Blades of Bluegrass

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “How high did you go?”

  “I spoke with General George Banks.”

  Senator Mitchell laughed loudly. “That’s pretty high up for a captain.”

  “Yes, sir. It is. But General Banks was a friend of my father. He and his wife visited my family’s home many times as I was growing up. He was more to me than just the top of my command. I had hoped he would listen.”

  Senator Elsbeth glared at the rude senator. “Please continue, Major Story.”

  “I returned to base to find that a patrol with both Corporal Avery and Private Smallwood was almost ready to pull out. I confronted the lieutenant leading the patrol about violating my orders by putting both of them on the same patrol. He said Smallwood was a last-minute substitution when another soldier got a sudden bellyache and reported to sick call. I relieved the lieutenant, ran to my container unit, and geared up to lead the patrol myself.”

  Flashes of that day began to surface, and she closed her eyes. She could feel the desert heat, the sand between her collar and neck, and the weight of her rifle slung over her shoulder.

  Renee, who had remained silent until now, rested a hand on Britt’s arm. “We would like to request a ten-minute break, Senator Elsbeth.”

  Britt shook her head. “No. I’m okay. I need to finish.”

  Senator Elsbeth nodded, and the rest of the committee stared in silence.

  Britt took a big gulp of air. “Avery was huddled in the very back of the personnel carrier, like she might jump out at any minute, and Smallwood sat directly across from her. He was alternately making kissing noises and flicking his tongue at her in a suggestive manner. I grabbed his collar and yanked him down out of the carrier, then dragged him to the front of the truck where the others couldn’t hear us and used the weight of my body to pin him against the truck. He wasn’t a big man, no taller than me, and I was still wearing my forty-pound pack. I told him that if he so much as looked at Corporal Avery one more time, he was going to be cleaning latrines for the rest of his deployment.” She smiled. “He knew nobody could hear us, so he wasn’t afraid of being insubordinate. He said he liked a woman who wanted to get rough and that I was giving him an erection.”

  Senator Elsbeth’s eyebrows shot up, and the other women on the panel gave each other knowing looks. Yeah. All women had heard similar lines from men. Fun maybe with a lover. Not so much from an unwelcome Lothario, and clearly insubordinate. Most of the men had the grace to appear embarrassed. Senator Mitchell chuckled.

  Senator Elsbeth cocked her head, her expression amused. “I’m sure you had an appropriate reply.”

  “I told him I couldn’t detect a thing, so maybe that’s where he got his last name—small wood.”

  Most of the men smiled behind their hands, but the room filled with the light, delighted laughter of women—in the gallery, among the press corps, and on the committee. She needed that lighter moment to get through the final part.

  “Without recounting a long blow-by-blow of the patrol, at one point we were pinned down by enemy fire but secure enough to hold our position while we waited for air support. It was two minutes away. I was looking around, attempting to get a head count to see if we were missing anyone, when I saw Smallwood crouched behind a half wall, making the lewd gestures at Avery again. We were under fire, and he was sticking his tongue out at her and humping the stock of his M16. She was a few feet away, standing at the corner of a building. I saw her point her rifle at him and begin firing as she walked out into the open toward him. I yelled at her to get down and ran to stop her, but I was too late. She had killed Smallwood, and enemy fire killed her and nearly killed me.” She felt like stone, cold and walled off, when she finished speaking.

  The room was silent.

  She unconsciously threaded the fingers of her hands together in front of her and waited. The prosthesis so closely duplicated her lost hand, even its warmth, that she was beginning to sometimes forget that it wasn’t real. Dr. Will Thomas had begged her to let him have the covering matched to skin tone so it would look natural, too. But she wanted the reminder. Women like Corporal Jessica Avery, and the bravery of soldiers like Shannon Alexander, deserved to be remembered.

  She looked up when Senator Mitchell cleared his throat again.

