Fighting Absolution

by Kate McCarthy

  “Jamie,” he groaned, sucking in a breath.

  Our gazes locked and my heart actually hurt. “I should go.” But instead, I kissed him again. His arms tightened around me, hugging me to him as if were special.

  “Thank you for last night,” he whispered between kisses.

  “Thank you,” I retorted, my hands finding their way under the navy-blue Henley he unfortunately covered his chest with this morning. My fingers traversed the warm, muscled ridges, and he sucked in a breath.

  “What time’s your flight? I could drive you to the airport.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’ve got a ride.”

  I didn’t, but I couldn’t drag this out any longer. It was literally making me ache. I kissed him again, my fingers fumbling for the door handle. It opened and I pulled myself away, forcing my legs to step out of his car.

  I shut the door behind me and turned, ducking down to rest my arms on the open window. “I’ll be seeing you, Jake Tanner.”

  He held my eyes. “See you, Jamie Murphy.”

  I walked up the cracked path wearing my tight tailored pants and heels, his tee shirt hanging off me. My hair was a mess and my makeup washed clean away. A mirror inspection after our shower revealed a red rash all down my neck. I’d never looked worse, and I didn’t care.

  I glanced behind me. He was watching, waiting for me to go inside.

  My heart pounded as I forced a smile and a brief wave.

  Then I stepped inside Sue’s house, hearing his car drive away as I walked to my room. My bag was packed, sitting ready on my stripped bed. All I needed to do was change, which I did, keeping Jake’s shirt and exchanging my pants and heels for gym tights and sneakers. When I folded up the pants, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. I picked it up, a puzzled frown on my brow.

  Email me any time, army girl.

  Jake.Tanner@defence.gov.au.

  xo

  My thumb glided along the handwritten words, my belly fluttering. With a smile pulling at my lips, I took the piece of paper and slid it into the zip-pocket of my bag.

  “I’m off, Sue!” I yelled.

  “Got everything?” she yelled back from somewhere in the house.

  I thought of Jake’s note as I left my bedroom for the last time. “Yeah!”

  She came out and after an awkward half-hug, I left, shooting one last glance to the fence before I made my way down the street.

  See ya, Bear.

  10

  JAMIE

  My first day of basic training is The Worst Day Ever. I knew it was going to be tough; I was warned. But this is next level, and it all starts with the yelling.

  “Recruits! Put your paperwork on your left, bag on your right!”

  And we have to yell back. “Yes, Drill Sergeant!” If it isn’t loud enough, we have to do it again. “Yes, Drill Sergeant!”

  Our phones are confiscated on arrival. We get them back after we earn the privilege, whenever that will be. Meanwhile, we’re allowed to email on two separate occasions.

  “Call home, say the following three sentences and no more: I have arrived at Kapooka Training Centre. I am safe. I will call you when I can.”

  “Yes, Drill Sergeant!”

  And while everyone lines up to make their call home, I stay behind and get yelled at some more. “Can’t you hear, Recruit?”

  “I can hear, Drill Sergeant!”

  “Then go call home!”

  “Uh, I don’t have one.”

  “You don’t have one what?”

  “I don’t have one, Drill Sergeant!”

  “You think I care?” he yells in my face. “No special treatment for charity cases, Recruit. Go make the call. I don’t care who it’s to.”

  So I call Erin and thankfully she’s the one who answers. I mumble the required words and hang up before she can respond, my face burning as I turn and make my way back down the line. They all hear the drill sergeant yelling, and I know from here on out I’ll be known as ‘Charity Case.’

  We train well into the night on our first day, running in our brand-new uniforms, the fabric thick and stiff, the boots big and heavy. We run until my legs are numb. Until I can’t feel my face. When bedtime comes, my head is pounding, blisters burn like fire on my toes and the backs of my ankles, and I’m actually starting to question whether I’ll survive this place. It’s just lucky I don’t have it in me to quit.

