by J. B. Havens
Deciding that he was as good as he was going to get outside of a shower he dried with another towel, this one staying blindingly white. He slipped on some scrubs. The shirt was too small for his chest and the pants were too tight on his thick thighs, not to mention his boys. There was nowhere to hide his M9, so he settled for strapping the thigh holster back on. It was a stark contrast to the pale green of the scrubs, the black weapon very visible. He secured it and looked around for Phillips; for the first time noticing that he was already in the surgical suite, nearly hidden by mask and gown. It looked as if they were nearly done. A metal bowl nearly half-full of tissue and tiny metal fragments sat next to a tray of shiny tools, the blood on them gleaming brightly under the florescent lights.
Mic’s x-rays were on a lighted panel on the wall. He could see the bones of her leg, along with what seemed like dozens of tiny glowing dots. Bullet fragments. He was no doctor, but even he knew that metal glows on x-rays.
Mic looked as relaxed as he’d ever seen her. What he could see of her, with her hair covered by one of those blue things and there was a tube in her mouth. Her eyes were still behind her lids. He’d never had surgery for anything. Did you dream when under anesthesia? He hoped not; he knew his dreams would be nasty when sleep finally came. Jordon didn’t want Mic trapped in a nightmare. Living the events that caused the nightmare was bad enough, but being trapped inside it would be torture. Unable to wake up or escape; he broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about it. Nightmares were commonplace for many operators, something they all lived with. He realized just then that since he had met Mic, he hadn’t been having his usual night terrors. Instead, his dreams were of his tiny, but fierce, NCO.
****
Phillips stripped off his gloves and washed his hands and forearms. As he cleaned and scrubbed, he went over the surgery again in his mind. Everything went well. They managed to save a lot of her healthy muscle, and after some physical therapy, she would be good to go. They didn’t remove all of the bullet fragments, just the ones that were close to major arteries and the bones. It would cause more damage to dig around for them than to just leave them alone. She would sport a nasty scar and set off metal detectors, but otherwise should come out on top, just like always. The stiches that were holding her wounds closed would stay in for a few weeks.
Mic’s injury pushed back his exit strategy. With her laid up, Jackson would need him to lead the men until she was ready to get back out there. He would explain it to their Master Sergeant once the dust from this mission settled: lay it all out on the table for him, tell Jackson the truth, that he just didn’t have it in him anymore. He couldn’t take the blood and killing; he didn’t want it anymore. He wanted to move on and try to live a normal life, or as normal of a life as any of them ever had a shot at. He didn’t know if someone like him, with both his internal and external scars, was even worthy of a normal life, but he was determined to try.
Chapter 22
I was getting real damn tired of waking up in strange places with a sore throat. I tried to swallow and couldn’t; there was nothing to swallow. Opening my eyes slowly against the bright light, I scanned the room around me through the tiny sliver that I could stand to have my lids raised. A too small, uncomfortable looking chair with a green-garbed man sprawled in it. I couldn’t see well enough to make out who it was. As I woke more, memories came back to me: Jordon hovering over me on a gurney and a strange man wearing a surgical mask telling me I was in good hands. So damn cliché, he could be nothing other than a doctor.
I tested out turning my head, found that I could, and it didn’t hurt. Always a good sign, that. Monitors of all kinds on the other side of my bed beeped and chimed with the beat of my heart and the whoosh of the IV pump. All too familiar to me. I managed to lift my head enough to see two leg shaped lumps under my blanket, thank fucking Christ. My stomach turned over with the movement; the drugs they knock you out with always made me sick. I swallowed back bile and tried to stay as still as possible, willing my stomach to stay in place.
I quickly became aware of the dull throbbing in my leg; I knew it was being held in check by whatever drugs they were pumping into my veins, for which I was grateful. I would enjoy it for a little bit longer but I knew we wouldn’t be here long. We needed to get back to base and get ready to deal with Mateo’s son. This mission wasn’t over yet. I needed new intel, and I needed it fast. That meant I had to man up and get out of this bed.
I threw back the covers and the sight of my leg made me groan. I was bandaged from my ankle to just above my knee. I wiggled my toes and felt staples pull a bit. Great, I hated staples. Give me stiches any day. A sound from the chair drew my gaze. My fuzzy vision had cleared enough that I could see it was Jordon in the chair. He was stretching his arms over his head, pulling every muscle taut from his fingers to his toes. It was a sight to behold. He went limp with a sigh and those startling green eyes of his landed on mine.
“You’re awake.” He stood and pressed the nurse call button by my bed. “Doc said you’d be out for a few more hours at least. How does your leg feel?” He brushed some hair off my forehead.
“It’s still there and that’s all I care about.” I knocked his hand away. I didn’t want coddling right now. I needed to get up and get dressed.
“Help me, Jordon,” I said as I began ripping EKG leads off and tossing them down. The sticky things pulled skin off and left glue behind, but I didn’t care. I was awake and we needed to go.
“Mic, stop.” Jordon grabbed my hands, keeping me from pulling out my IV. “Wait for the doctor.” The alarms were wailing from the machines. Jordon pressed buttons until the piercing sound quit.
