“What do you think you're going to do to them?” Major Hansen wondered.
“I don't know,” Sam replied, never breaking eye contact with Amy.
“Do you really love her, son?” Dusty couldn't help himself.
Sam nodded, causing Amy to shiver. “Completely.”
“And you want to be there for the baby?” Dusty inquired further, wanting to hear the answer almost as much as he knew Amy did.
“I do,” Sam said earnestly, taking a step towards her. “Amy, I want nothing more than to have a life with you, but…”
“Why are you attaching stipulations?” Dusty demanded. “If you love each other then that's all you need.”
“Dusty, hush now,” Janie chided him gently, pulling him into the corner of the room, next to the window.
“'But' what, Sam?” the doctor asked, trying to get him to open up and begin talking again.
Sam shrugged, remaining entranced by Amy. “Even when I'm trying to give you pleasure I… I ruin everything.”
“What have you ruined?” Amy enquired in a low, almost inaudible whisper.
“I… I kill everything I love,” Sam struggled to get the words out.
Amy regarded him in bewilderment as Dusty asked Janie, “What the hell does that mean?” Janie shushed the blunt cowboy again, patting him consolingly.
“What do you mean, Sam? Why would you say that?” the doctor wanted to know more.
Sam winced as the memories pierced his brain. “Nothing.”
“See,” Amy complained in frustration. “If you want things to change then you need to stop shutting me out. I might not understand everything, but that doesn't matter; you should talk to me anyway.”
“I want to,” Sam professed. “It's just… I don't know, difficult, I guess.”
“And you think it's easy for me?” Amy took a step towards him.
“It's not easy for anyone to open up, baring their inner thoughts or feelings, being exposed and vulnerable,” Major Hansen interjected. “Still, it's a necessary part of all relationships. Sam, if you want to have a future with Amy, you have to let her in; that's how intimacy works.”
Sam sighed deeply, the sound ragged and quaking. “Okay,” he conceded, taking one of Amy's hands in his, “just promise you won't hate me.”
“I could never hate you,” Amy reassured him.
Sam nodded.
At last Janie spoke. “You can't deny the truth that Amy is the one person who will always be there for you… if you let her. The problem isn't really Amy, but your own fears about facing your demons.”
Sam bowed his head. “I'm not convinced I want to relive my nightmares, let alone confess them to others.”
“Son, you're out of time.” Dusty replied. “If he want to keep Amy and your child in your life, you needed to man up.”
Sam gulped, but slowly raised his head to meet one set of eyes after another, ending with Amy's. The pain in his soul flared like burning magnesium, too hot to look at. Then he dropped Amy's hand, stepping back to put some protective space between them.
“I still don't trust his reactions or my ability to tell real from delusion.” He began to speak when he turned his back towards Amy and Dr. Hansen, facing the scorching heat of Afghanistan.
* * *
Sam was scouting with his six man squad, assessing a small, seemingly unpopulated town scarred by the war. The sound of running water had drawn Sam away from the rest of the men in order to investigate the source. It was rare to find Sam and Jorge, his fellow airman, separated, but the group was trying to clear the building as quickly as they could before they got caught up in the bombing taking place in the not-so-far-off distance.
Jack and Mike were helping Sam to clear the first story, but Jorge had followed Ray and Asa to the second floor of the dilapidated building. The structure had once been a single-family residence, but now it was unfit for human occupation. The partially shattered toilet, obviously fallen through the unstable floor from above, leaving an exposed, leaky pipe was evidence enough of that. Sam kicked at it absently as he took in the rest of the small room; previously a kitchen.
“Hey, Wallet,” Asa called down from where he and Jorge stood on the edge of the gaping hole left by the fallen toilet.
“Hey, Radar; Jorge,” Sam lifted his chin in greeting before the pair moved away from view, where Ray beckoned them.
