For the Love of a Marine

by Sharon Kimbra Walsh

  “Hello, Katie, how are you feeling?” a trauma nurse asked, leaning over her and smiling.

  “Need a new head,” Katie replied and smiled weakly.

  As she had done many times before on patients of her own, members of the trauma team gave Katie a full body assessment, took her vital signs, changed her IV bag, stripped her of her combats, and dressed her in a hospital gown before giving her a painkilling injection.

  “This will make you a bit sleepy, Katie,” a corporal CTM explained, “but you need to rest. The captain says you have a nasty bang on the head and concussion. We’re going to send you for an MRI, see if there are any fractures, but we’re not expecting to find any. Then we’ll put you to bed and you can sleep.”

  Katie nodded. They wheeled her into the MRI room, and for the next twenty minutes, her skull and brain were battered with noises from the MRI scanner. She had to wait until a technician checked the scans before he gave her the all-clear and she was wheeled to a ward where she was transferred to a bed.

  Finally left alone in the ward, which was comfortably dim and empty of casualties, she experienced peace and quiet for the first time that day. She didn’t have time to think any thoughts about Joe before she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Heavy bergen on his back and combat helmet held loosely in one gloved hand, Joe walked up to the CTH and pushed open the doors. Exhaustion evident on his face, his eyes red from the desert dust and chin covered in stubble, he was tired, dusty, and dirty, but his concerns for Katie far outweighed his physical feelings or looks. He had arrived back from patrol, gone straight to debriefing, then without even showering—let alone sleeping—made his way to see her.

  Now he entered the cool, clean interior of the medical facility, briefly marveling at how spotless the floors and walls were. After being out in the desert for twenty-four hours, he was embarrassed about his dusty, sweaty attire, but he wasn’t about to leave until he had seen for himself that she was okay. He could then maybe find some peace and get some sleep.

  Placing his weapon in the weapons room, he hovered just inside the doors, unable to see anyone around, although he could hear voices from the far end of the corridor. He decided to visit there first, perhaps discover where Katie was.

  He started walking toward the sound of the voices, his combat boots squeaking on the floor, but had gone only a short distance when a man stepped into the corridor and began to walk toward him. As the man approached, Joe saw that he was a Sergeant.

  “Can I help you, Staff Sergeant?” the sergeant asked, stopping in front of Joe.

  “Yeah, Sergeant. I’m looking for a Corporal Walker. She was brought in by medevac early this morning. She was in the CTF helo that went down last night. My patrol went to the crash site to rescue survivors. I came to see how she was.”

  The sergeant was studying Joe with an intense, fathomless gaze, assessing him. Joe held the sergeant’s stare without flinching.

  “Is she okay?” Joe asked slowly and firmly. “I’d like to see her if I can.”

  “Katie is fine,” Sergeant Webster began. “She’s asleep at the moment. She has a concussion, is a little dehydrated, and is suffering from shock, but there’s no major damage.”

  Joe straightened slightly, his face expressionless. He had heard a slight tone of over-protectiveness with regard to Katie in the sergeant’s voice. “I’d like to see her, Sergeant,” Joe reiterated, his voice a little firmer, not quite bordering on authoritative.

  “Excuse me for saying so, Staff Sergeant, but Katie is a good girl and she’s well liked here and around the camp.”

  Joe nodded, feeling a little annoyed but accepting the hidden warning. “I’m well aware that Katie is a good girl, Sergeant, and she’s going to stay that way. Now, if you’ll show me where she is, I’ll pay my respects and leave.”

  Sergeant Webster hesitated for a moment longer but then, clearly unable to think of a suitable reason to prevent this man from visiting his CTM, he turned abruptly and said, “Follow me.”

  The two men walked silently along the corridor and Sergeant Webster led Joe into a ward and pointed to a bed halfway along the large room.

  Joe thanked him and walked slowly to where Katie was lying, asleep. Sergeant Webster turned and left.

