by Kaki Warner
“I no longer have rank,” KD reminded him, still glaring at Sarge.
“Yes, well.” The psychologist rummaged through the thick zipper pouch he always brought to sessions. “There are ways to stay connected to the military without being in uniform. Ah, here it is.” He pulled a pamphlet out of the pouch, blinked at it for a moment, then nodded. “You’ve heard of the Wounded Warrior charitable organization?” he asked her.
“Of course.”
“This is different. Revolutionary, I’d say. And it seems to be working. Do you know anything about equine therapy?’
“Horse therapy?”
“It’s not therapy for horses, but through horses. Here.” Holding the open pouch to his chest, he half rose and leaned toward her, the pamphlet in his outstretched hand. “Read about it. The program is showing amazing results. And you’re familiar with horses, I believe.”
With reluctance, she took the pamphlet and studied the photograph on the front; a man with a prosthetic leg standing beside a horse. The man was grinning. The horse looked bored.
“What she know about horses?” Sarge asked.
“I grew up on a ranch,” KD said as she opened the pamphlet and scanned the inside page. Healing through horses. A unique approach to PTSD.
“I love horses,” Shirley said in a wistful tone. “But I doubt I’ll ever be able to ride again with this leg.”
KD wondered the same thing about her hip.
“I don’t trust them,” Sarge announced. “I ain’t putting my life in the hands of a dumb animal.”
“Hooves,” KD said absently, still scanning. “Horses don’t have hands, they have hooves. Four of them.” She looked at Shirley. “From what it says here, you don’t have to ride to get benefit. Just being around horses, grooming, feeding, and taking care of them is also helpful.”
She closed the pamphlet. This might actually work.
“I knew a girl who suffered a TBI when she and her horse fell down a slope,” she told them. “They were both badly hurt. Her parents wanted to put the horse down, but the girl insisted on trying to save him. Once she focused on taking care of the horse, she recovered fast.”
“I think I’m going to cry,” Sarge muttered sarcastically.
“Not to worry, big guy. They both pulled through just fine.”
Actually, the more KD thought about it, the more she thought horse therapy might help both Sarge and Shirley. Get their minds off their troubles. Give them something to think about other than their losses. It wouldn’t help the drummer. Too nervous. All that fidgeting and jerking around would drive a horse crazy. Maybe a sloth would work better for him.
“You serious about doing this horse thing?” Shirley asked.
“I’ll have to read up on it. Talk to people who’ve done it. But if it really does work, we’ve got the horses and the space.” She grinned, an idea taking shape. “Maybe I’ll do a test run with you guys and put you to work currying our horses.”
“I’d do it,” Shirley said.
Sarge shook his head. “Not none of me.”
“You’re not afraid, are you, Sarge?” KD challenged. “If you are, I could always find a little pony for you.”
“Fuck that.”
An hour later, as the therapy session wound down, KD thanked Dr. Prescott for the information and the pamphlet, and reminded him to send the signed nondisclosure agreements to the JAG office. “I’ll let you know if I decide to do anything about the horse therapy.” To the others, she said, “I have to be back at Hood in a month. Maybe I’ll see you then. Unless you’ve been classified, too.”
“Fucking bureaucrats,” Sarge muttered.
* * *
* * *
Half a world away, on a hot, starlit night, three vehicles in close formation crossed the Afghan-Pakistan border. They moved fast, without lights, half-hidden by the dust kicked up by the spinning tires. The first and last vehicles were Toyota Hilux pickup trucks, referred to as technicals. Both had men in the back, armed with AKs and RPGs—portable rocket-propelled grenade launchers—and each truck had a PKM—light machine gun—hard-mounted to the bed.
The middle car was an older, dark Mercedes sedan with black-tinted one-inch-thick Lexan windows, steel plates in the door panels, and more plates welded to the frame. None of the passengers were armed, and on the rear floorboard at the feet of the middle passenger—a heavyset, late-middle-aged man with feral eyes and an old knife wound that cut across the bridge of his nose, down his cheek, and into his black beard—sat a worn leather valise. Neither the driver nor his three passengers spoke as the car bounced and lurched over the rough mountain track.
They were on a holy mission of vengeance and were assured of Allah’s blessing.
* * *
* * *
Friday afternoon, Richard sat in the CID headquarters at CENTCOM, waiting for his appointment with Chief Stranton. He’d already turned in his armor and firearms and cleaned out his locker. Since he owned two other registered handguns and couldn’t take them on a civilian airplane, he used his parents’ return address and shipped them directly to KD Whitcomb, Whitcomb Four Star Ranch, Rough Creek, Texas. Hopefully, they would get there. He doubted he would need them while he was visiting but liked having them handy. After carrying a firearm for the last eight years, being without one made him feel half-dressed.
While he waited for Stranton to condescend to see him, he made calls to people he thought should know about his separation from the army. Since Bill was aware he’d been considering it, he was more disappointed than surprised by the news. After he ragged Richard about KD and insisted he be invited to the wedding, they told each other they’d stay in touch, although they both knew they would eventually drift apart.
