Goodnight, My Angel - Georgeotown Book IV - 11. GMA XI

“Guys, guys, gimmie a break.” CJ’s plea silenced the barrage of questions assaulting him. “I just told you everything I know. Sorry, Thiago, but I think Ozzie and I need to get to my parents. I’ll call you as soon as we know more. We’ll do this again whenever you have time.”

“Fuck you, homes. You’re nuts if you think I’m going home now. I’m coming with. I’ll call my mom and let her know what’s happening.”

CJ’s sad half-smile conveyed satisfaction. The Squad hung together in good and bad times, and always had each other’s backs. “Fine, you call your parents.” Channeling his fathers’ lessons, he started planning the way César did and issuing orders as Brett would. “Tank, you let Danno and Trip know in case my dads haven’t called them. Ozzie, get us an Uber. Harley, text the rest of the gang so they know what’s going on.”

Nobody objected to the demanding tone and absence of please. This was an emergency and they were ready to follow their leader without objection. The short ride to Georgetown had all four men focused on their phones as messages streamed in; Carson said he would meet them at the house after he dropped off his date. Kim, Harley’s girlfriend, sent her regards and promised prayers for the injured soldier. Patrick told them he was on his way to his mother’s house.

CJ rushed to the front door while Owen, Harley, and Thiago followed a step behind. Adrenaline coursed through his bloodstream; his fingers were unable to follow brain commands. He input the wrong code on the lock twice, then fumbled and dropped the keys while trying to open it the old-fashioned way. Frustrated, he resorted to banging on it with his palm.

“Shhh.” Brett held a finger to his lips as he threw the door open. “Tom’s talking to his ex-wife.”

“…because he didn’t want you to hear it from a stranger, Hilary. Yes, I knew he had me as the emergency contact, and I promised I wouldn’t tell you. I also promised if something happened, I’d call you, and let you know whatever I heard.” Tom Kennedy sat on the couch facing the floor-to-ceiling front windows, but his arms and legs were in constant motion. Tapping heel-to-toe on the floor, he repeatedly ran a hand over his shaved head, while the other one held the phone.

“That was CJ banging on the front door. He was out to dinner and one of his dads called him.” Tom waved at the newcomers with a grim expression. “Jesus, Hilary, how many times I have to tell you I know nothing else?” Tom took a long pull from the beer bottle on the coffee table. “Look, sorry I sound upset, but I am upset. I’m freaking out as much as you are.”

CJ hugged JP, and after Owen, Harley, and Thiago dropped the food on the kitchen counter, they repeated the greeting.

“Hilary! The man who called me wouldn’t even tell me where he was calling from. He said Brad was alive and being flown to Germany. He said there were casualties. His unit’s on blackout until the relatives of the dead service members are notified. None of his fellow soldiers are gonna call us no matter what Brad may have told you. But the man promised someone at Landstuhl would get in touch as soon as our boy got to the medical center.”

The early-spring evening was cool and windows were open. Hands inside his hoodie’s pockets, CJ gave himself half a hug. He did not know if the chill he felt was due to weather or circumstances. When he heard the rumble of a motorcycle, he assumed it was Dragon since Harley was already with them. He motioned for one of the other guys to open the back door.

Devon Marvin Jefferson, an African-America DC native, belonged to the fathers’ group of friends calling themselves The Elite. The tall, muscular man graduated from Howard University’s School of Social Work and was employed by the District of Columbia’s Child and Family Services agency. César and Brett had relied on his advice to help their son deal with his exile from Miami, and later with Ritchie after the boy lost both parents in a boating incident. The conversations between CJ and Dragon forged a special bond between them; the younger man often called on the older one when facing challenges.

“Hey, Dragon.” Owen raised the bottle in his hand. “Want a beer?”

“Yeah, I have a feeling I’m going to need a couple of them before the night’s over.”

