“Thank you.” Torrinson left the room, then turned down the passageway, seeing Adler sitting near the elevator. “Where are the Moshenkos, Joe?” he asked, looking around.
Adler stood. “They’re still in the geedunk enjoying delicious hospital food, sir.” Before Torrinson could comment, Adler asked, “You been to see the captain?”
“Right now, Joe, I can tell you he’s a man of few words,” Torrinson answered, giving Adler’s arm a slap.
“So, he’s still out of it, sir?”
“Oh, yeah. But you can go in and talk to him. Nurse said he’d come around a little at a time. Maybe he’ll recognize your voice.”
“That may not be a good thing, sir,” Adler answered, forcing a smile.
“Go ahead,” Torrinson said, as he was pointing. “He’s down on the right, first door, second bed, left.” As Adler walked away, Torrinson called to him. “Joe. He really took some hits.” Adler nodded, sucked in a chestful of air, then walked down the passageway, slapping his cap against his leg. Torrinson decided to join the Moshenkos.
Adler sat next to the bed, resting his arms on his thighs, as he leaned forward. He stared through the side rail at his friend, laying so still, so quiet, so beat up. He and Grant had often spoken about the likelihood of shit like this, or worse, happening.
He thought how lucky he was in Sicily after being held hostage, and being rescued by his friend. But being prepared, and then having to face the fact were two entirely different matters. He was sure of one thing. He’d never forget leaving Grant behind, seeing him laying on the ground, surrounded by Russians and East Germans.
Maybe Grant was right. Had they been pushing their luck far too long? Maybe it was time for them to have that talk. Was it time for them to “hang it up?”
Fifteen minutes later he heard Grant trying to clear his throat. He stood up, leaning over the side rail. “Skipper, it’s me. It’s Joe.”
Grant’s eyes were mere slits as he tried to shake off the anesthesia. “Joe?” He kept staring straight ahead. “Where are you?” His words were still slurring.
Adler laughed. “Right here next to you. Come on. Follow my voice.”
Grant turned his head extremely slowly. His eyes were having a hard time trying to keep up with the motion of his head.
Adler finally came into view, albeit, somewhat out of focus. Grant squinted but it didn’t make Adler’s face any clearer. “Hey, Joe. What are you doing here?” His eyes closed again.
Maybe the anesthesia was wearing off, but the pain meds were kickin’ in. “I’m visiting you. You’re in the hospital at Landstuhl, near Ramstein.”
Adler’s words rolled around in his brain. He scrunched up his face. His face felt numb. And his tongue didn’t seem to be working right. Every word dragged as it came out of his mouth. “Hospital? Ramstein? What the hell…?” He rolled his head back to center. He was out again.
Adler leaned over the side rail and said quietly, “Damn, skipper. Aspirins practically knock your ‘dick’ in the dirt. Maybe the doc needs to cut back some!” He braced, hearing somebody walking behind him.
“So, lieutenant, you think I need to readjust the meds?”
Shit! Adler looked slowly to his right as he stood up straight, seeing Doc Engleston standing there with somewhat of a grin. “Sorry, doc, but any kind of pain meds hit him like a brick. Besides, he has a huge aversion to any pills, probably ‘cause he heals pretty damn quick without them. He usually does his karate thing, you know, concentration.”
“So, he’s into karate? Is that why he’s got those scars on his hands?”
“Yes, sir, at least some of them. I think he’s a fifth degree black belt.”
“Hmm,” Engleston softly said, putting a finger to his lips as a thought came to mind.
“Something wrong, sir?”
“Oh, no. I wondered why he didn’t have any internal bleeding or serious internal injuries to his organs from the pounding he took.”
“You think it’s because of the karate?”
“Well, it’s possible the captain kept his presence of mind and was able to contract those stomach muscles just enough to protect himself a good part of the time. I’m sure his captors probably made sure he was conscious when they beat him. How long was he in their hands?”
Adler jammed his hands into his pockets, feeling a pang of guilt as he answered, “At least ten, twelve hours, doc.”
Engleston shook his head slowly, folding his arms across his chest tightly. “No way to tell how long he could have kept it up during that amount of time.” He patted Adler’s arm as he said, “Well, in any case, don’t think the concentration will help him now. He needs the meds, believe me. It’s all part of the healing process. Don’t worry. I’ll have the nurses keep an eye on him. Okay?”
“Uh, yes, sir.”
Engleston stood at the foot of the bed, perusing the chart, making notations. He hung it on an S hook then clicked his pen and dropped it in his top pocket. As he started walking out, he held his arm out to the side, wagging a finger toward Grant. “Keep talking to him, lieutenant!”
Adler sat down again. Twenty minutes later another nurse came to check the monitors, then she checked the chart. “Has he been awake?” she asked.
“Yeah, about twenty minutes ago, but it was only for a minute.”
She made a notation on the chart. “That’s okay. It happens that way.”
Adler sat quietly by the bed, with his legs stretched out, his ankles crossed, trying not to picture leaving Grant behind.
“Joe?” Moshenko called just above a whisper.
He jumped up and waved Grigori and Alexandra into the room, motioning for them to go to the other side of the bed.
Moshenko grabbed hold of the railing, his heart feeling an ache. Rubbing a hand lightly over Grant’s head, and being mindful of the bandages, he said, “Oh, my young friend. What they did to you. But you are safe now. You will be all right.”
Grant struggled to open his eyes, blinking a couple of times. This time he turned right to where the voice came from, to Moshenko. He squinted. “Grigori? That you?” His voice was still gravely. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton.
“Yes, my friend. And look who else is here.”
Grant refocused, moving his eyes slightly, finally spotting Alexandra. She reached through the side rail and took his hand gently in hers. “Alexandra? What are you guys doing here?”
Moshenko looked across at Adler with a raised eyebrow. “Pain meds,” Adler explained.
Moshenko nodded with understanding. “Do you remember anything, Grant?”
“Remember? Remember what?” Grant asked, beginning to feel confused… and really sleepy. He wanted to rub his face, but he couldn’t lift either arm.
“Maybe you need to get more rest,” Moshenko said, patting Grant’s shoulder. “We will talk more later.”
Grant heard something beeping. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the fuzzy image of monitors, then the wires leading down to his body. He looked above his shoulder, seeing IV bags. He pressed his head back into the pillow, trying to force his eyes to open wider. “What… happened?” He looked back at Adler. “Shit, Joe! What the hell happened?” The heart and pulse monitor started beeping faster.
“You had a slight… accident. Look, skipper, just calm down, close your eyes and get some sleep. Everything will be clearer later.”
There was brief silence. As Grant settled down, the meds started kicking in again. “Yeah. Okay. I am kinda tired anyway.” It didn’t take long. He was out.
A nurse came into the room, hurrying to the bed. Adler stopped her. “He’s okay. Just got a little confused.”
“I need to check the monitor and then change his bandages anyway. You folks will have to leave for a little while.”