The Music Trilogy

by Kahn, Denise

  “You’ll be getting a Purple Heart, you know.”

  “…Shrapnel.”

  “Alright, I’ll let them know.” Sam was always amazed that the men wanted that souvenir more than their medal.

  Max vomited more blood. His eyes were filming over and glassy, but there was a still a little spark in the gray irises. “Sam…”

  “Yes, Max?” Sam answered. She was holding his hand as tightly as she dared, as if his life depended on her touch and warmth.

  “I… love… you…” Max said, as his lung completely collapsed. He blacked out. More blood flowed from his mouth and covered his already crimson covered torso. They wheeled him into the OR.

  “Sam, we’ll take it from here. You wait outside,” the doctor in charge said, stopping her from entering.

  “No, I want to be in there with him. I have to help.”

  “No, Sam, not on this one.” The doctor knew that Sam and Max were close. He had seen them together.

  “But Doctor, you know I’m the best…”

  “That’s an order.”

  Sam watched the team in the operation room through the little window on the door. They were some of the best in the world and Max was in their hands. If anyone could save him it was this team. She looked one more time and pictured Max’s handsome face. “I love you too, Marine, I love you Max.”

  Sam stood with her hands on her hips in the hallway. She watched as they wheeled Colin into the OR next to Max’s. She had to smile as she thought about how wonderful the relationship between these two men was. They were even being operated on at the same time.

  Sam was asleep in a chair in the hallway outside the ORs when Chantal walked up to her. “Sam?” No answer. She shook her. “Sam, wake up.”

  “What? What happened, how’s Max? How’s Col?”

  “They’re both out of surgery. Some of Col’s shoulder was blown away, but thankfully no vital organs were harmed. They spent hours reconnecting what they could, but he’ll need a few more specialized operations, rebuilding and grafting. At some point and with physical therapy he might regain full function.”

  “Wow, that’s great news.”

  “Yeah, and Max is holding his own, although shrapnel punctured his lung. It was touch and go for a while.”

  “What about his leg?” Sam asked, fearing the worst.

  “His leg took the majority of the impact, like Col’s shoulder. They did a great job. They got to him just in time, and they didn’t amputate. But like Col, more operations and physical therapy for quite some time.”

  “Oh, thank God! For both of them.”

  “I’ll say. Come on, let’s get some food and some sleep. It’s been a long day. Besides, the boys will be unconscious for hours.”

  “Okay, let’s go. Remind me to get the team the best bottle of whatever their favorite booze is.”

  “Thought of that myself and have a great Cognac ready to go.”

  “The ol’ Aunt Clo special.”

  The girls smiled for the first time in many hours.

  ♫

  CHAPTER 35

  Max and Colin were stable enough to be MEDEVACed to Landstuhl. Sam and Chantal helped the crew of the Air Force’s Hercules C130 air ambulance medical evacuation flight equipped with the best care team and equipment. The converted cargo plane had state of the art medical equipment, and the people who manned it were incredible technicians, medics and air crew. Every time they took a flight they were risking their lives, as surface to air missiles would target them at every opportunity, but the pilots were also some of the Air Force’s most prolific and creative, and knew how to elude the missiles.

  Max and Colin were placed on hanging stretcher beds in the large flying hospital. Different machines and special hooks for I.V. bags were ready and hanging from their niches above or around them. Sam and Chantal leaned over the men they loved and kissed them goodbye. As they left the plane, Tyrone, who had just flowed in, ran up to his sister and Sam.

  “Hey, Ty,” Chantal said.

  “Hi Chantal, hi Sam.”

  “Hi Tyrone.”

  “Are you staying for a while?”

  “No, I just flew in some wounded and heard about the boys here. I just came to see how they were. I’ll be right out.”

  “Okay, we’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”

  The women were on a break and went to get something to eat. Tyrone went up to the men he respected and said hello.

  “Hey Col, hi Max.”

  “Hey fly boy,” Colin said, “what are you up to?”

