Chapter 2

One of the male nurses came into my room and quietly took the iPad from my hands. "Ready to get that bullet out? They're only waiting on you in the operating room," he said.

"Wha... ? Oh. Sure. Ready."

He injected something into my IV. "Count backwards from 100, please."

"One hundred ... Ninety nine ... Ninety..."

When I woke up my whole leg was taped to a board or something. Couldn't move it at all. I was almost flat on my back. Is that prone or supine or akimbo? Who knows, or cares. I know it wasn't doggie. I also did know that I was feeling no pain. Still groggy from the drugs. Confused. I looked down at my leg. Good, it was still there. They said there wasn't any danger of me losing the leg, but you never know what they'll do once they get a knife in their hands.

I turned my head and sitting there was the corpsman – woman – that I had jumped on. She was a pretty brunette. Well, pretty in an Army sort of way. She had a tight body, muscular, and was wearing battle fatigues – desert camo pattern of course.

"Morning, hero. You saved my bacon out there," she said in a quiet contralto. "I appreciate it."

"The heroes are the other guys who shot that traitorous S.O.B. They saved both our bacon – bacons?"

"I know. But thanks for leaping on me and bruising my rib," she laughed. "That bullet you took would have taken out a kidney ... maybe my liver." She reached over and touched my hand. "I'm on R&R for a few days until my ribs are better. You, on the other hand, look to have a million dollar injury."

A million dollar injury was the kind of injury that didn't hit anything critical, but left you injured enough to get out of combat forever. Well, "forever" enough until the Rangers got desperate for any warm body, and we weren't there yet.

"Well shit!" I exclaimed. "I'd rather be back in the unit. Those guys are the best." I thought about what was waiting for me back state-side, and put that thought aside. "How bad is it, anyway? Will I be able to play the cello, doc?"

That was a variation of the old joke. She knew enough to come back with "Depends ... could you play before the accident?"

"Rats. You mean I had to know before now?" Then the smile left my face. "Seriously, how bad is it?"

"You'll walk again. Probably be able to do everything again. But when it rains you might have a twinge or two. It might take some time. Do the therapy. If it hurts, remember that you're a Ranger. Once in, never out. There was a lot of tissue damage, but nothing you won't get over. It'll be hard, and I don't mean that will be hard. That will still work. The porn you're always mooning over on your iPad is famous in the unit you know. You know your nickname in the unit is PW – short for Pussy Whipped."

"Yeah. I know. And I am, too. Proud to admit it." I wasn't going to go into the bad details that were only 'maybes.'

"They'll probably evac you to Germany and then home after a while. Gotta get you healthy enough so that you won't have to explain why you got shot not being here." She laughed. "Hey guy. If I don't see ya, I'll see ya. And thanks again."

"Sure. Keep the guys in one piece."

She left and I was staring at the ceiling. I reached over for my iPad, and clicked it on. The background pic was Lyn's face. It fell, face down on my chest, and I closed my eyes and remembered.

Two days after the gang-bang, I went back to the ROTC frat house in the early afternoon. In about an hour, my buddy came in and saw me.

"What time does Lyn start?" I asked.

"You still hung up on her?" he replied.

"Just what time?"

"Well, she was here last night, too. She hasn't gone three days in a row that I've heard of. You could try her dorm, I guess. She's in Montrose Hall. Same Montrose..." I just looked at him. He explained. "She's Carolyn Smith-Montrose. One of the Montroses. And no, I don't know why she does what she does."

"Who ever knows about women?" was my reply, but I was only making a joke to cover my confusion.

In any case, I wandered down the hill to Montrose Hall. She was in the registry, fourth floor, room 417. I trudged up the steps. She wasn't home. I sat in the hall with my back against her door, pulled the camo hat down over my eyes, and waited.

"Well, aren't you the persistent one?" she said as she stepped over me, sometime later. I had been asleep. It was a trick I picked up almost immediately in Basic: fall asleep anywhere in about three microseconds.

I looked up. Painted on jeans again. Leather bomber jacket over some kind of cream colored blouse. Boots that came up to her knee. The boots had about a three inch heel, and would have made her ass twitch just so, but she wasn't walking right now. Right now, she was straddling my torso, with her door key in the lock.

"I'm going to open the door now, so don't fall backwards and kill yourself," she said.

I felt the door behind me give way. I tightened my abs and just sat there, my head would have just missed her crotch if she came any closer. She didn't. She just stepped to the side and walked into her room. The door closed.

With a sigh, I got up, and knocked on her door.

"Who is it?" came from inside.

"It's me. Rob. Rob Ortroski. You know ... the guy who was sitting outside your door waiting for you."

"Oh, hi! So nice of you to stop by. Come on in."

I opened the door and found her putting away the bomber jacket and brushing her hair. I was struck again by her unusual beauty. That and her attitude. Dynamite, pure nitroglycerin, maybe C4, 'cause it sure was packed into some interesting shapes.

She was in the process of getting dressed. Or undressed first, I guess. She shucked her boots and then her blouse and bra. I reached over and looked at it. 38C. "Reducing brassiere" from Victoria's Secret. I tossed it on the bed.

"You don't need that," I said. "They're perfect as is."

"Yeah, that's what everybody says. It's hard enough to have a conversation when I'm talking to a guy and he's talking to my boobs."

"Oh. Sorry about that."

"No, you really don't do it ... much. You actually look at me. My eyes and stuff, face."

"That's easy. I'm not going to be marrying just your tits. I'm going to marry you. The fantastic legs, the ass that is out of this world, the mouth that's always wearing just the right shade of 'fuck me' red, the smile that lights up the room. And the eyes. So intense. You know that they change from the light gray that is the color of the sky over the ocean after a storm to a cobalt blue, right? Nice hair too, but I'd rather see it waist length."

"You seem to have cataloged me physically pretty well. I suspect a bunch of guys could do that. So, what's my major? Why am I doing that stuff with all the guys? Do I have any brothers or sisters? What about my parents? You know: the me stuff that isn't just the packaging."

"Jeez, I just met you in a gang-bang and you want me to get all psychological on you? The answer is, I dunno. Maybe you can fill me in after the engagement, but before the wedding. I'm just a dumb GI, on leave, who was thunder struck two nights ago."

"Again with the marrying schtick? What is with that?"

"You're the one who said I was persistent. That is, if you can get over the gang-bang stuff and the Montrose stuff, and just be Mrs. Ortroski."

She put on the sweater with the zipper again. Then started the struggle with her skin tight jeans. "Here be useful." And she stuck her foot at me.

I grabbed the ankle of the pants and pulled. I admit it, I gawked.

"What?" she exclaimed. "You've seen it all before. Nothing has changed."

Well, she was wearing the tiniest electric blue g-string. The color matched her eyes at the moment. She peeled off the g-string and then started to get back into her pants again. Commando, this time.

I stood and circled her waist with my arms. Spun her around so her back was to me and reached down for the waist of the jeans – like last time.

"Your gang-bang uniform again." I started pulling her pants up. "Who's the lucky guys tonight? I have a doctor's note. You could stay with me and have a one-man party instead." She was now wriggling into her pants, off the ground, suspended in my grip.

"Like last time, huh?" She was referring to my pants-technique, no doubt. This time, however, I slipped my right hand into the still open crotch of the jeans, cupping her pussy. I found her clit, easily.

"No. I have to go," she protested. "Really. It's a ... an engagement that I promised a long time ago. Five guys from the basketball team. And they're all black. I wanted to see what that's all about. You know what they say: 'Once you go black... '"