Thanks for the massive positive feedback I got after posting the first chapter. I might have said it before, but especially the first chapter of a story is always more nerve wrecking to post because even if I write it for fun, I always wonder how it will be received. I have a general idea where this story will go but much is still blank so I'm as curious as you to see how this will end.
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Chapter 2: MollyI was so excited that day when I finally was to depart for Afghanistan. After all my years of training, the day I had been waiting for had come and I was going to what had become known as the world's best trauma hospital. It knew it would not be easy, but it would be the experience of a lifetime, and it was what I had wanted for so long.
That morning, I was standing a bit on the side, observing 2 section who were waiting for their captain to join them, so they could take a photo before the take-off. Finally, he came striding, a tall, dark haired man in uniform and beret and shouted, commanding them to get themselves in order. They quickly obeyed, and he slipped in among them, his back straight, looking right ahead into the camera. It only took me a second to recognise him. I involuntarily gasped for air and bent down to start fumbling with my Bergen, pretending I was looking for something, to give myself time to compose myself. After all these years, this was the last place where I would have expected to come across him. I never thought he would be an officer. I knew his father was, but it had never seemed like he considered to walk in his footsteps. The shock made adrenaline flow in me, although I'm not sure if it was the fight or flight mode my autonomic nervous system wanted to trigger. Neither was appropriate for the situation at hand, and I just stayed on my knees and kept pretending to go through the Bergen for a while. I was surprised that the bare sight of him could stir such feelings in me, it must be the shock. For goodness sake, more than twelve years had gone by, I was engaged to another man and there was no reason why seeing my teenage love would cause such a reaction.
I avoided looking at him as we boarded the plane, but I was wondering if he would recognise me. We were seated diagonally across from one another and I knew that sooner or later we would look at each other. And then I thought 'why not?', I might as well take the bull by its horns and acknowledge the past. Except for my foolish mistake to kiss him we had only been good friends and it would be nothing strange to acknowledge that.
But he did not.
Once he finally met my eyes there was not a flicker of emotion, nothing that indicated he recognised me too. When I asked straight out, he denied it and said that was a time he had done his best to forget. Maybe it was like that, that he had hated everything about those school years so much that he repressed everything about them, even our friendship. Anyway, it was like talking to a wall. It hurt me. Never had I imagined it would be like this meeting him again, that he would totally deny me. It also made me angry, angrier the more I thought about it throughout the flight. How could one forget something like that? And even if he had, how could he not even be curious to find out what I remembered of our apparent connection? What a twat he had become. The flight was a hell and I only longed for it to be over, so I would be able to remove myself from his company and disregard how it hurt that our past was apparently nothing to him, when it had been such an important part of me all these years even when I did not think about it actively. My thoughts were spinning. Maybe it was only for the better that I did not like him. Now I would be able to put it all behind me, no need to dream about a boy who had turned into a rude man who clearly did not want my company. Maybe he had an issue with women being in the army in general, because he did not even want to look at me after we had ended our sparse conversation. If he really did not recognise me, he still could have been civil like anyone else. I think Corporal Kinders and the privates in the plane were all more interested in me than he was, just as a fellow soldier. The adult version of him was truly a disappointment. Well, if one disregarded his appearance that is, because he was for sure pleasant to look at. His dark wavy hair was the same, but he was even taller than I remembered and still lean but heavier built somehow, with broad shoulders. The air of authority and confidence was new, the shy sweet boy long gone it seemed. Back then he was in the border zone between boy and man, now he was definitely the latter. Pity that such a handsome man seemed to be an asshole.
During some of the nearly eight hours flight time I talked to Kinders, the medic called Ruby and the others, but then I also closed my eyes and pretended to be sleeping while I let my memory transport me far away over the years that had gone by since I saw him last.
After our strange good bye that early summer's day, I moved to mum in Italy and we remained there for a few years. She was together with a wealthy Italian guy, Giuseppe, and we stayed with him in Florence. It was great years. He was the ideal stepfather, easier to be with than my biological dad, and we became part of his large, warm family. I spent several years in one and the same school and finally found friends which I got to keep for a longer period. I learned fluent Italian and had the chance to excel in school, something our constant moving had made difficult before. Giuseppe was a renowned heart surgeon and when we discussed my future he encouraged me to consider medicine studies. He was a very inspiring man and even after mum and he broke up, her restless soul urging her to move on, we stayed in contact. They parted on good terms too, so she did not mind that he remained sort of an extra dad to me.
I found the thought of studying medicine intriguing, but I also had the idea that I would want a job with an element of adventure. Funnily, I stumbled over my future profession when I happened to zap into a documentary about army doctors on the telly and it seemed to me like that would be the perfect mix of what I was looking for in a job. Mum, dad and Giuseppe joined together in the efforts to help me find out how I should go about to achieve becoming an army doctor. I applied, went through selection with interviews, was finally accepted to and started at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst when I was nineteen. First, I went through basic military training, then continued to achieve my degree in medicine. After graduation, I completed my two foundation years at the Queen Elisabeth's Hospital in Birmingham. I loved all that, but I longed to "get out there". For an army doctor, there is a variety of roles to choose from back home, but the reason that I wanted to become one in the first place was that I wanted to experience the more adventurous side the job could offer and help where it was needed most, not immediately settle in rehabilitation medicine or something similar.
As soon as my training and experience fulfilled the requirements, I signed up as voluntary to be sent to the army hospital in Bastion and the day I got the note saying that I had been accepted was one of the happiest in my life. My fiancée, John, was not as thrilled. He was concerned about the dangers it might entail, but I told him this was what I had been training for and wanted, and that he had known who I was when we got together. He saw in my eyes that he had no say in this, so then he just told me he was proud of me and kissed me. After all, I know he loves me for the independent woman I am, even if he sometimes may wish I was less so. Anyway, I would only be gone for six months.