“Whatever. We need to go.” I jerked my hands from him and sat up. The room spun for a few seconds and then righted itself. Just how much blood had I lost? Too much probably, but I didn’t have time to lie in this bed and recover. Jordon stood in front of me, no doubt reading my intentions on my face.
“Stop Mic, just wait for the doctor.” Just then a man that I took to be the doctor came into the room after knocking softly. He was on the far side of middle aged, grey at the temples, but fit and tanned. He looked like someone who played a lot of golf and spent his time with the country club crowd.
“I see you’re awake, Staff Sergeant.” He didn’t wait for my permission before getting out his stethoscope and listening to my heart and lungs. He pushed me down onto my back, being firm but gentle. He seemed like someone who was used to dealing with difficult patients. He pulled on gloves and began unwrapping my leg.
“I don’t have a ton of time here, Doc. I need to go. My men need me.” I winced as one of the wrappings got stuck on a staple. There were two neat-ish holes on my calf; one down low only a few inches above my ankle, the other one on the opposite side, just below my knee. If the angle had been a bit different, the bullet would have taken out my knee. The holes were seeping a bit of blood between the stiches, which the doctor was cleaning off with some saline-soaked cotton balls.
“You’ll be out of here within the hour, don’t worry. But if you don’t want to end up right back in this bed, you will follow my instructions.” He glanced up from my leg to give me his best doctor face.
“Just tell me, Doc,” I said through gritted teeth. The drugs were wearing off and he was hitting a particular tender spot.
“If you were a normal patient you would be here for at least another two days, so I’m trusting you to take care of your leg.” He finished cleaning the wounds, changed gloves, and began to re-bandage my leg. “What I’ve just done needs to be done twice a day, more if the drainage increases. We got most of the bullet fragments, but you’re not out of the woods yet. You may have lingering pain or shooting pains from time to time, if a fragment moves. If it gives you too much trouble, we will re-assess later and talk about removing more. I am sending a course of antibiotics with you. You will take them all. If the pain worsens or the drainage turns yellow or green, you need to see someone. I’ll include a transcr
ipt of the surgery and everything I have done, in the event you need to see another doctor. Your stiches can come out in about two weeks. Your Sergeant seems capable of doing that for you.” He paused in his speech to toss his gloves in the trash and wash his hands.
“You’ll need physical therapy to rebuild the strength and muscle. Stay off it as much as possible for the first week or so; when you do walk, use crutches. I am also sending along pain pills. Take them as needed, but they may cause strange dreams, so be cautious with them.” He handed a folder and stack of loose papers to Jordon, who had yet to say a word. “All of my instructions are in there, along with my personal number if you have any questions or concerns.” He put a new set of gloves on and sat on the bed next to me. “I’m going to take out your IV and you’ll be free to go.” He pulled off the tape, and removed the IV, bending my arm up and over the little cotton ball and band aid.
“Any questions?”
“Where are the crutches?” I asked, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The tile floor was freezing under my feet. I looked down and realized I was only in one of those thin hospital gowns. I needed clothes. “I need something to wear.” My leg throbbed horribly with the change in position. I could feel my blood pulsing in my toes, not exactly painful, but very disconcerting. I wanted to be back on the jet before these pills wore off the rest of the way. I would allow myself one more dose, but once I got back to the compound, ibuprofen was the strongest thing I would be taking.
“I’ll go get you some scrubs,” Jordon finally spoke before leaving the room.
“I already gave your crutches to your Sergeant. He has them in your vehicle. We will take you out in a wheelchair.”
“What’s your name?” He didn’t have an ID badge on that I could see.
“Dr. Derek Hamilton, at your service.” He held his hand out and I took it. He had a firm grip and a good handshake. “Don’t tell me your name; I don’t need to know it. I know your rank and that is enough for me. Oh, and one other thing. Here’s a little souvenir for you.” He handed me a glass vial, full of tiny metal fragments. Some were as large as my thumb nail, some barely a speck.
“Gee, thanks. I’ll always remember the time we had together…,” I said, peering into the tiny vial. They made a satisfying rattle when I shook it.
“Here’s looking at you, kid,” Dr. Hamilton said in a bad Bogart impression.
“What am I supposed to say ‘We’ll always have Paris’ or something?” It felt good to smile.
“Sure, that works for me, kid,” he said with a shrug and a toothpaste commercial worthy grin.
“You’re retired military?” It came out as a question, but was more of a statement. I needed to pull this conversation back to the matter at hand.
“Yes, Army. I was a Major when I retired.” He didn’t offer more information than that, and frankly I didn’t need it.
Jordon came back in just as things began to get awkward. He handed me smaller versions of what he was wearing. I wished I could shower first. I didn’t like the thought of putting clean clothes on over my stinking filthy self.
“Shower?” I asked the doctor. Please, please say yes!
“Not yet. Tomorrow you can. Try to shower right before its time to change your dressings.”
“Dammit. Jordon, give me a hand into the bathroom. I can manage from there.” I put my hand out, which he took, putting his other hand under my elbow. He helped me to my feet, keeping as much weight off my injured leg as possible. The room spun around again, which I did my best to ignore. I grabbed the scrubs and we hobble-shuffled into the tiny bathroom.
