When A Warrior Comes Home Read online

  He rounded an ambulance, and Butch’s trailer came into view. The VCOM stood in the dirt thirty feet from the blazing trailer.

  Medics were loading Yazinski onto a gurney. Butch had already been moved. Brian scanned right. Two soldiers jogged with a laden stretcher toward the gap in the T-wall. He raced to them, ran alongside, and stared at the face of the injured soldier.

  Mike.

  Brian dropped to his knees. Sobs wracked his body, each one laden with pain so severe it lit sparks against his closed eyelids. He dug nails into his trembling palms and reverted to short gasping breaths. When he opened his eyes and glanced back at the trailer, fire crews had arrived, arcing water onto Butch’s home and dousing the sides of the adjoining buildings. He grabbed his ribs, bent forward, and the ground came up to meet his face.

  Chapter 4

  Christmas Eve, 2008, Fayetteville, NC

  Daniel stepped from the attic-access ladder and handed Sarah a large package wrapped in snowman-motif paper. “That’s the last one, Mom.”

  “Good job.”

  He closed the hatch. Sarah shook her head at the mound of presents covering the landing. Most were for Christopher. She’d gone overboard. “Compensating, I guess.”

  “Huh?” Daniel raised his eyebrows.

  She put a finger to her lips. “Shh. Come on. Let’s take these downstairs. Don’t want to wake your brother and spoil his Santa obsession. I thought we’d never get him to bed tonight.”

  He picked up a half-dozen packages, steadying them with his chin. Smiling, Sarah tracked his blond head down the stairs until it disappeared into the living room. With Mike recovering in Landstuhl hospital in Germany, Daniel had taken on the mantle of man of the house. War was a greedy mistress. Not satisfied with robbing her of a family Christmas, it was stealing Daniel’s childhood, forcing him to grow up too soon.

  They stayed up until eleven watching Miracle on 34th Street—the original, 1947 version.

  At midnight, with both kids in bed, she stood alone in the living room. Wrapped gifts overflowed the base of their artificial Christmas tree. Strings of flashing colored lights blurred in her tear-filled eyes. Sarah lifted her wineglass toward the angel on the topmost branch and drained the dregs. “Well, we managed without you again, Mike.” Four years earlier, on his first Iraq deployment, they had been apart for Christmas, but this year was tougher. Duty wasn’t the obstacle. According to the doctors, severed tendons in Mike’s left leg would keep him in the hospital until mid-January. Why had this happened? The world was set against them. All year they’d discussed Mike’s future with the army. Now they were close to a decision, close to choosing family over army—at least that was her choice—and this happened. She placed her empty glass on the coffee table and checked her inbox.

  No new messages.

  Sarah snapped a picture of the tree, uploaded it to the computer, and attached it to a message. She wrote, “Merry Christmas, honey. The kids helped with the ornaments. Daniel handled the higher stuff I normally leave to you. He’s growing up so fast. As you can see, the presents are piled high. I’ll keep yours under the tree. I drank our traditional toast, but it’s not the same without you here to clink glasses. I miss you.”

  Sarah grabbed a Kleenex and dabbed her eyes. After a few deep breaths, she continued, “It’s midnight here, and I’m going to bed. I’ll Skype you at five fifty a.m. our time. Christopher is wound like a spring. Daniel will try to keep him occupied with a stocking we’ve hung at the bottom of his bed. As soon as you’re online, I’ll let him loose. That way we can at least have a virtual family Christmas. Good night, my love. I’ll see you in the morning. I love you. XXX.”

  Once she’d pressed send, Sarah positioned the computer on the coffee table, aligning the webcam with the tree. Cold and distant, but the best they could manage. She’d wanted to take the kids to Germany. Cheer him up. Give him a family hug. The army offered to arrange the flight, but Mike persuaded her to stay home. The hospital ward was too depressing, he said. He didn’t want the boys to see him until he could walk again.

  After the rocket attack, it had taken four days before the Casualty Assistance Calls Officer contacted her. And then just to say Mike was in Germany and not seriously injured. Triage and transportation and chain of command—Sarah understood the reasons, but her gut had been coiled like rope until she received the first email from Mike: “I’m a bit banged up, but okay. I’m trying to get hooked up with Skype. Will let you know, Mike.”