  Joe quietly shrugged out of his bergen, putting it down on the floor and balancing his helmet on top. He gently lifted a chair from beside the bed, turned it round, and sat astride it, resting his arms on the back. He sat there silently, gazing at Katie’s face. There was a large dressing on her temple and extending below it down her left cheek an angry graze and livid bruising on her cheekbone. Her skin was pale, her copper-colored hair a bright flaming halo. Glancing at her slim arms, he saw more grazes and bruises and a drip inserted into the vein of her right hand.

  He continued to watch her, wishing she would wake up, but knowing that she needed her rest. He was glad that she was all right physically, but who was to say that the whole incident had not upset her mentally. He suddenly yawned, unable to stop himself, and decided to leave. If and when she was discharged, he would see her tonight. Quietly, he went to get up when suddenly Katie moved, and Joe froze.

  She moaned softly, eyelids fluttering, then her eyes opened and she gazed directly at him. They were so green against her white skin that Joe thought they resembled emerald ice. She stared at him as though not recognizing him, and then smiled. “Hi,” she whispered.

  “Hey, honey,” he whispered back.

  She reached out her left hand to him. He got up from the chair, came to her bedside, and sat down on its edge beside her. He took the offered hand and leaning forward, kissed her gently on the mouth.

  “Thirsty,” she murmured.

  “Wait one,” Joe said, and standing up again, he went to the bedside cabinet and poured some water from a jug into a plastic cup. He went back to the bed and gently lifted her head and let her sip the cool water.

  Katie sighed blissfully, and after a few more sips, rested her head back on the pillow. Joe put the cup on the bedside locker and sat back down. He took her hand again and squeezed it. “How are you?” he asked.

  “Okay,” Katie answered. “Bit of a sore head, but I’ll live. You look so tired.”

  “Yeah, it was a tough night,” Joe answered lightly. “I’ll get some shut-eye later.”

  “Thank you for getting me out of there,” Katie began. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me.” She swallowed, partly from a dry throat and partly from the threat of grief building up inside her chest.

  Joe was shaking his head. “No thanks are necessary,” Joe answered, “but you scared the crap out of me.”

  “I was terrified,” Katie murmured. Her eyes became a little distant as she thought back to the crash. A safety mechanism in her brain, designed to protect her mentally, dismissed the images of the burning helicopter and the dead sergeant. She jerked back to reality and noticed that Joe was studying her intently.

  “Would you rather give tonight a miss?” he asked. “We can always arrange another night.”

  “No!” Katie exclaimed. “I’m going to be all right. Don’t cancel, Joe. I need to be with you alone, even if it’s not for…what we’d planned.”

  Joe grinned slightly and squeezed her hand again. “Okay. I’ll come and collect you from your tent at about 2000 hours if you are discharged. Now, I’d better leave you before that protective sergeant of yours comes and chucks me out.” He stood up from the bed and bent over her. “Get some sleep, sweetheart, and I’ll see you later.” He gently kissed her, and noticed with amusement that Katie’s eyes were almost closing.

  “Love you,” he heard her whisper.

  “Love you too,” he replied softly.

  Joe collected his bergen and helmet and, taking a last look at her, loving her so much, he backed away from the bed and left the ward. There was no one around so he walked as quickly as he could to the entrance and left the building, making hi
s way to his tent in Camp Roosevelt.

  * * * *

  Katie slept for another few hours and woke up feeling sore and bruised but with a much clearer mind and a diminished headache. She remembered Joe visiting and her heart soared when she remembered his face. She propped herself up in bed and glanced at her watch, which had been placed on the locker beside her. It was 1400 hours, and she realized that she felt a little hungry, which was surely a good sign that she was recovering.

  At that moment, there was the sound of boots squeaking on the flooring, and Lance Corporal Barrow entered the ward.

  “Harry,” Katie greeted.

  “Hey, Katie, how are you feeling?” The CTM approached the bed, took her chart from its position where it hung at its foot, and began to take her blood pressure, pulse and other vital signs, making notes on the chart as he went.

  “I’m feeling better,” Katie replied. “What’s the verdict?”

  “Everything stable,” Harry answered. “Blood pressure is back to normal and pulse normal. How’s the head?”

