He harrumphs and I re-focus on my email.
Jake,
I survived basic training, so yeah, thanks for all the advice. I’m heading straight to Bonegilla now so I don’t get to come home.
Dammit. That sounds incredibly stilted and boring. Wood’s phone beeps little message alerts in the background as I delete what I have and try again. He sets his paper down and picks up his phone while I stab out little letters, hating the fact that I’m no good at this type of stuff. When I was with him, it felt so effortless and fun, but I suck at written communication.
Thanks for giving me your email address. Basic training is finished, and I now have another two years of advanced training ahead of me. Hope you’re well?
Ugh. My second attempt is no better. I’m hitting delete again when Wood gives me an odd look. I pause. “What?”
He jerks his head towards a cab pulling up to the kerb by our café. I stare, searching the exterior for whatever it is Wood seems to think is worth my attention. Then the back door opens, and my heart explodes as Erin steps out. “Oh my god. What?” I’m standing up, saying to Wood, “How did you …” and trailing off from shock. I set my Blackberry down, the half-deleted email forgotten.
She’s grinning wildly, dressed in a pretty spring dress, her blond hair out and flowing down her back as she starts towards us. I run at her and we hug and squeal while pedestrians step around us with irritated expressions. I pull back, inspecting her as she does with me. “How did you …” I’m still in shock.
“Wood. He stole my number from your phone. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here yesterday for graduation but I had an exam.”
We gravitate towards the table where Wood sits. He rises and I introduce them officially. He holds out a hand. “Colin Wood, ma’am. Nice to meet you.”
Erin smiles slowly. It’s her flirty smile. I know because I’ve seen her practice it in the mirror and on boys everywhere. “Erin Tennyson.”
He drags a chair across from an empty table so she can take a seat, and then he runs off to order her a coffee, doting on her as if she’s the Second Coming.
We watch him at the counter for a moment and before he comes back, she grabs my hands in hers, excitement dancing in her eyes. “He’s cute, don’t you think?”
I frown and look at him. He’s still tall and gangly, but maybe he’s filled out a little since we met. All we did was work out and eat, and eat, and then eat some more, and it still felt like they weren’t feeding us enough. His hair is dark and buzzed short, his skin a beautiful olive, and his lashes belong on a girl, but still, there’s nothing there to make me giddy and I know giddy, because even now when I think of Jake I can’t catch my breath.
I look at my new friend as he returns to our table, limbs flapping as he manoeuvres around chairs filled with people. He’s just the guy who wielded a light sabre and punched me in the face with it. “Umm, it’s just Wood.”
“They’re bringing it over,” he says, his chair scraping on the pavement as he pulls it back out and seats himself. “And don’t you dare tell her the light sabre story.”
I bust out laughing. “Oh my god, Erin, you have to hear it.”
I can’t even blame my loose lips on alcohol this time as I share the story, but Wood did himself proud. He would make a great Skywalker. By the time I finish, Erin is laughing too, but her eyes are lit on Wood with admiration.
“You can’t go there,” I tell her after brunch is done and we’re out shopping, Wood getting dragged along. He’s ducked off to the bathroom, and I’m seizing the moment. I don’t want my best friend caught up in a long-distance relationship with my other best friend. I’ll just end up the little piggy in the middle when it all goes to shit, which it will, because as much as I love this girl, she’s fickle. I hear about a new crush every other week.
“It’s not against the law to flirt, Murphy.” She picks up a little black dress and holds it to her body, poking out a leg to see where the hem reaches. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Sure it doesn’t.”
She blinks at me, her best attempt at an innocent expression.
“Pffft.” I snatch the black dress from her hands and return it to the hanger. “You don’t need this. You have like, ten already.”
Erin snatches it back up as if another customer is about to pounce and steal it out from under her. “It’s not for me. It’s for you.”
I snort. “And where am I going to wear that?”
“Don’t think I see what’s going on here.” She waves a finger over my body. “You think because you’re army now you can let yourself go?”