  Flooded with relief, she printed the words, kissed the paper, and read them again, and again. She showed the note to the kids, and to her folks, but every time she saw his name written there, she wondered why he hadn’t signed it Love, Mike.

  During their first Skype call from the hospital, Daniel asked if Mike’s black eye and swollen face hurt. “Naw. You should see the other guy.” Mike grinned, and they shared the first family laugh for a long time. But the call only lasted a few minutes. Mike was tired. Sarah told him she loved him. The kids told him they loved him, even Daniel. “Me too,” Mike said, but his face didn’t reflect any love. Probably she was making too much of it. After all, he was hurting, and far away. She should be grateful Mike’s injury wasn’t serious. Apparently, Yaz was worse off. Mike hadn’t been allowed to visit him yet because he was in the Landstuhl ICU.

  Sarah collected her wineglass, put it in the dishwasher, stabbed the on button, and sighed. After unplugging the tree, she climbed the stairs with leaden legs and a heavy heart. She wanted her husband back.

  The next morning, Christmas morning, she tried for twenty minutes to Skype with Mike, but he wasn’t online. Unable to contain Christopher any longer, she let the kids come downstairs, and they opened presents watched by the blank laptop screen. After gathering the discarded wrapping paper into a trash bag, she headed into the kitchen to make breakfast. As she was buttering toast, Daniel touched her shoulder from behind. She jumped and dropped the knife.

  Sarah pressed a hand to her heart. The knife clattered on the tiled floor. Then a momentary silence filled the kitchen.

  “Sorry, Mom.”

  “Not your fault. I was miles away. Breakfast’s nearly ready. We’ll eat in the living room, and you can show me your new video game.”

  Daniel held out a wrapped box. He’d reused the paper from one of his gifts. “This is for you.”

  “Oh!” Sarah wrapped him in her arms and squeezed, clinging to him until he tapped her shoulder for release.

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  “It’s not much,” he said.

  She tore the paper off a box of candies and smiled at him, her eyes filled with tears, her heart filled with pride. “My favorites. Thank you. Now go and enjoy your game.”

  At ten thirty, Mike finally connected on Skype. Christopher held each present in front of the webcam for his father’s approval. Her husband made appreciative noises, but his voice sounded flat, and his eyes kept drifting from the screen. Once Christopher began repeating toys, Sarah told him to go and play.

  “You missed the excitement this morning,” she said.

  “I know.”

  Daniel, sitting beside her on the sofa, said, “Where were you? Mom was upset you didn’t call.”

  Sarah turned to her son. “Daniel!”

  “Well?” Daniel, chin jutting, face set, glared at the screen.

  Mike’s eyes darkened. His mouth flattened into a tight line. He barked, “Don’t speak to me in that tone, young man!”

  Body rigid, Daniel held his ground. Sarah placed a hand on his arm. “It’s okay.”

  “No it’s not.” He pointed a finger at the camera. “Dad made you cry on Christmas morning.” He sprang up and marched from the room.

  “What was that about?” Mike asked.

  “He misses you. We all miss you. It’s hard when you’re not here, Mike, especially today.”

  “Daniel shouldn’t disrespect me.”

  This wasn’t like Mike. Occasionally during a deployment, he had show
n his frustration to her on the phone but never directed at his son. Never. She tilted her head, softened her voice. “What happened this morning? Why didn’t you call?”

  His eyes wandered from the screen, as though he was talking to a stranger, a stranger he didn’t even want to look at. “I had to go to physical therapy.” He spat his words, boiling anger barely contained.

  “On Christmas Day?”

  Cheeks flushed, Mike focused on the screen again, leaned into the webcam and hissed, “You don’t get it. You just don’t get it, do you? I have to get this damned leg stronger otherwise they’ll slap me with a medical discharge. Then how will you buy a pile of Christmas presents? Where’ll the money come from if I’m out of work?”

  Sarah straightened, backed away from the screen. “You told me the injury wasn’t serious. What’s the truth, Mike?”

  His face blanked into a strained mask and he stared past the screen, into space. “I’ve gotta go.”

  “Wait.”

  But the screen went dark.

 

  At four on Christmas afternoon, the front doorbell rang.

  Sarah called from the kitchen, “Can you get that, Daniel? It’ll be Rosa, Butch, and Noe.”