  Katie pulled a face. “I’ll survive,” she replied. “When can I get out of here?”

  “Ahhhh, the million dollar question,” Harry laughed. “You know the procedure, Katie, twenty-four hour observations, followed by a doctor’s assessment at 1700 hours. I’m going to get you something to eat. You’re due some more painkillers then I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient until the doc’s rounds. I think you’ll be okay for discharge later. Just behave yourself and be a model patient.”

  Katie pulled a face and smiled wryly. “Patience is not one of my virtues,” she commented, “but I promise I’ll be good.”

  “I’ll order you up some lunch. See if you can eat something,” the lance corporal said, placing the chart back on the foot of the bed and leaving the ward.

  A few minutes later, Sergeant Webster came in. “Good to see you awake, Katie,” he greeted.

  “Yes, Sergeant, thank you,” Katie replied.

  “Met a staff sergeant coming here to visit you,” Sergeant Webster announced casually. “Hope you know what you’re doing, Corporal.” He held Katie’s eyes with a knowing, concerned look in them.

  Katie held his gaze. “I do, Sergeant. Everything is fine.”

  Sergeant Webster nodded, turned, and left the ward.

  Katie spent the rest of the afternoon dozing and reading magazines. As time passed, she began to think of the night to come. She was excited and impatient. She couldn’t wait to be with Joe in a private place, alone, away from prying eyes. She wanted to be in his arms, reassured and safe. At the moment, the thoughts of the crash were pushed to the back of her mind, sealed away to be brought out when she felt able to deal with it, but there was a hard ball of grief in the pit of her stomach that was firmly held in check. If she relaxed her control, she would break down and cry, and she wasn’t about to allow that to happen.

  As the afternoon passed, she grew more and more restless, wanting to be out of the CTH. Once back in her tent, she could rest until she was due to meet Joe, but prior to that and more importantly, she needed to pass the doctor’s assessment before that could happen.

  At 1700 hours, she finally heard the sound of voices and a group of medical personnel came into the ward.

  “How are you, Corporal Walker?” Captain Williams asked as he approached the bed.

  “I’m fine, Sir,” Katie answered, determined to convince the surgeon that she was well enough to be discharged.

  “Any headache?” he asked.

  “Touch of one, sir, but nothing major.”

  “Okay. Well, we’ll check you over and decide whether we can release you or not.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The captain did a thorough examination, checking the pupil reaction of her eyes, blood pressure, and pulse. He also had one of the CTMs with him extract the cannula from the back of her hand. Once he was satisfied that everything was as it should be, he smiled at Katie and said, “You appear to be on the mend, Corporal. But there will be conditions for your discharge. You’ll need to rest for forty-eight hours, keep your fluid intake up, no rushing around, wild dancing, anything like that. I’m going to prescribe you some painkillers because no doubt you still have a headache, no matter what you tell me.” He raised an eyebrow knowingly. “If you start to get any double vision or vomiting—or if the wound starts to get infected—you’re to get right back here. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Katie replied meekly, but inside she was tingling with excitement and happiness. She would be able to meet Joe that night.

  “Okay, Corporal, you are discharged. Sergeant Webster will bring you your pills and I believe there is someone waiting for you out in the corridor.”

  He smiled as Katie said, “Thank you, sir,” then he and his team left. Katie was briefly left alone until Wanda suddenly put her head around the door. “Hey, babe,” she greeted in her usual cheerful manner.

  “Wanda!” Katie exclaimed, pleased to see her friend. “What are you doing here? How did you know?”

  “A little bird told me,” Wanda replied, coming in to the ward carrying a holdall. “No, actually a Sergeant Webster contacted me and said that you might need some uniform brought in and some help getting back to the tent.”

  Katie thrust the covers back and swung her legs around to sit on the edge of the bed. For a brief moment, she felt lightheaded and a little sick. Wanda saw the expression on her friend’s face and hurried to her side.

  “Are you sure you should be getting out?” she asked.

  “You’re damn right I should be,” Katie retorted. “Can you help me stand up, please?”