“That was a motorcycle engine. I’m guessing it’s our friend Dragon. All the other bikers are already here.” Tom did not bother to look at the new arrival; his eyes remained firmly affixed to a spot on the floor. “Okay, I’m not sure what else I can tell you. Of course I’ll call if I hear anything. No matter what time.”

The call finished, Tom stood and gave everyone a sad smile. “You guys could have finished your meal, you know? Not much we can do.”

CJ had not seen the police officer look so haggard since he was shot years before. That was a weekend CJ did not want to relive. “Right! As if… Not a chance I could have eaten.” CJ wrapped his arms around the taller man and held him while Tom began to sob. If the red-rimmed eyes were an indication, this was not the night’s first bout of tears. “Okay, what are we doing? Has anyone checked flights to Germany yet? Landstuhl Regional Medical Center’s right next to Ramstein Air Base where I used to live. We need to fly to Frankfurt and—”

“CJ!” César’s shout made him stop talking. “Slow down, buddy. Why don’t you join the other guys and eat whatever you brought home?”

“Your dad’s right.” Tom clasped his shoulder and gave him a friendly shake. “You should eat. Anyway, there’s no reason to go flying off to Germany until we know more.”

“Bullshit! I’m not letting Brad be in a hospital by himself. Not when we can be there.” He turned around and stared at his friends sitting at the breakfast bar. “Harley! You’re better at this shit than any of us. Get online and find me flights from Washington to Frankfurt.”

“Dude, slow your roll.” Brett grasped CJ’s arm and turned him around so they could look at each other. “The Pentagon has military-wide standards they’ll follow. There’s no need to go flying off halfway around the world until we know more.”

César approached them and the two fathers bracketed their son. “You have school to worry about anyway. It’s not like you can just up and leave. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but—”

CJ shook free of Brett and took a step away from his fathers. “What I’m thinking is my brother’s hurt, and I’m going to see him. The same I’d do for Ritchie. Or for Ozzie. Or for any of you.” CJ’s tone kept rising. He recognized his growing anxiety and sought to calm himself with regular, deep breaths. “And screw classes. If I managed to survive missing a shitload of them for a stupid election, I’ll manage this. They can all flunk me for all I care. I’ll take them over next semester.”

“CJ, that was your first semester in school. And you had the support of higher-ups. This is different.”

“Damn right it’s different. This isn’t fucking Clinton. This is Brad!”

“Here, I poured you a glass.” CJ was so caught up arguing with his parents he failed to notice Owen approach. “César, Brett, please give us a minute alone.”

“Thank you.” CJ sipped his wine, trying not to guzzle it down. He realized he was overexcited and needed to calm down. These were the times he missed pot. “Sorry I’ve been ignoring you.”

“You haven’t. But I think you need to chill.” Owen leaned in and gave his husband a kiss. “I don’t know why the dads bother to argue with you. By now, they should realize they can’t win. Remind me never to become so overprotective with our kids.”

CJ chuckled. Owen definitely knew how to improve his moods. “Nah, we’ll be even cooler dads than those two.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Now, you do realize the trip may not accomplish much. At most, I see it giving you a little peace of mind. And helping Brad realize he’s not alone at a—“

The ringing made everyone turn and stare at the coffee table where Tom had left his phone. It took a fraction of a second for him to snatch it up and answer without looking at the screen. “Hello?” After a moment listening, Tom’s shoulders dropped, he sighed, and reclaimed his seat. “It’s Patrick,” he announced to the room.

Owen steered CJ back toward his fathers and the others. “Dads, stop arguing with him. CJ’s made up his mind. No matter what anyone says, he’s going to Germany. Let’s work on this together. Harley, what do you have?”

“Bruh, there’s a gazillion flights. Looks like the most popular ones leave here in the afternoon and land in Germany the following morning. About eight hours flying and a six-hour time difference. I checked for you; you don’t need a visa. You have to pick an airline, though.”

