Welcome to Part 5 of the Hannah's Hero tale. The same warnings about content given in Part 1 still apply, of course. I love reading your comments! I'd like to take a second to tell everyone that, though this work is inspired by what my own younger sister and her husband have had to endure, it is a work of fiction. I know that I am not accurately portraying the internal workings of the military; that's not the focus of this story. My intent is to honor our veterans and their families, not to offend. Hope you all enjoy.
***
For the second time, I found myself standing on the tarmac with Jennifer (and Brad) by my side. This time though, we were anxiously waiting for Chris's return instead of dreading his departure. As we waited, I couldn't help but think about the information General Ellis had given me. Thanks to him, I knew a great deal about what had happened to Chris. A long sequence of mistakes had been made in the aftermath of the ambush.
The medics had informed Chris's platoon leader of his injuries, but by the time it reached the Company Commander the report was badly garbled. The people normally responsible for notifying family members of injuries and deaths hadn't been given any information. At each step in the chain, everyone had assumed someone else had taken care of it, not realizing that no one had. Chris himself would've made the Earth move to talk to me, except he was too busy being unconscious just then. I can excuse him for that, I guess.
Consequently, no one in the multitude of offices I'd called had any idea what I was talking about. No wonder I made no headway. As things worked out, I finally made contact with my husband a little over 30 days after the newscast.
For reasons known only to God -- and possibly some filing clerk in a Pentagon dungeon somewhere -- the Army had decided Chris was healing quickly enough that he didn't need to be returned to the States. Instead, after being released from the field hospital in Kuwait he was returned to his unit and put on light duties. In other words, he spent his days shuffling papers and making coffee for REMFs (his words, not mine. At that point I'd heard that word twice and still didn't know what it meant.)
The good side of that (for both of us) was that we got to speak on a regular basis, sometimes email, sometimes Skype. Chris was shocked to hear about the newscast. He'd had no idea there'd been a camera present. Of course when you're fighting for your life you should be forgiven for not stopping to smile and wave. God love him, he'd actually apologized to me!
"Oh God, baby, I'm so sorry you had to see that!" he'd said.
"Chris, how in Heaven's name could you have stopped it?" I'd asked with exasperated humor.
"Well, I guess I could've shot the cameraman. I'll work on that next time, okay Sweetheart?"
"Ha! How about you work on making sure there isn't a 'next time,' instead, lover!" He'd smiled at me then, and looking at his handsome face on my laptop screen I'd silently given thanks. I then told him about old General Ellis, and how he had helped me find out what had happened to him. Chris was moved to tears, saying "I wish there was some way to thank him!" When I told what I had done, he nodded firmly in approval and said it was exactly what I should have done. He deserved nothing less.
Later on in that same call I had (foolishly) asked him about the details of the ambush. It was a natural enough mistake for a person to make, but as his wife I should've known better. His face turned pale beneath his tan, and he quickly changed the subject.
Now, though, the 18-month purgatory of Chris's deployment was finally over. Jennifer, Brad, and I (along with so many other families) were waiting outside the massive assembly hall, waiting for the green-painted buses to arrive. If I could've had my way, I would've met him at the Air Force base where he landed. Unfortunately, that didn't work out.
"Look!" Jennifer called out, pointing. As we watched, a long line of buses began turning in through the main gate of the base. As the buses began parking in the roped-off parking lot, a small band starting playing. As the first soldiers stepped off the buses, a loud roar rose from the crowd, and families rushed to greet their loved ones. The Military Police could never have stopped the tide, and they wisely didn't try. Instead, they kept people out of the roped-off area so other buses could park.
Brad stayed with the car while Jennifer and I waded through the crowd looking for Chris. I was happy to see a familiar tow-headed little boy jumping up and down yelling, "Daddy's home!" Next to him, his mother was pressed firmly against a tall man with sergeant's stripes. It didn't look like they were going to come up for air any time soon.
After what seemed like an eternity of searching, we finally saw Chris stepping off a bus. My heart thumped hard in my chest as I saw him in the afternoon sunlight. His best friend, Mike Kirkland, was by his side. The two of them started to walk towards us.
I don't remember running to him. All I remember was the moment I made contact with Chris. I hugged him desperately, my mouth seeking his, tears flowing freely down my cheeks. His strong arms wrapped around my shoulders and crushed me against him. Time seemed to stop, and for the space of that moment everything was perfect. I wasn't scared anymore. I could feel him, warm lips against mine, wet tongue brushing against mine, powerful hands gripping my back, and the feel of his own hard-muscled back beneath my hands.
"Welcome home, my love," I whispered throatily when our lips finally parted.
"Hannah," he whispered softly, his voice caressing my name.
Reluctantly I released Chris from my arms so he could greet his little sister. Jennifer clung to him and sobbed quietly in his arms, just as I had.
"I thought you'd left me...us," she whispered quietly.
"I know," he replied. "I'm so sorry, dear one. I'm so sorry --"
"Stop!" Jennifer said. "You have nothing to be sorry for! It's those rat-bastards over there who should be sorry! I hope you sent every last one of them screaming into whatever they call Hell!"
Both Chris and I were a little shocked by the hatred in her voice. It was a normal enough human reaction, but coming from a warm compassionate woman like Jennifer it was alarming. By mutual consent, we agreed to let it go for the moment. I moved closer to him again, inhaling his scent and drinking him in with my eyes, as he continued to squeeze his sister tightly.
"Mike!" a familiar voice called in a delighted yell. The four of us turned to see Nurse Debbie Crenshaw hurrying toward us. Mike laughed as she jumped into his arms, clinging tightly to him to the point of wrapping one leg around him. The two of them kissed long and deep, and Debbie moaned softly in pleasure.