So, despite that it could be dangerous, despite that I would be away from John for half a year, I had only felt happy anticipation until I ran into Charles, no Captain James, that morning and he put a damper on my joy. It felt so good sticking my own rank up his face. I noticed he had not seen that coming and I cheered inside that I had manage disturb his perfect, annoying balance if only for a second. I would not let him destroy this experience for me. Anyway, Kinders had told me that 2 section were not to stay in Bastion so likely I would not come across him much once we got there. They were to continue to a smaller FOB at some distance from Bastion. As I sat in that plane I felt that the longer the distance and the more Taliban between us, making the distance difficult to cross, the better it would be because it is very awkward to try to ignore someone you once had a deep connection with, and even harder being ignored.
When we landed in Bastion, I said good bye to 2 section and was guided to female quarters for the hospital staff where I would be staying for the upcoming months. Captain James barely bothered to say bye, let alone wish me luck like the others did, just gave me a short nod and turned his back to me. It was really hard to accept that this was what he had turned into and I could not resist, with extra cheerful voice, saying to his back;
"It was very nice to nearly meet you again, Charles. No sorry, Captain James I mean."
I saw him freeze but I spun around and walked away before he could say anything, at least leaving with the satisfaction of having had the last word.
One of the first persons I met, was a female CMT called Jackie. She had been in Afghan for a year, both in the hospital and out in the battlefield, side by side with other soldiers. She seemed like a well of experience to me and I immediately started asking her questions about everything. It is one thing to learn things back home, and a whole other thing experiencing them in the field. She was very kind and once I had dropped off my things and quickly freshened up, she took me for a tour around the hospital. Just as we had finalised the tour and sat down with a cup of tea each, an alarm went off. I looked questioning at her.
"It's the helicopters coming in with casualties. They will need us at the ER, come!"
"Me too?"
"That's what you're here for, isn't it?"
Of course, she was right, I had just not been mentally prepared for it already then, after the long travel, without any proper introduction or sleep or even a meal between, but I realised that whatever I could contribute with might be of value. It was just that it turned out not to be much. Many of the worst casualties that come to the hospital in Bastion, are transported back to England after a few days and most of them end up at the hospital in Birmingham – so I thought I would be prepared, that I already had seen most of it. But this was different. The ambulances that transported the injured the last distance from the helicopters arrived and the men they carried out on stretchers were either screaming with pain despite the drugs they had been given, or silent in an even more disquieting way. I had seen many patients with missing limbs, but none that only just had lost them, where the stump was still a mass of meat completely drenched in blood. I had been so sure my training would kick in, but it did not. I just froze, and totally useless watched Jackie disappear with a team to take care of a wounded soldiers, only moved to the side when I felt people bumping into me but was unable to remove myself from the scene altogether. Then I felt someone taking my firmly by the elbow, leading me away. I looked up and it was a stern-faced Charles. I'm not sure which feeling was strongest, relief of leaving that chaos, or annoyance over that he was the one to take me away. He had me sit down on a chair further down the corridor, where it was calmer – and less bloody. I felt myself breathing more normally and the nausea slowly disappeared. When he saw my eyes focus normally again, he said;
"Don't tell me we have an army doctor who can't stand the sight of blood. Then you are clearly in the wrong place. You need to shape up, Captain Dawes. This is not the ER."
I could not think of anything clever to say back to him, because in this case he was right. I really needed to get my shit together. And I did not follow the last part, about this not being the ER. He saw my question and sighed about having to explain.
"This is nothing like the series, the ER, where handsome people float around in white uniforms. You will find that the reality here is definitely much more brutal."
Of course, I had not expected it to be like that old favourite series of mine, but neither had I been fully prepared for this.
"Why are you here?" I just asked.
"I wanted to donate some blood before we leave tomorrow. As you have seen, the need is huge. I was just ready when I saw you."
Standing there like a moron. How I wish he had already left.
"Will you manage without fainting now?" he cocked his eyebrow in the most annoying way.
I just nodded, and he got up.
"Better luck next time, Dawes."
He left, and with that the bastard was the one of us who got the last word after all. Damn it.
Later, I met an exhausted Jackie. There had been unusually many casualties coming in that day, even for being here. Some had died, but many would live thanks to the fantastic efforts of the medical teams.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
I told her how I had frozen and that Captain James had come and taken me away. I ended with;
"He really is prize asshole."
She looked surprised.
"Really? That is not what he is known for. He's known as a great officer and immensely popular among his men. He would also do anything for them. On his last tour he risked his own life to save one of his men, crawled 200 meters while the Taliban was shooting at him to drag that soldier into safety and have him brought here. He is recovering back in England now instead of being dead. Also, I think most of the female staff here has a minor, or major, crush on him because he is always so charming, but unfortunately he's married."
What she said disturbed me in more than one way. Apparently, Charles still had many good sides, but he definitely did not choose to show them to me, so he must really dislike me for some obscure reason. Illogically enough, I was also disappointed to hear he was married – as that would have made any difference to anything. Especially not since I was engaged myself.
As I was lying on my bunk that night, I found it hard to sleep. Not because it was uncomfortable, even if it was, but because I could not find calmness. Due to the change of time zone I was not tired yet even if the day had been long and eventful, but I realised that the thing, or the person, that kept disturbing me was Charles James. I knew that this night he was still here, in Camp Bastion, as 2 section would only leave in the morning. I was wondering if he already was sound asleep or if he tossed and turned like me.
