The new 2/19th S-2, Major Trello, had come in earlier in the day, just after breakfast. He had slowly and carefully gone over everything she could talk about, the things she could say. He had had her sign over her sensitive items cards, taken away her Geneva Conventions Card, and then had stared at her uncomfortably for a long, silent moment, before he had withdrawn.
She was officially signed out of Second Group of the 19th Gas & Flame Regiment.
Heather and Miranda had stopped by earlier, with Wizzy, to tell her that they had boxed up her stuff and watched the shippers take her stuff away.
All three women had cried and held her hand before they'd gone back out to REFORGER.
I wish I could have gone with them.
Lewis looked up from where she had been staring at the blanket covering her, running one fingertip along the stitching, when the knock on the door broke the silence.
"Come in," She called out as loud as she could. Her throat was still healing. The doctors had told her that her voice would return, but her vocal cords would be scarred.
She could still remember the leather strap around her neck, the Stasi interrogator pulling it tight, choking her, while she was strapped to the chair. Still taste the blood in her mouth.
The door opened and Newsome slid in through the slight opening. He shut the door quietly, moving up and sitting next to her on the bed.
"How ya feeling, Bobbi?" He asked, his voice pitched low.
"As best as can be expected," she answered.
Newsome reached out and took Lewis's hand.
"I'm glad you're alive, Bobbi," he said gently. He looked around the room. "They're transferring you to Walter Reed today. Colonel Henry wants me to be with the two of you the whole way. Sergeant Stillwater and Sergeant Bomber wanted to go too, but they're stuck out at their sites."
"Roberts?" Lewis asked, licking her lips.
It's really over...
"He'll be going with you," Newsome said. His face got grim. "He's breathing on his own now. They took him off life support last night."
Lewis nodded slowly, tears starting to fall again. "I didn't think he was going to make it, Chuck," she said softly. She looked up. "It's my fault, Chuck. If I had told them what they wanted, the Stasi wouldn't have hurt him so badly."
Newsome patted her hand. "I've talked to him. He doesn't blame you. He's proud of you for not giving in."
Bobbi sobbed, curling slightly in the bed, anguish tearing at her. She could still hear the hammer hitting Robert's arm, crushing the bone and flesh with each hit, while Roberts screamed in agony.
"He's worried you hate him," Newsome said softly, rubbing her forearm. "He won't say why though."
Lewis shook her head, still sobbing. "He couldn't say anything. I knew it."
"Is there anything I can do, Bobbi?" Newsome asked, his voice full of sympathy and pain.
Lewis shook her head, still sobbing.
"I have to go talk to Roberts," He said gently, disengaging his hand and putting her hand on her lap. "Will you be all right?"
Lewis nodded, still sobbing.
Newsome got up slowly, tugging down the bottom of his BDU top to make sure it was set properly, and quietly left the room.
Lewis looked out the window, at the bright blue sky.
She tried to curl her toes and felt the fiery tingling fill her legs. She gritted her teeth and kept trying, giving up when the tingling turned to numbness.
Lewis sighed, petting the stuffed rabbit in her lap with her uncasted hand.
The door opened and hatred walked in, closing the door quietly behind him before standing at the end of her bed. Hatred stared at her, his hands on the end of her bed, eyes full of burning rage weighing her, appraising her, judging her.
Lewis lifted her chin and returned Chief Warrant Officer Three Henley's gaze.
"The doctors told me that you'd be able to walk again in a month or so if you work on your physical therapy," Henley growled.
Lewis nodded, still stroking the stuffed rabbit.
"You'll never be a soldier again," He said, brutally laying it out. "You'll never be able to run or carry any kind of weight."
Lewis nodded again, still keeping her eyes locked onto his.
He leaned forward slightly. "You never said a word. Even when they beat that man's arm with a hammer till it practically fell off, even when they raped you in all three holes in front of the rest of that pack of Atlas psychopaths to try to make them talk, you never told those rat-fucking vodka swilling sister fucking godless communist shit bags a single fucking thing beyond your name, rank, and serial number."
Lewis nodded.
Henley stared at her for a long moment.
"Do you think you have what it takes to walk again?" Henley snarled.
Lewis nodded, refusing to let tears run down her face at the memories his words invoked.
"Do you understand what it means to be Special Weapons now, little girl?" Henley asked. "Do you understand why they are treated the way they are?"
The shadows seemed to gather in the room, like the light was dimming and the sun had set outside.
Lewis nodded.
Henley stumped around the bed, opening a folder and holding it on her lap, handing her a Skilcraft pen with his other hand.
"Sign this," he ordered. "Sign and your career continues, but not like you think."
Lewis didn't bother asking. She knew that all she'd get is a profanity fueled rant.
She signed.
Henley snapped the folder closed, looking down and staring at her.
His hand moved to her and touched her brown hair.
"You'll need to cut it and dye it black."
YOU ARE READING
Third Person - Complete
Historical FictionPFC James Roberts just wanted to serve his country, like his father and grandfather. He left his middle class life to join the military with the hope of making his family proud. Graduating top of his class in Basic Training, attending Advanced Indiv...
