Chapter Three
It was well after dark when we set down in Frankfurt. A car met us and we were ferried from the helicopter to the hospital side-entrance. The driver handed Linda an envelope, which she opened on the short trip. After reading the note inside, she handed it to me.
It said the shooting victim would remain at 92nd General and we would be continuing on to Landstuhl 2nd General Hospital. Fine. My stuff was there. Monika looked at me curiously, but since Linda had said nothing, I simply shrugged and followed Linda's silent lead.
Will was asleep in room 1203 and Connie was reading in bed in the adjoining room, 1205. Monika's family was in a room a few doors away from us. Linda excused herself and went to the nurses' station to use the phone.
Monika embraced and held me for a few moments, tried to say something, lost the words, and just kissed me quickly before she walked away to join her family. I set my two suitcases quietly by the other bed in 1203 and padded back out into the hall.
The nap on the helicopter had me vibrating. I was still damned tired, but no longer sleepy. The nurse at the ward desk directed me to the mess hall, where I might be able to find something to eat, even though it was after hours. I stopped to ask Monika if she wanted anything, but she was already asleep. Connie said she'd rather just read herself to sleep, so I looked for Linda and couldn't find her. The nurse said she'd gone, so I left a note and headed for the mess hall.
At the end of the hall two MP's stopped me. The Corporal said we weren't supposed to leave the ward. I asked if one of them would go to the mess hall and bring something back for us. He said they weren't allowed to leave their posts. I asked him to call his duty officer for me. He said he couldn't do that unless it was an emergency.
I said, "Fine," and walked on past them. He lunged to stop me and grabbed my arm, so I put him on the floor in a thumb lock. Quietly, of course. It was a hospital, after all. The other guard reflexively aimed his rifle at me and approached cautiously.
"What the hell are you gonna do with that?" I asked him. "Hit me with it? Wake up the whole ward because I'm hungry? Have your duty officer meet me in the mess hall. We aren't prisoners as far as I know. We're guests, and your job is to keep people away from us."
"I don't know about any of that, sir..." said the guard with the rifle.
"Then find out," I cut in, "And if you're going to try to intimidate someone with a rifle, you should at least lock and load before you point it. You weren't issued any ammo, just orders to stand around and say 'no' to people. The duty officer to the mess hall. Okay?"
I let go of the guy on the floor and waited. The guy with the rifle nodded as the other one stood up, examining his thumb. They were a couple of clerks who happened to get night duty.
I continued on my way to the mess hall as one of the guards jogged to the nurses' desk for the phone. About halfway down the corridor I heard a noise ahead and spotted someone turning the corner in the main hall. When I turned the corner, a blonde woman in her mid-twenties was sitting on one of the benches, trying to appear surprised.
I took the opportunity to look her over as I passed the bench. She had good features, was well structured, and had obviously been waiting for an opportunity to buttonhole someone who might talk about what was going on in the ward behind me.
She quickly stood up and greeted me with, "Hi! I'm Marsha."
"That's nice." I walked past her extended hand.
"What's the matter? Did your mother tell you not to talk to strangers?"
"Yup. Told me to watch out for women who lurk in hallways, too."
She caught up to me and tried to match my stride. "I wasn't lurking. I was waiting."
"Well, then, go back to the bench and wait some more, Marsha."
"Can't I just walk along with you? Slow down! This place makes me nervous."
"Then go someplace where you won't be nervous, Marsha."
"That's not very nice. Where are you going?"
"Nowhere, now. I'm just walking fast to tire you out so you'll go away, Marsha."
"What's the matter? You don't like women?"
"That's what a street hooker says when you ignore her. Are you a hooker, Marsha?"
She ran a few steps forward and tried to block my path like a basketball player, arms spread a bit and ready to dodge to intercept me. "No, goddamit, I'm not a hooker! I just want to ask you a few questions, okay?"
"Not okay. Get lost, Marsha."
I made to walk around her, but for the second time that night someone grabbed me. She stepped into my path so that I'd run into her and grabbed my arms. I stopped as her breasts compressed against my chest.
"You feel great, but I can't play with you, Marsha. I mean it. Let go of me or I'll drop you on your ass and call the MP's to have you removed from the hospital."
"What if I call the MP's and tell them you tried to do something to me?"
"Something like what in a main hospital hallway?"
I kept my word and spun her to the floor fairly gently, with enough momentum to spin her some distance away on her butt on the freshly waxed floor. Nice legs flashed as her skirt flew up in her face. I started walking again.
"You can't do that to me, you bastard," I heard her mumble, but I didn't hear her coming at me soon enough. She'd taken her shoes off and was sprinting at me when I turned.
She slammed into me hard enough to take us both down and we slid into the adjoining hallway in a tangle of arms and legs. She was pummeling me with her fists as I pushed her away. Her hair was all over the place, mostly in her face, and she was frantically trying to kick me when she was too far away to reach me with her fists.
I got to my feet and looked down at her. She was wordlessly glaring up at me. I turned to walk away again. This time I heard her coming and stepped quickly aside. She tried to change direction, but her stockinged feet flew out from under her and she went down on her own. Hard. She was keening with rage and pain as she rubbed her hip.
"Nobody shoves me around like that! Nobody! "
She was trying to get up, but a sharp pain took her breath away and she fell back.
"I think I just did," I said, "You could have just let me go. You didn't have to grab me and bodyblock me, and you definitely didn't have to tackle me. How bad is it?"
"Don't touch me," she said as I reached for her arm. I stopped.
"It hurts like hell, she said, "I think I want to stay right here for a minute."