  Sarah was drying her hands at the sink when her friend came into the kitchen. Wearing a colorful, abstract-print dress set off with a yellow silk scarf, Rosa crossed the kitchen, gave Sarah a hug, and sniffed the air like a hunting dog. “Mmm. Smells so Christmassy.”

  Behind her, Butch filled the doorway. Sharply dressed in pressed blue jeans and a white short-sleeved shirt, a fresh dressing covered his right forearm. Pinkish skin, reminders of the burns he’d received in the rocket attack, distorted the Rosa tattoo on his biceps. Noe was balanced in the crook of Butch’s other arm. In his onesie snowman suit, their one-year-old resembled a tiny stuffed toy.

  “Merry Christmas, Sarah. Thank God you asked us for dinner,” Butch said. “There’s nothing to eat at home exceptin’ baby formula and teething biscuits.”

  His soft Southern drawl brought a smile to Sarah’s lips. She hooked Rosa’s arm and pulled her back across the kitchen toward Butch, so she could wrap her arms around them both. Noe, sandwiched, turned big brown eyes on her, and she kissed the baby’s head. “Thanks for coming, guys.”

  “Are you kiddin’? For turkey and trimmin’s, I’d run five miles in combat gear.” Butch’s grin wrinkled the corners of his eyes.

  Sarah stepped back so she could see his face. “I’m glad you’re home.”

  Rosa squeezed her husband’s arm and tilted her head, gazing up at him. “He was due at noon on the fourteenth. I stood in the rain at the airport till ten at night. Good ol’ army—hurry up and wait.” Butch dipped his head and placed a soft kiss on Rosa’s forehead.

  Sarah spun away, opened the oven, and basted the turkey. Her hands shook. Jealous heat pulsed in her cheeks, tears misted her eyes. She took a few deep, steadying breaths and wiped her face on the apron. When she turned, Rosa had drifted from her husband toward the kitchen counter, maybe aware how hard it was for Sarah to see them together when Mike was still overseas.

  Rosa eyed the food. “Deviled eggs!” She popped one into her mouth. “Damn, that’s good. I wish I could cook.”

  “Me, too,” Butch said.

  Rosa narrowed her eyes. “Bite me!” She dismissed him with a wave.

  Focusing on Butch, reading his face, Sarah asked, “Did you see Mike before you left?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. I was out of it for a couple days.” He raised his bandaged arm. “When they discharged me from the field hospital, Mike had been air-lifted. But don’t you go worrying, none. Lanstuhl has the best medics in Europe. He’s in good hands.”

  Daniel, who had been standing behind Butch, squeezed under the big man’s arm into the kitchen. “What happened to Dad?”

  Sarah placed a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Daniel, give them time to settle.”

  “Didn’t he tell you?” Butch asked.

  Sarah said, “Mike doesn’t remember, or doesn’t want to remember.”

  Rosa caught her tone and frowned a question.

  Sarah shook her head—maybe later.

  Butch covered Daniel’s shoulder with a meaty hand. “I’ll tell what I know, which isn’t much. Mike, Yaz, and me were in my trailer. The Phalanx started firing. The next thing, a huge explosion like…” Head tilted, eyes scanning the ceiling, he searched for words. “… well, you know those Fourth of July noise makers?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Imagine ten of those goin’ off right next to your head.”

  “Wow!” Daniel made a low whistle.

  Butch nodded. “Air compressions rocked the trailer. The back wall shattered and came at me like a special effect in a movie… Pow! That’s all I’ve got. I woke two days later in the field hospital hooked to a saline drip.”

  Butch fell silent, staring into the distance.

  Sarah waited. Daniel glanced at her, clearly looking for guidance. Sarah turned to Rosa, but judging by her friend’s face, this was news to her too.

  Butch blinked twice before his eyes locked on the countertop. “Mind if I try a couple eggs?”

  “Sure,” Sarah said. But like Daniel, she wanted more, wanted to know everything. As though knowing would bring Mike closer. “Butch, you were saying about the explosion.”

  “Oh, right. That’s the damnedest story.” He crammed an egg into his mouth and moved it to his cheek so he could talk. “When the medics cleared me, I went back—thought my gear might still be there—fat chance. The trailer was a burned-out shell. I couldn’t believe anyone got out of that rubble alive. Josh, he lives four trailers over from us, told me after the explosion no one could get near because of the heat.”