There was a rack of toiletries over the toilet and a small shower chair. “Sit me down on the chair. I’ll clean up and we’ll get out of here.” He helped me sit and as soon as my butt hit the plastic, I realized the back of my gown was open. I looked up into his smirking face, knowing what he was going to say.
“Nice panties.” He flashed his dimple and winked, shutting the door behind him.
Sigh. Running water over the soap and towels Jordon had given me, I did as good of a job as I could. My bra was long gone and my panties were a lost cause. I threw them in the trash, hoping no one would notice I was both bra-less and panty-less. I pulled on the shirt and carefully tucked my legs into the pants. I braced with one leg and lifted my butt quickly, shimmying the pants the rest of the way up. I was shaking and sweaty by the time I was done, but I was sort of dressed and in one piece. Nice as way as any to end a hospital stay.
Chapter 23
Back on our jet, speeding through the air, I tucked the blanket under the foot on my injured leg. It was cold in here on a good day; with the remains of a fever working its way out of my system, I was freezing. Jordon sat next to me, physically restraining himself from helping me. He was holding back after I nearly bit his head off for hovering over me. I’ve had worse injuries than this and the best thing to do was care for it and otherwise ignore it.
I had a small lap desk out and I was going through the Mateo file yet again, trying to find some scrap of explanation of when or where he had a son.
“I don’t understand. Why does it matter so much? We know he has a son; we saw him, Mic. We need to prepare for what may be coming, not waste time looking for the ‘why’ in this,” Jordon groused at me.
“Listen here, boy-o. I know that. It bothers me. I had a bad feeling about this mission from the get-go. Something stinks here and I’m trying to find out what.” I didn’t even look up at him. I was tired of Jordon; I was tired of Phillips. I needed some well-earned time to my fucking self. It wasn’t going to happen any time in the near future.
Phillips said from behind where Jordon and I were sitting. He was supposed to be trying to rest. “The answer isn’t in that file, Mic. I’ve been through it and so has Jones. There’s nothing there. It’s something else. Just try and rest. There isn’t anything we can do from here. Once we get back to the compound, and while you take a few days to recover, we’ll get Jones to find us some intel. Some satellite pictures or something.” Making a point to end the conversation, he reached above my head and turned the personal light off. The jet fell into darkness except for lights spaced every few feet along the aisle.
I could feel the pain pill that I had taken pull me under, clouding the edges of my thoughts. “Ok Phillips, but we’re going to be there soon. You get one more day, then I’m taking command back.” I tugged my blanket over my shoulders and closed my eyes, tumbling into a restless sleep.
****
Jordon kept his post beside Mic and watched her while she slept. She kept mumbling something that was too hard for him to make out. After the past few days they’d had, she’s earned a few bad dreams. He was sure he’d have some as well if he was able to sleep, which he wasn’t. He would feel better once they got back to the compound and he knew they were safe. They would be landing in just under two hours. Once there, he knew he’d have to de-brief with Master Sergeant Jackson. It was a formality really, Jackson already knew everything that had happened from Phillips and Jones. It would be over quickly; he was sure. He was definitely looking forward to his own clothes; these scrubs left a lot to be desired in the comfort department. A cold beer wouldn’t be turned down either.
Leaning back, Jordon stacked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He replayed all the events of the last two days, looking for a mistake somewhere. He couldn’t find any. The only change that had happened, besides his and Mic’s jungle hike, was adding the Marine guard to the mix. Riley seemed to perform well and didn’t ask a lot of questions. No doubt Mic had threatened his life before bringing him on board. Mic may have gone off mission a little bit, but it was understandable. None of their men had died, and they were all in one piece, Mic was only minus some blood, for the most part.
If everything was explainable, then what was bothering them all so much? They were all missing a detail, a potentially critical detail. Jordon did his level best to let it go. As Phillips would say, this was above
his paygrade. Worrying about it wouldn’t change it. If there was something within this mission that they had missed, it would show itself soon enough. And if not, then he didn’t have anything to worry about in the first place.
His decision made, Jordon dropped his arms and kicked back as much as he could in the seat. Vowing to try and sleep for the rest of the short flight, closed his eyes and surrendered to the exhaustion that had been pulling at him for over a day.
****
Phillips heard Mic mumbling and Jordon snoring softly. Sleep was more elusive for him, he wasn’t exhausted like Jordon or medicated like Mic. His thoughts were still more powerful than his need for sleep. How would they react when he told them he was done? He and Mic had never been close, not like the others. He would miss them; not being part of Steel anymore would be like losing a limb. But for him to stay would be more than he could handle. He wanted a nine-to-five somewhere; maybe find a cute wife and a boat to go out fishing on. Simple things. While they got leave, they didn’t get to go on vacations like other people. A vacation to them was not having to get up before dawn to kill someone. He had put Steel first for nearly six years now. It was time for a change. Phillips was finally able to close his eyes and rest, content in the knowledge that he had taken his last life, that his last mission was nearly over. The future was on the horizon and it looked bright indeed.
Chapter 24