I'll Be Home For Christmas (A Coming Home Novella) (11 page)

Iaconelli broke Carponti’s hold easily and shoved him backward. “You don’t know shit about me, you little smart-ass.”

“Really? You want to play that game? I make jokes to keep the guys from getting too fucking depressed. In case you haven’t noticed in your alcohol-induced fog, we’ve had a pretty shitty deployment. If a joke makes them think about something else, then maybe, just maybe, I’ll keep them from focusing on all the bad shit. But I wouldn’t expect you to notice that because your coping mechanism is at the bottom of a bottle.”

Iaconelli grabbed Carponti by the front of his shirt and cocked his fist back. Carponti puckered his lips up and made a kissing noise. “You only get one shot,” he taunted.

Iaconelli pulled back and Carponti realized perhaps this wasn’t his smartest move.

Iaconelli swore and shoved him away. Carponti stumbled backward but kept his feet, then smirked and made a show of straightening his uniform. “And so we’ve reached an impasse. Shall we continue with the war? The one outside the gates, I mean.”

Iaconelli jabbed a finger in Carponti’s face then bunched his fist and said nothing. He stalked back into the bay.

Carponti spat into the dirt again and followed him back in, threw his arms around Iaconelli’s shoulders and grinned. “Yes, yes, boys, we kissed and made up. Now back to your regularly scheduled war.”

Iaconelli shrugged him off roughly but otherwise ignored him as he moved on with the mission brief. Carponti wished he could blame the lingering adrenaline from the near fight with Iaconelli but as they rolled out the gate, he couldn’t shake the feeling that bad shit was coming. And when Iaconelli insisted on changing up the vehicle locations so that his truck was in front of Carponti’s, the bad feeling got progressively worse.

But he kept that to himself. Because he was just being paranoid. Right?

He listened to the radio as they rolled out deep into insurgent territory. Everyone was on high alert.

He tugged on Tigger’s leg, reminding him to duck down behind the defilade. Too many soldiers had gotten beheaded from wires strung beneath intersections and across roadways. Garrison had driven that point home more than once.

They passed the soccer stadium without incident and Carponti nearly pissed himself with relief. They were heading toward the Iraqi police station where they were supposed to link up with their Iraqi Army counterparts.

Providing they made it there without getting blown all to—

The blast shattered the windshield on his truck. A moment later, a cloud of dust and debris rolled through the interior. Instantly, Tigger and the other gun trucks started laying down suppressive fire. When the dust finally cleared, he saw Iaconelli’s truck lying on its side.

Oh fuck. If they hadn’t changed up the order of movement, that would have been Carponti’s truck lying there in the dirt. Shit, he’d known that was a bad idea.

“Holy shit,” he muttered. “Tigger, keep suppressive fire going. Wilks, Jax, I need you with me to get them out of that truck before they get blown all to shit.”

It was a horrible case of déjà vu: rushing across the road just like he had with Garrison. He climbed onto the truck and managed to yank the door open.

Inside, Iaconelli and the boys were coughing but everyone looked unhurt. “You girls okay?” Carponti shouted over the chaos.

Iaconelli flipped him off.

“Nice to see you, too, sweetheart.” Carponti ducked as a rocket whizzed overhead, grossly off target. God, but he was happy the insurgents had crappy aim. “Y’all want to get your asses out of there? Kind of a hot zone out here.”

The driver and gunner climbed out, followed last by Iaconelli. Iaconelli paused in the doorway.

“You’re never serious, are you?” Iaconelli asked.

“I thought we already had this conversation.”

Iaconelli heaved himself out of the truck. “We need to try to get this thing back on all four wheels.”

“Got it covered.” The Humvee in front of them was already maneuvering into position to try and drag the flipped truck over. More rounds tinked off the truck’s armor and Carponti ducked down behind the door he was still holding. “Shit, that one was close.”

“Get off the damn truck before you get blown up,” Iaconelli said, leaning over the side of the truck and firing at a group of approaching men armed with what looked like a couple of rocket-propelled grenades.

“Oh goody, the greeting committee,” Carponti mumbled.

“Get down!”

It was the last thing Carponti heard.

* * *

“Carponti!”

