The Embattled Road

by J. M. Madden

  “I need a tourniquet above that knee!”

  Nothing on earth could make a grunt focus like those words. “What…tourniquet? Wait…” He rolled his head forward enough to try to focus on his legs, but all he saw was a blur of gore. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck no. That much red couldn’t be good. Panic clutched at his insides. He reached out to his friend.

  Rough hands released Velcro and buckles, pulling his pack away, and he dropped flat to the ground. His helmet thumped against a rock, but it didn’t really bother him. The heat that was licking up his legs and rolling up his left side was bothering him more. He shifted on the ground, trying to get away from the burning, but it followed him, making him grit his teeth. “First Sergeant, what’s going on?”

  Duncan’s rough face leaned over his own, making solid eye-contact. “Chad, you got issues, buddy. Dodd stepped on a mine. Your left leg’s a mess, but we’re taking care of you. Medevac’s on its way, but it’ll be a few minutes.”

  Chad fought to untangle the words and keep focus on the face above. “Fuck. My legs?”

  First Sergeant nodded. “Looks like just one though. The side that was closest to Dodd. Your other one looks good.”

  “Are my nuts still there?”

  First Sergeant grinned at him. “Well, I’m not going in to check, but from the outside it looks like you lucked out. You’ve still got your nuts.”

  Chad allowed himself to relax back against the ground. There were two sharp pinches in his arms, and the roaring heat on his left side kind of started to ease. The sunlight straight up above was hard to look at, so he rocked his head to the side.

  Dodd’s young face was surprisingly clean considering the mess the rest of him was in. His eyes stared unseeingly. Chad knew that wasn’t good. “You guys take care of him.”

  There was a warm, soft wave blocking the blaze of pain from his side as it was tugged him into sleep. With a sigh, he let his worries fall away.

  The next time he opened his eyes, he was in the hold of a Medevac. His stomach somersaulted as they surged into the air.

  Chad jerked awake, clutching the rail of the hospital bed. His left hand banged into the other side, sending agony roaring throughout his body. Nausea twisted his stomach. The dream had seemed so real. Even his left foot was aching. The same images pestered him every night. Dodd, wide-eyed from his first engagement with the enemy asking about his rifle. Then Dodd in pieces. The doc told Chad he’d died instantly, but that didn’t ease his guilt. It was his responsibility to train them up to be good Marines.

  Sometimes, in his dreams, he’d be the one to step on the landmine rather than Dodd. And he was okay with that, because when he woke up he didn’t feel nearly the same amount of guilt. He’d been a Marine for years. He knew what the risks were. Dodd had been so eager, just starting out his career. He hadn’t deserved to die.

  Over the months of being in the hospital, his images had changed sometimes. Since he’d reconnected with First Sergeant Wilde, he’d had flashes of helicopters landing on him. Talking to his roommate Swenson, his mind created scenarios of being mowed down by an AK47. The way he died changed every night, but he always flashed to his injury just before he woke up. The counselor he talked to said that was pretty normal, and that eventually the dreams would fade. Yeah, okay. It’d been six months already and they were just as vivid as if he were there yesterday.

  Squinting, he tried to see the clock on the wall. Zero two seventeen in the morning. Swenson snored away, undisturbed. At least this one hadn’t been loud enough to wake him up. He looked down at his legs and was shocked all over again when he remembered the left one was gone. Every morning he was surprised it wasn’t there, because it still ached. And itched. God, the itching was the worst. The docs said that would probably go away too.

  Chad pushed himself upright on the bed and dropped to the floor on his right foot, balancing. The wheelchair was right beside the bed, but he tried not to use it any more than he had to. Pushing away from the mattress, cradling his left arm to his stomach, he hopped to the bathroom, catching the rails just inside. Avoiding looking at himself in the mirror, he did his business and hopped back to the bed, grabbing his robe at the end. Once he was covered, he dropped into the wheelchair. Using the heel of his right foot, he pulled himself out of the room.

  Though it was ass-crack early, he wasn’t the only one up wandering the halls. More than one insomniac avoided his eyes as he rolled down the hallway to the elevator.