  “Just bringing more of you guys in, saving your asses.”

  “Good job, Devereaux, keep it up,” Max said.

  “Yeah, that’s the idea. Now you guys relax, you’re in good hands.”

  “You mean the Air Force?”

  “Absolutely. You Jarheads need us.”

  “Just joking, man. You guys are pretty amazing at what you do.”

  “For God’s sake, Haf, don’t let it go to his head.”

  “Alright, got to go. See you Stateside.”

  The big propellers on the Hercules were revving up, getting ready to take off. As Tyrone jumped off the rear ramp onto the tarmac he overheard one the Airmen cursing.

  “What’s wrong?” His partner said.

  “They didn’t make it. We just lost them.”

  The cold sweat rushed down Tyrone’s back.

  “Both of them?”

  “Yeah, the IED guys.”

  “Goddamn it!”

  “Hey!” Tyrone yelled from the end of the plane’s ramp, “are you talking about the leg and shoulder wounds? The big black guy and the one next to him?”

  The Airman nodded and pushed up his hands as in ‘there wasn’t anything we could do’.

  Tyrone still couldn’t believe it. What had happened? “I’m talking about Haferty and del Valle, right?” He asked again, wanting to make sure.

  The Airman nodded as he finished closing the zipper on the black body bag. The other man was doing the same for the other one.

  Tears formed in Tyrone’s eyes, for the men no longer in this world, for the waste of such young and beautiful people and for the women they had loved and were now leaving behind. How was he ever going to tell them? The guys had looked stable enough, he kept thinking. They actually looked pretty good. What the fuck had happened?

  If Tyrone had been a little closer he would have noticed that neither one of the bodies could have been Colin’s large frame.

  Tyrone walked into the cafeteria with the same look he had had when his parents were killed during hurricane Katrina. He spied the girls at one of the corner tables.

  “Hey Ty, have a seat,” Sam said.”

  “Plane just took off,” Chantal said as she heard the rumbling of the Hercules’ engines.

  “Yes. Yes it did.”

  “With our boys.”

  “Sit down, Tyrone,” Sam repeated.

  “Uh, no, I have to leave. Could I speak to you both outside for a minute, it’s important.”

  “Can’t you tell us here, little brother?”

  “Uh, no. It needs to be more private.”

  “Are you alright?” Sam asked.

  Tyrone didn’t answer. He just turned and walked out. The two women looked at each other, puzzled, and followed.

  Tyrone had no idea how he was going to tell them. He kept repeating the same phrase to himself: “I’m sorry, Chantal,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Sam, I’m so sorry.”

  The two women went to their respective rooms. They sat on their beds, numb and devastated. They didn’t move. After twenty minutes of sitting immobile Chantal looked around the room and found what she was looking for. She picked up the bottle of Cognac and a glass and went to Sam’s room. She walked in without even knocking.

  “Hey Sam, thought we could use some of this, what do you say?”

  Sam nodded. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

  Chantal went to the bathroom, emptied the glass of the toothbrus
h, quickly washed it and brought it to Sam.

  “Make it deep,” Sam said.

  “You got it, sister.”

  Chantal poured them each an almost full glass of the Cognac.

  “To the men we loved. Thank you for having loved us.”

  “To Colin Haferty, my BBB.”

  “What’s BBB?” Sam asked.

  “Big, black and beautiful.”

  Even in her misery Sam had to chuckle. And she thought of the man she had lost as well. “And to Max del Valle, movie star handsome, incredible musician and beautiful heart. We’ll always love you, boys.”

  The women raised their glasses and drank half of the dark amber liquid.

  “You know, in New Orleans we’re all a little psychic, we all believe in destiny and love.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I thought Col was it. I thought we would spend the rest of our lives together. Love and destiny, you know.”

  “And you probably would have, if they hadn’t been such damned heroes.”

  “Yeah, maybe, and that’s probably also why we loved them. Just the way they were.”

