Page 7 of Warrior's Walk

“There’s nothing we can do here. You have a ride back to the States in a few hours, at first light. There’re two other soldiers going back with you that need more help than we can give them here.”

“Back to Bragg?”

“That’s right. Womack Army Medical Center will take good care of you.” If anyone would know, I would. When I’m not deployed, I work there.

“Where’d they take my buddy?”

“He’ll be riding back with you to the States.”

“Yeah, in a box.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and tears gather in his eyes. He glances down at his leg. It’s bandaged and splinted as best we could.

“Look, I know it hurts. I’ve been there. I lost a buddy.” My throat feels swollen with emotion and it’s hard to swallow. “It hurts so fucking much, and… there’s nowhere to put all that pain; it can’t even fit inside of you. You gotta let it out.”

He looks away, scrunching his eyes shut to stem his tears. “Just go. Leave me alone.”

That I can’t do, even if I was inclined to. He’s shaking off the morphine and the shock, and I’ve got to monitor him to make sure there are no side effects or that his blood pressure doesn’t crash.

“I told you I wouldn’t leave you alone. I’m staying.”

“Go, I said!”

His scream is broken as he falls apart, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I pull the curtain around us, which is all the privacy I can offer him. Pulling up a chair to the side of his gurney, I take a seat and grab his hand again. His sobs become louder, and he gives in to his heart-wrenching agony, finally falling apart. It sounds messy as he wails miserably for the friend he lost, for his leg and his career, for the drop in adrenaline and fear that kept him going for the past two hours. His raw emotion brings mine to the surface, and I fight back my own tears.

It’s impossible for me to remain unaffected by the sound of his bawling. His pain is so palpable I can almost feel it. The nurse in me wants to take away his suffering and heal his wounds. I want to soothe his broken heart and give him back everything he’s lost. But the soldier in me knows none of that is possible.

“Tell me about your friend. What was his name?”

“Brian Biddell. After boot camp, we were stationed at Bragg in the same barracks. God, he was fuckin’ annoying. Showed up everywhere I went. Figured it would be easier to just make friends with him than to keep avoidin’ him.”

There was a note of humor in his voice that underscored his sadness. “Sometimes those turn out to be the best ones.” A thin line of white foam had gathered in the corners of his mouth. I push to my feet, trying to untangle my fingers from his.

“Don’t go,” he says, sounding panicked.

“Just gonna grab you some water. Your mouth is dry.”

The roar of the C-17 thunders overhead. I move over to the supply cabinet to grab the water as medics usher in two more soldiers, fresh from the fight. Voices outside grow louder, and I duck my head out the door to see that the sun has set. The sky is a painted canvas of dark purples and blues. The two new patients are sorted by the nurses, so I grab the bottle and return to my patient.

Uncapping the lid, I slide my arm beneath his head to prop him up and tilt the bottle to his chapped lips. “Take a sip.”

He manages to take a tiny sip, but most of it dribbles down his dirty chin. Setting it aside, I resume my seat, and he grabs for my hand again. The bar patch sewn onto the breast of his uniform says Marsh. With the hand he’s not holding, I dig his dog tags out from under his shirt and read the name engraved in the metal.

Rhett B Marsh. He’s twenty-three, and his blood type is A-positive.

“Rhett, huh? Nice to meet you. I bet there’s gonna be some people back home happy to see you return.”

“My mama is gonna kick my ass. She made me promise not to get hurt.”

I crack a smile, imagining this tough-as-nails soldier being dressed down by his mother. “I’m Riggs.”

“Riggs? Hell, that’s even worse than Rhett. Did your mother not like you?”

His sarcasm makes me chuff. “That’s my last name. First name is Navarro.”

He barely manages to nod. “What do they call you for short?”

“Riggs,” I crack, trying to keep a straight face.

---