The Severance (5 page)

Thinking for a few seconds, Jake answered, “I guess I wanted to be a part of something greater and better then myself.” This was the standard answer to the question, but it was hardly the most truthful. His reasons for joining the Army had been a muddled combination of a desire for adventure and escape from his normal life. Jake knew that Morris was looking for a genuine answer, but he didn’t know if he could provide it, not concisely, anyway.

“Okay,” the commander said, “I was just checking. Get some rest, Roberts.”

Exiting the TOC, Jake glanced at his watch. It was 5:45 a.m. The sun was peeking over the eastern horizon and soldiers were beginning to mill about as the workday began. Jake’s day was just winding down. His last combat mission, ever. In 100 days, he’d be a civilian and a student again.

Relishing the thought of having a life other than soldiering, Jake began the short walk back to the large white multipurpose tent being used as lodging for 100 soldiers awaiting transport home. This was home for him and his platoon for the time being. It actually wasn’t the most uncomfortable of places and, for whatever reason, Jake slept better on an old army cot than on the bed in his former room on the Forward Operating Base. Now that he was done with missions, it was all a waiting game and there would be plenty of time for sleeping and thinking. There were things about his service that made him proud; he could think about them. There were also a few things for which he felt immeasurable shame, and he didn’t care to bring them into the forefront of his psyche.

Jake decided that he would wait a few hours to let the boys know they were all getting Valor awards. If he told them now, they would be bouncing off the walls with excitement and would never get any rest. Better to let them get a few hours of sleep before breaking the news, Jake thought.

A Bronze Star with a “V” device was a big deal, even to Jake. They didn’t just give those away, especially in Afghanistan. He had never before been decorated for courage under fire and never worried about it. He’d done his job and nothing more, but he was proud that he’d never chickened out or hesitated in combat. Now he was going to be awarded the Army’s fourth highest award for valor. Did that make him a “war hero”? He had gone the extra mile to save Slater, but that act wasn’t necessarily heroic. There had been only a small sliver of sympathy for a man who had been reckless and stupid. No, the main reason he had busted his ass to get Slater to safety was that leaving him out there would have gotten Jake into serious trouble. And yet, the Army had finally decided to decorate him mere weeks before he was thrown out. Still, he would eagerly accept the award. Being labeled a war hero never hurt anyone’s career, military or civilian.

This was the end of Jake’s second and final combat tour. Neither his first rotation to Iraq nor this rotation to Afghanistan had been quiet. Despite the dubious distinction of remaining a platoon leader for the full duration of both his tours, he was returning to the United States physically unscathed—a feat more and more uncommon.

Jake took stock. He could recall a few dramatic examples without much effort where giving 100 percent effort just wasn’t enough to be successful. He couldn’t always stop the bad guys, but he liked to believe that he stopped them when he was able and dealt with the situation when he wasn’t. For an instant, the face of Peter Harris crept into his consciousness. He realized he needed something to take his mind off his dead soldiers. Looking up toward the tent, he saw just the thing.

She was standing by the back entrance that Jake liked to use to enter the tent, and she knew it. When Jake was about 30 feet away, she ran up and hugged him. Anyone within a kilometer of this display could easily tell that this woman wasn’t just a friend. The embrace made Jake uncomfortable, but it was only six a.m. and there were few around to notice.

Finally, after what seemed a year in her arms, she spoke, “I was so worried, they said a captain got hit. I thought it was you,” she said

“Oh, that wasn’t me. You must be thinking of someone else,” he replied.

“I know it wasn’t you!” she said, as she playfully punched Jake. “You were there when he got hit, right?”

“Yes, and now I’m here,” Jake said, as he pointed to the ground directly under his feet.

“I missed you,” she said.

Jessica Walsh worked in the combat support hospital as a nurse. Raven black hair and blue eyes, just the way Jake liked his women. She was smart, sexy, and hooked on Jake. She’d been on shift when Captain Slater had been Medevaced. Without a doubt, she already had a pretty good rundown of the previous evening’s events, but she wanted Jake to tell her about it. And not because she was a junkie for war stories, either.

Smart, funny, witty—Jessica was about perfect. Other men on the base fell over themselves to get her attention. In fact, Jake was convinced that a few had injured themselves intentionally, just to go to the hospital. Jessica was fun to be with and she had made Jake happy. A perfect relationship for him, if there weren’t a small problem: he was married and had a son. Furthermore, he loved his wife and son and had no intention of getting divorced.

While he was in the States, Jake never even considered infidelity. He was, by all accounts, a good husband and father. A loyal provider and a good man. Overseas, however, it was like something changed that forced him to stray from the beaten path of normalcy and faithfulness. This certainly wasn’t uncommon for deployed soldiers. To Jake, Jessica and the girls before her seemed more like recreation than relationship partners, a nice distraction from the hardships of long deployments. Just disposable toys for his own amusement.

His initial plan had been to redeploy and let the relationship die on the vine, but Jessica was proving persistent. She was fully aware that Jake was married with a kid, but she assumed that, once home, he would leave his wife to be with her. That was the farthest thing from Jake’s mind. He had to handle this delicately, because if he hurt Jessica’s feelings, there would be no telling what she’d do. She might be inclined to tell his wife. Then again, she might be inclined to take out a full-page ad in
The New York Times
expounding on the details of their affair.

