Honor Courage Commitment

by Jordan Danzig

  Gant made a note in the file.

  “Are you sending Bailey to Saj’s department?”

  “Yes, but I want to develop in-house psych care. I have my eye on a particular guy, but he’s currently deployed down range, so I brought in Lieutenant Tchibowsky to set things up. I’m going to push harder for Morgan’s transfer now but his command may not be willing to let him go.” He went to get a refill and Zanna stood to follow him, but he stayed her with a gesture and brought the pot to her.

  “Thinking about how combat affects people differently,” she said. “Saj implied that Rivera didn’t seem to be adversely affected after his observer was shot but we never got to the bottom of that story.” She leaned back in her chair. “Would you care to fill in the details on that one now?”

  Gant ran his hand over the top of his head.

  Uh-oh, what’s coming?

  He selected a pen from the pot in front of him, sat back and toyed with it for a few moments, then replaced it in the holder. “Rivera and Marshall had been together as a team for about six months. They were on a time-sensitive mission and been in position for almost forty-eight hours.” Gant leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair and stroked the bridge of his nose. “Someone tipped off the Taliban and the mission was compromised. However, the team completed their reconnaissance objective before they were discovered and Rivera managed to take out a top level HVT—” Gant paused, but Zanna nodded that she knew the acronym, “who had come to maybe see the capture or death of the infidel snipers.”

  He paused again, but Zanna encouraged him to continue. “I’m only telling you this because it’s in his citation. Marshall was wounded and knowing the enemy was closing in, Rivera called in an air strike and single-handedly held off the Taliban while waiting for the air support to arrive, changing position, keeping them pinned down—and picking them off despite also being hit himself.”

  “That scar on his right upper arm?”

  Gant gave a curt nod. “He remained danger-close—within range of the friendly ordnance—throughout the incoming strike, sweeping up any stragglers the missiles failed to eliminate.” He caressed his throat. “He also took out the sniper who shot Marshall.”

  Zanna raised her eyebrows.

  “You know the story surrounding the Hog Tooth?”

  “Yes, Raul—Garcia told us about them.”

  “But do you know why they wear them?”

  “They are given them at graduation from Scout Sniper School.”

  “That’s correct . . . but it’s said that everyone has a bullet with their name on it, out there somewhere. If the sniper wears this round at all times, it can never be fired and the sniper is, therefore, untouchable. The job they do is such high risk, they like to think they are wearing the bullet with their name on it.”

  “So, that’s why it’s so important to them.”

  “From the battle scene, he took a live 7.62mm round from a Dragunov sniper rifle which is what both he and Marshall were shot with. That’s what he wears now. His original Hog Tooth is embedded in the stock of his favorite rifle.”

  Zanna leaned forward and placed both her elbows on Gant’s desk with her fingers covering her mouth.

  “He then carried Marshall—who was still alive—and all of their gear, five kilometers to the extraction point.”

  “Bloody hell, Will, ” she said, quietly. “So that’s what got him the Silver Star?”

  He sat back. “It’s what got him out of the barrios. It’s what got him through rehab. It’s what got him back with the team.”

  Zanna lowered her gaze. It’s also what got me to love him.

  33

  Zanna glanced at her clipboard, rechecking the order of scheduled events for the umpteenth time. The physical therapy team had come up with the idea of a fun Thanksgiving Day Tournament for the patients, featuring wheelchair-based events, Wet Room antics, and the perennial Marine challenges of weight lifting, push-ups, pull-ups, and crunches. Gant approved the plan, saying it would be good for patient morale and he suggested invitations be extended to their families. The program would start with the games in the morning, followed by the celebration meal, and end with watching the traditional Thanksgiving Day football games on TV.

  After passing his MEB with flying colors, Angel was RTFD. Although the team had only been home a few days, they had volunteered to help out.

  Amanda was having trouble containing her excitement at their imminent arrival and Zanna told herself the flutter in her own belly was purely from concern about the day running smoothly. A raucous laugh made her look up from her notes. Two men around her own age were entering the gym. From their visits to Angel, she knew them to be Mason and O’Malley even though she’d never been introduced.

  At first, it struck Zanna as odd that they weren’t in civilian clothes on what was a federal holiday but then she reasoned they were in Rivera’s workout uniform of cammie trousers and t-shirt to mark them as ‘officials’ for the events.

  Mason slapped O’Malley on the chest and headed straight to where she and Amanda were sitting on the padded tables.

