” “Private Miller,” she said softly. “Miller was a good kid from Ohio, right?” The room went silent. The only sound was the hiss of the oxygen tank in the corner. Graves narrowed his eyes. How the hell do you know about Miller? The air in the room shifted, becoming heavy and electric. Colonel Graves forgot his pain for a split second.
His mind racing back to 2009 to a dusty outpost in the middle of nowhere. I read your file, Colonel, Sarah lied. She kept her face impassive, a mask of professional detachment. It mentions your history. Graves scoffed the tension breaking, but the anger remaining. My file, right? You read a piece of paper.
You think reading a report tells you about the smell of burning diesel. You think it tells you what it’s like to hold a kid’s intestines in your hands while you wait for a bird that isn’t coming? He winced, clutching his thigh. The infection was throbbing a red-hot poker driving into his femur. I’m not doing this with you. Graves grunted.
I want a new nurse now. I don’t want a female. I don’t want a civilian. I want someone who can handle this without fainting at the sight of necrotic tissue. I don’t faint, Sarah said, stepping closer to the bed. Get out, Graves roared, swiping his hand at the bedside table. A plastic picture of water went flying, splashing across the floor and soaking the hem of Sarah’s scrub pants.
The door to the room burst open. Two orderlys and Brenda rushed in. Colonel, that is enough. Brenda shouted. Sarah, get out of there. We’re calling security. We’re going to sedate him. No, Sarah said. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noise like a knife. She held up a hand to stop the orderlys. No security, no sedation.
He doesn’t need to be drugged. He needs his dressing changed. He just threw a picture at you, Brenda cried. He missed,” Sarah said calmly. She looked at Graves. He was breathing heavily, his face pale sweat beading on his forehead. He looked less like a warrior and more like a frightened cornered animal.
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