The voice came from very far away. Carponti frowned and tried to open his eyes. They were heavy. Something was burning.

“I hope that’s not my balls,” he mumbled.

“Jesus, you never stop. Open your damn eyes.”

“Am I still in Kansas?” Carponti frowned and managed to blink. His vision cleared slowly and Iaconelli came into view, clearly not happy. “What’s that smell?”

Iaconelli glanced at Carponti’s side, then his gaze flicked back to Carponti’s face. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Wait, that smell is me?” Panic clutched at him, closing off his lungs.

“I said don’t worry about it. We’ve got the MEDEVAC coming for you.”

Carponti tried to sit up and Iaconelli damn near flattened him with a single palm to the chest. He groaned. The pressure made him see spots. “Oh, what the hell? Did I manage to get myself blown up?”

“Little bit.”

A slow ache sharpened abruptly, tearing up his arm and down his side like molten fire. “Oh, now I feel it,” Carponti said. He no longer tried to sit up. The fire in his arm went from nonexistent to eleven in less than a nanosecond. He winced and breathed out hard. “That stings a little.”

Iaconelli cleared his throat as he continued to do whatever he was doing to Carponti’s arm. “Yeah, I’m sure it does.”

Carponti reached up with the hand that didn’t feel like absolute hell and gripped Iaconelli’s body armor. “Give it to me straight. Just tell me if my manhood is still intact?”

Iaconelli flushed and finally laughed. “I have no idea and I’m not checking for you.”

“Jesus, it takes me getting blown all to hell to get you to laugh? That is seriously fucked up.”

He wasn’t a fan of the gory details. But he had to know. “Dude, seriously? I can’t move my arm to check myself.”

Iaconelli’s gaze flicked over to Carponti’s side again and the source of the pain. Carponti was tempted to look, he really was. But he knew something bad had happened. Nicole was going to be so upset with him.

“You’re fine. Does that help?”

Carponti sulked. The thunder of overhead air support rumbled closer. “Not really, but it looks like my ride is here.” He frowned and bit down on his lip as a bolt of pain ripped through his arm and down his side. “Is it bad?” he finally asked Iaconelli as the helo touched down. Dust swirled violently around them. Moments later he was jolted onto a stretcher. “Ow.”

“The docs are gonna sort you out, okay? But I think it’s a long way from your heart.”

Carponti managed to laugh. “My dad used to say that to me all the time.” He blinked and looked up at Iaconelli. “Does that make you my daddy?”

“Fuck off, Carponti,” Iaconelli growled. But for once, he didn’t sound like he wanted to knock Carponti’s teeth out.

Which Carponti took as a very bad sign.

* * *

Her phone rang at five-thirty in the morning. Nicole was instantly awake, praying it was Vic. “Hello?”

“It’s Laura. I need help.”

An hour later, Nicole was busy in the emergency room, trying to help Laura keep order in the chaos. Laura’s call for help with the Family Readiness Group had been desperate. Someone had leaked on social media that their unit had wounded soldiers coming in from Germany and everyone was gossiping and trying to figure out who was hurt. Normally families would have already been notified if their loved one had been wounded, but this was the Surge, and nothing was normal anymore. It had happened more than once that soldiers had been wounded and shipped halfway around the world before families had been notified.

Today, apparently, was turning into one of those days when getting a manifest was in the too-hard-to-do category.

The emergency room was crowded full of spouses jockeying for information, and the staff there was doing their best in the middle of abject insanity. Nicole fought for patience as she tried to herd the women and two men into some semblance of order while she waited for Laura to figure out what was going on. She breathed deeply and tried to keep her own fear from paralyzing her.

There was no news from Vic. No e-mail telling her he was okay. No phone call. Fear clutched at her heart as she tried not to hover near Laura and their friend Jen—a nurse at the hospital—who was trying to get the list of names of the wounded from the admin folks.

She almost missed her cell phone vibrating in her pocket. She fumbled for it and nearly dropped it before desperately connecting the call.

“Hey, babe.”

Nicole almost collapsed with relief. “You’re okay,” she breathed. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah, about that.” She froze. Her heart stopped in her chest. “Um, I’m kind of in Germany.”

