rose from her position and started to climb over the rubble to go after the child. Rick pulled her down. “Stay here, dammit,” he said. “I’ll go.”
As he started to scramble over the rubble, she followed. Another group of planes roared over them, raining more fire on the street. Explosions deafened her. Chunks of flaming metal flew through the air. Two cars and an ambulance used by the doctors burst into flames. She struggled to the top of the debris. Dust and smoke was everywhere. She couldn’t see the child.
“We’ve got to find her,” she said to Rick. A trailing plane came in low and dropped its munitions. The building across the street sustained a direct hit and started to crumple.
“I have to find the girl,” she shouted to Rick.
“You’ll be killed out there,” Rick shouted and pushed her down. “Nothing can survive out there right now. They’re pounding that street.”
She huddled against the rubble as heat seared her, gluing her tan T-shirt to her body. She wore a flak vest over the T-shirt and BDU pants, which she had selected for the additional pockets. The pockets were filled with everything she needed to do her job, from cell phone, notebooks and pens to a small recorder.
“The hospital?” she asked Rick, just as another explosion tore up the wreckage, only a few yards from them. The heat burned her arm, and the impact threw her back against a pile of debris. Her shoulder felt on fire, the skin burning. She looked down at her shoulder to see metal protruding from a jagged wound. She stared at it for a moment, and then the pain hit.
Rick uttered a curse as he scooted over to her to study the wound. “I’m afraid if I remove it, you’ll bleed out,” he said. “I’ll try to get one of the doctors. Ali should be back here with the jeep.”
He bolted over what was now a wall of broken cement, and she clenched her teeth to stop from moving, from crying out. The pain grew worse. She could smell her own burned skin.
She couldn’t tell how large the piece of shrapnel was inside, but she knew that the medical people, if they were still alive, were going to be busy with wounds worse than this.
She also knew they couldn’t stay here. Syrian troops or ISIS fighters often followed the planes, killing those the planes missed.
She didn’t know how long Rick was gone. It seemed like hours before he appeared over the wall. “They can’t come,” he said. “Three of them are wounded, and the others are busy trying to keep all the civilians alive. They’re afraid soldiers will follow the bombs.”
“The little girl?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see her on the street and it was too crowded in the hospital. Right now, we have to get you out of here.”
He didn’t have to explain more. She knew what might await her as an American woman.
“They gave me some pills, burn salve and pressure bandages,” he said. “I was told to get you to a refugee camp as fast as possible. I found Ali. He and the jeep are pretty close.” He hesitated, and then he added, “I have to pull that piece of metal out. The jolting in the jeep could do even more damage.”
Jenny understood. She’d been under fire before. She knew the risks.
“Do you think you can walk if I help? I can take out that shrapnel when we get to the jeep.”
She nodded. She had to. There was no way Rick could carry her any distance. He didn’t weigh much more than she did.
He handed her a canteen and several pills. Painkillers and antibiotics, she assumed. After she swallowed them, he helped her to her feet. She barely made it. The rocks and ruined buildings were going in and out of focus. One step, and then another. You have to do this.
No one paid attention to them as they stumbled through debris toward the jeep. It took every ounce of Jenny’s strength to put one foot ahead of the other as pain coursed through her, growing stronger by the minute. Only Rick’s steady arm kept her upright.
She was beyond grateful when she saw Ali and the jeep. But she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. It was all she could do to stay upright. A few more steps. Gunshots. Behind them.
Everything dimmed...
Walter Reed Hospital Rehabilitation Unit
LIFE WILL NEVER be the same.
Major Travis Hammond leaned on his crutches and watched a young corporal take halting steps on a new prosthesis that substituted for a right leg. Danny Ware’s face was contorted with determination as he tried to walk without hanging onto the bars.
In the months they’d shared these rehab facilities, along with other wounded soldiers, Travis had grown fond of Danny. Maybe because of the kid’s unfailing optimism despite getting a really bad deal. He reminded Travis of his brother.
Danny was a foster kid, and the army had been one of the few options he’d had after finishing high school. But now that option was gone. Danny hadn’t been able to save much money on an enlisted man’s pay, and Travis knew it would take months before his disability pay arrived. Travis had seen the fear and uncertainty when the kid thought no one was watching, but a “what the hell” grin would usually spread across his face if he caught eyes on him.
The military rehab facility was, as usual, full, with both new patients and those returning for additional surgeries. It had become a second home to Travis after two years and multiple surgeries. But now there were only a few days left before he was released.
He would miss the other soldiers. They shared the pain. And the fear, though it was unspoken. Always unspoken. The future, which had been so clear before, was now a fog. He felt lost, and he knew that others felt the same uncertainty.
For most of them, life as they knew it would never be the same. There were the nightmares. The survivor’s guilt. The loss of a tight-knit family. Those were things that could never be understood by someone who hadn’t experienced them.
He turned his attention back to Danny Ware. He’d admired the kid’s grit as he had strengthened his arms and walked on one leg and crutches, while a prosthesis was still being constructed. Now it had finally arrived, and Danny was taking his first awkward steps.
It was difficult to cheer anything at the moment, but the grin on the younger man’s face as, on his third attempt, he took twenty steps without touching the bars, helped him forget his own problems. If Danny could conquer his demons, then certainly Travis could, as well. Or should.
The simple fact was inertia had overtaken him. Having undergone five operations—three on his right leg and foot and two on his hand—he was left with a leg that would never work right and a hand missing two fingers, not to mention numerous scars across his body. It meant the end of his career as an active member in the Special Forces. Desk job? Possibly. But it wasn’t a sure thing, and it was not particularly appealing.
And his love life. Nonexistent since his fiancé had taken one look at him and blanched. It hadn’t helped that she was a television reporter in Georgia, and he was in Washington. Dinah had tried, but her visits to the military hospital grew less frequent over time, and he understood that he was no longer