  Wanda placed the holdall on the floor and, grasping Katie’s arm, waited until Katie placed tentative feet on the floor then assisted her to stand upright. Katie swayed for a minute and put a hand to her head.

  “I need a shower,” she stated.

  “Okay,” Wanda said, “but I’ve been told to keep an eye on you, so where are the showers. I’ll take you to ’em.”

  “God, you don’t have to do that,” Katie stated a little irritably. “I’m perfectly capable of taking a shower on my own.”

  “Nope, orders are orders, mate,” Wanda replied firmly. “Now, let’s go. Otherwise we’ll never get you out of here.”

  “Well, you’ll have to walk behind me,” Katie advised. “These hospital gowns don’t exactly cover someone’s modesty and I’m not about to let the whole of the CTH see my bare backside.”

  With Wanda holding the back of the hospital gown together with one hand and the holdall with the other, the two women walked slowly out of the ward and in the direction of the shower rooms. They were halfway down the corridor when an alarm went off. Wanda jumped and glanced around. “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Incoming casualties,” Katie replied. “I should be working.”

  “No, you’re supposed to be resting,” Wanda answered firmly. “No arguments.”

  The CTH came alive as medical personnel left the R&R room and hurried down the corridor toward the two women. Nobody seemed perturbed or surprised to see Katie walking down the corridor in a hospital gown. She heard comments, offered with friendly smiles, such as ‘Good to see you’re doing okay, Katie’ or ‘Glad to see you up and about’, however, nobody wasted time stopping for a conversation. They had a responsibility to the incoming injured.

  Katie and Wanda made it the shower rooms and Katie grabbed her towel and toiletries and went into one of the showers while Wanda sat down on the bench in the adjacent locker room.

  “If you need me, just shout,” Wanda urged.

  “I will,” Katie agreed.

  While in the shower, having taken off the hospital gown, Katie took a moment to glance down at her body. She was a little horrified to discover that she had large, livid bruising over most of it, including enormous purple bruises on her left hip and elbow and raw abrasions and angry-looking grazes on her stomach and chest that were painful when she touched them. It was no
wonder she felt stiff and sore.

  “Jesus,” she murmured. “I look like a human punch bag.” Joe was going to take one look at her tonight and think that she looked horrible.

  Feeling a little depressed, Katie turned on the shower and stood under the hot spray. It eased some of the soreness in her muscles, and after a little while, she was able to bathe herself and wash her hair. Once she had finished, she dried herself then called to Wanda.

  “Can you bring my uniform to me, please?”

  “Yep,” Wanda answered and there was the sound of booted footfalls on the tiles of the shower room, the sound of a bag unzipping, then various parts of her uniform appeared over the top of the door.

  “I’ve got your boots as well,” Wanda said, “but there’s blood on them.”

  “That’s okay,” Katie replied. “I’ll have to wear them. They’re the only pair I have.”

  Spraying herself liberally with deodorant, Katie managed to dress herself without irritating the bruises and grazes. She towel-dried her hair and fluffed it up then let herself out of the shower. Walking to the long mirror on the wall, Wanda watching, she glanced at herself in it and couldn’t stop herself from gasping.

  “Oh crap, I look a fright,” she exclaimed, and her voice sounded a little tearful. Her face was still pale and drawn and there were faint, dark circles under her eyes. The bump just above her temple was still evident with a livid gash across it. A graze and a multicolored bruise ran down the left side of her face almost to her jaw line.

  Wanda placed a soothing hand on Katie’s shoulder. “You look fine,” she reassured gently. “Anyway, you’re alive.”

  Katie paused and turned to glance at her friend.

  “Want to talk about it?” Wanda asked.

  Katie shook her head. “No, Wanda. Not yet.”

  “Okay, whenever you’re ready. Now, shall we get out of here before they change their minds and keep us both here?”

  Katie laughed slightly and nodded, “Yeah, let’s go.”

  The two women left the showers and went back out into the corridor. The CTH was busy and they hurried to the doors and let themselves out into the evening air. Katie could hear the sound of an ambulance and almost wanted to go back inside and join the teams, but there was something more important she had to do that night—be with Joe.