  “You know we have a ninety percent survival rate here.”

  “Yeah, why did they have to be part of the ten percent?”

  The women were on their way to getting very, very drunk.

  “You know it’s my fault,” Sam said, slurring her words.

  They had slipped off the bed and were now on the floor against the mattress.

  “What is?”

  “They died because of me. First my parents, then Robert, now Col and Max, all my fault.”

  “I told you before, that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Think about it, every single person I’ve ever loved…” Sam broke down and cried.

  “Sam, stop it. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Chantal, you have to get away from me. I’m going to kill you too. I can’t lose anybody else, especially you.”

  “Now that’s totally enough! Who do you think you are? God?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Only God Almighty has that kind of power.”

  “Then I must be Satan.”

  “No, just completely drunk.” She looked over at Sam who was sinking down to the floor. Chantal followed suit and passed out as well.

  ♫

  BAGHDAD

  CHAPTER 36

  Sam gathered some groceries and her medical bag and went to the jeep parked in front of the tent. She looked at the horizon which reminded her of the unique pastels of peaches and baby blues of a New Mexico sunrise. She put the bag and the box of groceries in the jeep and headed toward Baghdad.

  She arrived at Hamid’s Aunt’s house, took her bag out and knocked on the door. Fatima slowly opened it a crack. When she saw Sam her face immediately lit up and beckoned her inside.

  “Come in, Sam, it is cold outside.”

  “Cold?”

  “Very!”

  “Not when you’re from Boston. This is a heat wave,” Sam chuckled.

  “Here it is cold,” Fatima insisted.

  “Okay, it’s a little cold. How is Hamid?”

  “Much better, thank you. Hamid! Come! Sam is here.”

  Hamid came running from another room, saw Sam, and hugged her. “Sam!” He almost toppled her over.

  “Hello, Hamid, how’s your arm?”

  “Good! Look!” The boy proudly displayed his arm for her to see.

  “Oh, let’s take a good look at it. Does it hurt?”

  “Only a little.”

  “Good. And every day a little less?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam sat him down on a chair, took another one for herself and placed it facing the boy. She slowly unraveled the bandages. The wound looked clean and was healing nicely. She went into her bag and brought out a new bandage and slowly rewrapped his arm. “There, all done. A couple more weeks and it will be like new.”

  “No more pain?”

  “No more pain.” Hamid gave her a huge smile. Sam turned to Fatima. “I have some groceries in the jeep, I’m just going to get them.”

  “No, no, I will get them. You stay here.”

  “But it’s cold outside.”

  “No, no, I will get them.” Fatima was being stubbornly gracious.

  “Well, at least take my jacket,” Sam said, taking it off and helping Fatima into it.

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.” Fatima walked out of the little house to get the bags from the jeep. As she leaned in to pick them up there was a thunderous explosion, powerful enough that it overturned the jeep, blew out the glass in the house and shook the earth so forcefully that people on the other side of the street were thrown to the ground. The Iraqi woman never saw the insurgents target the jacket she was wearing with the RPG, the rocket propelled grenade.

  Sam and Hamid were on the floor of the once pristine little house. She quickly looked for the boy. He was face down on a carpet.

  “Hamid, are you alright?” He didn’t answer. Sam looked him over quickly. He didn’t seem to be hurt. Sam shook him. “Hamid! Hamid!”

  The groggy boy mumbled. “Sam?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Are you okay?”

  “I think so.” His voice just a whisper.

  “Oh, my God, Fatima!” Sam exclaimed. Hamid’s eyes grew very wide. “Stay here,” she ordered. Sam rushed to the window, being careful of the thousands of shards. She carefully peered out the window, saw what was left of the jeep, the street and Fatima. She cringed at the devastation. That should have been me. I’m so sorry Fatima. She also saw four men with AK47’s running toward the house, their faces menacing, and their intentions clear. Sam rushed to Hamid and pushed him toward the back of the house. “We have to leave, now! There are bad men outside who want to hurt us.”

