Honor Courage Commitment

by Jordan Danzig

  Goosebumps were breaking out on Gant’s bare arms, so Zanna took a fleece throw from a chair by the door and laid it gently over him, whispering, “You’re a damn fine person, William Gant.”

  Without opening his eyes, Gant mumbled something in response, shifted his position and resumed his slumber.

  A quiet voice came from behind her. “Well, well, well. what do we have here?”

  Zanna spun around. Tchibowsky was standing in the doorway with his arms folded.

  “Exactly what it looks like,” she said. “Two surgeons wiped out after pulling an all-nighter in the ER.” She strode for the door, but Tchibowsky didn’t yield. “Move aside, please.”

  He turned sideways and made a flourishing gesture.

  She stood her ground. “If you think I won’t file a complaint, you are badly mistaken.”

  He took a step backward into the corridor to let her pass and called after her. “I’m watching you.”

  She gave no sign of having heard. Not as much as I’m watching you, matey. Ahead of her, Raul exited through the double doors that separated the medical floor from the public area. She hurried after him. He ducked into the Visitor’s Lounge. In need of a caffeine fix but not wishing to disturb Gant and Myler, huh? Wanting to calm down before seeing her first patient, she followed him.

  His smile of greeting faded and he replaced the newspaper he’d been about to read back in the fresh pile on the table. “OK, not liking that look. Will a coffee fix it?”

  Zanna flopped into an armchair. “Someone saw me doing something totally innocent and will probably have their version spread all over the hospital by lunchtime.”

  “Why do you say that?” Raul said, handing her a mug.

  “Because in the environment I came from, it would have been all over the hospital by the first tea break.”

  “This isn’t that environment, Zanna. And you said it was ‘totally innocent’. If someone starts spreading unsavory rumors about you, I’d say it reflects more on them.”

  “Ever the voice of reason. So, what’s today’s scuttlebutt?”

  “Surgical admittance, late last night. A Lance Corporal Nathaniel Bailey. Similar trauma to Rivera—though this was RPG-inflicted.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Rivera?” Raul furrowed his brow. “I think he’s out shooting at the range today.”

  “No, you—” she swatted him with her hand. “Bailey.”

  “ICU. Room Four,” Raul said, cowering under his arms and chuckling.

  The ICU rooms flanked the two ORs. The ergonomic design meant the men had almost instant access to an OR at any time. Entry could also be gained from the helicopter pad and ambulance bay through two sets of heavy double doors separated by a short corridor.

  Reaching Room Four, Zanna tapped on the door and someone called back that she should enter. Inside, she found Joshua Abadie and a middle-aged civilian woman watching over the sleeping occupant.

  “This is Mrs. Bailey,” Abadie said. “Lance Corporal Bailey’s mother.” He introduced her to Zanna.

  Amanda arrived to take over from Abadie. He handed over the folder containing the orders and protocols of Bailey’s treatments and medications. “He’s drifting in and out,” Abadie said, “but his vital signs are good.”

  He said he was going to eat and would Mrs. Bailey like to be shown the location of the cafeteria. She thanked him and once they left Amanda slammed Bailey’s folder down on the table.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Amanda busied herself with the anti-bacterial cleanser, rubbing it in with such ferocity it appeared as though she was wringing her hands.

  Zanna pulled Amanda’s hands apart. “What’s up, hun? Talk to me.”

  “He’s only nineteen years old, for heaven’s sake!”

  “They’re not conscripts. They know what they’re getting into.”

  “I know, I know, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with the aftermath.” She swiped at the corner of her eye.

  Zanna took Amanda’s hands in hers. “You don’t regret staying on, do you?”

  “No, of course not.” Amanda sighed. “It’s just . . . it all seems so . . . so pointless, at times. What are these children actually fighting for, anyway.”

  “C’mon, Amanda. You’ve seen what it’s like out there. Part of what they’re fighting for is the right for you, as a woman, to be able to stand up and say what you’ve just said—or anything else for that matter—anywhere you like, to whomever you like.” Zanna dropped Amanda’s hands and took a step back. “And you can do it dressed however you choose too . . . but, I agree, it can seem like a terrific waste sometimes.”

  Amanda responded with a wry grin. “Is he your latest assignment?”

  “I’ve not heard anything yet, but in case it’s him I wanted to get an early look at his injury.”

