First Read by Writer Mick
Edited by Barney R. Messed with by me. All Mistakes are mine.

My name is Robert Montgomery, and I’m no relation to the 1950’s actor. I’m 35, and was married for five years to Louise Montgomery-Witacher, 31. We have no children. We had talked about adopting. The adoption if it happens will either be as a single man or not at all. Louise was not 100% behind it and I discovered why.

I was a small-town minister with a secret life. Under a pseudonym, I write romance and young adult novels. I have been writing since high school, but I never submitted any until I was in college. I rewrote those and continued on with new stories. They all have a slight religious overtone, but are mainstream and very popular. My ministry was about 45 regular attendees and the occasional guest or out of town member of the greater church. I have been offered many larger churches, but two things keep me there. I love small-town life, and in a bigger church, I would not have had the time to devote to my writing. A final reason beyond those is that I would probably have my secret found out with all of the ‘churchwomen’ busybodies that this church does not seem to be overly supplied with. In our church, there was Mrs. Abigail Johnson, but she was only interested in who is cheating with whom.

My story begins when I was in the army. I was assigned as a chaplain’s assistant, and we were shipped to Afghanistan as a pair. My main job was to accompany the chaplain, a Major John Collins, to the various forward bases. My secondary job was to protect him. I took that job very seriously. I was rated expert in both 9mm pistol and M-4 rifle. I could also fire a machine gun like the M-60 7.62mm machine gun and the Squad Assault Weapon. I thought I was a real badass and that the chaplain was blowing smoke up my butt. That is until we landed at a forward base one Sunday morning and were conducting services for any off duty personnel who wanted to attend.

The worship service was just under way when a mortar barrage started falling into the compound. Men were wounded all around us, but I was not hit and I saw the chaplain run to many of the wounded and dying and pulling them under cover. I ran to join him and to protect him. I was trying to protect John and fight at the same time as he was gathering up the wounded.

The shells were dropping about one every five seconds, and were coming over both front and back walls. The barrage lasted about two minutes, and there were at least ten soldiers who took some shrapnel. The chaplain appeared totally unmarked, but his uniform was full of little holes from the explosions.

I finally took a hit from one of the last shells that fell in the compound. It was very painful, but not life threatening. The shrapnel did manage to break my left shin just below the knee. I also had several shrapnel pieces hit in other spots, but most of them were just under the skin. None were serious.

I was out of the fight after that except for laying in the shade of a Bradley Fighting Vehicle and covering the other casualties. I watched as the soldiers of the FOB repelled an almost WWII movie banzai charge with the insurgents screaming Allah Akbar and other slogans. They were dying almost wholesale, but there were a lot of them. When the first charge was repelled, but they must have regrouped, because about five minutes later they tried again. That charge failed also, and the fighting finally stopped. I had been watching the chaplain as he was moving among the soldiers giving encouragement and passing ammunition to the fighters. He also dragged or assisted more of the wounded to me. I swear I saw his uniform jump three or four times from bullets going through it, but he never seemed to be hit.

Once the shooting stopped Major Collins came over to us in the wounded area and started to assist the medics in any way he could. He was bending over me when he started coughing. He wiped his mouth and I saw blood. It was frothy blood so I knew he had taken a round or more in the lung. I pushed him down and ripped his uniform blouse open and pulled a bandage from my first aid pouch and put pressure on the entry wound.

I hollered for a medic. I was lucky, as the medic was coming in our direction. He took one look at the wound and ran into the radio shack. He was back in a few minutes, and the chaplain had passed out. The medic started a bag of plasma and told me to hold it as the Med Evac choppers were five minutes out.

We were all loaded onto the helicopters, and I was with the chaplain. He was still out of it, and I was still holding the IV with one hand and the pressure bandage with the other.

Once we got to the base hospital, I was taken into surgery. I woke up, a long time later, in a ward with about 30 other casualties. I was not anywhere near where I could ask about the Major. When a nurse came near I asked her to try to find out about the Major.