  “Ms. Story. Wouldn’t it be fair to say your rapid advancement in your military career has been helped by your father’s substantial influence as an officer and more recently as a senator with a strong hand on the military budget?”

  “No, Senator. If anything, it’s been more difficult. Like you, most expected that type of favoritism to happen, so I had to work twice as hard to prove myself worthy of each advancement in rank. I graduated top of my class at West Point and ranked third in my class on the physical requirements. I’ve logged more combat time than most of the other officers competing for promotion. I completed the course work for the rank of major last year, but requested that my promotion be delayed until I fulfilled my schedule of deployment. The promotion would have kept me stateside, and my deployment slot would have been filled by another captain—perhaps someone with a wife or husband and children they’d have to leave behind.”

  “That’s very noble of you, Ms. Story. But it’s fortuitous that your promotion should come through right before you retire from the service…today, isn’t it? That makes a significant change in your retirement income.”

  Renee keyed her microphone. “Mr. Mitchell, if you want to question my client, you will address her by the rank indicated on her uniform.” She slapped her forehead. “Oh, I apologize. You probably don’t recognize it since…what was it…a weakness in your spine kept you from serving your county. Anyway, it’s major. Major Story.”

  The senator’s face turned red, and his nostrils flared. “A curvature of my spine.”

  “Doesn’t keep him off the golf course,” someone from the gallery shouted.

  Senator Elsbeth banged her chairman’s gavel. “Let’s get this hearing back on track. Did you have a point to make, Senator Mitchell?”

  He sat forward in his chair, the loose skin under his chin wobbling as he spoke. “Major Story’s testimony is an impeachment of General Banks’s character and his command. It’s well known that he does not support women in combat roles or queers among the ranks. It just causes chaos. Major Story…” He sneered out her name. “…obviously identified with Corporal Avery because she’s never made it a secret that she, too, is a lesbian. Of course, she believed that girl and not Private Smallwood.”

  He bristled when the mention of Smallwood’s name generated a fresh wave of titters. He pointed to Britt. “General Banks has generously promoted her and made sure she got one of the army’s newest, most expensive bionic prosthetic limbs. Now she’s ruining an exemplary soldier’s career with a questionable testimony that reflects poorly on the culture he allows under his command.”

  One of the other male senators spoke up. “I would think Captain Alexander’s testimony yesterday would damage General Banks’s career more than Major Story’s testimony today might.”

  “Those two women obviously conspired against him.”

  “Until Captain Alexander was assigned as my therapist, I had never met her. The last time I saw or spoke to her was the day she signed off on my medical file. Yes, we formed a close friendship during the time she worked with me. But after we separately discovered that General Banks intended to use her to keep me from testifying today, we agreed the only way to remove that opportunity from him was for us to break off our connection. I have not corresponded or spoken with Captain Alexander since the day after she signed off on my medical file.”

  “That prosthesis should have been given only to a soldier willing to return to service.” Senator Mitchell’s tone was accusing.

  Both Renee and Senator Elsbeth moved toward their mics to speak, but Britt stood and raised her bionic arm, hand turned palm out to stop them. She clenched her jaw, her chest heaving with anger. Her command voice was deep and cold, carrying perfectly across
the room without amplification.

  “Do you see the red lights blinking in my hand? That’s a warning. My brain is telling the prosthesis that my anger is about to reach an unsafe level, so the bionics are preparing to shut down.” She flexed the fingers. They were almost clenched into a fist when the hand went dark and the fingers froze in position. The elbow joint would stay fixed until the bionics rebooted, but she lowered her residual limb.

  “The army did not pay for this arm. I did. I’ve lived frugally in the years that I’ve been in the service, taking advantage of military housing and the mess hall. And I got very lucky with some investments I made in several start-ups. Very lucky. The army has a project underway to build a squad of bionic warriors. Their prosthetic limbs will encase weapons, much like comic-book artists dreamed up years ago. I still suffer from PTSD and do not qualify as a candidate for that program. That said, my prosthesis still is capable of a grip that could crush someone’s neck or a headlock that could smash their skull. That’s why it’s programmed to shut down when it detects my anger rising to a dangerous level.”

