Working Titke: Deamer and the Soldier

The first thing Joshua could feel was the sensation in his fingers as he slowly came to. The fiery feeling of pins and needles shot sharp, throbbing pain up through his torso as he tried to move his arm, and an executive decision to attempt to move as little as possible was made. He opened his eyes--the effort nearly draining him of whatever strength he had left in his weak body--but his bleary eyes were unable to make out the fuzzy shapes around him, and he closed them again. 1

He could hear a door opening nearby, followed by footsteps clicking across the tile floor. It seemed to be more than one person, but knowing how many entered the room was beyond his capabilities. He felt a hand touch his left arm gently, patting his bicep in silent commiseration. "Hey Captain, you alive in there? It's Jameson here, I wanted to see how you're doing. Let me be frank, sir, but you look like hell!" 2

Joshua opened his eyes again and tried to find his friend. "You know how I feel about you calling me 'sir', James," he said with a groan as he met his worried eyes. "It's a formality--" 3

"You'd rather I not use, I know, old man," Jameson interrupted with a smile, "but it's so fun to hear your rebuke all the time; it lets me know you're still alive and kicking."4

The captain sighed as the world slowly cae into focus and noticed the nurse that bustled around the equipment next to him on the other side of the bed. Meeting Jameson's eyes, he asked, "So what the hell happened, Lieu?" 5

James shook his head slowly, a sad smile on his face. "What do you remember?"6

Joshua closed his eyes and took a breath. He'd already gathered that he was in a hospital, the sterile white walls, uncomfortable bed and the sharp pain in his arm and side--his whole body in general--were indicative of that. "I remember... We had a couple of prisoners in custody...insurgents, I think.. They were going to be interrogated back at HQ, since we were just on Base. We.." Fragmented images exploded across his mind; he could see the black Hummers that would transport him and a few men back to the headquarters set up a hundred miles to the east. Josh had gotten in the second vehicle with his prisoner, a rough-looking man with wild hair and an arrogant demeanor, along with the driver and two gunmen. The convoy consisted of three vehicles, the last two holding the insurgents, separated so they couldn't communicate. They had been driving down the dusty Iraqi road, he looked out the window and--7

The nurse that had been to the side of him bumped his right arm as she alternated bags of fluid on his IV line, causing him to cry out in a guttural sound of pain. Jameson's hands shot out to steady his friend, rolling him onto his left side and away from the startled nurse. Simultaneously she tried to push what she muttered to be morphine into his drip line and moved the machines further from his bed, so to prevent another brushing of his injuries. "What the hell?" Joshua . He looked up at Jameson, who grimaced at the swearing in front of the exiting nurse. 8

The lieutenant looked back at his friend. "Keep going with what you remember," he said after the excitement died down. 9

Joshua took another deep breath as the pain ebbed away and he lay again on his back. "We were in the Hummers, going to Base on a dusty road with brush scattered every few hundred feet. There was a noise, and.." He met James' eyes. "We were attacked, weren't we?" he asked quietly. 10

Jameson nodded. "You were, my friend. A line of Improvised Explosive Devices apparently was laying down the road, covered by the dust and dirt and such. We don't know who installed them, but we've gotten reports of guerrillas in the area." 11

Joshua closed his eyes and sunk his head further into his pillow. "My men. How are they?"12

"Four in the intensive care unit, the other four are wounded. That's all I know. The last SUV was able to stop in time to keep clear of the detonations; the driver called for the helicopter that brought you here. Your entire right side was torn up pretty badly, your arm nearly severed by the attack. You took a nasty hit to the head--it's only today that you've woken up, you've been pretty much comatose for three or four days. They have you stabilized, but as you can tell from earlier, you're definitely not in proper working order." 13

