by J. M. Madden
John hadn’t served under him, but Chad said he had always stood in the same position. He called it his thinking pose. Personally, John thought it was a way for Duncan to appear more intimidating than he already did. The dude was big without flexing his biceps and chest. Duncan was five or six years older, but in their prime they probably would have been pretty equally matched in a bar fight. Well, before they’d gone to war and been kicked in the ass.
“Honestly, I’m in the same boat. Not sure exactly what I want to do. Or can do.”
“Where are you going with this, Wilde?”
Duncan looked at him and shrugged. “Nowhere, really. Just thinking out loud. I’ve talked to a couple of my guys that have been discharged, and it’s hard. They haven’t been able to find a job. At least nothing more than manual labor, for those that are able. One is going back to school, but it will take time before he becomes productive again. Seems like there should be a way we can help each other out. We have too much knowledge in our brains to sit at home and vegetate.”
John could tell the ex-Sergeant was still worried about his men. That was admirable, but ultimately useless. They would all have to find their own way in the world.
Or make a clean escape.
His hand drifted to his empty hip.
When he looked up, Chad was staring at him hard, all humor gone from his expression. “Whatcha thinkin’, Gunny?”
“I miss my piece,” he admitted, sitting back in the chair. It was the truth too.
Chad’s eyes narrowed. In spite of the fun-loving, good-ole-boy attitude, Chad was damn smart. It didn’t take a genius to know that some fights were better given up.
He grinned at Chad. The guy had become one of his best buds. He couldn’t worry him right before he left. “Chill, Lowell. I’m cool.”
Chad looked away but he still had a frown on his face.
John couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be missed at all. Yeah, they were friendly now, but once he left the hospital, these freaks would forget about him. They had their own lives to look forward to. Chad would be heading back to Texas and his ranch, where he had, what seemed like, thousands of family members eagerly awaiting his return. As for Duncan, yeah, he’d lost his girl, but he didn’t seem too shaken about it. The feeling was coming back to his legs now, he was getting more PT and at the rate it was moving he’d be mobile within a couple of weeks. That took more of his concentration than anything.
Bitterness was a hard pill to swallow as he looked down at his own legs. They looked the same, damn it. Just starting to lose some of their muscle. Too many times to count he’d woken, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, sat up, braced his arms…and slammed into a wall. His legs were supposed to drop to the side of the bed and support his ass just like they had for the past thirty-four years. But it didn’t work that way anymore.
He knew for a fact God had an evil sense of humor when his legs twitched. Duncan’s legs did the same thing and he was getting feeling back.
John kind of half wished his own legs had been blown off, or chopped off by that damn door that crushed him. Then he wouldn’t have this nagging, ridiculous hope that something miraculous would happen.
The sun had sunk below the horizon and the shadows were creeping in. Two more days and he’d be gone.
Duncan wondered how John would survive in the outside world. He was surly about thirty percent of the time and downright rude the rest, so the general population probably would not welcome him with open arms. He was a true career Marine, from the attitude to the mouth, and it would be an adjustment for him to readapt.
If he even tried.
He’d seen John drop his hand to his thigh many times over the past couple of weeks, looking for his sidearm. And he’d felt his disgusted looks from the other side of the room as the doctors came in every day to measure the pace of the feeling creeping up his own legs. Duncan couldn’t help but be happy at his progress, though he knew it hurt John.
In a way, he would be glad when John left, simply because he could enjoy his own accomplishments without being overrun with guilt. But as soon as the thought went through his head he felt guiltier.
Duncan knew only too well that he couldn’t save everybody. If he had the ability to save even a few from the trials that he knew they were going to face, he had to try.
Chad kicked their butts at Jeopardy that night, but he knew it was only because the other two were distracted. He had hoped that the nightly ritual of yelling out the most answers possible would help to lighten the atmosphere, but all it did was call attention to it. He depended on these evenings because when he went to his room, it was all he could do to keep from curling up into a ball and pulling the covers over his head. The PTSD flashbacks had gotten worse this week for some reason, and he didn’t know why. The counseling group he went to didn’t help much, though the counselor had spent some extra time with him recently, as if she knew he felt off.
The fact that his buddy was leaving probably didn’t help matters, but he’d only been told that yesterday. That didn’t account for the rest of the week. Maybe it was his unease with how Palmer had been acting.
On the plane ride from Germany, Chad had freaked. His sedation had worn off in the middle of the flight. When he’d roused to the thunderous noise of the huge aircraft, blurry eyed, he’d thought he was right back on the ground, fighting. Then he’d looked down and seen his leg gone, and his shit had disintegrated. He’d flailed and fought with the Corpsmen, but it had been one voice that had brought him back. Gunny Palmer. He’d screamed at Chad to get his fucking shit together and act like a God damn Marine. He could laugh at it now, but then it had been mind-blowing. Gunny had yelled at him long enough for the nurses to pump more crap into him to knock him out. When he’d woken, Gunny had been in the bay right beside his. They’d gone to different parts of the hospital, but Chad still saw Gunny occasionally being wheeled in the halls or in PT. It wasn’t until they’d been there several weeks that he realized the Gunny was paralyzed.
