Chapter 11

09:10 Thursday, June 27th, 1991
56th Medical Group (Outpatient)
7219 North Litchfield Road, Luke AFB, Arizona

"Ben," Sandy said out of the blue in the waiting room. "Teach me Spanish."

This effectively riveted the attention of the entire waiting room on her and Ben. Sandy ignored them.

Ben didn't hesitate. "OK, babe. In school they had me start with the oddball verbs. 'Estar' means 'to be.' Yo estoy, tu estas..."

Time passed quickly.

"That's an interesting set of orders, Private," the MD said. Captain Parks, by the insignia on the white shirt and the nametag, though he hadn't introduced himself. Captain Parks was large, and uglier than sin. "What kind of war wound did you get to earn thirty days of roaming around the country, just checking in wherever you feel like it?"

Sandy regarded the MD with a cool air. Since she wasn't addressed, she didn't speak, content to watch Ben handle the doc.

"This kind, sir." Ben pulled his BDU tee shirt up, and the doc's eyes widened.

Gently, he turned Ben's shoulder, and took in the exit wound and whistled. "That wound was made by a seven-six-two by thirty-nine millimeter round, right? An AK-47 or one of the knockoffs?" he asked rhetorically. "What kind of firefight were you in?"

Ben laughed easily. "The wrong kind. I didn't have a gun, and he had a rifle."

"What else is dinged?" the MD asked, his tone having changed, now to something more like professional admiration. Ben nodded, stood up, and began loosening his belt. The MD shot a look at Sandy, who stood impassively, having made no move to look away or get closer. He narrowed his eyes, then nodded, as Ben lowered his pants to show his upper thigh.

"Now, that wasn't a bullet, that's shrapnel," Parks said.

"Actually, sir, it was bullet fragments. Nine millimeter, from a machine pistol."

"Holy shit son, what did you walk into?"

Ben just smiled. Parks turned and looked at Sandy again, noting the bandage under her eye. She raised her other eyebrow in cool invitation to speak.

"Okay, so don't tell me about it. Specialist, we'll look at your cheek next. Private, both of those wounds look good, so I'll leave them alone. You're taking one of the 'Kef' antibiotics?"

"Duricef, sir."

Captain Parks turned to Sandy, and then lifted the bandage gently. "Okay, what have we here? More shrapnel. Excuse me, bullet fragments. From a machine pistol." Gently, despite the sarcasm, he examined the knitting tissue, and nodded. "The new CA glues, looks good. Specialist, you'll live."

He turned back to Ben. "We'll need you to get a regimen of stretching and some light repetitions to build muscle. I'll send in the resident therapist, he'll go over what you need to do." He smiled evilly, pointing a finger at Ben.

"He'll tell both of you what he needs to do." Chuckling, he left the room.

"La señal es verde," Ben said. Sandy puzzled it out quickly, as she drove the truck through the intersection of Northern and 7th Avenue.

"Verde, green," she parroted. Ben looked idly out the window for another simple thing to comment on in Spanish.

"Ben, before your parents show up tonight, I want to ask you something, but I don't know how to do it without making anyone mad or offended."

He looked at her, an innocent little smile on his face. "That's easy," he offered, "Ask Lenore."

Sandy looked at him in shock for a moment, then turned to watch the road again. She blushed, then giggled a little. "I can't believe I actually just considered it. You're a wonder," she smiled, then smoothed her face again.
"There's no easy way for me to ask. Ben, if your parents are considering selling the ranch, if they could afford this truck, if they're thinking of buying land in California ... why do you have to have the Army pay for your college?"

Ben made a strange deflating sound, as he let the air in his lungs out slowly and noisily. Concerned, Sandy turned again to regard him, seeing him slumped against the door, a half-smile on his face. "Girl, next time you warn me you're gonna ask questions like that, I'll listen."

He took a deep breath, and continued. "Because I was a fucking idiot, Sandy, and I was rebelling. My parents offered to send me to school, but I was joining the Army and doing it my way, damn it, since they treated me like the undergrown runt. Like the little kid I was..."

"I'm not that little kid anymore. I have a fantastic girlfriend, and all sorts of new reasons to grow up. But you know? I still want to do it this way." His voice took on conviction. "I bet my Dad'll never even question it. He'll never offer again, either. If it does come, it'll be Mom offering."

Sandy nodded her agreement with the assessment. "What if you're taking the spot from someone who doesn't have the money and needs the chance?" She had herself, or someone like herself, in mind.

"Babe, it's done on merit. Whoever can impress officers the most, get the best letters of recommendation on their own merit, gets the best test scores, I think those are the ones who get in. Not based on who can afford it and who can't. It's the ones who'll give the Army the most back for it. You'n me – we'll earn it, and give it all back. We're like that."

Sandy had her reservations as to whether or not it was completely based on merit, but she kept those to herself. For Ben, intelligent as he was, perhaps it was just that simple. She smiled at him, reassured somehow. "Yes, Ben, we are."

14:55 Thursday, June 27th, 1991
The Biltmore Hotel
2400 E Missouri Ave, Phoenix AZ

Lying in post-coital splendor, the jarring electronic ring of the phone woke Sandy. She rolled off the bed and stood next to the telephone. They'd fallen asleep shortly after getting back to the hotel, when Ben convinced Sandy light repetitions were just what the doctor ordered. She'd been inclined to agree, though it was only accomplished with an obviously pained Ben lying on the bed and a gentle Sandy moving on top.
"Hello?" Ben watched Sandy from the bed.

"Oh, hi, Kate. We're in room 2207. The other half of the suite is ours also, 2209. Well, sure, you guys get in and showered, then we'll eat ... hotel dining room? Which one? What time? Collins, party of five, nine pm? Thanks, Kate. Yes, I'm really looking forward to seeing you and Dan again, too. Oh, I suppose I could make some time to visit with Lenore..." She laughed, a clear cascade of mirth, and said in a bad-girl voice, "Well, I suppose if we only have four hours until supper, I might come up with something to keep us occupied. Bye, Kate."