  Each day is the same after the first one. Routine, structure, order, rules. We learn our weapons. Not just how to hold them or fire them but how to disassemble them, clean them, and put them back together until we can do it in our sleep.

  Week after endless week, we immerse ourselves in army life. Learning the culture, customs, and training. We complete endless drills, and the value of teamwork is drummed into us until our heads ache. We navigate obstacles and barbed wire at night, wading through mud and over rocky outcrops, while flares and machine guns fire repeatedly in bursts above us.

  I pay attention every single day, just like Jake told me to, and I keep up, and sometimes I even excel.

  And yes, Bear, I make another new friend.

  His name is Colin Wood. He’s extra tall and gangly, and incredibly unco-ordinated. I might not be their star recruit, but I’m pretty sure he won’t last the week. Only he does, surviving the physical training by the skin of his teeth. It’s everything else he excels at—the rifle range, first aid, exams.

  We become friends on a most unfortunate day for him. It’s just six days into basic training. We’re in the chow hall, tired, sweaty, hungry, when he gets called out by the sergeant for carrying his flashlight on his belt.

  “Is that where you keep your flashlight, Recruit? You think it’s a light sabre?”

  His red face lights up the room. “No, Drill Sergeant!”

  “Go stand by the door!”

  “Sir?”

  Uh oh. Our drill sergeant scowls, his lips pressing flat. “What did you say, Skywalker?”

  “Yes, Drill Sergeant!”

  All eyes are on Wood as he sets his uneaten tray of food down by the nearest table and jogs to the door, long arms and legs swinging as if he has no control of his limbs.

  “Get your light sabre, Recruit.”

  Wood plucks his flashlight free, his brow pulling into puzzled lines. We all watch on like a car crash is unfolding before our eyes.

  “Now hold it at the ready. I want you to strike dead all the recruits as they leave.”

  Laughter bubbles up in my chest, but I hold on to it for dear life, otherwise I’ll be right up there playing Star Wars alongside him. I look away as I eat my lunch.

  “I can’t hear your light sabre, Recruit!”

  Oh no. He’s actually forcing him to make the sound effects.

  I almost choke on a mouthful of lamb stew the first time I hear it. “Bzzzzzhmmmm!” And again. “Bzzzzzhmmmm!”

  By the time I finish eating and am ready to leave, he’s still at it, his hot lunch congealing on the table nearby, his toasted bread roll growing cold and soggy where he dipped it in the bowl. I know Wood must be starving; his stomach is always growling at the worst moments. I shoot him a sympathetic look as I make my way out the door. He waves his light sabre at me as I step out, only I think he’s a bit delirious from hunger because his arm flails upward and his flashlight whacks me in the eye.

  The crack is loud—louder than his little light sabre sound effect—and my head snaps sideways.

  “Arrghh!” I cry out and put a hand to my brow. It comes away red and sticky.

  “Oh shit. Fuck.” In his panic, Wood makes the unfortunate mistake of putting his flashlight back on his belt so he can reach for me with free hands. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Jesus Christ, Skywalker!” yells our drill sergeant. “Go take Charity Case to the infirmary.”

  The infirmary isn’t far from the chow hall, but it’s busy. Wood apologises a thousand times on our walk to the onsite medical facility. According to the brief assessment from the h
arried medic, all my brow needs is a bit of glue. Maybe some ice for the eye I can already feel swelling. The staff seem to know Wood and allow him to fix me himself, his bony fingers surprisingly nimble and proficient. “Where did you learn to do that?” I ask as he focuses on his task, placing a small patch over the wound.

  “My father is a doctor. So was my grandfather before him.” He pats the edges of the adhesive, making sure it sticks. “He wanted me to follow in his footsteps.”

  “And you ended up here because …”

  “I don’t want to be a doctor. I want to be a combat medic.”

  And suddenly I know, like a lock clicking into place. The army isn’t just about the fight for me. It’s about saving lives. Maybe if I can do that, it will make up for the one I lost. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for what happened in my past, but what I do from here on out can make a difference. Can’t it? Maybe it really is possible to leave the world a little better than I found it.