  She felt the familiar vibration, and the hand began to come back to life. She held it up for them to see. “When my brain reads appropriate levels of serotonin, or calmness, in my system, then it reactivates the bionics. Dr. Thomas worked very hard on that modification before I would accept the prosthesis.”

  “Amazing,” Senator Elsbeth said.

  “Will there be any other questions, Senator?” Renee asked.

  Senator Elsbeth looked left and right, but only one committee member indicated a question.

  “Senator Lewis?”

  “How can we learn more about that remarkable arm you have?”

  “I’m just a test subject,” Britt said. “The man you want to talk with is Dr. Will Thomas at Duke University Medical School’s research labs.”

  “Thank you, Major Story,” Senator Lewis said. “And we all thank you for your service and sacrifice for your country.”

  “It’s been my honor,” Britt said.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  When Britt and Renee turned to leave, they met a wall of media: phones thrust forward to capture video, photos, and sound bites. Questions were shouted from every quarter. Two huge marines broke through the crowd, and one smiled. Only then did Britt realize she was an Amazon of a woman, besting Britt’s six feet by three or four inches and at least thirty pounds of muscle heavier.

  “Need an escort, Major?”

  “It would be much appreciated, Sergeant.”

  The two marines spun on their heels and carved a path, with Renee and Britt following close behind. Outside, Renee steered Britt to a door a short distance down the hallway.

  Renee looked up at the marines. “Damn, you guys are tall. I’m going to the ladies’ room. Can you guard this door until I get back?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they replied in unison.

  She pinched the cheek of the male marine. “You’re so cute.”

  “Renee.”

  “Well, you know I don’t play for your team. That’s why you were the perfect roommate at the Point. I didn’t have to worry about you stealing my dates, and you didn’t have to worry about me stealing yours.” She opened the door and pushed Britt inside. “We’ll be out here to give you some privacy for a while. Just open the door when you’re ready to leave.”

  Britt stared at the closing door. What the hell? Then she turned and saw the familiar figure silhouetted against a huge window. “Teddy?” Was it finally her?

  The figure turned, and Teddy took a tentative step toward her.

  Adrenaline had carried Britt through the hearing, but seeing Teddy drained all of it away. She didn’t have to be strong for Teddy.

  Tears filled Teddy’s eyes, and when she held her arms out, Britt went to her. She buried her face in Teddy’s shoulder and let it all go. Teddy held her close, stroking her back. “Oh, baby. I had no idea how awful the secret was that you were carrying. You might not have been able to save that girl, but you tried your best. You’re still my hero.”

  Britt shook her head. “I should have sent her to psych.”

  “No. Those units are awful. You would have sent her from purgatory to the depths of hell. The army doesn’t ignore just women. They ignore men who suffer from depression, male victims of sex assault, gay service members who are harassed and assaulted. Those patients don’t need to be thrown in with the hard-core schizophrenics and brain-damaged patients.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m in the medical field, remember? I’ve seen them.”

  “Okay.”

  They stared at each other.

  Teddy brushed away some of Britt’s tears with her fingers, then pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to dry the rest. Britt caught a glimpse of the initials embroidered on one corner and grabbed Teddy’s wrist to stop her.

  “Oh my God. Is that Dad’s handkerchief?”

  Teddy looked at her suspended hand holding the handkerchief in question. “Yes. He gave it to me earlier. I couldn’t help but cry at some of your testimony.”

  “I think he’s loaned that to everybody in this building at some point today.” She turned and grabbed a box of tissues from the desk behind her. Taking two, she held the box out to Teddy. “Take one. You don’t know who else has wiped their nose on that hanky.”

