Wounded

The first mortar shell whizzed overhead and exploded on the infirmary the same time the small arms fire started.

"Take cover along the barricades. Sharp shooters get to the roof. Shit! This wasn't supposed to happen."

"Captain! Look! The infirmary's on fire. The men won't be able to get out! We've got to do something!"

"Shit! Like what? It's a good 200 feet to the front door. It's a kill zone. No one could make it!"

"We can't just watch 'em cook! I'm going!"

"John! Don't do it! You'll never get there. And then what? The back door is probably blocked by the flames and there're no windows. You'd have to take them out the front door and down the street. Don't do it!"

"I can't just watch." He started running towards the infirmary, zig zagging on his way. Put on those afterburners, John. Shit! My leg. Something hit my thigh. Damn! My arm. But he kept going.

In through the front door. The back was aflame. One of the docs was pushing carts towards the front. "How the hell did you get here. Cripes, and you're bleeding all over."

"I came to get these guys out of here if I can. Tell you what. You bundle 'em up and I'll try and carry them to the garage, OK?"

"You're fucking nuts! They'll shoot both of you!"

"So, your choice is to stay here and cook along with them? Got a better idea?"

"Nope. Here! I put this guy's IV's and tubes on his chest so I could move the cart. Why don't you pick him up in the sheet and take him that way. You sure you can carry him?"

"Either that or roll him out of here on that bed. That's not going to work!"

John picked him up, ran to the front door, and started across the porch. Bullets flew all around. He ran to the side and down the street and made it to the garage. Carefully laying his package down he ran back along the sides of the buildings that at least offered a little cover, back across the porch and in the door.

"What the hell! You made it. Hold a second." The doctor reached up and pulled a long splinter from his cheek. "Don't think you'll need that. Here's number two, all bundled up."

John picked up the second and started running again. Shit! My ear! And my arm again. Go! Next. Then third, forth, fifth. "Holy shit, man! You're a bloody mess. Don't come back any more."

"Nope! Couldn't live with myself if I did that." Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. I'm slowing down. Don't feel so good. Just a few more.

The mortar round hit the front off the infirmary just as he was running through the front door. John saw the doc disappear as he was thrown back across the porch and wrapped around the post, striking it with his lower back. His arms and legs tried to meet on the other side and he fell limply to the floor of the porch. Blood oozing from his clothes and forming puddles around him.

"Well, you're awake, soldier. You got to sleep all night while we tried to put you back together. You've been in surgery for...hell, I don't know. 12. 14 hours. You win the prize for the most holes in a still living piece of flesh.

"Here. Let me check you out a little. Can you feel here? Here? Raise your foot up towards your head. Bend your knee. Raise you leg. So. Good news and bad news. You have a lot of holes and scrapes. All those will leave marks, but will enhance you manly appearance. Part of your ear is gone, but a little hair will cover that.

But your back. Apparently you tried to touch your toes backwards. Made your spine very unhappy. So you've got plates, screws, bone grafts and other stuff to fuse part of your spine.

"But...You've got a partial spinal injury. Not complete. Pretty low. Which is good. You'll need a shell to stabilize you and not let you bend. And rehab. Lots of rehab. And we'll just have to see what comes back. It should improve and get better for a year or more....and the harder you work at it, the better it will likely do.

"Questions?" He shook his head. "But I have some good news. Here's a letter from home that was about to be delivered out to the post. I know this is a lot. I'll be back when I finish my rounds and we'll talk some more and go over things. You'll be off to Germany, well, probably tomorrow or the next day."

John just stared as he took the letter from him. He opened it up. It was from Becky. He dated her in high school, then through college. It got real serious senior year and he planned to marry her as soon as this deployment was over. They had big plans for the future....

'Dear John,

I'm sorry......'

His world fell apart. He'd failed! He'd failed to rescue all those other men. He was crippled. Wheel chair bound probably forever. And now Becky....He hung his head down and the tears came. I should have just died along with those men. It would have been better.

Eight weeks later he was transferred to the VA rehab center in his home town.

MONDAY

"OK. Listen up! You all made your other driver quit. So...You eight men have been selected because of your outstanding service to your country to have the honor, which by the way you cannot refuse, to have the honor to be driven to and from rehab here at the lovely VA Rehab, 5 or more days per week, by ME. You will be chauffeured in my newly restored, I vacuumed it out, decrepit, 12 year old piece of crap van. Only the finest for our vets.