  “What about you?” Wood asks.

  “Same,” I reply, warming to my fellow recruit for unintentionally helping me find my place in the world—despite the fact he punched me in the face on my sixth day of basic training. I’ll be spending the next two days completing obstacles with only one functioning eye. “I want to be a combat medic too.”

  He gives me a look, the dubious kind, the one that says females can’t do that. They aren’t strong enough. They aren’t tough enough. And they sure as hell aren’t built to carry those seventy-plus kilogram packs on patrol. And maybe he’s right. I’ll have to work harder than anyone else. I’ll have to build muscle. Endurance. Mental strength. Not to mention females on the front line, in combat, are rare—and likely unwelcome. I probably have rocks in my head choosing this life. And then Jake’s grinning face swims in front of me. “There’s no such thing as can’t.”

  And although he was applying it to something more sexual in nature, he’s the kind of guy you just know applies that motto to every aspect of his life.

  So I return Wood’s look, my jaw set tight, my brow bandaged, my eye currently swelling faster than a river in flood, and my hackles rising. “I can do anything you can do, Wood. Only I’ll be doing it better.”

  He grins at me, seeming to like my mettle. “Except maybe wield a light sabre.”

  My lips twitch. “Yeah. Except that.”

  “Right on, Murphy.” He offers me his fist, and I bump it with my own. And just like that, Wood becomes family.

  I don’t have time to email during our first four weeks, but by the fifth we get our phones back. Late that night I switch mine on, and ping after ping rings out as my screen fills with messages from Erin.

  I have to swallow the lump in my throat, grateful to Bear for forcing me to make a friend. I flick through her messages quickly, trying to soak in as much as I can before I pass out from exhaustion. Most are just stories about her day but a couple stand out.

  Erin: I’m moving out! I found a share apartment in the city and it’s only a small walk to college every day. I can’t wait for you to see it! PS I love you!

  I smile, knowing she’s following the plan she carefully laid out for herself.

  Erin: I saw Jake in the bar last night. He asked after you! Naturally I told him nothing BECAUSE I HAVEN’T HEARD FROM YOU! He told me that was normal though. And he totally left the bar alone even though every woman in the place had their tongues hanging out low enough to touch the sticky floor. GROSS!

  My belly flutters and then I sigh, smushing my face into the pillow. It’s never going to happen, Murphy. Get over it.

  I send her one back before setting my phone aside and going to sleep.

  Jamie: I’m alive! They confiscated our phones, sorry. The good news is that I made a new friend. His name is Colin. I think you two would really hit it off. The bad news is that I’ve decided to become a medic, which means another two years or so of training (at least) out at Bonegilla in Victoria. And then I’ll probably get a placement in Townsville. PS I love you too.

  Townsville is on the far north coast of Queensland, which is still on the other side of the country to home. It’s beautiful if you care about the tropics and spend your days diving the reefs, but it’s also hotter than Satan’s anus. Unfortunately, I have no choice in the matter. I enlisted for six years minimum and go where they tell me to. It just sucks there are only three locations for combat medics in Australia, and home is not one of them.

  Her reply is sitting on my phone when I wake at five in the morning, so she must have had a late night out. I don’t get a chance to even look at the message for another two days.

  Erin: Townsville? WTF? I hate you right now. You suck worse than sweaty, hairy ballsacks.

  Erin: You can at least come visit though, right? When do you get a break?

  Jamie: Of course I can come visit. I just don’t know when, but as soon as I do you’ll be the first to find out.

  It’s not like I have anyone else to tell anyway. I’m pretty sure Sue isn’t interested in a reunion, and while I hung out with some of Erin’s friends from school now and then, we were never close. And Jake, well he may have left the bar alone that night, but it wasn’t because he was waiting for me.