All the guys in the squad referred to Asa as “Radar” due to his large ears. It didn't help that he was the newest addition to the fine-tuned group, not to mention the lowest ranking. Private Asa Sydney wasn't partial to his new name, but oddly, it made him feel welcomed – as he'd once admitted to Sam – and included into this tight-knit squad. Besides, it stuck, unlike the nickname Radar had assigned to Sam. Much to his chagrin, Radar was the only one to call Sam 'Wallet.' Though it was appropriate because Sam was a rich boy with deep pockets, and his last name was Wallace, it never caught on with anyone else.
Sam could hear the three men moving around upstairs as he rummaged through the disaster of a room he was in. It was clear something had shaken the house violently, causing massive damage. Most likely, it was the work of an improvised explosive device, or IED. Sam shook his head at the senselessness of war and the sinister nature of humans.
When Ray called out “clear,” Sam was pulled from his reverie. He could tell from the sounds the trio made that they had begun their descent to the main floor. It wouldn't be long and Jack would be directing them to go to the next building over.
Jack, the oldest of the men, and a staff sergeant, acted as the squad leader. When the group was on duty, they affectionately referred to him as “Sarge,” and though Jack tried to be companionable when they were off-duty, the men couldn't seem to help deferring to him. His thick, muscular frame, six feet two inches of height, and commanding voice made him a natural leader.
Jack popped his head in to check in on Sam. “What's the word, Airman?”
“All clear, Sarge,” Sam reported back.
“Good,” Jack smiled, his white teeth flashing in his ebony-skinned face, and then, gesturing forward, he added, “Let's move.”
Sam watched Jorge, Ray, and Asa as they filed past Jack. He paused a moment to glance back over his shoulder, a sound catching his attention. Unsure what exactly it was he thought he heard, Sam resumed walking to where Jack was standing in the hallway with Mike. Mike was second-in-command, due to his rank of Sargent, but his quiet nature didn't make leadership easy for him. Still, everyone liked him and considered him a trusted friend.
“Mike,” Sam called as he stepped into the hall, drawing both Mike and Jack's attention.
That was when the explosion rocked the building. Sam flew sideways down the hall, landing hard on the lower steps his friends had just descended. His ears ringing, and he coughed to expel smoky air from his lungs. He waved his hand in front of him, trying to clear the space so he could see. When he assessed the area, he found Mike kneeling next to Jack, evaluating a wound he'd gotten when a chunk of cement struck the larger man in the side of his leg, taking out a hefty chunk of his flesh. Blood gushed from a gaping wound. Lord, I hope he doesn't need a tourniquet. Mike wrapped a bandage tightly around the injury. The pale fabric instantly turned red.
“Are you okay?” Sam inquired of the two men.
“Yeah, go find the rest,” Jack ordered as Mike helped him back to his feet.
The mention of the other men made Sam panic. It your job to be sure your partner is safe. The whole reason the Air Force dispatches us as a team whenever we backfill a squad with the Army or Marines is to instill the principal that “no one flies solo”. The Security Forces had a General Order that stated, “I am my brother's and sister's keeper.” It was ingrained in the troops that they kept an eye out for their fellow Security Forces members. The order stood whether they were on or off duty.
“Jorge?” Sam called as he rushed forward into the haze in search of his partner. “Jorge, where are you?”
Though Sam
continued to call for his fellow airman, potentially calling attention to himself, he kept a vigilant eye out for insurgents. He doubted anyone was there, but one always had to remain ready. Most likely, there'd be a second mortar strike, but it didn't matter. Sam not only had a responsibility to Jorge, but Jack had ordered him to take account of the other soldiers as well.
“Jorge,” Sam choked and then tripped, falling hard. “What the… Ugh!”
Lifting his head up, shaking the soot from his helmet, Sam looked for what caused his fall. At first, his mind remained numb and he stared, uncertain what he was seeing, but then recognition kicked in. It was a broken body; partially crushed by debris from the splintered wall of the house and nearly unrecognizable in its utter devastation.
“Oh, my God,” Sam gasped as he scrambled to identify the body. “Radar; oh man.”
Detachment flooded through Sam as he got back to his feet, heart hammering and dust catching in his throat. He had a sensation of floating which made his surroundings seem more like a nightmare than real life. He swallowed hard, calling for Jorge with more urgency.
Please, God, please let him be okay, Sam silently prayed.
