Flashback: August 2004: Afghanistan.
The convoy was traveling to a small base about thirty miles away from where we came. Arab Forces came out of no where, shooting at the trucks. As soon as the truck stopped I was on my feet, four combats flanking me in all positions. "Move, medic! Move!" They shouted, telling me it was okay to go. In each hand I held a medical bag. The Private on my left side dropped , but I kept running.
We had made it to cover behind tall rocks. It was unlikely the Forces saw us run here, with all of the dust that was flying around us. I hadn't noticed my second flank had fallen. It was just me, Gibbs, and Harvey. I wasn't supposed to see combat. I pulled the rifle off my shoulder and loaded the chamber.
Gibbs turned to me. "Tia, the way things are going out here, I doubt we'll make it. And, well, while I've got the chanceā¦" The next thing I knew we were kissing. And it was nice. Rory Gibbs, the one decent man in the army I'd met. And I couldn't enjoy it, because of the terror around me.
We broke apart. "Rory-," I stumbled.
"Don't mention it." And he winked at me.
"Dammit, you two!" Harvey mumbled. "The Army doesn't have time for you guys to canoodle-,"
He was cut off by a gunshot from behind. He fell and I saw his attacker. I shot and hit the Afghan shooter. He was dead. "Nice, shot," Gibbs said. "Guess i picket the right-," and he fell, his blood soaking the ground.
BOOM!
It hit me in the shoulder. They missed my heart. A once in a lifetime save, but that didn't stop the pain. It was so intense and took everything I had to lay on the ground motionless, as if they had killed me. I could see Gibbs's shoes from my position. My shooter shouted a command and I passed out.
September 2004 Sydney, Australia
"Pass the salt," Gran said. I just fiddled with my potatoes. "Didn't you hear me, Lady? Pass the salt!"
"It's at your elbow, Gran," I said, pointing.
She poured salt onto her potatoes and took a big sigh. "Lady," she said. "Look at me right now," I looked at her. "This has got to stop, Tia. I understand you've gone through a horror. I saw your grandfather go through many. But that's no excuse to stop living what life you've got left. You've been out of therapy for three weeks. Lady, you need to go back to work. Keep doing what you love,"
"Maybe I don't love it anymore, Gran,"
"Bull," she said. I was always shocked when she used rough language. "You need to back to The States. You need to go home. See your father and your brothers,"
"They don't want to see me,"
"Lady, if you make me say 'bull' one more time I will throw you into the ocean. I booked us plane tickets. We're leaving on the 23rd."
She couldn't leave. She was too sick. Her cancer had reached a radical point. Her death had been called two years ago. She was a fighter, but I couldn't let her leave this facility.
"Gran, you can't come with me. You know Dad wouldn't like it," I said as a cover
"Piss on your father. I got you a job interview at St. Sebastian's Hospital. I noticed they hadn't hired many veterans, and they're looking for 'em!"
There's no way I was going to let Gran go with me. I did need to get out of there. I needed to get a job, get back to work and distract myself from the last month.
That night, the 21st of September, I called the airline. I cancelled Gran's flight and booked another for tomorrow, the 22nd.