“Don’t listen to what any of them say. You do what feels right to you. Even if my dad fights you on it. Hell, I’d be going too, but I think I need to stick around here. I’m headed over to Mom and Mac’s place and I think I’ll stay there until things settle down.” Patrick asked to speak with CJ after his dad finished filling him in on what he knew; Hilary was hysterical when she spoke to her youngest son, and her husband suggested Patrick call his dad for details.

CJ studied the faces of the men staring at him after ending the call and focused on Dragon. “What do you think? Preach says I should go for it.”

The carefully worded reply was typical of the tall man’s approach to conflict resolution. “I agree with your fathers and Tom you may not accomplish much by flying to Germany. However, the importance of seeing for yourself how Bradley is can’t be discounted.” Although he spoke to CJ, everyone else paid rapt attention. “Often, bringing a sense of peace to those affected is as much a priority as healing the wounded. That includes physical and mental wounds. You should do what you feel’s right.” Dragon echoing the words of the injured soldier’s brother brought a smile to CJ’s face. “And let’s face it, you may not solve anything, but I doubt very much you’ll do any harm. If Brad’s conscious, the presence of someone dear to him may just improve his chances of recovery.”

With Owen’s calm demeanor paving the way, they reached an agreement soon after Patrick’s call: CJ and Tom would fly to Germany the next day. CJ admitted he was spoiled, wanted to fly business class, and knew last-minute tickets were expensive. Tom balked at the cost, but César and Brett talked him into letting them pay for the flights as their contribution to the effort. They pointed out Tom would benefit from the added comfort during the long flight, and did not want him to feel pressure about flying anything other than coach. Harley made the reservations using César’s credit card.

Prior to their departure, Tom received two more phone calls, so they had a better idea what to expect upon arrival. Once on the ground in Frankfurt, CJ insisted on driving the rental car, claiming his knowledge of German would help reading street signs. It was a flimsy excuse, but he felt Tom was still too distraught to be behind the wheel.

At the hospital, the liaison officer assigned to them explained Brad was in surgery again. “He won’t be out for a couple of hours, Mr. Kennedy. You mentioned you’d driven straight here from the airport. May I suggest you go to your hotel, rest and freshen up, and then return? I’ll arrange to have the orthopedic surgeon and your son’s primary physician available to speak with you then.”

CJ remained quiet while Captain Israel Menendez gave them an abbreviated report on Brad. He was experiencing déjà vu about dealing with similar conversations after Brett was injured in a helicopter crash. “Excuse me, Captain. We were unsure what to expect and didn’t bother making hotel reservations. Could you suggest a place?”

“I’ll do one better.” The man reached into his desk’s top drawer and retrieved a piece of paper he placed in front of the two visitors. “This is a list of lodging close by. If you pick one, I’ll call and book rooms for you. All these cater to American visitors to the hospital and the base.”

“How about the closest one?” Tom glanced at CJ who nodded.

It was an easy walk since they only had overnight bags with them. After checking in, they agreed to meet later, once they had cleaned up and changed. Uncertain about what to expect back at the hospital, the two men stopped to eat.

When they returned a couple of hours later, Brad was out of the operating room and in recovery. “I can’t discuss the nature of the mission Sergeant Kennedy was involved in at the time of his injury. It’s classified. What I’m allowed to tell you is that when the vehicle hit the improvised explosive device, your son was driving. The man in the passenger seat perished, but the other occupants survived.”

The medical explanations did not register in their entirety with CJ. The physicians discussed recovery period, transfer to a stateside facility, and the very likely possibility of post-traumatic stress disorder. They all assured Tom and CJ the military would do its part, but the best medicine would be having a strong support system. CJ almost laughed, thinking how his friend would be smothered with attention by The Squad and others.

“Did anyone else survive?” Brad‘s groggy first words were hard to understand, and CJ marveled they were about his companions. The nurse warned them about the sedative in the saline-drip feed.

“Hello, son.” Tom sat next to the bed and held one of Brad’s hands. “Yes, they did. There were casualties when the IED went off, and during the firefight afterward, but most of your unit survived. How do you feel? Are you in pain?”