The shock stunned him for a couple days, because he couldn’t imagine the hard Marine living his life in a chair. It was just so wrong. Chad had promised himself that he would go look the man up as soon as he was cleared by the docs. As soon as his arm was safe from infection.
And when he’d found him rooming with his First Sergeant, though he’d been relieved to see Dunc in one piece, he’d been dismayed at the change in the Gunny. His entire demeanor had dimmed. Just looking at him, Chad could tell he was thinking about ending it. Probably as soon as he got out of the hospital.
When Palmer had disappeared out to the balcony that first day, he’d pushed himself closer to Duncan. “Is he okay?”
Duncan smiled, but it hadn’t reached his eyes. “I think so. He’s been talking to a counselor every day.”
Chad didn’t know if the counselor was doing any good, though. Or maybe Palmer just wouldn’t allow them to help.
Every day Palmer seemed just a hair more unstable. A bit more brittle. Last night he’d seemed almost manic, his dark black eyes blazing with emotion and his jaw clenched. Chad felt helpless against what he feared was coming. But how could he blame the guy? Honestly, suicide had occurred to him as well when some of the pain hit at its worst. But he hadn’t entertained the idea for long. It was against everything he believed in, and he hadn’t survived a damn land mine to blow his own head away. Or choke himself on pills.
Tonight Palmer was quiet, hollow eyed. They only had a couple more days together and Chad felt like he’d already lost one of the best friends he’d ever found in the clusterfuck of his military career. In spite of the totally opposite ways they’d been brought up, he and Palmer had a lot in common. He found himself lingering that night, waiting for an opening when he could talk to him about his fears. The counselors all said it was good to get them out in the open, but as the tension increased in the room, he wasn’t so sure. He was on the verge of giving up on the night and rolling out to his own room when the Gunny broke the silence.
“You’ve been stewing on something all day, Lowell. What’s up?”
Chad didn’t know what to say when he looked at him. He’d been given the perfect opportunity to talk, but his mouth didn’t want to work.
“He wants you to promise you aren’t going to go blow your brains all over Camp Lejeune.”
Blinking, Chad turned enough to glare at Dunc, unable to believe he’d just laid it out like that. “Fuck, First Sergeant, don’t sugar coat it or anything.”
Palmer snorted and looked between the two of them. “Is that what you two ninnies have been whispering about?”
Chad shrugged uncomfortably. “Can you deny you’ve been thinking about it?”
“No.” There was no guile in his face, only flat acceptance. “Have I wondered about it? Yes. Have I wondered how to do it? Yes. Would I do it?” He stopped and looked between the two of them. “No. Probably not.”
Chad blinked and looked down at the floor, more relief than he ever expected rolling through him. Emotion tightened his throat and he had to fight to keep damnable tears out of his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up at the gunny. “Are you fucking with us like you do everybody else?”
Palmer blinked and sighed. “No, Chad. I’ve worked too damn hard for too many years for this country to wipe it all away with an eight gram piece of lead.”
Tension eased out of him. Sincerity coated every word out of the Gunny’s mouth.
“Ok. If you ever need anything though, to talk or bitch at somebody about something, you need to call us.” Chad pointed at his chest, then Duncan’s. “We’re here.” He rolled close enough to hold out his hand. After a long second, Palmer gripped his hand tight, shaking deliberately.
Some indefinable tension snapped inside him. He actually felt the release like a belt had been physically loosened. Palmer held his gaze and, for the first time, allowed Chad to see his relief and appreciation for his friendship. Nodding, giving a final shake of his hand, Chad backed away.
“I’ll, uh, see you guys tomorrow.”
Without looking at Duncan, he dragged himself out of the room, down the hallway, to the elevator doors. His eyes burned with tears. He blinked them away, determined to get to his room before he lost his shit. If Gunny Palmer had taught him anything, it was to keep his act together. Seconds dragged as he rolled down his own hallway to his room and shut the door. Luckily, he was alone as he finally let the tears roll down his face.
“You better not be lying to that kid,” Duncan growled. “Or me.”
The scene he’d just witnessed between the two men had made his own eyes ache, but he was too much of a hard-ass to let himself show that emotion. Chad’s heart was on his sleeve right now, though he was seriously trying to hide it. Duncan hoped he at least made it to his room before he broke down.
“I’m not,” John said. “Chad Lowell is a good guy. One of the few actual friends I have. I wouldn’t betray him like that.” John glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. “Or you.”
Duncan smiled at the admission. “Well, I appreciate that. And what he said goes for both of us. If you ever need absolutely anything, call me. Let me know. I may not know you as well as Chad does, but I consider you a brother.”
John nodded and turned to look out the window. He coughed and motioned with his hand without turning. “I consider you the same. If you need anything, I’ll get my lame, sorry ass up here somehow.”