"Is anything broken?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"That's good, Marsha. In that case, when you're ready to get back on your feet, you can find your shoes and haul ass out of here."
I walked away from her again, watching her in the reflection from a glass door. She lunged to her feet pretty quickly for someone supposedly in great pain and came at me again. This time I stepped to meet her charge and caught her in my arms, pivoting to pin her against the wall. She couldn't hit or kick, but I thought she might just bite me if I got careless.
After a moment she realized she was trapped. I waited to see if she was going to try something like a knee in the groin, but she didn't. I let go of her right hand and swept the hair from her face. It was a nice face.
"Well, hello, again," I said, grinning, "I don't usually get this familiar on a first date."
"Let me go," she said sullenly.
"So you can attack me again? I think not. I like you just like this for the moment."
"You're just feeling me up," she said.
"Yeah, right. Promise you won't attack me again and I'll let you go."
"Okay," she said, too quickly to suit me.
"Liar. You'll pounce on me the minute my back is turned, Marsha."
"I won't. I promise."
"If you do, I'm going to pin you to the wall like this until the MP's haul you away. That's my promise, Marsha. And I promise to thoroughly enjoy every single moment of being pressed against you like this. I also promise to..."
"OKAY," she said, "Okay, I get the picture. Lemme go now."
I stepped back carefully. She didn't move except to rub her arms where I'd held them. I looked her over for damage. She must have thought I was just looking her over.
"Well, do you like what you see?" Her tone wasn't pleasant.
"Yeah, I do, but I was looking for battle damage. You'll live to tackle another guy."
Marsha glared at me and pushed off the wall. I stepped back as if expecting an attack, grinning at her. After a moment, she couldn't quite hold back her own grin. Then I noticed the small red spot on the wall behind her. She saw my expression change and looked behind herself to see the spot.
"Hold still," I said, stepping around her to check her back. At first I couldn't find an injury, then I parted her hair and found a small gash. "You must have bumped your head sometime during all the commotion. Come on, let's get your shoes and purse and take a better look."
"How bad is it? I don't feel it." Her fingers lightly touched the area and she winced. "Oh, yes, I do! Damn! It's starting to hurt now."
"That's because you know it's there now," I said, "There's a washroom up the hall."
We walked back a surprising distance to find her shoes, then continued on to retrieve her purse from behind the bench. A camera sat next to it. I took charge of both items and led the way to a womens' bathroom across the hall. Marsha hesitated as I held the door for her.
I waited a moment, then just went on in with her purse and camera, set them on one of the countertops, and waited. A few moments later she entered the bathroom rather cautiously, peering around the corner to locate me. I gave her a small wave and a smile.
She straightened and crossed the few paces separating us to look up at me, waiting to see what I'd say or do, I guess. In a conversational tone, I said, "Boo." Marsha giggled.
"Now that we've got that settled," I said, "Take a look in the mirror. You look like a morning-after prom queen."
Marsha spun to look at herself in the sink mirror and said, "Oh, my God."
"Exactly. I'll wash out that cut and then I'll get out of here so you can polish your nose or whatever it is women do in bathrooms."
"Powder," she said, "The term is 'powder one's nose'. We never polish them."
"I stand corrected." I soaked a paper towel and blotted the cut. She didn't wince or squeak too much while I worked. "No stitches necessary," I said, "It's more of an abrasion."
"What can I put on it?" She held her makeup mirror so she could see the reflection of her injury in the big mirror. She fingered the area gently and winced.
"Without shaving the area so a Band-aid will stick, use an ointment. Just keep it clean and let it heal and try not to rest your head on anything that will stain easily."
"Funny. I'll pass on shaving it. I know you must be disappointed about that."
"Damn right," I said, "Bald women are considered exotic, you know."
"I always just considered them bald. What's so exotic about hairless women?"
"Well, I don't really know. Never met one. No experience with bald women."
"You certainly seem to have experience at shoving women around, though."
"Don't start," I said, "That was just plain old Ranger-type personnel management."
Marsha gave a short bark of laughter. "Management , you call it?"
I finished cleaning and drying the area. "Yup. Management. Okay, you're on your own, now. Make yourself gorgeous and I'll treat you to coffee if there is any."
I took a moment to wash my face and run a comb through my hair. Marsha watched me.
"Why the change of heart?" she asked, "You don't still want me gone?"
"I probably should," I said, "But I don't."
"Why?" She sounded suspicious.
I sighed. "Because I think you look damn good even when you're all rumpled up, Marsha, and you're a tough lady. You don't give up easily and you have a personality when you aren't badgering someone to death."
Her mouth fell open. "Badgering? I may be a little pushy, but..."
"Don't kid yourself. You DO badger and you're a LOT pushy. Argumentative, too. Pushy AND argumentative. You'll be some poor man's slavedriver some day."
I paused at the corner of the counter. "Hurry up if you want to find some coffee with me."
I stood waiting in the hall trying to figure out whether she was being meticulous or stalling me. After a little while I cracked the door and said, "Sometime tonight or not at all."
"Okay, okay! Just another minute."
It didn't take that long. Her hair was generally back in place, her clothes were neatened, and her stockings were gone. She noticed my eyes on her legs.
"They had runs and I don't have another pair, so I just took them off. Do I look okay?"
"As I said, you look damn good to me, Marsha, even in an unpolished state. I think I like this bare-legged look, too. Why do women wear stockings, anyway?"
"I don't know. Probably because some man invented them."
"Huh. What a damned dummy he was. Your skin looks pretty good all by itself."
She smiled at me. "Glad you like it. It's the only one I own. Where to?"
"That way," I said, "The mess hall may still have some stuff out for the night shifts."
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