Last Salute

by Tracey Richardson

  Pam chuckled. “Feeling like a teenager too, I see?”

  “I never felt this good as a teenager. Or any other time.”

  Trish felt Pam stiffen at her side, just a little. She knew they needed to talk about Laura and how she was going to fit into their lives now. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk. But not too far. It’s getting dark and I don’t want to get lost.”

  Holding hands, they threaded their way along the dirt track surrounding the other small living quarters. This sector was a small village of wood and metal huts, housing mostly officers and medical staff. Skyward, the occasional jet or helicopter took off or landed, their twinkling lights an understated contrast to their screaming engines. The smell of diesel fuel permeated the air, along with other unpleasant smells Trish didn’t want to think about. It certainly wasn’t the most romantic place on earth, but it was all they had.

  “I love you,” Trish whispered. “So very much.”

  “I love you too, sweetheart. God, it feels so good to be able to say that out loud. I feel like going up to that control tower and shouting it out.”

  Trish smiled. She’d never imagined feeling this full before. This happy. With Laura, there’d been so many ups and downs, stress and disagreements, as they’d tried to weave their way through their problems. There had always been love between them, but a large part of their relationship had consisted of trying to make things work, Trish realized. Nostalgia, and Laura’s absence in her life, had dulled that sense of failure over the years.

  “Are you okay?” Trish ventured. “About us?”

  “Yes. More than okay. You’ve always been the woman of my dreams, and I feel like I’ve finally reached the mountaintop.”

  “Yes. It’s our time now. But I thought we should talk about Laura.”

  Pam slowed their pace but remained silent.

  Trish pressed on. They needed to get this part behind them. “She’s always going to be a part of our lives. She brought us together, after all.”

  “It’s true. I never would have known you existed if Laura hadn’t started dating you in high school. Unless you’d become my babysitter. Now that would have made for some interesting fantasies.”

  Trish lightly smacked Pam on the shoulder. “I’m sure you had plenty of fodder for fantasies about me once you became a hormonal—or should I say, horny?—teenager.”

  “All right, I admit it, I did have more than a few fantasies about you. Especially once you finished college and came back to teach at our high school in my last year. I ached to have an after-school detention where I’d have to…Oh, never mind. It’s kind of dirty.”

  Trish laughed, halting their progress. She put her arms around Pam’s neck and pressed her body against her lover. “After what we just spent the last couple of hours doing, I think I can handle a little dirty talk.”

  Pam bent her head and kissed Trish on the mouth. It was a long, deep kiss that promised a lifetime of more. “I’d rather show you,” Pam said after ending the kiss. “Matter of fact, I’d rather be inside you when I tell you.”

  A jolt of lust shot through Trish’s belly. Instantly she was hard and wet, the thrumming inside her a constant drumbeat. She couldn’t get enough of this woman, couldn’t get enough of the exquisite pleasure Pam gave her. “We have all night, you know.”

  Pam growled against her throat and kissed her once more. “I know and I can’t wait.”

  “Come on.” Trish grasped her arm and gave a tug. “The dining hall is open all night. Let’s replenish ourselves first.”

  “Do you always have to be so practical?”

  “When it comes to looking out for you, yes.”

  The lighting was dull but they trudged along slowly, following the maze of walkways toward the large wooden dining hall.

  “You know,” Trish continued, “when I said Laura brought us together, I wasn’t just talking about before. I also meant now. Through her death.”

  Pam slowed to a stop and turned to look at Trish. “I guess we owe all of this—us, I mean—to Laura. Do you think she would be okay with it?”

  Trish thought for a moment, remembering how much Laura had loved and admired her younger sister, even though she never verbalized it much. She was proud of Pam, always had been, and after reading Laura’s journal, it was entirely clear how much she respected Pam. If only Pam would believe it.

  “She thought of you as a more perfect version of herself,” Trish said. “I didn’t exactly know that before I read her journal, but I always saw it in her eyes and heard it in her voice when she talked about you.”