  O’Malley waved to Amanda and Mason greeted her with a quiet, “Howdy.” He dipped his head to Zanna. “I’m Garrett Mason, and this—”

  O’Malley licked his lips, stuck out his hand to Zanna and in a strong Irish brogue said, “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, ma’am. Ryan O’Malley’s the name and you can call me anytime.”

  She took his hand. “And the rest of the day to you, sir. But please don’t call me ‘ma’am’, I’m not an officer; I prefer Zanna.”

  “And I’m no ‘sir’.”

  “Understood”—she checked his collar insignia—“Staff Sergeant Anytime.”

  O’Malley took the clipboard from her and mimed writing something.

  Laughing, she asked what he was doing.

  “Making a note. O’Malley one: Carpenter two.”

  Zanna gave him a theatrical wink. He winked back and then offered his fist. Zanna balled hers and thought about punching him, but he’d probably punch her back, so she just returned the offered bump. He struck a body-building pose that showed off his biceps. Zanna hid her eyes and peeked through her fingers—O’Malley was still preening.

  “Oh, dear God,” she said. “Is there no such thing as a shy Marine?”

  O’Malley chucked his chin at Mason. “Yeah, him.”

  In a barely audible voice, Amanda said, “He may be quiet, but he’s not shy.” A broad smile lit up her face when Angel entered with Gant.

  Zanna gave her a push. “Go.”

  Raul walked up behind O’Malley, hit him in the back of the knees, then jumped out of the way. O’Malley swung around, his expression changing from glare to grin when he realized who’d pranked him. After they exchanged a proper greeting, which involved the ubiquitous shoulder bump, Raul asked him to assist setting up some equipment with other members of the team who’d arrived with Angel.

  “He’s not coming then?”

  Without missing a beat, Mason replied. “Yeah, he’ll be along soon. The captain wanted to speak with him about our upcoming exercise. We’re off again real soon.”

  He spoke in what some might call a lazy drawl with a barely inflected ‘g’ on the end of his words and a soft measured tone in their delivery. But Zanna noticed his eyes more. Eyes the same as Rivera’s—and even Angel’s. Eyes that have seen more than they will ever talk about. Eyes with a chilling intensity. Full of teddy bear charm on the surface masking the deadly grizzly underneath.

  “Thank you, ma’—Zanna. You did a fine job putting him back together again.”

  “Commander Gant put him back together, I helped make sure all the pieces still worked.” Not quite all of them. I don’t think the heart does.

  Mason scratched his nose. “He’s doing just fine. And you did an awesome job, I know he can be hard to handle at times. It’s easy to rub him the wrong way.”

  “Hard to handle?” Zanna snorted. “On bad days, he can make a tiger with a to
othache look like a fluffy kitten.”

  Mason laughed.

  “But,” she said with a soft smile, “he also defines motivation. He never took his eye off the prize. He knew what he had to do to get back to you guys and nothing could stand in his way.”

  Mason’s cell phone rang and Zanna instantly recognized the opening guitar and first line from Five Fingered Death Punch’s ‘Bad Company’. He pulled out the phone, shot a glance at the screen and declined the call.

  “My brother uses that as the ringtone for his best friend,” she said with a laugh.

  “A man of discerning taste,” he replied. “Seeing as how I’m a country boy, everyone expects me to be into country music. For the most part, that’s just too depressing for me. Give me a good thumping rock song any day.”

  “Ditto,” she said with a grin.

  He sat next to her. “Y’know, one of the guys, Lowell, has these little portable speakers and sometimes, as a penalty, we’re forced to listen to each other’s choice in music.” The way he said it, it seemed like penance indeed. “O’Malley’s the worst; he’s into Techno and Trance. Lowell is into all that Eighties crap or if you’re real unlucky,” he curled his lip, “classical.”

  “And Angel,” Zanna asked. “What does he like?”

  “Pretty much anything except Rivera’s Mexican gangsta rap.” He stared into space with a whimsical grin. “I didn’t realize how much I missed listening to his Latino beats. Then there are those el stupido dance moves he does.”

  “Who, Angel?”

  Mason chuckled. “Yeah, he can dance too, but I meant Rivera.” He attempted an approximation of a latin sway.

  Zanna jumped off the table in mock surprise. “He dances?”

  “Yeah. Man, if I could move my hips like that.” He winked and cocked his head at Zanna.

  She laughed and swatted him on the arm with the back of her hand.

  “Oh, and if he and Angel are in the same place together long enough, they’re gonna start with that rhythmic hand-clapping stuff they do. They’ve tried to teach me ’n’ O’Malley, but we can’t keep the rhythm the way they can. It’s like, one of them does one beat and the other does another, and then they switch it up ’n’ all, and somehow it all comes together. Have to admit though, it sounds pretty cool over one of their Spanish songs.” Almost to himself, he said, “That’s what I missed most; having Ding alongside me in the vehicle. No, belay that, just having him alongside me . . . and Angel’s absence left a large hole too. I’m glad they’re back.”