Grinning, Duncan un-muted the volume on the TV. That was a hell of an admission from the Gunnery Sergeant and there was an awful lot of estrogen floatin’ in the room, so they needed the distraction. Duncan relaxed back against the bed, sighing as he stared at the beige wall. Just when Palmer got interesting he had to leave. It figured.
The next couple of days were some of the best he’d ever had at the hospital and the worst.
The camaraderie between the three of them seemed more open somehow. They laughed more and talked more. Found more common ground. They all cheered when Chad stood for the first time on his prosthetic, then groaned in defeat when he tangled his feet and landed on his face. Chad took the ribbing like a Marine and got right back up between the bars, and by the time they left PT, he was taking a few steps on his own.
When the doctor came in the next morning to test his touch response, Duncan made them all gasp by flexing his ankles, both at the same time. Exhilaration made him laugh out loud, more happy to be alive than he’d been in a long time. He’d been practicing in the dark of night, but hadn’t been sure he’d be able to do it with people watching.
Then the morning came when John had to leave. The three men were all quiet, knowing that their lives were changing yet again. John seemed especially remote as he shoved his few belongings into his duffle and avoided their eyes. When almost a dozen floor nurses and doctors walked into the room bearing a single-candled cupcake, he seemed genuinely shocked. When he read the “We’ll miss you, fuck you” note on the side, he burst out laughing.
Duncan couldn’t remember him ever laughing like that, not in the several months he’d known him, and he regretted that it was only at the end of his stay that John had finally started to open up to other people.
John looked at those who had cared for him, his expression a mixture of gratitude and contrition.
“I know I never said it, but I appreciated everything you all did for me. I’m sorry I was such a pain in the ass.”
They all joked with him and wished him well as they shook his hand and trooped back out of the room. Lacey was the last. She’d been with them the longest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered something in his ear, making him laugh. He hugged her back, burying his face in her neck for a long moment. When they pulled apart, they both had tears glittering in their eyes. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and walked out of the room.
John sat back in his chair, looking like he’d just been shot. Duncan felt bad for him because John was just beginning to realize how much he actually meant to other people, and now he had to leave.
When the orderly came to wheel him out, Duncan rolled himself forward to stop beside John’s chair. Reaching over, he gave the man a hug, slapping him on the back as he pulled away. Chad wedged in on his other side and they reversed the process, holding just a minute longer while both men got control of their emotions. Duncan fought back his own tears as they locked arms, all three of them.
“This isn’t the end,” he told them. “It may be a while, but we’ll get together again, and next time we’ll kick ass.”
“Oorah!!”
The orderly picked up the duffle as John rolled down the hallway and out of sight.
He looked at Chad beside him. Slapping him on the back, he clenched his hand around the other man’s neck. Determination settled in his gut. They would see John Palmer again.
Duncan did PT as hard as he was allowed. When he wasn’t in the actual PT room, he went through the motions in his hospital room. Feeling slowly moved up his legs. When it reached his knees, they decided he could try to stand between the parallel bars.
The first time was a flop. Literally. His muscles, even with the physical therapy, had wasted and they gave under his weight the first time he tried. They focused more on strengthening his quadriceps and the second time he stood, they held him. The therapist clapped and urged him to take a step. He did, then another, and another. It was strange because though he knew he moved his legs, he could only feel pressure. In order for his feet to move forward, he had to rock his hips from side to side.
But every day he grew stronger, and it seemed as if the more he worked his legs, the more the feeling crept higher up his thighs. Then the day came almost six months after the injury that the feeling was complete. The doctor plucked hairs all the way up his legs, making Duncan curse in happiness.
“It took longer than normal with these types of injuries, but you had a lot of trauma to recover from. Medically, I don’t know if I need to keep you any longer. Your pelvis is strong and your last scan was clear.�
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Duncan sat back, shocked, but damn happy too. He’d been in here so long. Yes, the staff was fantastic, but this wasn’t a life. It was time to get out and make his way in the world.
When he told Chad what the doctor had said that afternoon, his combat buddy visibly tried to be happy for him. Duncan knew it would be hard. Chad would be the first one in and the last one to leave the hospital. He’d gotten an infection in his last skin graft and was on yet another round of antibiotics. They were planning to send him to Texas for more specialized care now that his amputation was healed.
They hung like they normally did, shouting answers at the TV and trying to pretend that everything was normal. Chad left sooner than usual, though, and Duncan couldn’t help but feel guilty. Nothing could be said to make it easier on him. Chad would get out of the hospital eventually, but Duncan knew from experience that it was difficult to see friends leave before you did. After John left it had taken them both a couple weeks to get used to the lack of his glowing personality.
Chad was strong. Solid. Duncan hoped he got out soon, too, though.
A week later they were saying goodbye again, this time to each other. Chad’s transfer to Texas had come through the same day as Duncan’s medical retirement papers. It seemed like life was moving them on, whether they wanted to or not. Duncan’s packed bag sat at his feet. The ticket to Colorado bought. They stood in the downstairs lobby, reluctant to depart.
With a sigh, Duncan reached out and tugged Chad into a hug, pounding him on the back.
“Take care of yourself. I’ll call you next week, after you’re settled.”
