Duty(70)

“Hey, El Tee?”

I look up and see Specialist Maravilla, one of the brigade morale specialists, knocking on the jamb of the door. She's tiny, barely five feet tall, and has a perky personality that fits her job personality. I don't think anyone doesn't smile when she comes around chattering constantly. Seriously, she's a one-person USO tour. “What up, Spec Marvelous?”

Maravilla laughs. “You know, sir, most people don't know the meaning of my name. Anyway, I got a message for you from the MWR folks.”

“Really? I thought I returned that book already. Was it damaged?” I ask her, thinking of the little paperback sports story I'd returned this morning.

“No, that's all good, sir. Actually, you've got a video call set up for this evening. Think you can make it to the MWR building at zero eight thirty tomorrow morning? The caller is on the East Coast. Fort Bragg, I think the message said.”

I hide my excitement and give Maravilla a thumbs-up. “You just made my day, Marvelous. Put yourself in for a promotion.”

Maravilla laughs, waving me off. “Can I get to be an officer then?”

“Make yourself a one-star general. I'm sure the Pentagon won't mind,” I joke, and she laughs again before walking off. I turn back to my mail, and perhaps it’s just the hope setting in, but I can barely feel my leg as I go back to making sure that the mail that leaves Afghanistan is clear of sensitive information. Ah, nope, you can't give the name of the town you're in. Sorry.



The video shakes for a moment as someone adjusts the camera before steadying, and Lance is there, sitting on a couch. I know this type of room. A lot of the MWR buildings and FRG buildings have a high-def video camera set up, a remnant of the early War on Terror days when webcams were a rarity, but the military still hangs onto them. It's nice though, you can see their whole bodies that way. “Daddy!”

“Lance!” I answer. I don't know what the hell is going on or how the Army knows about Lance, but right now, I don't give a shit, either. “How're you doing, buddy?”

“I'm good,” Lance says, bouncing. “How are you?”

“I’m going to be just fine,” I tell him, my words stopping when Lindsey comes into view. She's wearing her ACUs, but still, she's so beautiful. “Lindsey . . .”

“Aaron,” Lindsey replies, reaching out toward the camera. “I . . . we were so worried.”

“It's okay,” I reassure her. “Here, check it out.”

I stand up, turning around and pulling my ACU pants leg up. I can't wear a combat boot on that leg yet. I'm using a running shoe for now, and the docs are due to change my covering after this, so the bandage is off. The stitches are still bright red, but nowhere near as ugly as they were four days ago. “See? Still there. I'm just glad I didn't get shot in the butt. I don't want to drop trou on a military network.”

Lindsey laughs and waves her hand as I turn around and sit down, getting used to putting most of my weight on my left leg to move right now. “You'd love to drop trou if your son wasn't here.”

“You got me,” I admit, smiling. “Um . . . I guess this means people know?”

“We know,” someone says off camera, and Pete Lemmon comes into view. “Don't worry about stuff on this end, Aaron. She'll be taken care of. Lance and your new baby too. Your class ring too. You really should keep better track of that thing. It’s like what, a thousand bucks to replace? You just keep your ass safe over there, okay?”

I swallow and nod, unable to express my feelings. Finally, the only words needed come to my mind. “Go Devils.”

“Damn right. I'm gonna give you a few family minutes. I know how MWR are tight asses on time. Party hard.”

Pete leaves, and Lindsey whispers in Lance's ear. “Daddy?”

“Yes, buddy?” I ask, leaning into the computer.

“Are you a hero?” Lance asks. “People say you're a hero.”

I shake my head. I've heard the whispers myself the past few days, and I can't believe that people are saying this about me. “Lance, a hero is just a person who is as scared as anyone else, but he still somehow manages to do his job, and a little bit of luck falls his way. I'm lucky, and I'll let you in on a secret. When I was fighting, I had only two thoughts—you and Mommy.”

Lance looks confused, but Lindsey gives him a squeeze and whispers in his ear. He nods, then looks back at the camera. “I love you, Daddy!”

“I love you too, buddy. And Lindsey?”

“Yes?” Lindsey asks, her eyes shining with what I'm sure are held back tears. I'm feeling the same way, honestly.

“When I get back stateside . . . there's a question or two I want to ask you. I'd like to ask now, but over a video link just isn't the right time to do it.”

Lindsey nods, smiling. “If it's the question I'm thinking of, I already know my answer. I'll make you a deal. You keep that question safe and sound, and I'll be there for you when you get back. After all, I'm your combat support, right?”

I smile, nodding. “Damn right. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

We wrap up our call, the last few minutes filled with mundane updates on Lance's time in daycare and Lindsey's work, but when the call finishes, I'm feeling refreshed. I get up and grab my crutches. I'm still on a limited movement profile, but I’m surprised when Lieutenant Colonel Kierney comes in the room. He's picked up a few stitches himself in his face, and he's going to have a nice scar when he gets back stateside. “Sir?”