My brows draw together, and I look down, giving myself the once-over even though I know what she’s referring to. But training is hard on the body. There was no time for girly face masks, waxing sessions, or exfoliation scrubs. I barely had time for sleep. “Tidy yourself up, babe. Put on a sexy dress while you’re in Adelaide.” Her shoulders do a shimmy. “Get some action.”
I glance over her shoulder, praying for Wood to return and save me from this conversation. “I don’t want any action.”
I can’t help but feel no other man would measure up to the one that came before him, and it would just end in disappointment.
Erin gives me a look, the kind that says she knows where my head is at. It’s probably written all over my face. “Jamie …”
There’s something in her voice, something serious. It makes my insides clench tight. Her expression is solemn, as if she’s about to deliver news that I do not want to hear. I lift my chin. “What?”
“Jake is gone.”
Her words take a moment to sink in, and when they do, my body plummets through an open trapdoor beneath my feet. “Gone?” My voice is sharp and high. “What do you mean gone?”
“He’s been deployed to Afghanistan.”
I suck in a breath. Of course he’s been deployed. He’s army and there’s a war going on. It’s what we train for. And even though it’s not our war, we should be there. People—ones like us who have hopes and dreams, and friends and family—are being mistreated and tortured. Even killed. How could our nation hold its head high if we sat back and did nothing?
And yet a sick knot forms in my belly. In my head Jake was still back home in Perth on leave, maybe working on buying that cottage, doing the renovations he said he wanted to do. I didn’t even ask where he was stationed.
“How do you even know that?” I ask.
“I heard it from a friend of a friend who saw you two together at the bar that night. She thought you and Jake were a thing.”
I shake my head. “We’re not a thing.”
“Maybe you could be.”
Jake would have known of his deployment before I even met him, and yet he never said a word. I guess it’s not the kind of light-hearted talk you have with your one-night stand. Which is all I was, right? Just someone he slept with that one time.
Plucking my Blackberry free from my pocket, I call up the email and delete it entirely, vowing to forget the email address Jake gave me. Then I snatch the dress from Erin and march it to the counter. “No. You’re right. I need to put this on and get some action.”
Wood sidles up beside us, leaning his elbow on the counter and huffing a long breath, bored with our shopping expedition when Erin has barely just begun. “What’d I miss?”
“We were talking about Jake.”
I elbow Erin in the side.
“Who’s Jake?” he asks.
“No one,” I retort, paying for the dress, tapping my fingers while I wait for the sales assistant to finish wrapping it in tissue paper. She slides it carefully inside a bag and hands it over with a smile. I don’t even know if the dress fits. I don’t care. I don’t want to be here anymore.
Me and Wood leave for Bonegilla the following Monday, and the next two years fly by as if we’ve only been there weeks.
Our training is delivered by a combination of military and civilian contracted staff. There’s barely time for a module to
sink in before we move on to the next—covering the history of ADF health services, advanced first aid, infection control, primary health care, resuscitation, treatment control, and minor skills such as how to complete the boring paperwork no one wants to do.
They save the hardest module for last: army specific training and experiences in a deployed setting. They’re preparing us for treating patients in a war zone. At one point in my assessment, there’s a crowd of soldiers yelling over me while I attempt to triage a ‘wounded soldier’ on the ground. My hands shake and my heart pounds the entire time, but I get it done, thriving under the challenge.
We still have our PT and drills and room inspections, but it’s a little more relaxed than Kapooka. I return home only once during training, spending Christmas with Erin. Wood comes with me. We spend four days hanging out on the beach, opening presents, and drinking beer under the sun before returning to reality, and eventually, another graduation.
They station the both of us at Townsville, medics being in high demand. My first deployment is to East Timor. It isn’t a war zone, but it’s eye-opening. Our troops are teaching soldiers how to weld, operate diggers, and build bridges. The Timor soldiers are learning how to help their nation rather than just secure it, which is important in stabilising their future.