When he called his folks, they sounded more confused than concerned by his decision. He told them he’d come for a visit as soon as he could, which was an empty promise, since things were still tense between them, even after eight years.
Next, he called FOB Hickock. Dr. Erickson, having had his run-ins with army brass, guessed the reason for Richard’s sudden departure. “Using you to cover their butts, are they? Thought you were smart enough to avoid that.”
“That’s not it,” Richard said. “I’ve been thinking about leaving for a while.”
“Well, good luck with that. And how’s that pretty little lieutenant?”
“They cut her loose. Apparently, someone sent counsel for the army some new evidence of a medical nature.”
“Is that so? Like what?”
“It’s classified.”
“That’s convenient.”
“I thought so, too. Whatever it was, it was enough to convince them to cancel the Article 32, but not enough to allow her to stay in the army. They made her sign an SF-312, tossed in a Purple Heart to make it look good, and forced her to take a medical separation.”
Erickson sighed. “Probably just as well. From what I hear, she liked being in the thick of things. Wouldn’t have been suited to a desk job. What’s she doing now that she’s a civilian?”
“Taking me to meet her family.”
“You sly dog!” The old man laughed so hard, it sounded like he might have coughed up a lung. “So the two of you are off to tiptoe through the tulips,” he said once he’d quit coughing.
“How’s that?”
“Never mind. It’s a Tiny Tim thing. Before your time.”
Having run out of things to say, Richard told Erickson that if he ever heard who’d come up with that new medical evidence, to be sure and thank him.
The doctor chuckled and promised he would.
After the call had ended, Richard felt that sense of loss he’d experienced as he’d watched Bill’s plane climb into the sky. He wished he’d gotten to know the major earlier. For every Stranton or political hack in the military, there were a thousand good servicemen and women, making
the sacrifices and doing what needed to be done. He was proud that, for a while, he’d been a part of that.
His last call was to Vocek, to thank the captain for helping him with the investigation, and for alerting the MPs at Hood about Khalil Farid. Not every MP CO was so cooperative.
“I didn’t do much,” Vocek said, brushing off Richard’s thanks. “Our MPs here are still watching for him. If we pick him up, or hear he’s headed stateside, we’ll let you know. I gave the MP CO your cell number. Assuming Khalil hasn’t already slipped by us.”
Richard felt a ripple of unease. “What do you mean? The Article 32 hearing has been canceled. Surely State revoked Farid’s visa.”
“They did, but he’d already left. You know how slow they are.”
“Left for where?”
“Satan’s hot tub, I hope. Or Pakistan. From there, who knows? And he’s not alone. One of the locals told us two men left with him.”
“How reliable is your informant?”
“Very. She was Samira’s sister.”
After hanging up, Richard fretted over what Khalil’s disappearance might mean. Hopefully, the Afghan would be capped by one of his own, or by a competing poppy grower, or die from an overdose, or have his balls shot off by an outraged mother.
Barring that, the worst scenario—once Khalil learned the hearing had been canceled, along with his visa—would be if he took matters into his own hands. Assuming the guy had contacts within the ANP, he could probably find out that KD lived in Texas. And from there, he could easily cross the porous Texas-Mexico border undetected.
Suddenly, Richard was glad he was having his handguns shipped directly to Rough Creek. Hopefully, KD’s brother-in-law, the Iraq vet, would know what other weapons were available at the ranch. He’d have to make sure KD was armed, too, unless she had her own guns. He smiled, remembering the expert marksmanship medal he’d seen pinned to her dress blues. Hell of a warrior.
Had they only reconnected five days ago? Considering how much he cared about her, and after what had happened last night, five days seemed a really short time. Yet ever since their first meeting in Landstuhl weeks earlier, she had been pretty constantly in his thoughts. And now, after spending these last days with her, he couldn’t imagine how empty his life would be without her in it. Knowing she might be in danger sent panic humming along his nerves and made him realize how important to him KD had become. He would do everything in his power to keep her safe.
A few minutes before five, eastern time, a private came to where Richard had been waiting for over an hour and told him the chief would see him now. Jerk.
Stranton’s office was a stark contrast to Major Erickson’s. No memorabilia, no treasured photos, no sense of the man behind the desk. Maybe because Stranton hadn’t occupied the office long enough to put his stamp on it. Or maybe because his life was that sterile. The chief didn’t seem the type of man who had a lot of friendships, but it might only be Richard who rubbed him the wrong way.
“Sit down,” Stranton said without looking up from his paperwork as Richard walked in.
Richard sat.
Another wait, this time just long enough to reinforce who was top dog. Then Stranton put down his pen and sat back. He studied Richard through hazel eyes so yellow they reminded Richard of a predatory bird. Or a lizard.
“So you’re not re-upping, Murdock?”
“No, sir.”
“Why?”
Because of you, asshole. Although that wasn’t strictly true. There were a lot of reasons Richard wanted to make a fresh start. “I’m looking to try something new,” he said. “Maybe even get married.” Where did that come from? After his divorce, Richard had vowed never to marry again. But after spending less than a week with KD, the idea wasn’t nearly as repugnant to him. Not that he was ready to make any permanent commitments. Yet.
“Any employment opportunities?”