“No… I don’t know… Guess I’m okay.” Brad did not seem surprised Tom was at his side but he blinked twice when he saw the other visitor standing at the foot of the bed. His gaze rested on him before settling on his own lower body. “CJ...” The pause stretched as he stared at the foot of the bed. “Did I lose both?”

The detached way he asked was otherworldly. CJ could not decide if his friend was that cool, or if his demeanor was the result of the narcotics coursing through his blood. He decided to avoid discussing the soldier’s lower limbs for the time being. “Damn, Red, you didn’t have to go to all this shit just to get you some attention.” The comment was in line with what CJ had seen his father do; Brett was a master at using humor to defuse tension.

“Asshole…” Brad’s twitching lips formed something akin to a smile. His retort earned him lopsided grins from his visitors. “Am I gonna walk again?”

There was neither hesitation nor delay in CJ’s response. “Fuck, yeah! Damn right you’re gonna walk again, bud. And run. And jump. And anything else you want to do.”

The remainder of the conversation was short; Brad fell asleep. Prior to dozing off, he seemed to smile again when CJ promised him the best pair of store-bought legs money could buy. Both had been amputated below the knee.

The early spring sun was below the horizon when Brad awoke next. The summons from a nurse interrupted CJ and Tom’s reading; they trudged back to the intensive care unit together.

“Hi, Dad. Hi, CJ.” Brad sounded much more alert than before. “Sorry I passed out.”

“Don’t be silly, son.” Tom ran a hand over his son’s messy red hair. “You need a haircut. Feel any better?”

“I’m not sure… Where am I?”

“Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, right by Ramstein Air Base, my old stomping grounds.” CJ patted his friend on the shoulder hoping there were no wounds beneath the gown; bandages abounded all over the man’s body. “You sound much more alert.”

“Yeah… The nurse told me they didn’t add painkillers to the IV when they changed the bag.” He pointed at a small contraption by his hand. “I think he said to push the button if I feel pain.”

“Morphine?”

“I have no idea. But he said it would knock me out. Right now, my right foot hurts like a bitch and I think I need to push it.” He did, and as predicted, was asleep soon after.

Over the next couple of days, as Brad’s condition slowly improved, CJ felt like a journalist filing reports with their newspaper or station. Following each interaction with his friend, he would share information with those waiting back in the United States via e-mail. He and Tom spent most of their time at the medical center, unwilling to venture far in case Brad woke up.

In fits and starts, during each lucid period, Brad recounted what he remembered. CJ shared comments from their friends back home, and Tom video called Hilary at least twice a day so she could see their son was improving.

“The prognosis is actually very good.” The young doctor spoke to CJ and Tom after Brad had once again fallen asleep following the most recent examination. “The legs are gone. Phantom pain will be an issue, but his other injuries will leave only a few scars. The burns to his right side are minor. There’s no need for skin grafts. No sign of infection in the abdominal cavity and x-rays show all shrapnel was removed.”

“I promised him bionic legs and the ability to walk.” CJ’s comment earned him a smile from the physician. “Was I wrong?”

“Not sure about the bionic legs part. Who knows what Veteran Affairs pays for these—”

“Money will never be an issue.” CJ raised a hand to silence Tom when he made to speak. “I’ll make sure of that.”

The Army doctor seemed surprised but shrugged her shoulders. “In that case, it’ll be up to him. Depending on how hard he’s willing to work, he could take his first steps on prosthetics in a few months. But I’m warning you, it won’t be easy. Physical therapy will be excruciating. And his mental attitude will guide his progress. Too many of our wounded warriors lose the recovery battle when they find themselves struggling alone.”

“Ha! Not a chance that’ll happen. Brad has an entire squad back home ready to push and help.”

An exhausted CJ made it to classes on Thursday. After spending three days with Brad, he returned to Washington while Tom remained behind. In Germany, they learned the average stay at LRMC was under a week. The older Kennedy would come home on the same C-17 cargo plane returning his son to the United States.