  One of the nurses looked up from her paperwork and smiled at him, used to his nightly wanders. He dragged close enough to steal a peppermint from the bowl behind the counter, then a second, winked at her and moved on. When the elevator arrived he pressed the button for fifth floor where the SCI ward was. Dragging himself down the long hallway with his foot, he peered into room 523. Duncan appeared to be sleeping, his gray head turned away from the hallway, but Palmer’s bed was empty, as he’d expected. He turned down another hallway and pushed out through a glass access door. At the far end of the balcony, Palmer had parked his chair in his normal spot to look out over the hospital grounds. There wasn’t much to see other than yellow mercury-vapor parking lot lights, but they didn’t mind. It was one of the few places they could get away from the sights and sounds and smells of the hospital.

  He parked himself next to Gunny. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  They didn’t say anything for a long time. Chad’s breath fogged the air. He pulled the blanket from the back of his chair to cover his lap. “You wanna share?”

  Palmer snorted. “Fuck no. I’ll freeze first.”

  The Gunnery Sergeant was only wearing a black T-shirt in the forty degree weather, so Chad thought it was definitely a possibility. Though it didn’t seem to affect the big, muscled Marine. Many a night this fall they’d sat out here just breathing, waiting for the next sunrise. Most of the time they didn’t say a word. The conversation wasn’t what they met for.

  “They’re kicking me out next week.” Palmer sighed. “Knew it was coming, but didn’t think it was going to be so soon.”

  Chad felt like he’d had the rug pulled out from beneath him. The Gunny could be a royal pain in the ass, but he still counted him as a friend. “North Carolina?”

  Palmer nodded. “I guess they have an awesome VA down there that would ‘better suit my needs’.”

  Chad winced. Basically he was being shuffled away. “Hell, Gunny. I thought they’d give you more time.”

  Palmer shrugged his big shoulders. “Other soldiers need the space, I guess.”

  They sat in silence until the morning sun crested. Chad didn’t sleep at all once they finally went back to their rooms. Though the Gunny played a good game, Chad knew he had to be upset. In the entire time he’d been in the hospital, he’d only seen him have a few visitors. The first was an aide who came to deliver his medical discharge paperwork. The second was his commanding officer. And the other few were grunts he’d trained and served with. All of the visits were painfully short.

  Chad felt bad. His family irritated the crap out of him, but they were still blood. They still came for visits and brought cookies and news from home. Still kept him in the loop, even though he was a thousand miles away. They were already making plans for him to return to the ranch in Texas.

  He honestly didn’t know what he was going to do when he got out of the hospital. Ranching just did not appeal to him.

  Palmer had no family. No parents or siblings or even cousins. Chad had made the mistake of asking him and had his ass handed to him. The only thing waiting for him at Lejeune was an empty rack.

  After PT, Chad rolled himself down to Duncan’s room. Palmer was sitting at the window and a nurse was holding Duncan’s chair as he transferred into it. Once she left, they all agreed to go out to the balcony. Palmer rolled out first, anger in every movement he made as he shoved his chair down the hallway. Duncan went next, pushing the wheels of his chair more calmly.

  Chad got there last, of course. His left h
and wasn’t recovering as quickly as they’d hoped, so the thing was wrapped like crazy. They were talking about shipping him to Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, where they specialized in burn treatment. It didn’t help that he banged it in the night, sometimes undoing the work from whatever surgery he had last.

  So, his one leg didn’t drag as fast as their healthy arms pushed on the wheels of the chairs. He couldn’t wait to be fitted with the prosthetic. Then he could get out of the chair and use a cane or crutches at least. How sad was it that he was hoping for a cane.

  It was cold outside, but nobody felt it. Palmer stared off in the distance, refusing to make eye contact with either one of them.

  “So, what’s your itinerary?” Chad asked him finally.

  Palmer glanced at him. “I fly out Friday. A volunteer will meet me at the airport and take me to my old barracks. Collect my stuff. I’ll be in a step-down program before I’m released completely into the world. Then I guess I’ll get an apartment and stare at the walls.”