  Teddy laughed. “You’re a germaphobe.”

  “Am not. I’m just going to be that one person who lives when everybody else dies from contagion.”

  Teddy wiped at new tears with a fresh tissue, tears from her laughter. She reached up to cup Britt’s face in her hands and, still laughing, said, “I love you.” A nanosecond later, her eyes widened with the realization of what words had spilled from her lips.

  Britt drew Teddy into her arms, lowered her head, and caressed Teddy’s lips with hers. She drew back only slightly, sharing heat and breath.

  “I’m glad. Because I love you, too.”

  A rapid knock sounded, and the door opened.

  “Okay. You’ve had enough time,” Renee said. “I said a few minutes of privacy. I didn’t say you had time to bed her.”

  “You can’t say that in front of her father.”

  “Oorah,” the female marine said.

  Britt and Teddy tore their gaze from each other, then walked toward their audience of five—two marines, Brock, Renee, and Julie Prescott.

  “Dinner’s on me,” Brock said.

  “Thank you, but I have to get home to the kids,” Julie said. “I’m sure they’re driving Sam crazy by now.” She stepped forward and caught Britt in a tight hug before stepping back. “I just wanted to thank you for everything you tried to do for my sister. And for your testimony today.”

  “She deserved better.”

  “Yes, she did. But at least she got our best.”

  Epilogue

  One year later

  Britt paced in their box at Keeneland, pausing only when she spotted Teddy making her way toward her.

  “I thought I was supposed to meet you at the paddock?” She stretched to give Britt a quick peck on the lips.

  “Marianne sent me away. She said I was going to make Home nervous.”

  Teddy smiled. “I know, baby. I left Pop down there with her.” Teddy needlessly straightened Britt’s collar, but she allowed it. Any connection with Teddy helped calm her.

  “She’ll probably send him away, too. He’s been strutting around the barns like an old peacock all morning. You’d think he owned the colt.”

  “He did breed him, and he did get twelve million for Home before he ever set hoof on a racetrack.” Teddy moved to Britt’s right side and kissed her hand as she draped Britt’s right arm over her shoulder. She wore a thick cable-knit sweater over a silk, long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans, and stylish boots. It was perfect for the chilly but not cold early November weather. Britt wore her usual jeans, button-down shirt, and tweed sports jacket.

  A waiter appeared with two Kentucky Mule cocktails. “Good a
fternoon, Major Story. Here are the cocktails you ordered.” He set the drinks on the table in their owner’s box. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “Not for me. I’m too nervous. Teddy?”

  “Thanks. I’m fine.”

  “You’ve got a horse running?”

  “Home from War, in the next race.”

  “Is he looking good?”

  “This is just his second race, but he won the first by four lengths. We’ve had to find a more experienced jockey who can hold him back some in the longer races.”

  The young man held up the seven dollars Britt had tipped him. “I’ll have to put this down on him then.”

  “Good luck,” Britt said. “Oh, and really, I’m retired from military service. It’s Ms. Story, or just Britt. I think I’d prefer Britt.”

  “Of course, Major Story.” He snapped his best imitation of a salute and hurried off.

  Teddy smiled. “You’re superstitious.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You tipped him seven dollars.”

  Britt pursed her lips in an effort to disguise the smile she was holding back. “I did. Except for that maniac cat of yours, it seems to be a lucky number for us. Did I ever tell you that Home’s hip number in the auction was double-zero double-seven?”

  “No. You’re kidding.”

  “Swear on the stack of breeding records in Pop’s office.”

  “Wow, that’s serious.” Teddy slipped a hand under Britt’s jacket and tickled her ribs.

  Britt dodged away, then slipped behind and wrapped her arms around Teddy. She rested her chin on Teddy’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you don’t have to go back.”

  Teddy turned her head to kiss Britt’s cheek. “I spent all day Wednesday and yesterday out-processing and left at the stroke of midnight, the very second it was official.”