  “What about you?” Pam looked deeply into her eyes. Even in the near dark, Trish could see a trace of fear in them. “Do I measure up?”

  “Do you measure up?” Trish pulled Pam into a tender hug. “Oh dear God, Pam. When are you going to believe that it’s you I love? That it’s you I’ve been waiting for all my life? You don’t have to measure up to anyone. You are you, Pam, and I love you.”

  “Thank you. And I’m sorry,” Pam mumbled against her. “It hasn’t been easy living my whole life in her shadow.”

  “I know that, sweetheart. But this is your time now. Our time. And we have Laura to thank for it. She gave us this gift of finding each other again. I believe that now.”

  They held each other in silence for a while. Quietly, Pam said, “She loved us both, didn’t she?”

  “More than anything. And yes, she would approve. How could she not?”

  “Yes,” Pam whispered, softly kissing Trish’s lips. “How could she not?”

  * * *

  They made love again through the night, held each other on the narrow bed meant for one. They slept little, Pam especially, because she knew Trish was terrified of her flying to Kandahar in a helicopter in a few short hours. Trish hadn’t said more about it, but she often trembled when Pam held her.

  They rose with the sun.

  “Hungry, my love?” Pam asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Well, I’m starving. Must be all the calories we’ve been burning in this little room.”

  Trish deflected her attempt at humor with a frown. “Pam…”

  “I know, sweetheart. We need to talk about me going to Kandahar.”

  They sat across from each other on the two beds. Trish looked like she was trying so hard to hold it together and only barely managing it.

  “I know you don’t want me to go,” Pam continued. “But I am going. It’s only for a couple of days, okay? I will be all right, I promise.”

  Trish looked away, didn’t speak for several minutes. “You can’t make a promise like that.”

  “No, you’re right. But I will do everything in my power to come back safely to you.”

  Trish swiped at a tear on her cheek. “Aren’t you afraid, even a little?”

  Of course she was afraid. Of course she couldn’t help but think about the tragedy that had befallen Laura. “I’m not going to lie to you, Trish. Yes, a part of me is afraid. But I don’t want to live my life being afraid. And I don’t want to avoid doing something that might make a difference in my life, that might help me figure out my future. Our future. I’m finding my own way now, and that means doing this trip to Kandahar. Hell, it’s why I needed to come to Afghanistan.”

  “To banish Laura’s ghost?”

  “Yes,” Pam declared. She had to admit there was some serendipity to flying in a helicopter in a war zone, a little bit of tempting fate. Maybe Trish was right in accusing her of testing herself this way. If she survived, then she could go on to be her own woman.

  Pam stood, held out her hand. “Come on. Let’s go eat breakfast, then you can see me off. And please.” Pam’s voice broke. “I need your love and strength right now, okay? More than ever.”

  “You have that, my love. Always.” Trish smiled through her tears and took her hand.

  * * *

  Trish clutched Camille’s arm as the Chinook helicopter roared slowly up into the sky. It was slow, like a cumbersome bird,
its massive twin blades, front and back, beating a thunderous beat that reverberated through Trish’s chest. Dust and sand billowed outward in fine, brown clouds, creating their own little dust storm.

  Trish fought against the fear that it might be the last time she would ever see Pam. It wasn’t healthy to think that way, might even be some kind of jinx, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t lose anyone else she loved, especially not Pam, and especially not after they’d finally found each other again.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Camille said through the receding noise.

  “It better be.”

  “Today I’m going to take you on a proper tour of the base and introduce you to some people who worked with Laura.”

  “I’m all yours. And I need to be busy right now, so thank you.”

  “Tomorrow evening is the weekly remembrance ceremony for the fallen. Someone says a prayer and reads out all the names of the soldiers who’ve died in this campaign in the last twelve months. You won’t want to miss it, especially if you’re thinking of writing a book.”

  Trish shook her head. The helicopter was the size of a pinhead in the sky now. “I don’t entirely know if I’ll write that book. Part of me wants to put all of this in the past. Permanently.”

