Chapter 1
January 29, 1972
What’s that noise? Harry awoke to bright lights. Sunlight streaming through the open window blinds. Glaring fluorescent lights overhead. They gave him a headache. He slammed his eyes shut.
Someone shook his shoulder insistently. “Major Russell,” said a female voice. “Can you open your eyes for me?”
Harry opened his eyes. Plain white walls surrounded him. The narrow bed and lumpy mattress felt like a torture device. An IV line ran from a plastic bag on a pole into his right forearm. The oxygen cannula tickled his nose hairs. The Foley catheter was uncomfortable. He was in a hospital room. Where, he had no idea. His last memory was the 95th Evac Hospital in Da Nang. But this sure wasn’t it. Too clean. Too fresh-smelling. And too new. He looked up into the eyes of a young woman wearing a nurse’s uniform.
“Sir, I need to change your bandages. Can you sit up for me?” she asked.
Harry struggled to sit. His arms quivered as he pushed himself up in the bed. “Where am I?” His left leg hurt all the way to his foot. He tried to wiggle his toes. More pain. His foot had to be there, not gone like the doc told him before the operation. Thank goodness.
“Tripler Army Medical Center in Hawaii.” The nurse placed pillows behind his back to hold him up.
“Okay?” Harry searched his brain for any information. The inside of a C-130 entered his thoughts…dingy, gray, and smelling of aviation fuel. The memory was vague but there.
He’d ask his doctor later to find out. What he really hoped was JJ would walk through the door wagging his finger at him, standing tall and whole. He turned his attention to the nurse adjusting the drip on his IV line. She was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in a long time. Slender and curvy with a tight butt and dimples. “What’s your name, Lieutenant?”
The young, dark-haired woman smiled at him. “Tammy Myers.”
“Nice to meet you, Tammy.”
Tammy pulled the rolling table with the bandage tray close to the bed. She flipped down the blanket and top sheet.
A cold draft slid over him, under the paper-thin gown, up to his… Oh, damn! He wasn’t wearing anything but the hospital gown. His cheeks burned. He didn’t dare look at the young nurse, afraid that simple biology might take over. The last thing he needed for her to see right now was an erection. Heat rose to the top of his head.
Tammy leaned over him.
Harry looked down at his feet. And stopped. No, one foot. The right one. Shock set in. His breath came in short gasps. Where the left one should have been was a rounded, slightly blood-stained white gauze bandage. Where was the pain coming from if he didn’t have a foot? He had wiggled his toes a few seconds ago. Hadn’t he?
Tammy unwrapped the bandage. A bruised, black round stump appeared where his left ankle should have been. Stitches everywhere. No foot and no toes.
All Harry could do was stare. “No…no…no…”
Tammy touched his shoulder. “Major, you’re alive. That’s what counts.”
Harry tilted his head enough to look into her amber eyes. “That’s easy to say when you have two feet. I’m a soldier. That’s all I know. What am I going to do now?” No way would he cry in front of a girl. He leaned back into the pillows. It hurt too much to look.
“I can’t answer that, sir. I wish I could. I’m so sorry.” Tammy rewrapped his leg. She pulled up the blanket then placed a gentle hand on his arm. Her eyes sparkled with moisture as she left the room.
The more he stared at the ceiling, the more depressed he became. He was a cripple now. A drain on society. Useless. Someone others would feel sorry for. The Army would retire him for sure. You couldn’t be in the Special Forces with only one good leg.
A man came in with a stethoscope around his neck. “Major Russell, I’m Dr. Herman Maslow.”
Harry resisted the urge to throw something at him. The man had a much too happy face. Judging by the patch on the left shoulder of his fatigues, the 18th Medical Command, he’d been in a nice safe place for the war. Hawaii. “What do you want?” he spat out.
The doctor backed up a step. “Are you in pain?”
“No! You’ve got me doped on morphine. Not feeling much.” I get why JJ feels this way about drugs. I hate feeling so loopy. Wish I could talk to him.
“Okay. Do you want to speak with anyone?”
“If you’re talking about a head doc, no. Don’t need one. Just time to think.”
“Major, you’ve been through a significant trauma. It helps to talk about what you’re feeling.”
“Not to you.” Only to my best friend. “Just tell me what I need to know then leave.” Harry couldn’t control his anger. At the Army. At the NVA. At the world. It wasn’t the doctor’s fault but he was the only one there. And the one asking stupid questions.