“So, I just got off shift, and my roommate’s on leave. Want to come over?” Jessica asked.

Any normal day, Jake would have taken the invitation without hesitation, but today he was dead tired and there was no time like the present to start distancing himself from his lover.

“Jeez, babe, I’m beat. I need to get some rest, and then I have a bunch of stuff to do to make sure the platoon is ready to travel,” Jake said.

“But you’re leaving soon,” Jessica said, pouting.

Everything about her was sexy, even her pouting, but Jake refused to relent.

“Babe, I’m not leaving for another week, and I’m done with missions. We’ll get together tomorrow, I promise,” Jake said. He was telling her what she wanted to hear, of course.

“You promise?” she said, drawing him close, whispering in his ear. “I want you really bad right now. I can hardly wait to be with you.”

“Try, Jess, it’ll be worth it,” Jake said.

“It better be,” Jessica said, as she finally released him from the embrace and kissed him on the cheek.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Jessica backed away from Jake, smiling like a schoolgirl.

“You know it, wouldn’t miss it,” Jake lied again.

“Okay, well, get some rest, you’ve earned it,” she said, as she walked away.

She sent another loving look at Jake before rounding a corner. Jessica was about to be a big problem. What he had believed to be an enjoyable diversion might only add to his troubles. Jake decided to check on Doc Ramirez, who had gone to get an update on the condition of Captain Slater.

In the FOB hospital, Jake found Ramirez gritting his teeth in pain, as he scrubbed his hands in scalding hot water. He had forgotten to put on latex gloves before treating Captain Slater’s injuries and, as a result, his hands were covered in dried blood and grime.

“Specialist, are you finished?” the doctor in charge asked. The likelihood of contracting a blood-borne illness was slim to none, but Ramirez was taking no chances.

“Yes, Sir. I came to check on the status of Captain Slater and decided to get the bio off my hands while I was here,” Ramirez said, drying his hands with a paper towel. It was in Ramirez’s nature to see his job through, even though he didn’t know Captain Slater.

“Captain Slater has been stabilized and is resting comfortably. He will be moved to Bagram and transferred to Germany as soon as it’s medically advisable for him to fly,” the doctor said to Jake.

“Thanks for the update, Sir,” Ramirez replied, as if the doc had been talking to him.

“Now, we can’t have you walking around in your filthy uniform and equipment. If you’re done here, Specialist, I’m going to need you to leave,” the doctor, his pristine scrubs showing not even a drop of blood, commanded. Ramirez glanced at the smears on his sleeve and nodded.

Jake knew what he was thinking—that the doctor saw just another dirty Mexican soldier. Without saying a word, Ramirez walked away.

“You’re all class, Doctor,” Jake said once Ramirez was out of earshot.

“Dude, you got a pro—”

“Get bent,” Jake said and walked away.

Specialist Palo Ramirez had been born poor, but ambitious. After high school he had enrolled in a Physician’s Assistant program at the University of Texas Medical School while working practically full time.

Just a month before graduation, he was pulled over for making an improper turn, and the cop discovered two grams of cocaine in his car. In jail, he missed his final exams, and once released, both expelled and jobless, he doubted he could ever pay off his student loans. Aimlessly walking down the street, he saw a billboard for the Army and resolved to join up. The recruiter told him he could pay off his debt in four years and get an enlistment waiver for his drug conviction.

Unfortunately, just as Ramirez, now a combat medic, was scheduled to deploy to Afghanistan, the coke urge hit him again. Soon he was scrubbing away dried urine and feces, his life literally in the toilet.

On one Saturday afternoon, the door of the bathroom swung open, hitting the wall with a bang, and a captain came strolling in. Ramirez rose to his feet and moved away from the stall he’d been scrubbing.

“You Ramirez?” the captain asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Ramirez replied.

“Heard you got busted for snorting coke.”

“Yes, Sir. I did,” Ramirez replied.

“Also heard you were a pretty good medic. Someone even said that you were almost a doctor,” the captain said.

“I was in school to be a P.A. and before that I was a paramedic,” Ramirez said, “but I got arrested for possession and missed my finals.”

“Yeah, and how’d you end up scrubbing shit?”

“Yes, Sir, I guess I have a problem.”

“You heard about the Kodiak platoon?” the captain asked, leaning against one of the bathroom sinks.

“It’s the screw-up platoon.”

“The battalion commander prefers the term Rehabilitation Platoon,” the captain said.

“Yes, Sir. Rehab Platoon, of course.”

“Well, I’ll skip the bullshit. I’m in charge of the Kodiak Platoon and I just learned that my medic has up and run off to Canada. I need a quick replacement. You passed your physical fitness test, you’re qualified with carbine and handgun and, frankly, you’re available,” the captain said.

“Sergeant Major said that I’m going to spend the deployment on tower guard and shit-burning duty,” Ramirez said.

“Sergeant Major said wrong, Ramirez. You’re the Kodiak platoon medic now; that is, if you can lay off the drugs. You can kick the coke, can’t you?”

“Yes, Sir. I’m done with drugs, Sir. I’ll do anything to get out of burning shit.”

“Good to hear. Report to Sergeant First Class McBride on Monday morning. By the way, I’m Captain Roberts, the platoon leader,” Jake said.

“Thank you, Sir,” Ramirez said.

Jake didn’t bother responding, letting the door slam behind him again as he left.