  Camille began leading her away from the airstrip and toward a waiting jeep. “You’ll know the right thing to do.”

  “Well, whatever it is, I know Laura won’t be forgotten.”

  Later, with a little time in her room before lunch, Trish pulled out the journal. There was only one more entry to read…Laura’s last. She’d been putting off reading it, not quite ready to face the end of it, the end of Laura’s daily presence in her life. But she wanted to read it alone, in case Pam wasn’t ready to face it.

  April 6:

  I can’t really explain my mood today. I have the day off, because tomorrow I’m off to Takhar to fill in for the FOB doc there for a week or two. With nothing to do, I’m falling into a philosophical mood. I’ve been lying around reading the novel Matterhorn, and it’s got me thinking about war, about the good and bad of it, the purpose it serves. Only history determines whether a war was right or not. And by right, I mean, did it serve a useful purpose? Did it accomplish anything? Did some good come of it? Did it move the world a little closer along the spectrum toward justice and fairness? And who gets to be the judge of it all? Not me, that’s for sure. But I’m doing my part in it and hoping like hell I’m doing the right thing.

  I’ve been thinking too about the human instinct of wanting to leave a mark behind. A legacy, or something that indicates we were here, like, hey, look what I did, and please don’t forget me. I think about this kid Ryan Jackson, arrived at the base last week. He was only nineteen, his first tour. He was killed three days later by a sniper outside the wire. What mark did that poor kid get to leave on this earth? Probably not much. But hopefully, he stays in somebody’s memory and in somebody’s heart. And that has me thinking, really, is there anything better than that? Isn’t the love that someone will always feel for us in their heart the best thing we can leave behind? The special memories of us that they will take to their grave? Paper disintegrates, computers break, history misinterprets and alters people’s stories. I just hope that somewhere out there—Pammy, Trish—that I’m loved and remembered, and always will be. Anyway, enough of this maudlin crap. I need to pack now for the trip tomorrow.

  Trish closed the journal and wept. She wished she could say to Laura that she was loved and would always be remembered. And if you’re out there somewhere, Laura, if you can hear me now, please look after Pam.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After the initial takeoff, Pam’s anxiety gradually eased. Having the fierce-looking Black Hawk helicopter escort her Chinook helicopter helped. So did the relaxed and confident poise of the dozen or so soldiers who were catching a ride with her. She even looked to mathematics for a little solace. Her father had died in a plane crash, then her sister. What were the odds it would happen to a third member of the family? Almost nil. The Wrights were not so special that they might defy forty-five million to one odds, she figured. Hell, it’s not like they’d ever won the lottery or anything like that. She would be fine.

  From above, Kandahar Airfield looked very similar to Bagram, with its long runways, its gaggle of jets and helicopters parked at angles, two large hangars and a smattering of low-slung buildings, all protected by tall barbed wire fencing. Like Bagram, it was a small city—home to 26,000 soldiers, mostly American and British, and it was being expanded to include Afghan National Security Forces and the Afghan air force. She’d read up on the base online yesterday after learning she’d be paying it a visit and discovered that it was largely the Canadians who snatched it from the Taliban in late 2001, then rebuilt it. But Canada and many other NATO countries had significantly cut the number of their troops in Afghanistan over the years, and now it was mostly the Americans doing the work on the ground. She didn’t know much about the hospital, but arrangements had been made that would allow her to be fully embedded at the hospital for a couple of days as an expert observer. Security clearance and passes had been expedited, which spoke volumes to her about how much Laura had been respected by her colleagues and superiors. They knew she was here because of Laura, and they were eager to help her in any way.

  As soon as Pam stepped off the helicopter’s metal steps, a hand reached out to shake hers.

  “Dr. Wright?”

  Pam shook the woman’s hand. “Yes, that’s correct. Hello.”

  “I’m Captain Meg Atwood. A nurse at the hospital here.”