  “What caused the fire?” Sarah asked.

  “Iranian-built 107 mm rocket—blew a hole the size of a small car in the T-wall behind our digs. Concrete and shrapnel peppered the trailer and fractured the propane bottle in my space heater.”

  “So how did you get out?” Daniel asked.

  “The damned robot dragged us out.”

  “Robot!” Sarah said.

  Butch rubbed a hand across his cheek. “This is supposed to be classified, hush-hush an’ all that crap—oops, sorry, Daniel.”

  Daniel grinned, and Butch winked at him. “Did Mike tell you what he was working on, Sarah?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, it can’t be too secret. Everyone at Camp Liberation saw it. So… just between friends, then?”

  Sarah and Daniel nodded.

  “VCOM. It’s a prototype. What’s the skinny one in Star Wars called?”

  “3PO.” Daniel’s eyes glistened.

  “Yeah, like him.”

  “Dad works with robots, like on a secret mission?”

  “Yeah, your dad’s real smart. He’s military liaison for the field trials. He and this civilian contractor, Brian—regular brainbox—were testing the robot. Josh told me the VCOM dragged us out. I went lookin’ for the geek—because he must have been drivin’—to thank him, an’ all, but he’d shipped out.” Butch shook his head. “A piece of the bedframe tore your dad’s leg. Other than that, the medics said he seemed fine. Yaz was in pretty bad shape though—legs burned up.”

  “Poor Yaz,” Sarah said. “Have you heard from him?”

  Butch didn’t seem to hear the question. His gaze slipped from Daniel’s face and wandered across the room until it fixed on the window.

  “How about a beer?” Sarah asked.

  Rosa said, “Sounds good to me.” Then she raised her voice, as though her husband were hard of hearing. “Butch, want one?”

  Noe slid four inches down Butch’s arm. Grasping onto his dad’s shirt, he started to cry. Butch’s focus remained locked on the window. Rosa plucked the baby from him. “Butch? Sarah asked if you want a beer.”

  Nothing.

  “Butch!”

  “Huh?”

  “Beer?”

&nbsp
; His eyelids flickered a few times as though waking from a deep sleep. “Sure.” The easy smile returned.

  Daniel tugged Butch’s sleeve. “I got Halo 3 for Christmas. Want to check it out?”

  Rosa hooked Noe onto her hip. “You boys go ahead,” she said. “I’ll help Sarah with dinner.”

  When the women were alone, Rosa shook her head. “The medics cleared Butch, but I’m worried. Did you see how he goes away?”

  “Maybe he’s tired from the trip and the jet lag.”

  “He’s been home two weeks, and it’s getting worse. I don’t know. Yesterday he was feeding Noe, and the bottle dropped to the floor, slipped from his hand. Noe was screaming, and trust me, he’s got his daddy’s lungs. Butch just stared at the wall. I had to shake him to, you know, bring him back.”

  “How long is he home?”

  “He’s due back on base next week. The unit deploys to Iraq again in four months. Butch shouldn’t be in the rotation.” Rosa rolled her eyes. “But we know how that goes.”

  “Give him time to rest. He’ll be fine.”

  “I guess.”

  Rosa’s tone and her furrowed brow made Sarah wonder what had remained unsaid.

  Chapter 5

  On the morning of January 2nd, 2009, Brian Matthews’s cellphone rang as he climbed out of a taxi in downtown Atlanta. He answered the call. “Hi. Okay. Great. Yes.” With three short words, he’d placed a deposit on a two-bedroom apartment in the heart of Raleigh, North Carolina. In a few weeks, his days of living like an impoverished student in a one-room rental would be over. All those nights spent perfecting the LightCube had paid off at last.

  In the center of the sidewalk, Brian punched the air. Looking skyward, he turned a slow circle. Two men in pinstriped suits glared at him as they skirted past, obviously annoyed by his antics. A country boy at heart, the towering steel-and-glass buildings sent thrills through his chest—he’d finally arrived.

  He strode into Militec’s headquarters, heel clicks echoing across the cool marble atrium, and took the elevator to the twenty-second floor. A stunning blonde receptionist, wearing a dark-blue pencil skirt, cream blouse, and too-red lips, guided him to a conference room and pointed him to a tray of refreshments.