An hour later she came back and said; “I’m sorry soldier, but the major died in the evacuation chopper. The corpsman told me they had to physically remove you from him.”

The nurse must have panicked when I broke down crying. She did something to my IV. The next conscious thought was I was in a four man ward and I was the only one in it except for a light colonel with medical tabs on his blouse.

“Specialist Montgomery; Robert, I’m Dr. Weaver, and I am a psychiatrist. You want to tell me what caused you to start crying and causing panic with the nurse in the ward?”

“I’m sorry for causing trouble, but I failed in my primary duty. I was assigned to my chaplain, Major John Collins, and I didn’t protect him. He died while I was trying to stop the bleeding as we were being flown here from the FOB.”

“Did you do everything you could?”

“I did all of the stuff I know how to do, but it wasn’t enough.” Tears were streaming down my face; “The major refused to take cover and was dragging or assisting the wounded and passing ammunition to the men at the walls. When the fight was over, he came to me. I couldn’t save him. I was supposed to protect him.”

The Dr. looked at me. “Robert, you were wounded yourself, what could you have done on one leg?”

“I could have been there with him, and if I had been I might have been the one hurt not John. That man did not deserve to die that way.”

“Robert, no one, not even the enemy deserves to die that way. It happens in war, and there is nothing that can change that. You are not to blame, and you could not have changed it in any way, except to die yourself.”

He continued; “You have a very severe case of ‘Survivor’s Guilt’ and I am having you shipped stateside to another Army Hospital where it can be treated more effectively.”

I ended up being assigned to the psych ward at Brook Army Medical Center, Fort Sam Houston, San Antonio, Texas. I had been there for six weeks when I had a visitor. Mrs. Collins came to see me. The pain of my loss and my failure came back. She tried to ease my mental pain.

“Good morning Robert, I’m Mary Collins, John’s wife. I was visited by a nurse that treated you in Afghanistan, and she told me what you did for John to try and save him. I wanted you to know that I talked to the doctor that tried to revive John, and he said that John should have died immediately from his wound. It went through a lung and into his heart. Nothing you could have done would have saved him.”

She went on; “I want you to know that John thought you might have a future as a minister; although he did say that you didn’t seem to absorb all that he tried to teach you.”

Then she surprised me; “I know it will be a while before you are discharged, but I want to make you an offer. If you go to Oregon Bible College in Illinois and complete your bachelor’s degree in any discipline, the church has agreed that you will have all your school expenses paid. The college is a small church-based university. As it is affiliated with a church, it grants ministerial degrees mostly; however it also grants degrees in English, and business. Of course, the teaching is from a religious direction. What do you think?”

“I think that that is very generous, and I need to think about it. I really don’t know what I did to deserve it. But I will think about it. I am told it will be at least early summer before I will be discharged. I promise a decision before then.” Then I asked; “Are you staying in town long?”

“I have an awards ceremony or two to attend, but I will only be in San Antonio until those are taken care of; probably no more than the weekend. Then I need to return to Illinois. If you will let me, I would like to visit you until I leave.”

“I would really like that; I am an orphan, so I don’t have any visitors. Thank you.”

Well, I found out later one of the main reasons Mrs. Collins (Mary, as she insisted) came to the Hospital. Friday morning, I was ordered to dress in a Dress Uniform. Because of the cast on my leg, the pants were taken apart at the seam and had snaps put on the bad leg side. I was pushed by wheelchair out to the parade grounds. Mary was up on the stage, and gave me a smile as I was wheeled up the ramp.

“Mary, what am I doing here? I was told to put my clown suit on. Then I was wheeled out here.”

She smile a Cheshire cat smile; “All in good time, Robert, all in good time.”

With that, I was pushed so I was facing front next to Mary.

The Base and Hospital Commanders walked onto the stage and I saluted them and got salutes in return. They both sat next to Mary on the opposite side of me. The Hospital Commander leaned over and asked me how I was doing and if my recovery was on schedule.