  “Ah, that explains the scrub shirt.”

  “I’m not really one for wearing military garb. I like casual.” She had warm blue eyes, and they lingered over Pam. “Seems you’re stuck with me while you’re here. I, on the other hand, don’t consider you a burden at all.”

  Pam laughed, not at all offended by the flirting. It was harmless, as far as she could tell, and besides, being crazy in love with Trish left her immune to anyone else’s interest in her.

  “C’mon,” Meg said, taking Pam’s duffel bag and leading her to a jeep that was coated with about an inch of dust. “I’ll show you the hospital and get you settled in.”

  “What branch are you?” Pam asked as they bumped along the dirt track.

  “Army. Canadian.”

  “Oh. Well, that explains the accent, then.”

  Meg frowned, raised her chin defiantly. “Now, why do you Americans always say Canadians have an accent? I don’t get it. To me, I sound exactly the same as you.”

  “Nope, not true. Canadians sound more clipped, more precise, more, I don’t know, correct. Almost British, but not quite. More like the way Americans should talk, if you ask me.”

  Meg smiled. “Dr. Wright, I think I’m going to like you just fine.”

  “And it’s Pam, by the way. And I think I’m going to like you just fine too, Captain.”

  “Not Captain. Just Meg.”

  “Okay, Meg from Canada. You caught me by surprise. I thought the Canadians were pretty much gone from Kandahar?”

  Meg smiled enigmatically. “I’m a relic they can’t seem to get rid of around here.”

  Another career military gal, Pam thought. Like Laura.

  “So they told me you’re a doc in Chicago. Emergency medicine. I was also told you’re in Afghanistan to see where your sister served. My condolences, Pam. Your sister sounds like she was a tremendous doctor. And soldier, even if she was American.” Meg glanced sideways and slipped Pam a wink to show she was kidding about the American part.

  “Thanks, and yes, I’ve heard nothing but good things about her army career. Did you know her?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t, unless it was in passing. But I wish I had, if she’s anything like you.”

  “You’re very kind. I forget how big these bases are and how many troops from all over the world are posted here.” Pam wished the nurse had known her sister, if for no other reas
on than the instant connection it might have provided. It was lonely here, among so many thousands of strangers.

  The jeep’s trail of dust caught up to them when Meg braked to a stop in front of the hospital, momentarily shrouding them in a brown cloud.

  “You can leave your bag in the car,” Meg instructed. “I’ll show you around the hospital first, then take you to the dorm.”

  The career military nurse knew the hospital intimately. She’d done several tours, dating back ten years, she told Pam, but she was able to adapt easily to Pam being a civilian. She explained things in a way Pam would grasp easily and did so without sounding patronizing. Pam couldn’t help but like Meg, who seemed to have an unmistakable streak of wildness behind her flashing eyes and quick grin.

  “You’ll see our patients are a real mix of International Security Assistance Force soldiers, civilians and yes, even some Taliban.”

  “Wow, that must be hard,” Pam said in a whisper as they squeezed past a dark-bearded man on crutches. “Are you frightened?”

  “No. They’re not generally in very good shape by the time they get here, and we strap them to the beds if we need to and keep an armed guard on them.”

  “Are they grateful?”

  Meg scowled. “No. I think most of them would rather die a martyr.”

  A little girl in a pink robe wheeled past them in a wheelchair, her left leg missing from the knee down. The stump was freshly bandaged, and Pam felt her eyes widen in surprise. “You treat kids here too?”

  The girl smiled up at them, the wheels of the chair cheerful in their squeaking. Her expression was innocent, almost gleeful. She looked like a kid from America, not from this war-torn country.

  “Looking good, sweetie,” Meg said happily to her and tousled her hair. Of course, the girl couldn’t understand a word of it, but she nodded back enthusiastically.

  “Civilians injured as a result of the war, yes,” Meg said to Pam. “Sometimes even civilians who are just really sick if we have the room. But kids…it’s hard to say no.”