“Wallace,” The answer came from Ray. He was crouched just off to the side and a bit behind where Sam stood.
Sam worked his way towards the voice. “Lozano, come again.”
“Here,” Ray cried again in a pained tone.
When Sam finally came upon Ray, he found Jorge too. Seeing his friend's still body unleashed a new wave of panic. “Is he dead?”
“No,” Ray croaked. “He just passed out.”
“Probably from the pain,” Jack added as he and Mike hobbled into view.
Jorge's dust-covered body sprawled in an unnatural position. A large chuck of cement lay beside his chest, crushing his arm. At first, Sam didn't notice the metal spikes, but when he did, he began to hyperventilate. The rebar that had been used to stabilize the wall was jutting out the side of the cement chunk and embedded into the side of Jorge's chest cavity. It was twisted up and reappeared, extended through his lower abdomen.
Mike helped Jack to the floor, easing him into a sitting position next to Ray. While Jack assessed Ray's injuries, Mike crouched next to Jorge, evaluating him as he tried to talk Sam into a calmer state. It didn't take long for everyone realize the fate of the unconscious young man.
Jack alerted the crew to Ray's condition. “He's pretty burned up, and I think he's leg is broken just above the ankle, but he'll survive.”
“And Jorge?” Sam asked, daring to hope, though he already knew the grim prognosis. Another explosion just beyond the building they were in, shook the ground.
“Bastards are just randomly firing,” Mike noted. “They probably got lucky when they hit us.”
“A guy could clean out Vegas with that kind of luck,” Ray strained to say, trying to ease tensions.
Realizing Jorge was regaining consciousness, Jack ignored Sam's question by asking one of his own. “Where's Radar?”
Sam shook his head. “He's over there. Well, what's left of him anyway.”
“Shit!” Jack cursed.
“He took the brunt of the hit,” Ray forced the words. “Had he not been standing in front of Jorge and me, we'd be…” Ray grunted in pain, “dead.”
“Yeah, well, now he's the dead one, so…” Sam snapped.
“Hey, man,” Ray immediately realized how he must have sounded to Sam. “I didn't mean…”
“Save it,” Jack ordered, his voice pitched even lower than usual from smoke and regret. “He knows what you meant and we don't have time for your drama, ladies.”
Ray drew air into his lungs sharply, but refrained from speaking. Sam pursed his lips shut and turned his attention to Jorge. Exhaling nervously, Sam addressed his now conscious friend, “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”
“You,” Jorge struggled. “You need… to go.” His voice sounded odd. It crackled and there were strange popping sounds, signs that air must be entering through the hole in his chest. The harsh reality, Sam could see, was that Jorge had massive internal injuries, much worse than what appeared on the surface. His future was bleak and Sam, for one, wondered if it'd be more humane to just shoot Jorge, putting him out of his misery. He had done it on the ranch with injured cattle. What the hell is wrong with me? He's a friend, not a fucking steer!
“What?” Sam asked, too distraught to understand his friend's comment.
“They'll be… coming,” Jorge added with tremendous difficulty. It was hard for him to breathe and it was apparent he was in agony as well.
“Don't,” Jack told him. “Don't talk, Jorge. We'll get you out of here.”
“Go,” Jorge repeated stubbornly. “Leave… me.”
“No!” Sam bellowed in defiance. “Why would you say that?”
Jorge watched Sam with patient, kind eyes. He seemed to be sending a silent message. You know what I'm saying and why. Accept the inevitable. Sam's eyes stung, but he fought to maintain his composure as the earth rumbled yet again. The mortars were hitting further away now.
Jack gave Mike a meaningful look. In response, Mike stepped in for Jorge. “Sam, he's right. Once the bombing stops, they're going to come assess things and when they do, we can't be here.”
“I'm not leaving without Jorge, damn it,” Sam bit his words off, responding tersely.
“Sam,” Jorge's voice grew weaker, just a thread of sound as he tried to reach out to his friend.
Sam grabbed Jorge's hand like it was his life line. “I'm not leaving you behind. I'll… I'll carry you.”
