Page 68 of Salute, To Bravery
“I’m worried about DiMarco,” Sophie whispered to me.
I reached out and brushed her hair away from her face. She couldn’t keep it tied back now; she’d lost the fingers on her left hand. Good job she was right-handed. The only one in my team who’d escaped without any outward injuries was Foster.
“We’ll manage, Sophie,” I said.
“How, Tommy? We’re all maimed. Even Foster, in her own way, is. Our future plans just went out the window.”
“Not all. We’ll still open a bar. And we can do some of the other stuff we planned,” I argued.
“Yeah? How about you face up to what happened to us before we look to the future, Tommy? If you can’t accept the ambush, then we’re gonna have shit,” Sophie said and left. Damn, that woman was always hitting below the belt.
The truth was, I’d already faced it. Jake had lost his foot and leg halfway up his calf. Docs were talking about a full below-the-knee amputation. He wasn’t healing well. Jake also had slipped into a depression; today had been the first real sign of life from him.
Sophie had lost her fingers when an insurgent with a machete had crept up behind them. DiMarco had fired on him, but the machete had already done its damage. She’d been the first up and running amongst us.
DiMarco had an arm removed. He’d taken a bullet, and it had damaged the nerves, and his arm was now paralysed. It might as well of been amputated. It was his left one, and no amount of physiotherapy was making the fucker move. DiMarco was permanently disabled.
I’d lost my right leg below the knee. When the initial blast had happened, it had shredded my leg. It had been a miracle I’d been able to stand on it. Funny enough, all I remembered was the pain in my arm, which was broken. We all had broken bones and ribs, but none of us had damage like Rogers had.
He’d been dead the moment the rocket hit us. It had gotten him direct. Rogers had lost a leg, torn off mid-thigh, and his side had been ripped open to the point of seeing his lung and organs. There’d been a massive head wound where he’d hit something sharp, and it had cut into his head by at least five inches. Luckily, he’d not suffered. His bones had been pulverised on his left-hand side.
Yeah, he was lucky he didn’t suffer. But Rogers shouldn’t be dead. He should be holding hands with Foster. She had gotten out uninjured, apart from cuts and bruises. Reports stated she fought the Blackhawk crew who came to rescue us, thinking they were going to leave Rogers. That hadn’t been their intention, but they’d injected her because of her panic. Since then, she’d been unresponsive—and my next issue to manage.
Captain Shere had been to visit us, but not because he cared. No, he wanted to know how bad his best unit was. Well, toughshit, we were in rough condition. Shere wouldn’t be able to put us in the field. We would all be medically discharged. Shere had looked pissed when he visited, and I’d pondered telling him we’d not intended to sign back up. In the end, I let it go; what was the point? One way or another, we were going home.
The docs had already spoken to me about flights, and I was using my rank to ensure we flew out together. But I needed one last person. Foster.
???
I stared at the unkempt figure on the bed. Foster would never let herself be seen like this.
“Has she responded to anyone?” I asked.
“No. She is there, but she’s unresponsive. It’s almost as if she’s locked herself away from reality,” the nurse answered, with a small moue.
“Time to wake her up,” I replied as I wheeled myself forward.
“Good luck.”
“Oh, I don’t need it. Kaitlin Foster, open your fuckin’ eyes. That’s an order, Corporal!” I snapped.
The nurse huffed as I watched Kaitlin for a sign.
Minutes ticked past.
“I said right now, Corporal. We never leave a man or woman behind,” I demanded. And there it was, a fluttering of her eyelashes.
“You’re a mess, Corporal Foster. How dare you let your appearance lapse? You should be stripped of rank and disciplined. On your feet!” I ordered.
“Quit shouting at her!” the nurse hissed.
“I’ve known this woman since we were three years old. Do not presume to tell me how to handle one of my oldest friends!” I retorted.
“Tommy, stop bellowing,” Kaitlin whispered.
I shoved my chair forward and caught her slender hand.
“I’m here,” I murmured, rubbing my thumb over her fingers.