  “And Fatima?”

  Sam didn’t have time to tell him gently. “I’m sorry, she’s dead. Now let’s go!”

  In a split-second Hamid seemed to mature and his brown eyes turned almost black. He’d been through this before, with his parents. Now, the bastards had taken his Aunt. He tried to get Sam’s gun out of the holster. “I’m going to kill them, like they killed Fatima.”

  Sam quickly stopped his little hand and pushed it away from the 9mm pistol. “No, Hamid, that’s not the answer. Besides there are too many of them. Now, come on, we have to get out here!”

  “I know a way,” he said leading her out the back door.

  Sam knew she wouldn’t have a chance against the four menacing men. She might have managed one or two, but the others would surely kill her and Hamid. They quickly rushed out the back door, ran down a small alley and disappeared behind a set of bombed out houses.

  ♫

  VIRGINIA

  CHAPTER 37

  The mansion sat on hill overlooking a beautiful valley with grass and a forest in the background. Davina and Alejandro had lived there since he was assigned to Washington as the Spanish Ambassador. It was also convenient for Davina. A quick flight could take her anywhere in the U.S. or to any point in Europe. She was at the top of her game and gave concerts around the world. But she hadn’t performed in months, save for a quick television appearance on the Tonight Show, Ellen DeGeneres, Televisión Española or France’s TF1.

  Davina was having the same nightmare—the vehicle pulling up to the house, the two men coming to her door, giving her the news about Max. But wait, she wasn’t sleeping, or dreaming, she was very much awake standing behind the sheer curtain of the living room window. Her knees started buckle, her legs losing their ability to keep her standing. Her hand subconsciously grabbed the back of the chair next to her. It held her up. The nightmare was coming true. The black military vehicle was really stopping in front of her house. She could see the two Marines in the car. She recognized their hair cut. No, no, the voice in her brain screamed, don’t you dare come out! She of course knew they would since the mansion was the only home around. Don’t be in blues, don’t be in your best damn
, beautiful uniform! She pleaded with the Gods in the Heavens, to any and all she could think of, of every religion or denomination. They were all One anyway, she concluded, or any One of them could help her. Either way, she prayed.

  The Marines emerged from the car—they were not in their blues, and Davina finally exhaled. Max was not dead. She quickly thanked all the Gods. But her little boy was wounded, how bad was now the crucial question.

  The Marines gave her the news. Max was at the military hospital in Landstuhl. Davina immediately called Alejandro.

  “Alejandro, we’re going to Germany.”

  “Dios mio! How bad?” Alejandro asked, immediately understanding what had happened. He ran out of the embassy, the cell phone still to his ear as he listened to what Davina was telling him.

  ♫

  BAGHDAD

  CHAPTER 38

  Four soldiers in a Humvee were patrolling the streets in Baghdad’s early morning. Most of the houses and stores had been blown up. People were walking. Mothers held children’s hands, men were talking to each other and smoking cigarettes. Once in a while a dilapidated car drove by. They had heard an explosion and were headed for the area of the noise. They arrived in just a few minutes. Smoke billowed up into the atmosphere. Dark, ugly clouds of ash and dirt rising from the grotesquely deformed wreck of what once was a jeep. A crowd looked on. People were screaming, frightened. Some had cuts and the blood trickled down their faces and arms, others helped the wounded.

  The soldiers looked around. The danger seemed to have subsided, the only remnants were the wounded, the jeep and craters where the walls of the house once stood. They also noticed a military jacket. It was torn to shreds and there were pieces of a dead body strewn all around. The war hardened soldiers still had a difficult time with deaths like these. They could comprehend bullets and their devastation to a body, but when all is left are little pieces of what once used to be a complete living person this still, and always, would leave them stunned. One of the soldiers saw a name on the torn jacket: Baxter. They also noticed that it was small—it had to be a woman’s. Another of the soldiers noticed a pin that was once attached to the jacket.