Richard decided to get creative. “I have a contact in a state CID up north. He said to drop by when I got out. I’ll start there. See if I like it.”
“How are you fixed financially?”
“Fine, sir. I’m not much of a spender so I have enough set aside.”
Having dispensed with the required questions, Stranton leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk. “Look, Murdock, I know I’ve been pretty hard on you lately—”
“No problem, sir.” Richard didn’t want to hear it. “The whole thing was a mess. Luckily, we got out of it as easily as we did.”
Easy for Stranton. Not so easy for KD.
But Richard left it at that, not wanting to prolong this interview, or make waves that might swamp his chances of a quick, clean discharge. Intent on changing the subject, he asked if Stranton had heard anything more from the State Department about Khalil Farid. “The MP CO at Hickock told me they’d lost him several days ago,” he added. “They think he and two other guys crossed the border into Pakistan. If they make their way stateside, they could cause a lot of trouble.”
For all Richard knew, Khalil might be off humping a camel somewhere. But if he could light a small fire under Stranton, the chief might be able to pressure State or Homeland Security to keep Khalil in their sights.
Stranton shook his head. “I’ve already talked to State. They can’t find him, either.” He let out a gust of air like a deflating balloon. Probably seeing his short, ineffective career turn to shit. Richard was gratified to have had a part in that. “All they can do is flag his passport,” the chief went on, “and let us know if he tries to come into the country through normal channels. If he comes in illegally . . .” He shrugged. “We’re in trouble.”
Not “we,” asshole.
“Well,” Stranton said, getting back to the business at hand. “You’ve turned in everything? Cleaned out your locker?”
“Yes, sir.” Richard pulled his CID badge and active army ID from his pocket and set them on the desk.
With little more to say to each other, Stranton shuffled through papers, found Richard’s discharge form and terminal pay envelope, added his signature to both items, then shoved them across the desk to Richard. “You’ll get the official DD 214 in a month or so. Thank you for your service. Dismissed.”
Thirty minutes later, Richard sat in a shuttle on the way to the Tampa Airport, once a decorated army CID warrant officer, now a free man with an honorable discharge, lifelong veteran benefits, and money in his pocket.
It felt weird. But good.
Only the army flew direct from Tampa to Fort Hood, and since Richard was now a civilian, he had no access to military flights. When he’d gotten his commercial last-minute return ticket to Killeen the day before, he’d had to take what he could get. Which meant he’d be traveling back to Hood the long way—one stop in Pensacola, another in Dallas, then down to Killeen. Flight time, six hours and twenty minutes, which would put him in Killeen around midnight, Texas time. Too late for KD to be driving to the airport to get him.
He tried for standby on an earlier, shorter run, but couldn’t get a seat, so he texted KD that he’d be late and would take an Uber to the hotel.
She texted back, Just as long as you get here. I miss you.
He smiled, relieved to know she would be waiting for him.
He spent the hour-and-a-half flight to Pensacola reliving the high points of the previous night—the first hundred of them anyway. But on the longer run to Dallas, exhaustion claimed him and he slept straight through.
It was hot and muggy when he deplaned in Killeen. By the time he got an Uber to the hotel, he was sweating, even though it was the middle of the night.
As he cut across the courtyard from the lobby entrance, he saw the lights were off in KD’s suite. Just as well. He was desperate for a shower. Relieved she hadn’t used the privacy bolt and he still had a key card, he slipped quietly inside, dropped his duffle by the door, locked up, and moved si
lently to the bedroom.
She looked like a little kid scrunched in a tight ball in the middle of the bed, her hands tucked under her cheek. He stood for a moment, listening to her breathe, and thinking what a lucky man he was to have gotten this second chance. He was determined not to blow it.
Moving on to the bathroom, he stripped and turned on the shower as hot as he could take it. After he soaped down and rinsed, he turned it on cold—which wasn’t all that cold compared to the well water in Washington. Then he toweled off, brushed his teeth, and padded, naked, into the bedroom.
She hadn’t moved.
He slipped under the covers and lay quietly for a moment, breathing her in. Soap, warm woman, the strawberry shampoo she favored. He was pleased to note she was naked, too, and set to work waking her gently with slow strokes down her side and over her butt and hip until she rolled onto her back, arms thrown wide.
Then he really got to work.
She awoke with sighs and soft moans, until finally her arms came up and around his neck and she whispered his name in his ear. Then, “Condom.”
He tended to that, then slipped in beside her again and found her awake and as eager as he was. Wanting it to last, they made slow, unhurried love now that that first rush of newness was behind him and they’d learned what each other liked. Afterward, still holding her in his arms, Richard drifted into deep, dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER 12
Since they were now free agents with nowhere to be, Richard let KD sleep in, then woke her for a Saturday morning romp, which ended in the shower. Which led to another romp. Which made them so late, by the time they had dressed and packed, it was time to check out of the hotel.
KD had already cleared the bill, so they took their stuff directly to the car.
Once they were in their seats, because he couldn’t help himself, Richard put a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. Not a long one. Just enough to let her know he’d been thinking about her during the entire half hour they’d been packing and loading the car. He was that hung up on her.