  Zanna enjoyed hearing another fascinating glimpse into that void she knew as Rivera.

  Mason’s hazel eyes held Zanna in their confident gaze. “You game for a real drink?”

  She hesitated.

  He was quick to respond. “No strings, just a thank you. A bunch of us are heading to a favorite bar later.”

  Will he be there? She smiled politely. “Yes, OK then, thank you. I’d like that.” I really should get out more.

  The activities got under way with Mason acting as a judge on the pull-ups; deciding whether the participant’s chin cleared the bar. O’Malley scored those performing as many sit-ups as possible in one minute. One of the lower limb amputee patients was banging out crunch after crunch at great speed. Zanna joined the group cheering him on.

  “Bloody hell.” She congratulated him, as he sat on the floor recovering. “I can’t even do twenty of those style ones.”

  “Technique—probably—wrong,” he said, between gasps for air. He let out a big sigh to recover his breathing. “Do you run? Do push-ups? Squats? Flutter kicks? Dead hangs?”

  “Dead hangs?”

  O’Malley handed him a bottle of water and answered the question. “Female Marines don’t do pull-ups; they do a flexed arm hang.” He scowled. “Where’s the equality in that, but there’s talk of making them do pull-ups soon too.” His cheeky grin suggested he liked that idea of equality.

  “I’ve done all the things on that list except dead hangs and having seen the intense motivation you guys put into them all, I need to up my own game.”

  From behind her, came his deep, smooth voice. “So how’s your time out to the helo pad now?”

  Even after his last cruel words, he still awoke the butterflies in her belly and the drummer in her heart. She forced herself to not whip around. With a casual spin on her heel, she replied. “Not too bad, I’ve got it down to 7.45 now.” How does he know I’m still running it?

  He responded with his crooked grin. “Keep at it. I told you, you could break 7.30.”

  In a voice that was much calmer than all the thoughts whirling around in her head, she said, “Any time you’re in the area.” What was that look?

  Mason spoke. “Ding, we still on for the meet up at Crazy Dave’s later?”

  His grinned faded. “No, it’s off. There’s been a change of plan.” He went and spoke to Angel. Amanda’s face fell and she headed back to the treatment tables.

  Zanna accepted Mason’s offer of a rain check and he left to help organize the wheelchair basketball. She plonked herself down next to a dejected Amanda.

  Zanna nodded to where Ding and Angel were huddled in a deep conversation. “Any idea what that’s about?”

  “No, Rivera said he needed to speak with Angel and I took the hint. Are you OK?”

  “Yeah. I can’t help it. I still feel—”

  “Don’t do this to yourself, Zan.” Amanda placed her hand on Zanna’s arm. “Move on. When are you going to stop forgiving him for all the hurt he’s caused you?” She nudged her best friend with her elbow. “What about Mace? He seems nice. He looked like he was interested in you too. ”

  “Mason would be interested in anybody.” She grinned at Amanda. “No, that’s not fair. He’s a good chap. He invited me to go for a drink.”

  “Gosh. Well, either he’s forgotten there’s football on, he doesn’t like football . . . or he really has got the hots for you.”

  Zanna smiled, “Actually, I think he was just being friendly, and anyway The Grinch said we couldn’t go, cos they’ve got stuff to do.”

  “What! Angel said he’d booked a table for later.”

  “Sorry, looks like another rain check.” She stole a glance over to Rivera. Angel had moved on and was chatting with someone else, and Rivera was alone. He was sitting hunched over and appeared to be miles away.

  “Amanda, who’s that?” Zanna asked, with some urgency. She nodded toward a woman approaching Rivera.

  “Oh, she’s the sister of the guy in Room Nine.”

  The sister of the guy in Room Nine sat close to Rivera. Too close.

  She’s flirting with him. And he’s flirting back! Why couldn’t I get him to flirt?

  The woman touched Rivera briefly on his thigh. He reacted with a little smile. She chatted some more and touched his thigh again, this time sliding her hand up and down. She leaned in to say something and he leaned toward her, the crooked grin appearing once more. The woman stood and took him by the hand, clearly inviting him to go with her.

  No, he won’t. He can’t! Zanna could not take her eyes off them.

  O’Malley broke whatever Rivera’s train of thought was, by throwing a basketball at him. Rivera caught it before it hit him.

  “Get with the program, Ding. We’re going to play in the water now.”