“Okay.” The doctor pulled up a chair. “Your left foot was amputated at the ankle. In a few days, we will transfer you stateside to Letterman Army Medical Center at the Presidio. That’s where you’ll get fitted for your prosthesis and start rehab. Once you’ve reached a stable point in your recovery, you’ll be sent to the VA in Los Angeles to complete the process.”
“VA, huh? Guess the Army’s ditching me?”
“Yes, Major. With this type of injury, your surgeon doesn’t believe that you’ll pass a review board assessment. Due to his recommendation, the 1st Special Forces has already started the retirement and disability process.”
Harry slammed his fist into the mattress. “And the fucking brass left the job to you. They didn’t have the guts to tell me in person. Assholes.”
Dr. Maslow ducked his head. “Yeah. Been doing that a lot lately.”
Harry sucked in a breath, immediately regretting jumping all over someone only trying to help. He needed information. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Get a message to Lieutenant Colonel Jackson MacKenzie. He’s stationed at Phước Vĩnh in ‘Nam. At least he was. Tell him where I’m going so we don’t miss each other. Go through the 5th Special Forces Group. If that doesn’t work, try the 1st Cavalry Division.”
The doctor wrote the info on the paper attached to his clipboard. “Lieutenant Colonel MacKenzie, got it. Anything else?”
“Yeah, tell him he’d better not show up in bandages. He’ll understand.”
“Okay. Get some rest, Major. I’ll be back to check on you later.” The doctor left the room.
Harry settled in his bed. Foremost on his mind, what would he do now? All he knew was being a soldier. How many employers took former soldiers with one foot? Especially with so much hatred stirred up about anyone who served in Vietnam. The American public called them baby killers. Drug-addicted murderers of women and children. That made him poison.
January 31, 1972
Tripler Army Medical Center
Honolulu, Hawaii
The door to his room opened and Tammy stuck her head around the jamb. “Are you awake, Major?”
Harry lifted his head from the pillow to look at her. “Yeah, can’t sleep. My leg’s hurting.” Like molten steel being poured on every nerve.
“I’ll get you something for the pain. There’s someone here to see you.”
“Who?” Harry pushed himself up on his elbows. JJ?
“Don’t know. Looks official.”
“Send him in.” Harry sat up as straight as he could. He stuffed a pillow behind his back to help. His stomach muscles didn’t want to keep him up. The drugs in his system had zapped every bit of his strength.
A man in an Army class A green uniform with gold second lieutenant’s bars entered the room. He placed a briefcase on the table next to the bed. “Major Russell?”
“Yes.”
The lieutenant pulled a blue presentation case and a paper citation from the open briefcase. “Congratulations on the Purple Heart.”
“Congratulations? What’s that supposed to mean, Lieutenant?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Son, you don’t congratulate someone for losing part of their body. I didn’t win the lottery or a professional poker game. My foot’s gone. As in cut off. Not there. Missing. Amputated…”
“Didn’t know, sir. Sorry. I was told to deliver this. Nothing more.”
This guy has the personality of a rock. He’s a follower, not a leader. Bet his rich daddy paid someone to get him a stateside billet, not combat duty. Total Charlie Foxtrot. Pogey bait. Probably a shavetail louie. “So a colonel or a general doesn’t have the time to come by and say anything to me? No ceremony. No parade. No handshake or pat on the back. Not even an I’m sorry from the brass or I’m glad you’re alive. All I get is you. Geez.” What a crock of shit! He knew he was being rude and didn’t care. His career and dreams were gone in a ball of fire and shrapnel. This young man still had both feet with his whole life ahead of him.
“Major, it’s not that I don’t care. It’s…”
“You’re only following orders. I get it, Lieutenant. Now, get out.” Hurry, before I strangle you.
“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant shut his briefcase and left.
Harry shoved the case and citation into a drawer. He didn’t read the words or open the box. He had several Purple Hearts. They were pieces of tin with a ribbon attached. Worthless. He would give almost everything to have his foot back. Maybe even a deal with the devil. Not a fair trade at all. He was a number, nothing more. A piece of damaged equipment to be discarded into the trash pile and forgotten. The brass would find a younger, stronger man to fill his billet. This was his fight. One he had to be victorious in or lose himself in the process.
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