“Sam, Jack and Ray both need help to walk. There's just the two of us,” Mike tried to get him to see reason. “Neither of us is capable of carrying two men.”
“Jorge,” Sam pled with his friend. “Please…”
“Sam… no,” Jorge wheezed, his face twisting in agony.
Sam's heart was pounding and his uselessness infuriated him. There had to be something more he could do than to leave his best friend in some god-forsaken place to die… alone. His eyes darted around, searching for the answer. That was when Ray caught his attention.
“You!” Sam hollered, trying to jump at Ray, but Jack and Mike knocked him back down before he could reach him. “This is your fault!”
“Calm down, Airman!” Jack ordered.
“My fault?” Ray was defensive. “How'd you figure that?”
“Sam,” Mike tried to temper his friend's grief. “What are you doing?”
“Where were you when the bomb went off?” Sam demanded to know.
“Ah, I was behind Radar and Jorge, just like everyone else.”
“Yet you outrank them,” Sam accused.
“So?” Ray retorted. “What's that have to do with anything?”
“You should have been in front,” Sam blurted. “As the higher ranking soldier, you should have been on point!”
“That's ridiculous!” Ray stammered angrily. “So you're saying what… that I should be dead or dying so Jorge can live?”
“That's not what he's saying,” Mike said weakly, unsure how to defend Sam's accusation.
“You shut up!” Sam tried to jump at Ray again.
“Sam!” Jack grabbed his arm and delivered a hard shake, trying to get Sam to focus on him. “Enough!”
Tears had spilled forth as Sam's grief overtook him.
“Sam, you don't mean that,” Jack told him. “Stop before you say something you'll really regret.”
“I…” Sam seemed lost.
Jack glanced at Jorge with meaning, trying to remind Sam to consider his friend's feelings. Understanding his sergeant's implications, Sam felt immediately ashamed. He wiped his snotty nose half-heartedly on his dirty sleeve and took a sobbing breath.
“I'm sorry,” he told everyone, grasping Jorge's outstretched hand. “I…”
“Sam,” Jorge whispered in a ghost of a voice. “Go. Tell Marithé and the kids I love them.” He wheezed, coughed, and pressed on. “I didn't want to leave
them so soon. I'll always…” he broke off, unable to draw enough air to continue. He gasped helplessly like a catfish in a boat.
It was that moment that the entire squad realized the world had gone silent. The bombing had ceased, which meant their time was up. It wouldn't be long before the roaring engines from the insurgents' vehicles would shatter the silence and with their new threat.
“We have to go,” Jack stated flatly, looking at Sam.
Sam nodded sadly and then regarded his dying friend. “I'm…”
Jorge shook his head as best he could. “No.”
“It's been an honor, man,” Jack patted Jorge's leg as he got up to help Mike to stand.
Sam moved closer to Jorge, trying hard to be as brave as he was, but knowing he was failing. “What… what should I do?”
Everyone understood what Sam was really asking. He wanted to know if Jorge wanted to die by the hands of his friends or be left to the coming enemy. Though Jorge was dying, there were still many terrible things that could be done to him in order to make his last moments unthinkable. Every soldier knew that possibility when they entered combat.
“Grenade,” Jorge gasped.
Sam grabbed a grenade from his pack and pulled the pin, making sure to keep the spoon compressed. He eased it into Jorge's hand, making sure it was secure. Jorge swallowed hard and blinked at Sam with a courage Sam could only dream of having.
“Go in peace, my friend,” Sam bid his farewell to Jorge and then quickly got up and aided Ray to his feet.
Ray looked back over his shoulder as Sam wrapped his arms around the shorter man's waist. Sam could hear him muttering, “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…”
Sam's eyes burned so hard he could barely see.
The quartet looked one last time to their friend and then made a hasty retreat. They didn't get very far before they heard the hoots of the insurgents and the grinding of gears, followed by the squeaking of brakes. Ducking behind a dune, it was only moments later when the grenade exploded, ending Jorge's pain while taking as many insurgents with him as he could.
Saving Sam (The Wounded Warriors Book 1) Page 13