I replied; “I have been told that the device (I had a device that was two stainless steel rings separated by threaded rods and secured to my leg by screws into the leg bones) on my leg should come off in one to three months, the doctors think that the bones will be fully healed and the rehab should take about two months to ten weeks from then. So I should be able to return to duty by midsummer.”

“Well, don’t rush it, you need to be fully recovered before any assessment will be made, but if you rush, you could set that date back. I have seen it too many times.” With that said he turned and watched as they brought several other patients up on stage. Some were pushing those who could not walk.

In the distance, you could the sound of marching feet and the bellows of cadence calls. Several companies of soldiers marched onto the parade grounds and passed in review. The unit flag bearers dipped their respective flags to acknowledge the supremacy of the Stars and Stripes. The platoon leaders and company officers saluted the flag and the commanders. The companies formed upon the grounds. When the last company was in place, the Base Commander walked to the microphone and called; “Platoon leaders call your troops, At Ease.”

Again the sound of synchronized feet striking the ground was heard. The commander (a two-star general) started speaking.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this ceremony is to celebrate some promotions and honor some brave people for extraordinary actions. We will try to keep this short as the day promises to be a typical Texas spring day; hot and uncomfortable. As there are several things to do today, we will start with promotions and follow that with awards and citations.”

He then called out three soldiers who were being promoted to corporal, four to specialist fourth class (my rank at the time), and one to sergeant. That covered all of the men that had arrived after me.

The commander then called all of the names of the men on stage and we were awarded our purple hearts. Then he said; “We have two special awards to present today. They are both for extreme bravery in action. First, we need to promote the one soldier that was not announced. Pinning the Sergeant Chevrons on Sgt. Montgomery will be Mrs. John Collins, wife of Major John Collins, who Sgt. Montgomery served with in the Major’s final action.”

Mary took the Sergeant Chevrons and pinned them on my sleeve over the specialist badge. She bent down and kissed me on the cheek. Then she whispered; “Thank you for what you did for John, he really relied on you and admired you.”

Then she sat back down. I was a little misty-eyed.

The commander started again; “I am going to read each citation as the medals are presented. The ranks listed will be the ones held at the time of the action.

“For extraordinary actions on XXXXXXX, 2019 Specialist Montgomery is awarded the Bronze Star with v. The citation reads as follows:

On the XX day of XXXX, 2019, Specialist Fourth Class Robert J. Montgomery did, in spite of being wounded himself, protect all of the wounded personnel at Forward Operations Base XXXXXXX. Then when the fighting was over he attempted to care for Major John Collins who was mortally wounded in that action.

While on the evacuation helicopter, and when the wounded were offloaded he stayed with the Major until he was placed under care himself.

Signed

XXXXXX ----

President of the United States.

“Mrs. Collins, Would you pin this star on Sergeant Montgomery?”

Mary again bent down and pinned the medal on my dress jacket. She kissed me on the cheek and whispered “Thank you.” I again saluted the two commanders and the flag.

The commander spoke once more; “This last award is a painful one for me as I served with the recipient.

“Platoon Leaders, call your troops to attention.” The thunder of boots again was heard. Then the commander read the citation.

XXXXXX ----

President of the United States.

“I present this medal to the widow of the major and give her all of our country’s thanks and sympathy for her husband’s sacrifice.”

He walked over to Mary, who was silently crying and holding my hand and presented her with the presentation case and medal.

He saluted her and turned back to the podium. “This concludes this ceremony, Platoon Leaders, dismiss your troops.” The troops erupted into a mass of young men and women getting a half-day off on a Friday.

I was overwhelmed and totally surprised with the citation. I felt I did not deserve it, but I accepted it for all of the men and women who performed acts of heroism without witnesses or acknowledgments.

