowly lowered her coffee cup and stared at Amanda. “I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you.”

  The other nurse laughed. “Stoppit, Marlene, can’t you see you’re scaring her!” She patted Amanda’s arm. “It’s a standard joke when someone asks that kind of question around here. They’re SAS.”

  15

  Zanna breakfasted alone, then returned to her room, intending to catch up with her sister for a while via social media. She’d just typed in the hotel wifi password when her room phone rang.

  “Hey,” Rivera said, “I’d like to go for a morning swim.” He paused. “I can get Ben or Tim to spot me.”

  “Good morning. It’s no trouble. I’ll meet you poolside.”

  When she arrived, Rivera was slipping off his sweat pants. From the water, a woman watched with undisguised interest but Zanna hoped he didn’t see the sneer of revulsion when he uncovered the ravages of his right leg. You bitch! Did you even stop to consider how he got that injury?

  The woman got out and gathered her belongings. She caught Zanna’s eye, gestured with her head toward Rivera and shuddered as she walked by. Zanna flipped her middle fingers behind the woman’s back.

  Rivera hopped to the edge of the pool and dove into the water causing barely a splash.

  What part of ‘No diving’—? She chuckled, then frowned. Did he dive because she didn’t expressly tell him he shouldn’t—even with the posted sign? Gant’s words echoed: stand in for me. Is that what he meant? Stand in and stand up to him, or he will run rings around you?

  Rivera swam for twenty minutes and while Zanna watched him, she kept thinking about something he’d said last night; She’s with me. He’d only meant it as a correction for Tim’s mistake in identifying her as a waitress but his words had given her a warm and fuzzy feeling. A feeling that later turned to unexpected anguish when she realized he had a woman in his room.

  On the way back to their respective rooms, she ‘stood in’ again and in a businesslike voice said, “Look, I know you don’t like taking certain meds, but please consider taking one of those pills Commander Gant prescribed.” His face remained impassive. She softened her tone. “You’ll be on your feet for a long time this afternoon and it will ease not mask the pain, OK?” He chucked his chin and headed for his room. “RV in the lobby at noon,” she called after him. He raised a crutch in acknowledgment.

  * * *

  Zanna waited in the lobby, absently shuffling through the pamphlets for local attractions and glancing at her watch. I hope he takes one of those pills, or at least brings them with him in case. The elevator arrived and a woman’s laughter drifted through the opening doors. Zanna stiffened. That laugh. A tall blonde woman emerged on the arm of Ben Schwarz.

  “Hey, Zanna,” Ben said, “I’d like you to meet my wife, Julie. She got in late last night. We were having a nightcap in Rivera’s room when you called. You should have joined us . . . and, no, he didn’t partake.”

  She gave Julie a warm smile and herself a mental facepalm. “I’m sorry if I appeared rude. I’d had a long day.”

  Julie returned the smile. “Not at all, I understand.” She excused herself to go have a word with the front desk clerk.

  “You look very smart”—Zanna pointed to the three chevrons on Ben’s sleeve—“Sergeant Schwarz.”

  He nodded his thanks. “Julie was sewing on Rivera’s new stripes.” He laughed. “Yeah, you know him. He wouldn’t let just anyone do that, but Jules is a dressmaker and does this as a sideline, so she knows the exact placement.”

  Doyle joined them just as a ping announced the elevator’s arrival. Rivera—on crutches but minus the leg brace—stepped out. Zanna’s heart did a triple back flip. She’d seen him in various stages of undress and she always enjoyed watching his muscular body during workouts, but nothing had prepared her for how sensational he looked now. A scene that would live with her forever. Her gaze lingered while Ben drew him aside for a few words. She became aware Doyle was speaking to her.

  “I said, he looks pretty dapper, huh.”

  She tore her attention away from Rivera. “You all do. I heard you guys have the best dress uniform. I thought it was just idle bragging.” She gestured like a magician’s assistant at Doyle’s own uniform.

  He chucked his chin to where the other two Marines were standing. Ben had his hand on Rivera’s shoulder whose head was bowed. “That form-fitting, midnight blue coat causes many a female heart to flutter.” He winked at Zanna. “And we know it, of course.”

  Zanna’s sidelong glances at Rivera turned into an open admiring stare while listening to Doyle’s explanation. Six gleaming brass buttons on the front of the jacket with its stand-up collar, the red trim, the white belt with its large rectangular brass buckle and the new gold-on-scarlet embroidered gunnery sergeant stripes on the upper arms of the coat. On his left breast, were several rows of ribbons and underneath them two silver-colored badges. Above the ribbons were two gold badges. To complete the immaculate uniform, he wore a pair of black leather Oxford shoes with such a high gloss, Zanna thought she could probably use them as a mirror. She pointed at the four angled markings on Doyle’s lower sleeve. “What do those lines above the cuff mean?”

  “They’re awarded for each completed four-year period of active duty.”

  “I see, so you’ve been in for at least sixteen years and Rivera for at least twelve?”

  Doyle gave a thumbs up. “Correct, ma’am.”

  “It seems everything has meaning, so that red stripe down those natty sky-blue trousers must have one too?”

  “Correct again. The Blood Stripe, as it’s known, serves to honor the memory of our fallen brothers . . . and sisters.”

  Their conversation over, Ben and Rivera returned to Doyle.

  “My, you scrub up well,” she said to Rivera.

  He looked her up and down, displayed one of her favorite crooked grins and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  Doyle addressed Ben. “I’m giving Rivera and Zanna a ride. Are you guys OK for transport?”

  “We’re good,” Ben said. “We drove up from Lejeune in my car. We’ll meet you there.”

  On their way out to the car, Rivera waited while someone entered the sliding door into the lobby. It was the woman who’d left the pool when she noticed Rivera’s leg. Her eyes widened at the sight of him and she gave him a warm smile. She started to speak, but Rivera just nodded back without expression. He limped through the exit.