Page 5 of Hard to Kill

Susan said, “I’m trying to relieve Captain Adams of your care so she can go take care of herself. How isyourPT going, Captain?”

Kellen didn’t particularly like thinking about having been unconscious for two days while she underwent shoulder surgery and the military began processing her medical discharge paperwork. Waking to find that not only was her shoulder thoroughly crunched but that the Army no longer needed her services was a double blow. But she reminded herself not to take out her frustration on Susan.

“It’s going fine. My physical therapist is confident I’ll work out the kinks if I do my exercises every day...forever.”

Susan smiled. “You’re a hard worker, Captain. Your shoulder will thank you someday.”

“In the meantime, my hand-to-hand combat is suffering,” Kellen said morosely.

“From what I hear, you were the best in basic training,” Susan said.

“Still is. She kicks ass,” Hackett said.

“I only kicked your ass once,” Kellen reminded him.

“Once was enough.” He rubbed at his butt.

“There you go,” Susan said. “It’ll come back. Give yourself time.”

Kellen got to her feet.

Hackett sagged in his chair. “You headed out?”

“Yep. Gotta go check on my discharge paperwork, and then I’m off to find my own dream—whatever that is.”

“Best of luck. I’m sorry for not rising, Captain, but it’s been a pleasure serving with you.” Hackett saluted stiffly.

Kellen pushed the tears back from her eyes and saluted back. Then she leaned down for a hug and whispered, “I hope you find your picket fence, Corporal.”

Hackett closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them, Kellen was gone.

3

Kellen reviewed the job posting for a Washington State resort called Yearning Sands. There was a photo of the hotel, and it looked like something out of a postcard. The pristine blue of the Pacific Ocean offered a gorgeous contrast to the resort itself—the main building looked like a German castle, and the cottages on the outskirts of the resort were the definition of rustic. Kellen was excited to see that there were running paths that wandered across the resort and a beautiful, albeit chilly looking, beach reserved for resort guests.

She reflected that being the assistant manager of a resort that size wouldn’t be a picnic. The security alone must be very intricate to keep track of all those rich folks and their baubles. She couldn’t imagine anything that was less like the Army.

The job description was very honest, it seemed. While the pictures showed the resort in brilliant sunlight, the posting was quick to point out that this was the Pacific Northwest, and applicants should be prepared for inclement weather to be the norm. Rain, winds, fog and occasionally snow would sweep in off the ocean, and getting a little wet—and sometimes even muddy—was expected of every employee.

Kellen smiled. She didn’t mind a little mud, and after her time in Kuwait, she could use a nice rain shower.

As Kellen pondered whether applying for the position was even a good idea, Major Brock Aimes entered the room at his usual breakneck speed.

MAJOR BROCK AIMES:

MALE. WHITE. 32 YEARS OF AGE. 6’1”, 185 LBS. BROWN HAIR, BLUE EYES. AIDE-DE-CAMP TO GENERAL LAWRENCE SLATER. PURPLE HEART FOR INJURY SUSTAINED IN AFGHANISTAN. I’D HAVE TO SEE THE SCAR TO BELIEVE IT.

Since Kellen had arrived on the German Army base, she had met Major Aimes once. He had once stopped speed walking long enough to hold a brief conversation. Mostly his name, position on base and a quick welcome designed to impress her. Her knee-jerk reaction: maybe General Slater kept his aide that busy, but Aimes seemed to her to be one of those guys who moved quickly to give the impression of going somewhere.

Kellen stood at attention and saluted. Aimes responded in kind before saying, “Captain Adams, General Slater would like to see you.”

Not only did he walk too fast, the man sounded like he had a stick up his butt.

When she didn’t move, he added, “Now.”

“Of course. Lead the way, please, Major.”

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