"Which I pray does not stall or stop running while I am driving you about our lovely community because I shudder at the the thought of being penned up with any of you for very long. I, by the way, am the lovely and talented Katie. You may call me Miss Katie if you like.

"Alright! Roll call time. Carl, George, James....John Roberts! John!" She dashed to the guy in the back of the crowd with his head down hands tightly gripping the arms of his wheelchair. She gave him a huge hug and his left leg shot up and kicked her.

"What the hell, John?"

"I'm sorry, Katie. I can't control it. I get spasms."

"Oh, John. My, God. Are you doing OK? I'm sorry. I didn't mean...Does Becky know?"

"No. No one knows."

"Not even your parents?"

"Nope. And I don't want them to know."

"Alright. Shit, John. We have to talk." She loaded John and the other wheelchair dependent vet with the special lift and anchored them in. The others climbed in the other seats.

"So, prepare for liftoff. Please use your seat belts. And remember, I will not be responsible for any items left in this old crate, so try to remember all of your belongings. Trust me, I don't want any of your stuff." And they laughed.

"How many of you are from Rosewood?" One hand. John did not raise his.

"For those of you who don't know, the guy in the back is Big John Roberts. Hot shot, all state linebacker who was one of the scariest guys on the field and a hometown hero. Also, I think he still holds the state shot put distance record.

"Many a girl has wet herself at the chance to be with Big John, but he only had eyes for my older sister. Who, I might add, is not nearly as attractive as your oh so lovely driver. Who, by the way, is getting paid so little to do this that it is like volunteering, but my Mom says, 'It's the right thing to do.' And for once, just this once, she may be right."

After their rehab she took them 'home.' They all lived in the same apartment building. Run down, temporary housing for rehab and other VA patients. She dropped each off in turn and made a point to get out with each man, walk him to the door of his apartment and find out more about each one. She hugged each one in a friendly manner and thanked them for their service before leaving.

That left John. She lowered him on the lift and went to push his wheelchair.

"I've got, it Katie," he snapped.

She was taken aback by his tone. He never talked like that. What has Afghanistan done to John? The biggest, meanest guy on the field, but the gentlest and kindest guy in the world off. "OK, John. Please let me come in for a few minutes and talk to you."

"No. It's probably better if you don't come in."

"John, please. We've always been so close. I want to know what's going on. Maybe I can help. Please!"

"Alright. Alright! Then softening. "I'm sorry, Katie. I'm being an ass and I shouldn't be. Come on in and we can talk."

Entering the apartment. "Holy shit, John. Did you pay extra to make this place look and smell like an outhouse or is this just your new decorating style? I know your barracks didn't look like this."

"I know. I know. I...."

"It's fine, John. No judgment. Now why haven't you let my sister know? You guys were together through part of high school and most of college."

"She broke up with me. She's with Bo.

"You're kidding! She never told any of us. That bitch! Bo? What the hell, John? He's a loser. When did she break up with you?"

"From the sound of her letter, she started dating him as soon as I left for basic. I was worried because I could never reach her by phone. She wouldn't respond to my texts or emails. I thought I might just be having problems with the internet, although none of my pals did. I got hurt and her letter caught up to me the morning after my first surgery. I've been in and out of the hospital for more than a couple of months, had, I don't know, six or so surgeries of one type or another.

"So, I thought it best to just come back and start going to rehab without anyone knowing. Things were already too 'complicated'. And I didn't want people to feel sorry for me and stuff. I already felt sorry enough for myself. I don't need any more help. I wanted to know for sure what I was going to end up with before I let them know."

"What about your folks? John, they've been worried sick ever since you left. They're only a half hour from here. Why don't we drive over....."

"No! They can't see me like this! Big John is gone. And there's no way I can get up the steps to their house and they don't have the money for ramps and such. I still call and talk to them all the time. They don't know I've been hurt. I don't want them to worry...."

"John. You know this is wrong on so many levels. I talk to them at church and they pray for you every day. They miss you, John. And they would still love you no matter what condition you were in. They could help."