  Bailey groaned and moved his head on the pillow. He was hooked up to an octopus-like array of tubes and wires. Although not on a ventilator, he was on oxygen. An external fixator, comprising a cage of scaffolding, encircled his left lower limb. Wires radiated from it into his leg to keep the broken bones aligned.

  “OK, rant over, back to the business in hand.” Amanda shook herself. “Hi, Nathaniel, my name’s Amanda. Can you hear me?”

  Zanna stood aside to let Amanda do the job she loved doing, and would never leave, despite her doubts.

  “Nathaniel, can you hear me?”

  Bailey groaned again and opened his eyes.

  “Hello there, my name’s Amanda. Can you hear me?”

  He responded with a moan.

  “You’re back Stateside. You’re home now, safe. Do you understand?”

  He made a noncommittal sound that could have been yes or no.

  “You’re in the hospital.”

  “Mad?”

  “You’re mad? I bet you are.”

  He licked his lips. “Mad?”

  “I think he’s saying ‘bad’,” Zanna said.

  “Oh, you mean is it bad?” Amanda checked his notes again. “Well, you still have all your limbs and ermm . . . your other bits, but your left leg is broken.” She grinned at Zanna. “It’s always the first question they ask, about the state of the ‘junk in the trunk’.”

  Bailey blinked several times.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?” she asked, gently.

  “Shit,” he mumbled.

  “I suppose that sums it up quite neatly.” Amanda rounded on Zanna. “What on earth are you giggling at?”

  “Oh, bless your cotton socks, Ammy. ‘Junk in the trunk’ refers to excess baggage, shall we say, on a woman’s arse. It’s just ‘junk’ when referring to a man’s genitals.”

  Amanda buried her head in her hands for a moment. “Nathaniel . . . Is it OK if I call you Nathaniel?”

  “Nate,” he whispered.

  “Nate, I’ve placed a button in your left hand. If you need extra pain medication, just press it, OK?”

  Bailey pressed the button. And again, and then a third time. Amanda rolled her lips but released them when his body relaxed from the measured dose. “I’ll be here if you need anything,” she said, squeezing his arm, but the painkiller had already gone to work, and Bailey was drifting.

  “Does he have ad-lib access to that?” asked Zanna.

  “Not exactly, he can press that button as much as he wants, but he’s locked out for another hour unless he’s in desperate need of more relief, in which case it will be administered via syringe.” She settled into a chair to keep vigil.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, at the staff 4th of July BBQ, Zanna decided a hot dog was in order. Being fans of mustard on theirs, Raul and Abadie ribbed her for her ‘sacrilegious’ behavior of using ketchup so she tucked into the bun well away from them. Halfway through, Gant came up to her accompanied by a woman in a flowing dress. The dark circles under his eyes were still there, but at least a shower, shave, and change into a crisp uniform had freshened his appearance.
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br />   “Zanna Carpenter, I’d like you to meet my wife, Lieutenant Commander Sajani Pivari-Gant.”

  The woman, whom Zanna recognized from the photos in Gant’s office, held out her hand. “My friends call me Saj.”

  They shook hands. You look a lot younger than him.

  In a pleasant tone, Saj said, “Will’s told me all about you. I was beginning to think maybe I had some competition.”

  Gant’s phone rang and he checked the caller ID. “Excuse me. I have to take this.” He wandered some distance away.

  Saj was looking in the opposite direction. Zanna followed her gaze. Tchibowsky’s friendly smile transformed into a rictus grin and he raised his can of soda to her in a mock toast. Instead of drinking from it, he extended his arm out sideways, opened his fingers and let the can fall in the trash.

  Zanna balled the hotdog napkin in her fist and redirected her attention to Saj, who was addressing her again.

  “I hear you’ve worked with Gunnery Sergeant Domingo Rivera.” Saj smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “How did you find him?”

  “You sound like you’ve had some dealings with him too.”

  Saj laughed a little too heartily. “Yes, I work in Mental Health Services in San Diego. I had to counsel him after one of his friends was killed by a Taliban sniper.” She became serious. “Tell me, did he talk to you?”

  What’s she after? “Yes, he talked to me.”

  “I mean, did he talk to you; open up, tell you about himself . . . anything like that?”

  “I found him to be a very private person.” Oh, there’s that snake oil smile again.

  “Indeed. Rivera runs the gamut of emotions from silent to sullen.”

  Zanna tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. You really don’t know him, do you? The compassionate, funny, caring, considerate . . . sometimes vulnerable man he really is. “It appears our mileages may vary.”

  “How so?”