While I was in rehab, I had started to write my ‘bodice rippers’ with an American western setting. When I wasn’t in my psych sessions, and rehab, I was mostly alone in the ward. I spent three more months in recovery and rehab, after successfully completing that, I was medically discharged. My injured leg was not capable of withstanding the rigors of army life. I received a disability rating of 60% because the left leg ended up being about 1/4” shorter than the right and much weaker because of the muscle damage. I had a series of special shoes with a thicker left sole made and I use a cane when I am tired or stressed.

I had decided to take Mary up on her offer of college at OBC. I called her and told her about two weeks before my discharge date.

The drive from San Antonio Texas to Oregon Illinois took two long days of driving. When I arrived at the college registrar’s office the people in the office pointed me to a local apartment that was available. I promised to call and registered for the next semester.

I called the number the registrar’s office gave me and I was surprised when Mary answered. We caught up with each other, and I asked Mary about the apartment.

“Robert, I have an over the garage two-bedroom apartment that includes an opportunity to reduce the rent with some yard and handyman work. I am a little ashamed that I ambushed like this, but when you told me you were coming to school here, I had a friend in the registrar’s office flag your name so that when you registered you would be given the chance to rent the apartment.”

“Well, I forgive you. It’s wonderful to hear your voice again. Can you give me directions so I can come and look at the place and catch up with you and how you are doing? When can I come and see you?”

She squealed and said; “Now”

She gave me directions and told me I was about 15 minutes away from her. I told her I would be there and I would take her to lunch.

She said that she knew soldiers were not well paid, so if I agreed, she would make us lunch.

Now my momma did not raise any dummies, and I have never turned done home cooking; I told her that would be great.

When I got to Mary’s house, she had a very good looking young lady there with her. She appeared to be a few years younger than my 24. Mary introduced her as another OBC student Louise Witacher. She said Louise was just 20 and a sophomore. Mary explained that she had sponsored Louise for the college, and she had been using the apartment for the last school year but was joining a couple of other students to rent a house closer to the campus.

After lunch and more conversation, Louse and Mary showed me the apartment. It was perfect for me. When I asked Mary about the price, she said we would talk about it later.

I think Louise was a little upset as it sounded like Mary was going to give me a deal she hadn’t offered her. She didn’t say anything, but she became very quiet and left shortly after the tour was done.

Mary offered the apartment on a month to month lease as long as I planned to use it year-round. She priced it about 15% below what a studio apartment would go for in a small town. Then she told me that she had a schedule of discounts for the yard work and handyman repairs that she couldn’t do herself. I took it.

Well, over the next three months, I took care of most of the minor problems with Mary’s house and made her yard look photo-ready. I loved gardening and despite my allergies, I was in her yard almost every day.

Mary also insisted that I eat at least breakfast and dinner with her. Lunch was considered freestyle, if I was working on her house or yard, Mary fed me. If not, I found several local restaurants and diners that served decent food at reasonable prices.

Mary asked me once how I was fixed financially. When I explained that between the savings, my GI Bill benefits, and my disability pension, I was able to save a lot.

After I had been in eating dinner with Mary for about a week, young ladies started joining us a few times a week for supper. I knew what Mary was doing, and I really did not mind, because I was never very good at getting dates or having a girlfriend. In high school I went to all of the dances, but never with the same girl twice. I never seemed to make a connection. It didn’t hurt that all of the girls were attractive in their own ways.

School started, and I was adjusting to the new living conditions. Between homework and the upkeep of the apartment and the things I did for Mary, I had little time for dating, and other than one young lady, I had no desire to date.

About twice a week, Louise was the young lady in question, and I was getting a warm and fuzzy feeling every time I saw her. I finally got up the nerve to ask her out on a date. She hesitated, some long seconds, and didn’t make any indication of wanting to go out with me. I took the hint, and I was mortified.

I went back to my apartment and sulked. For most of the next week, I ate all of my meals at the restaurants. Mary finally got tired of my bull and angrily told me to move out at the end of the month. If she thought that would make me wise up, she was wrong.