"No! I'm just not ready. And please don't you go telling everyone, OK?"

"I promise, for now. But only if you let me help you clean up this rat's nest you created and you agree to let me help you. No strings. No payment expected. Please, John. I could never live with myself if I just let you live like this."

"OK. Damn, Shorty Walker, you always got your way, didn't you?" She ran over and hugged him. Standing at the side of his chair so she wouldn't get kicked, but he didn't have another spasm this time.

"First. Get me up to speed. How'd you get hurt? What's wrong with you? What's happening at rehab? All that stuff."

"I managed to fall into a post at the infirmary and broke my spine. I have an incomplete L3 on L4 spine injury. I was pretty lucky it was so low. I've had a number of back surgeries and other stuff. I feel my thighs and then it's mixed from mid thigh down. I can work my hips, pretty good at my knees, that's getting better, but not much yet for foot and ankle. I still have to cath myself sometimes and I have other....uh, issues."

"Damn. I have some homework to do." Smiling. "We haven't covered that in any of my business courses," and she laughed. He smiled for the first time.

"OK. Time to start cleaning this hell hole. You've been here a month?" He nodded. "You realize, you're going to get rats in here soon. Why don't I make us some dinner first."

She opened the refrigerator. Gagging, "John. What the hell? That's like the grossest refrigerator I've ever seen. And there's nothing to eat in it! Hell, there's nothing in the cabinets except coffee....." She started crying.

"John! My God. What has happened to you? What has the war done?" And she hugged him tightly, not wanting to let go. He grimaced at the human touch, but finally put his arms around her and started to cry himself.

After a few moments, she pulled away. "Alright. I have my shit together now. And a plan is organizing in my head..."

"No, no. No way. Not a Shorty Walker plan. That has always led to chaos and ended poorly. Like that trip to the lake you planned..."

"I'll admit, that one did not turn out quite as I anticipated, but the concept was brilliant."

"Sure. Let's ski behind the boat while your sister drives. You on a short rope in front of me. And then you let go, gently roll back towards me and I scoop you up and put you on my shoulder like those shows in Florida. I swear, every square inch of my body was bruised before you were willing to admit it wouldn't work." They laughed together. Good. I finally got him to laugh.

"As I remember that day. I did my part perfectly. I dropped the rope, drifted back with my arms out. And then you ran into me like a great oaf and never lifted me up. My plan failed because of my supporting cast members." They laughed again.

"First, we go out and get something to eat. Then buy some things to drink other than that swill you call coffee. God, how many times have you reheated it. it looks like there;s stuff growing on the surface. Gag. Then I'll initiate my cleaning plan."

They had a leisurely dinner. Talked about old times, trying to stay away from the topics of the war, his injury, Becky, his future. She found it tough to avoid all those topics he should be dealing with and processing.

Returning home, "Why don't you watch some TV or something and I'll initiate my Marshall Program for this slum dwelling."

" I don't have cable or internet. Or a TV."

"Sweet Jesus, John. What do you do at night?" He looked sheepish and his eyes dropped to the floor.

"I use my phone and I can set up a hot spot for internet if I need to. But mostly I sit and try not to think or fall asleep." She started to cry again and started to work.

'First, open all the windows and air this place out. It stinks in here." Next, the bed. Damn. Look at those sheets. They've got holes in them. And, typical guy, one set of sheets and pillowcases. I guess they get washed first. Look at that mattress. I'm gonna heave. Have to throw that in the sun for a while or better yet throw it out. I guess spinal cord injuries have some issues. Why John? He's such a great guy....But at least he came back alive. Or maybe half alive.

TUESDAY

"ARE YOU READY?" No reaction.

"What the hell is wrong with you guys? It's a beautiful day, you're back in the US of A, lunch provided. And all you have to do is make yourselves bigger, stronger and better. Shit! Life's a bitch!

"So let Shorty try again. ARE! YOU! READY?"

In unison, all except John, "Yeaaaaa!"

"That's so much better. You boys are starting to get me excited. Let's go over your names again. Correct me if I'm wrong. But I swear to God, if I catch ANY of you swapping names, I'm going to institute a friggin' seating chart like you had in grade school. Got it!" They smiled. She got them all correct.