Tears instantly burned behind her eyes, pouring down her cheeks. She swiped at her face. “What? Vic, what’s going on?”

He breathed deeply on the phone. “So I got blown up a little bit.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going in for another surgery so I’ll call you when I’m out.” His voice was strained.

“How bad?”

“I’ll see you when they evac me back to the States, okay?”

“My ass you will. I’m getting on a plane.” Like hell she was going to sit there and wait. They didn’t have a ton of money but her mom could get her a flight. Nicole knew her mom would do that much.

“Nikki—”

“Don’t argue, Vic. I’m coming.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. His silence terrified her but she held it in. “Okay.” He paused. “I love you.”

Her voice cracked and broke. A flood of fear crashed against her heart. “I love you, too. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She hung up the phone. Laura was right there. Nicole’s eyes burned. “Vic’s been hurt.”

“What can I do?”

“I’m good. I’ve got to go, okay?” She was this close to falling apart. She needed to get away from the pitying looks from the wives who’d overheard the conversation.

The wives who were grateful it wasn’t them. She couldn’t blame them. It came with the territory. It was a guilty relief, a terrified fear that maybe next time it might be their loved one.

Right now, none of that mattered. She needed a plane ticket now. She didn’t have time to fall apart.

Laura pulled her into a quick hug. “He’s okay.”

“I know.” Nicole wiped beneath her eyes. “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something, okay?”

Laura nodded and let her go.

Nicole was on the phone instantly, having her mom make the travel arrangements. She packed a bag in a blur. Somehow she remembered to pack a coat. She didn’t even check any luggage. The plane took forever to taxi down the runway.

Her thoughts raced. Her heart drummed in her ears. She didn’t do well with sitting on her hands but there was nothing else she could do. She paid the flight attendant for three little bottles of vodka. The first one burned all the way down then spread through her veins like a languid, numbing balm. The second one made her head fuzzy. She pulled the dark blue airplane blanket over her chest and turned her face toward the window so no one would see the tears as they ran down her face.

The third one went down smooth and she forced her eyes closed. She didn’t sleep. She couldn’t stop the fear that ate at her. Vic was in the hospital. He was alive. She clung to that thought amongst all the chaos in her head on the long hours of the flight to Frankfurt.

Her husband was alive. Whatever else happened, he was alive.

It was dark the next time the puffy cloud of morphine let him go. He blinked and tried to open his eyes but they were still too heavy. So he lay there in the dark and waited for the drugs to fade a little more.

He had a vague memory of being sent out of Iraq. The flight on the hospital plane was nothing but noise as far as he could remember.

He frowned as he blinked, hoping his eyes would obey at some point in this century. There was an itch on the palm of his right hand that was driving him crazy. He tried his hand to rub his fingers together to scratch it and felt… nothing.

Going in for surgery.

Carponti swallowed hard against the snippet of memory and breathed deep against the panic in his chest. Oh fuck.

He didn’t burst awake in a panic. He blinked a couple of times then opened his eyes. Another deep, unsteady breath and he held up both hands. There was empty space where his right hand should have been. His forearm was heavy and numb and wrapped in thick gauze.

His eyes burned. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

He covered his mouth with his hand. His hand. He held it up. His left hand was intact. He made a fist. His fingers closed. Okay. Wedding ring. He needed to find it. Nicole was going to kill him.

He looked at his right hand. Or rather the space where his right hand used to be.

The bandage was thick and heavy and extended past his elbow to his mid upper arm. He didn’t really feel anything about six inches below his elbow. He felt like his hand was still there but the empty space his eyes saw argued with the sensation in his brain.

Alone in his room, Carponti didn’t have any smart-ass comments. He couldn’t really come up with anything funny to make himself laugh.

He just kind of sat there for a minute and did nothing.

He didn’t swear at God. Or get angry.

He just… sat.

It was much harder to wrap his brain around his missing hand than anything else. He was going to have to learn to write with his left hand. Was he still going to be able to shoot? Hell, he was going to have to learn to fire left-handed.

He scrubbed his left hand over his mouth. He stopped looking at the bandage and the empty space. Echoes from before his surgery came back to him.

Infection. We have to amputate now.