  Chad cringed in sympathy. The scenario was something they all could be facing. “Are you going to go to school?”

  Palmer shrugged. “I’ve been an MP for years. Have no frickin’ idea what I’d go to school for.” He snorted. “Fuck, I barely made it out of high school. And I’d be older than everybody there.”

  They were each lost in their own thoughts for a while, because it was a reality they all could envision. Having no purpose in life other than to collect a disability check from the government. It gave him chills to even consider it. “We may not have an option.”

  Gunny shot him a furious look.

  “You know,” Duncan said, “we all have experience. We trained Marines for years. Military Police, no less. We have leadership abilities, decision-making skills, armory experience, and a boatload of other things the government considered us valuable for. No, we can’t drive anymore or run around shooting people, but somebody has to need what we can offer. We just have to find them.”

  Palmer looked unconvinced. His dark brows were furrowed over his black eyes and Chad knew that nothing was sinking in right now.

  He was ashamed to feel relief that he wasn’t the one leaving the hospital first. It had become a haven for all of them, where they’d been through similar things and experienced similar losses. Worry tightened his gut. Palmer had no family to rely on, very few friends and slim prospects for recovery.

  But he knew guns like nobody’s business.

  The thought of never seeing his friend again sent a chill through him. At least here, Palmer could bitch at the two of them. It was a relationship, whether he wanted to admit it or not. So many Marines had not been able to integrate back into civilian life. And the suicide rate was even higher for wounded service-men. John Palmer so fit the profile.

  “We need to make sure we stay in touch,” he told them.

  Snorting, Palmer shook his head. “Yeah, okay.”

  “I’m serious. We’re Marines, we stick together.”

  “I’ll move on and somebody else will take my place. It’s how it works here. You’ll forget about me by lunchtime the day after I’m gone.”

  Chad shook his head at the man’s stubbornness. “No, I won’t. You’re a brother. I won’t forget that. Just like I won’t forget any of the other men I served with.”

  Palmer stared at him hard for a couple of seconds, then turned to look out over the parking lot without saying anything. If Chad didn’t know any better, he’d think the Gunny had just gotten a little emotional. He glanced at Duncan, who gave the tiniest shake of his head.

  It was hard to convince somebody who had never been cared about that you actually cared.

  Chapter Three

  John refused to acknowledge the pain that rolled through him from Chad’s words. Didn’t it figure? He’d looked for acceptance all his life. The Corps gave him that for a while, and, sadly, being in the hospital even more so. He’d served with these men on the front lines, and even though it was an adopted brotherhood, it was more than he’d ever had before.

  He felt pretty salty right now though. He’d served his country faithfully, through all conditions and three deployments, and they were turning him out like a relative who had stayed too long.

  Panic made his heart race and his hand slipped to his hip automatically, looking for iron confidence. But it wasn’t there. Hadn’t been there for almost half a year now.

  Hell, maybe it is time to move on.

  There wasn’t a lot of stuff at Lejeune. Which was good because he had no idea how he was going to get it anywhere. He’d say goodbye to some people and reminisce a bit, then be gone. If those meetings were anything like the few he’d had here in the hospital, they would be quick and final. The able-bodied grunts didn’t like to see the wounded because it reminded them of their own mortality. Any one of them could step on a landmine or drive over an IED.

  He looked at the watch on his wrist. Twelfth of the month. Three more days and he’d be out of here.

  In a way he was relieved to be moving on, before he became any more attached than he already was. Chad talked a good game, but he’d forget him eventually too. The kid had family that appreciated his service and were already making plans to welcome him home, with a parade and everything. The Lowell family had made a concerted effort to always have somebody at the hospital every week. In spite of the trek from Texas, his parents came out every month like clockwork. They’d have a heck of a surprise when they came out this month. Their boy would have his leg back.

  Genuinely, he was glad for Chad, but he couldn’t help but be envious at his recovery. The damage from the Humvee panel landing on his own back in the IED explosion was permanent, and no hoping in the world was going to change that. Yes, there were drugs and trials they could try, he was told, but there was no guarantee. Yes, every once in a while his leg twitched. Oorah.