I treat minor issues while stationed there—soldiers suffering dehydration, sprains, minor cuts and bruising, and basically handing out Band-Aids. It isn’t the kind of trauma I’m trained to treat in the midst of a hectic combat zone, yet it feels good. I’m doing something.
The best part? I make a difference by helping treat the general population. It’s me who they walk for miles on bare feet to see, giving them injections that will save their lives and the lives of their children.
My first deployment to Afghanistan comes two years after my initial station in Townsville. The battalion I’m assigned to has five medics. I’m one of them. Wood another. We’re being sent as part of the mentoring and restructuring taskforce, flying into Kuwait first. We spend a week there being briefed and learning special drills, body armour, and identifying IEDs.
From there we fly to Tarin Kowt, coming in under the cover of darkness. My heart pounds as the plane dips and lurches, making us less of a target to enemy gunfire. Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down and close my eyes, fear a living breathing animal inside me.
“Murphy.”
I blink.
“Murphy, we’re here.”
I blink again and turn to my right. Wood is beside me. Our plane has landed, and my hand is holding on so tight to his I fear I’ve broken bones. Jerking free, I glance around the plane. Battalion soldiers smirk. They think we’re a thing, Wood and me. They also don’t want me here. They haven’t outright said so, but I feel it in the way they look at me and the way they make an active effort not to talk to me. I might be a favourite in our unit back home, but it’s active combat here and I have a vagina. I’ll have to work twice as hard to earn their trust and prove I belong just as much as they do.
Rolling frustrated eyes at my unit, I stand, reaching for my pack. It’s heavy. Heavier than what they have to carry because mine doesn’t just include general supplies, sleeping gear, and food and water for patrols; it also includes medical equipment, of which they may possibly be thanking me for one day.
My first day is spent getting situated, and I find myself looking carefully at every Australian soldier who passes me, searching for Jake and seeking out hazel eyes and shaggy golden-brown hair. Wondering. Always wondering where Bear is, even now, over six years later. Did he end up joining the army? Is he here? Is he okay?
The next day I’m thrown in the deep end. As one of the few females, I’ve been tasked with searching local women and providing them with health checks. The females are quiet, but their eyes speak more than words ever could. It’s clear they appreciate our presence and the medical care we provide.
From there I move to the Tarin Kowt hospital, treating countless trauma cases. It’s when I get assigned last minute to assist a remote patrol base that I get the full effect of being in a combat zone.
It’s forty kilometres away, requiring a three-vehicle convoy. I’m in the second armoured vehicle when the first hits an IED. We’re following too close behind and the force of the blast is enough to send us careening off the road and rolling on our side.
My combat helmet cracks against the window and dust fills the vehicle, coating our face and bodies as we skid metres off the road. The truck comes to a sudden stop, and I jerk against my seat belt.
“Is everyone okay?” our driver shouts.
I stare blankly at the seat in front of me. For a moment I’m fifteen again and my father is unconscious in the seat beside me. Splintered glass covers my face, slicing and jabbing tender skin. My arm. The bone is poking through. My lungs wheeze.
“Dad?” my voice is a low rasp. I can barely hear myself speak. “Dad. I can’t—”
“Private Murphy!”
I blink. It’s not dark out. There’s no bitumen road with painted white lines, rolling green hills, and leafy trees. No houses or street lights. It’s midday and everything is red and hazy. I look down. I’m in an army uniform, combat armour protecting me from serious damage.
Jesus. Our convoy was hit by an IED. I touch a palm to my face then look at it. There are no shards of glass. Just dust and a smear of blood.
“Private Murphy! Doc!”
“I’m okay,” I croak and cough. “Just a little shook up.”
The soldier beside me, Private Connor, scrambles for his seat belt. “We gotta get out of here.”