As she was dropping them off at the rehab entrance, "Work hard, have a great day and thank you all for your service. I will be back at four to take you back to the palace. Unless I meet some cute guy at the mall and lose track of time."

She then went into overdrive. She checked her bank account. Shit. Gonna burn through that pretty quick. Guess I'll be working full time next semester. To Sam's for microwave, coffee maker, TV, vacuum cleaner, mop, broom, etc. Cleansers, detergent, paper towels. Underwear, socks, t-shirts, pants, belts, some shirts, pajamas, sweat shirts.

Paper plates, silverware, cups, glasses, a couple of pans, kitchen tools, spices, salt, pepper. All the basic food items and frozen foods to get him stocked up. And on and on. Shit. I forgot sheets, pillow cases, better get a mattress cover, and a new pillow.'

She also purchased an adjustable dumbbell set, a weight bench, and adjustable stand for sit-ups, pull-ups, body lifts and other things which also included some cheesy parallel bars. Hope he can stand up with this and that it doesn't fall apart from his weight. The living room was pretty full, but she thought this would keep John busy rather than letting him just huddle with his thoughts on the couch.

She remembered that when he finally went home he would have access to all his old stuff so this was just a hold-him-over sort of thing. It still took three trips in and out of Sam's and she filled the van.

Once home, she frantically cleaned the refrigerator, gagging on a number of festering remnants she found. 409 to the rescue. 'Thank goodness I got all those trash bags.'

Popped in a load of laundry then back out to buy a few more things. Got the bed ready, straightened some things up, then dragged the mattress back into the apartment and all her trash bags into the van, off to the dump and got to rehab at 4:05. Still breathing hard.

"OK, boys, welcome aboard the Shorty Bus."

"You! You piece of shit! There you are! I heard you'd run off and joined the marines because you knew I'd kick the shit out of you! You cost me my scholarship and a shot at the pros."

"I'm sorry if I did that, but who are you?"

"I'm the fucking running back for Dover who you put out of the game. Remember?"

"Yes. I do remember. I felt awful about it and called your folks several times to find out how you were doing."

"Fucking liar!" He stepped forward and kicked the wheelchair, throwing John onto the ground. "Not so tough now are you, Big John Roberts? Get ready for me to kick your ass!"

The soldiers started to file out. "Members of the Shorty Bus. Please remain seated. Shorty will handle this.

"Hey! Pussyface! What's your name?"

"Homer."

Giggling, she said, "Of course it is. You kinda look like him."

'Like who?"

"Homer Simpson. And seems you're just about as smart."

She stepped forward as he turned his attention to John and Katie stepped in and kidney punched him. Oops. That didn't work so well.

He turned from John. "You better get back on the bus and call 911 for Big John. He's going to need it. Now go!" He turned grabbed her by the right breast and pushed her backwards. She easily kept her balance.

Red faced and angry she said, "Homer, Homer, Homer. I pity the poor girl who winds up with you. This is your last chance to leave before you get hurt. And if you touch me like that again, I'll break your fucking hand."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, little gnat!" He reached out to grab her breast again, and quick as a viper her right hand grabbed his hand, hyperextended his fingers, and her left hand chopped across the back. A blur followed by 'CRACK!' As the four fingers broke.

He bellowed and started forward. "Please, Homer, don't do it!" He swung at her with his right, her right arm pushed his arm further around and she shifted to her left, then kicked out striking the outside of his right knee. He screamed, and fell to the pavement.

She went over to help John. "John. Are you....." Their eyes met and she was engulfed by the pain, anguish, humiliation, and growing anger she saw there. She groaned, tears blinding her vision as she stumbled back. "Oh, John. I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to...."

"Just, please get back on the bus, Katie. I'll get myself on."

"OK," was all she could say. She walked over to Homer. A zombie. "Homer? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hurt you like that. What can I do to help? Should I call 911? Or...."

"Just get the fuck away from me! I just need to get to my car."

She turned towards the van. "You two gawkers! Get out here and help Homer to his car, please."

Then, without a word, she complied with John's request. She realized that Homer was no different than the guys in her van. He had baggage that controlled his life and darkened his days. And she had made it worse. Tears still streaming down her face she got ready to drive them home. The guys on the bus who had been cheering for her were now deathly quiet.