  She mimicked Saj’s saccharine smile. “I, too, am a private person . . . especially when it comes to discussing my patients.”

  Gant rejoined them, handed each a soda, and popped the tab on his own. He indicated to Zanna that she had a splotch of ketchup in the corner of her mouth.

  Gee, thanks for telling me, Saj. She wiped it away with the crumpled napkin. “We were just talking about Gunnery Sergeant Rivera.”

  “Yes,” Saj said, all smiles gone, “about Miss Carpenter’s uncanny ability to communicate with the uncommunicative.”

  Gant shot a sideways glance at Zanna. “You usually exhort, cajole, and congratulate all the way, and yet you never handled Rivera in that manner. Why?”

  “I recognized that he doesn’t respond to that kind of treatment. Some want to listen. Some need to be listened to.”

  “And which of those is he?” asked Saj.

  “Neither. He’s one of the rare few who keep their own counsel but allow for a little guidance.”

  Saj threw her can in the trash. “Could I get a water, darling, before we go?”

  Zanna declined Gant’s invitation to bring her one too.

  Saj waited until Gant was speaking with someone at the drinks table. “How interesting that you just know what they respond to. They don’t even have to speak, yet you still hear them, and help them to heal.” She flicked her hair off her shoulder. “Impressive that you can do all that with just a sports medicine degree.”

  Gant returned with the water and she hooked her arm through his and led him away.

  * * *

  The BBQ was over and everyone had gone their separate ways. Zanna knocked on Gant’s office door and waited.

  “Come in,” he called, in a voice that sounded as though he wanted her to do anything but.

  Zanna entered. You still look and sound totally washed out. Why are you even here at this hour? “I thought you’d left, but Lieutenant Commander Myler said you’d come here to catch up on some medical reports.” She proffered a scarf. “Your wife left this behind.”

  Gant inspected the ceiling. “She’s always doing it. She’s lost countless shawls, scarves, and sweaters.”

  “By the way, that large box of doughnuts delivered to the Staff Lounge went down extremely well. Most thought it had been left by a patient’s relative.”

  He dipped his head in acknowledgment, took a tumbler out of a drawer, placed it next to a bottle on his desk and told Zanna to help herself to a drink. The bottle stood on a small plate, to prevent the condensation that was forming on its outside from running down and marking the handsome desk.

  Gant returned to his paperwork, so Zanna picked up the bottle and read the label that proclaimed the contents to be a ‘barrel proof’ Kentucky Straight Bourbon. She poured herself a tiny amount from the cold bottle. Does he keep it in the freezer, like Vodka? She’d intended just making a play of wetting her lips with the liquor she had always found too harsh, but as she lifted the glass to her mouth, she was intrigued by the aromas wafting up from it. Vanilla, oak, toffee, and tobacco . . . Dad would love this. She let the rich caramel-colored liquid touch her tongue and waited for the inevitable burn that always accompanied the few Scotch whiskies she’d tried. She held the glass at arm’s length as this veritable elixir slid its way down her throat and then exploded with warmth in her belly. Unctuous and sweet—like alcoholic honey. A hearty, warm flavor, bringing to mind mid-winter days spent gamebird shooting. The mellow oakiness of the finish hit; hints of spice, but not sharp.

  “This is gorgeous,” she said.

  Gant looked up from his note-making. “It’s aged in the cask and left at the proof it reaches in there. It’s not adulterated with water to dilute the strength or flavor.” He went back to his reports.

  Zanna picked up a medical journal to thumb through. Without glancing up from her reading, she reached for a refill. Instead of cold bottle, she grasped warm skin. Her hand lay over the top of Gant’s.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me I’ve had enough?” He removed his hand from under hers.

  “No. I—I was . . . not at all.”

  He picked up the bottle, checked the level, and offered it to her. She extended her empty glass and he poured each an equal measure of the last of the whiskey. He sat back and savored his drink.

  Zanna swirled the last drop of whiskey around in the glass before downing it in one. “He talks to you, doesn’t he?”

  Gant raised his gaze without raising his head. “He can speak without saying a word, but he doesn’t tell me everything.”

  28

  Zanna entered Bailey’s room with a cheerful smile. “Hey, Nate, how’s it going?” She came to an abrupt halt. “What’s up?”

  He ground the heel of his hand into his eye.

  She sat on the edge of his bed, on the side away from his broken leg, and repeated the question in a much softer voice.

  He sniffed. “My girlfriend said she ain’t gonna come see me.”