  Graduation day eventually comes. We stand in formation during the ceremony, uniforms pressed and shoes shined. Speeches are made as the hot sun beats down, long and arduous, and sweat trickles down my back. Finally, we’re dismissed and everyone around me cheers, my fellow recruits, their family and friends clapping and whooping from the stands. They pour down onto the field, surrounding their graduating loved ones, admiring the smart uniforms, laughing and talking.

  My eyes fall to my shoes, blinking, alone in a sea of people.

  I turn, walking away.

  “Hey! Wait! Murphy!”

  Wood is pushing his way through the throng of people. He grabs me by the shoulder, his bright face happy. He jerks his thumb towards the parking lot. “We’re going for beers. Come with us?”

  I peer around him, looking for the us. There are two other guys waiting. Civilians, we call them now. Neither are as tall as Wood, but they aren’t far behind. They all have the same eyes, but Wood is the only gangly one. “Your brothers?”

  “Yeah. Pains in my ass,” he mutters. “If you come along, they’ll be easier to put up with.”

  “Umm why?”

  His eyes widen on me as if I’m stupid. “Umm because you’re hot. Surely you know you’re the most beautiful girl any of us have ever seen?”

  “Wood, that’s crazy.” Because it is. My nails are chipped, my brows overgrown, my legs unshaven, not to mention my body is an entire bruise. I’m covered in them from my face down to my toes. Big ones, little ones. I look like the plastic mat in a game of Twister.

  Tugging the hat from my head, I smooth a few stray hairs that have escaped the tight bun at the nape of my neck. Then my thoughts take a sharp turn. “Oh, you don’t …”

  He physically recoils. “Oh god, no!”

  I whack him with my hat. “Well you don’t have to say that like I have leprosy!”

  “You’re not my type, Murphy.”

  Suddenly I’m curious because we’ve never talked about that stuff before. “And what is your type?”

  Wood grins. “I like sweet girls.”

  “And I’m not?”

  “You’re a bit too badass for me, Murphy.” He flexes one of his stringy arms. “I don’t have much to work with, so I need someone who’s easily impressed.”

  I shake my head and he laughs, linking his arm with mine. “C’mon. Let’s go drink.”

  11

  JAMIE

  I don’t get to go home after basic training. Graduation parade was Friday (yesterday) and the last chance for recruits to see their loved ones. Today we have local leave, tomorrow is maintenance and clean up, and Monday Wood and I depart for the Army School of Health in Bonegilla, Victoria, where we’ll complete seven modules of training over the next seventy-six weeks. When finished, we’ll h
ave a Diploma of Nursing under our belts, along with a Diploma of Paramedical Science.

  My future is mapped out for the first time in my life, and it’s a relief. Rules, structure, plans—it’s comforting in some strange way. I’ve taken to this life like a duck to water. Except leave time is scarce—at least it is during training—so Wood and I are taking advantage of our day off.

  We’re out at a local café, seated outdoors in the sun. I’m in civilian attire. It feels ridiculously light. I’m wearing a pair of short shorts after weeks of heavy uniform, my legs stretched out to get a little tanning action in while we drink our coffees.

  Wood takes a long, noisy slurrppp from his takeout cup, reading the local paper that was left behind by a previous patron while I sit with my eyes glued to the screen of my Blackberry, trying to focus on sending an email to Jake.

  I shoot him a look. “Wood, that’s gross.”

  “You’re gross.”

  My brows rise. “How old are you? Ten?”

  His brows rise back just as coolly. “Are you forgetting about the other night when you ate dinner so fast after PT you barfed it all back up again?”

  Ugh. I shudder. The assessment was gruelling. I choked on so much muddy water during our crawl beneath barbwire—in the dark mind you—I thought I was literally going to die. I shrug at Wood as if it were nothing. “Are you forgetting about the time you punched me in the face with your light sabre?”

  His eyes flatten. “I can’t believe you told my brothers about that yesterday.”

  I smile sweetly. “Hey, I was four beers in by then.” And we hadn’t had alcohol for well over eighty days, which was basically a lifetime for someone who’s barely just become legal to drink. “I can’t be held accountable for what I say under the influence.”