Josh shook his head. His men were quick-thinking and obedient, some of the best men he'd trained with his whole career. They were like family to him, even though some of them were almost ten years younger than him, fresh from boot camps and home bases. He was glad that his men were in relatively good condition. "That's...good. No one is..." The idea of these young men, barely older than himself when he first enlisted, laying dead on the barren Iraqi desert made him sick. Josh knew that it was part and parcel to joining the Marines, joining any military service, but the knowledge did little to console him. "Wait," he said, doing the math. "Our convoy had ten men, not counting the insurgents. One man had to have--" He stopped, sorrow and guilt plaguing him at the knowledge. One of his company had died in this mission, a small, regular outing. His heart ached and chest tightened, imagining the fallen soldier there at the explosion site. 14

A pregnant pause filled the room, and Jameson retrieved a small white sack from where it sat at his feet. He placed a wrinkled laminated picture and a handful of stripes and patches on top of the wrinkled blanket. He noticed that his captain snatched up the photo, almost before it hit the cotton, with a ferocity James generally saw in tense situations in the field. "The medical technicians got your personal effects from your pockets, and since your uniform got burnt and torn up with you, someone decided to be nice enough to cut out the rank patches and stripes." 15

Josh looked at the photo. The laminate that protected it was had melted in places, the edges had been curled and were blackened; the image itself wasn't too worse for wear, he noticed, surprised. Across the face of the woman the plastic had thinned from the rubbing of his finger over the years. He caressed it, ran his finger pad over her face and hair. "Gods, how I miss you," he whispered. James' indelicate cough broke the quiet intimacy. 16

"Commander Perkin's gonna end up visiting you soon, to see how you're doing. The rumor mill says you're going stateside." He watched the emotions playing across his captain's face. "Look on the bright side, Rodriguez. You've got that gorgeous woman to go home to; some of us would kill for that. Plus, once you get your wounds all fit and your bones knit up, I'm sure that you can come back. You're a good captain." 17

Joshua nodded, even though both he and Jameson knew the unlikelihood of his return. His injuries seemed to be too severe for the Corps to take him back, even he cleared the requisite physical exams that would make or break the remainder of his military career. His thumb brushed over the woman's face in the picture again of its own volition. "It'd be a miracle," he said. After a moment Jameson excused himself, saluted as befit his captain's rank and left the room. A nurse entered in his place. Joshua sighed heavily and looked up to the ceiling, his thoughts whirling in all directions. 18

It had been a month since that initial visit from his lieutenant, and since then time had passed like molasses in the Arctic. His commander was supposed to visit him today, to check with the doctors so that he would be cleared for travel finally; he was supposed to be already stateside, but an infection had laid him up for a week. Joshua's doctor wouldn't allow him to do anything with a raging fever and the threat of amputation, so like a good child he had to bide his time and settle down until he was better. Everyone thought his attitude and eagerness to get out of bed was to go home, but in fact it was something else entirely; he wanted to be back in the field. He had no one to go home to--his parents had died in his third year in the Corps, and he was refused leave to go to their funeral and to assess matters of their estate. He, the only child, was not able to lay his parents to rest or to do anything for them. The knowledge burned him inside, possessing him with a raging fire that he took with him out to battle, he used it as fuel for when he was mentally and physically exhausted but could not quit. His anger was what made him decide to go for a career, not just for the four-year enlistment in the military, the thought that maybe he could be useful somewhere. Sure, it wasn't the greatest mentality, but it was all he had left. 19

Someone knocked at his door, a forceful sound that he recognized before the owner walked in with sharp strides. "Commander Perkins, what a pleasure," Josh said, straightening up on the bed to give a proper salute.20

The commander stopped at the foot of the bed, studying the man laying upon it. "Rodriguez, I have been briefed on the accident. Can you move?" he asked curtly through his moustache.21

Josh sat up to lift his shoulder, rotating his arm and grimacing as he overdid it. His commander watched with clinical detachment and made a noncommital noise, keeping him in suspense while he made a decision. 22

"You're going stateside, Rodriguez. Be prepared to leave within the week."