  His dick remained a useless lump. It pissed like it was supposed to now and that was it. No arousal even when he tried to imagine fucking a woman. Or, God, getting a blow job. He’d deliberately tried to get hard several times with no result. He wouldn’t be trying again.

  All his life, he’d prided himself on being a good lover. It was a great cosmic joke that the thing he would miss most would be denied him.

  Rolling forward in his chair, he looked over the balcony. Five floors up probably wouldn’t do the job. Rather than killing him it would only injure him. Yet again.

  Fuck.

  Their rumbling stomachs eventually chased them indoors to find food. Chad left for his room and promised to be back in a while so they could watch Jeopardy together.

  John hated the thought of dragging himself back up into that hospital bed. He was so sick of it. If the nurses wouldn’t constantly nag at him he’d just sleep in the chair. He angled it near the window, facing the door.

  Duncan turned Comedy Central on while they ate, but they didn’t laugh. They were both dealing with crap and the chatter in the background sometimes helped drown out what cluttered their minds.

  “If the three of us went into business together, what would we do?” Duncan asked, flicking the mute button on the remote.

  John stared at him in surprise. “Are you asking seriously?”

  Duncan nodded his head, running his hand through his too-long hair. It had gone grayer in the time he’d been here, John noticed. “I am.”

  John squinted at him and shook his head. “Hell, I don’t know. Wheelchair test pilots. Medical disability collectors.”

  Duncan glared at him. “If you have to go out and try to get a job in three days, which you do have to do, I might add, what are you going to look for?”

  The question aggravated John because he had not the foggiest inkling. “I don’t know. I guess I would look at working for the city as a police or fire dispatcher or something.”

  Duncan seemed surprised to get a straight answer. “Huh. You know, that’s actually not a bad idea. With your MP experience that actually fits really well.�
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  For some reason, Duncan’s praise eased some of his worry. Though he hadn’t known him long, he trusted the man’s opinion implicitly. If Duncan thought he could do it, he probably could.

  Chad rolled in just then carrying a colorful tin box on his lap. “What’s not a bad idea?”

  “Palmer being a police dispatcher.”

  The kid’s eyes widened. “Hey, I can totally see you doing that. Although you may have to unlearn the word ‘fuck’.”

  John flipped him the bird.

  Laughing, Chad rolled over to him. “Sign language, huh? That may be okay. At least the public wouldn’t hear you. Here, have a cookie, sour-puss.”

  John peered into the tin. Obviously, Mrs. Lowell had been busy. He selected two chocolate chip cookies, appreciating that Chad had shared. He bit into one and chewed slowly, for the first time in a long time appreciating the flavor of something. “These are damn tasty, Lowell. Tell Mom she did good.”

  Chad grinned, his mouth full. He held the tin out to Duncan, but was waved away. Duncan looked too contemplative to chew anyway as he surveyed Chad sitting in the chair. “Chad, what do you see yourself doing three months down the road? When you’ve got your leg and are mobile.”

  Swallowing, the younger man sat back in his chair. “Well, I guess it depends upon how mobile I am with the prosthetic. I know I’m not going to stay in the Marines. Obviously. Desk job just doesn’t appeal to me. As much as I hate to say it, I may go back to the ranch and see what I can do there. Mom and Dad would love to have me back in the house.” He shrugged. “Not sure, really. As good a place to start as any though.”

  Duncan nodded at his answer. Then Chad turned the tables. “What about you, Dunc?”

  The First Sergeant crossed his arms over his chest, wincing. John knew it had to hurt to stretch the recovering skin that way, but he knew Duncan did it anyway just so he could hold his favorite position. Countless talks were given to new recruits when they landed in Wilde’s company, he’d heard. Procedure, tactics, hygiene- you name it, they talked about it. And learned. Chad had told him he’d never had a Company First Sergeant more knowledgeable about all things tactical, procedural, statistical. He’d compared Duncan Wilde’s brain to a computer more than once.