12
JAMIE
Private Connor climbs out the top of the truck and reaches in through the window, offering a hand. I go to grab it, disoriented, then my training kicks in as if a switch is flicked. “Wait. My rifle.” I scramble for the weapon, tucking it in beside me as I’m seized in a strong grip and pulled free of the truck. I jump down, doing a quick assessment for personal injury, but I’m fine. My combat armour and helmet have kept me safe.
Connor reaches in for another soldier. That’s when the first shot rings out. A loud crack that seems to echo across the earth.
“Get the fuck down!” someone yells.
Soldiers from our convoy jump down beside me, and we use the truck as a shield. I move around to the side, time slowing down as I raise my rifle. The weight of it is familiar in my hands as I risk a peek. My throat is coated with dust, my voice a rasp when I speak. “An ambush?”
“Looks like it. Sons of bitches,” comes the voice beside me. It’s Corporal Marsh—his face coated with dust, his teeth dazzling white in comparison. I peer through my scope at the crop of crumbling cement buildings where it seems the shots came from. Blood thunders through my veins as I take aim, just like I’ve done a million times before during training. I don’t even have to think about. My body is operating on autopilot, my mind clear. My finger pulls back easy and the rifle fires.
“You need to get to the lead vehicle. I’ll cover.”
“I need my medi pack!” I take aim and fire again. Once, twice, three times. Four. A body falls. I don’t have time to process what I’ve just done before I’m firing again. “It’s in the truck,” I yell.
“Private Connor,” Marsh barks. “Get the doc’s pack.”
It’s a risky move. It means climbing back inside the truck, leaving him exposed, but he doesn’t hesitate. He leaps up and jumps inside with barely a blink. We fire off more rounds for cover as he climbs free, tossing my pack out beside him.
“Doc Murphy, you need to get to the lead truck.” He pushes in front of my position, his own rifle raised as I secure my pack. “When I say, go, you go.”
They begin to fire, raining a volley of heat. Enemy fire ceases.
“Go!” Marsh shouts. “Go, go, go!”
I don’t even blink as I run, my adrenaline pumping as I zigzag my way towards the crippled truck. It’s crumpled, having rolled more than once before landing up
right. Three wounded soldiers are on the ground, one still inside—the driver—and another dragging his comrade to cover. I reach him first and help drag the fallen soldier without breaking stride.
“The driver?” I bark.
He shakes his head.
“Dammit.” I wrench the truck door open and lean in, jabbing my fingers in his burnt and bloodied neck as I check for a pulse. Nothing. A sickening cocktail of fear and panic begins to bubble up inside me. I swallow it down.
Not now, Murphy. You need to focus. This is what you’re here for.
I move to the fallen soldier next, dropping beside him.
He blinks, coming to, and croaks. “What happened?”
“You’re going to be all right, Private,” is the first thing out of my mouth. The one thing we’re trained to say first in order to keep our patient calm. The second is to explain the situation in a concise manner because there’s fear in the unknown. “You were hit by an IED.”
His eyes are bright blue like the sky, and I read the panic in them in an instant. They tear up. “I can’t feel my toes.” His nostrils flare and his arms start to flail. “I can’t feel my toes!”
I look down. The soldier’s legs are intact, but there’s a lot of blood—shrapnel the likely cause. When I look back he’s blacked out again. Grabbing my pack, I pull out a C spine collar and gently place it around his neck. Corporal Marsh skids to a stop beside me. “Is he okay?”
“We’re going to need a medevac,” I tell him as I check vitals, shining a light into his eyes. Both pupils are dilated. “Possible spinal fracture and head injury.” I reach inside my pack for bandages and scissors, my breathing harsh as I focus on what I need to do.
“Already radioed it in. They won’t come out until they have the all clear. We need to take those fuckers out.”
“Maybe they’ll run out of bullets,” I reply with grim hope, slicing my way up the soldier’s pants leg. “Shit.” I assess the wound, it’s jagged and gaping, more blood oozing out than I’d like, but at least it’s not pumping out. “Grab me a tourniquet, will you?”
Fighting Absolution Page 10