Chapter 18 - The Order I Wouldn't Follow
The parade ended under a strip of blue sky. I listened to the final cadence from inside the medical building, where Doc was reviewing my latest scans. The injury from the chock had aggravated the old tear. She wanted a specialist to evaluate surgery and a long course of rehabilitation.
"How long before I can march?" I asked.
"We'll discuss walking comfortably first," she replied. "One milestone at a time."
My phone vibrated with a call from an unfamiliar number. I let it ring. It stopped and started again. Then came a message: MEET ME ALONE AND THIS ENDS.
I showed Doc. We forwarded it to Rowan. When the caller appeared at the clinic entrance ten minutes later, I understood why he'd insisted on being alone.
Miller was pale, his civilian shirt wrinkled. He had come despite Shaw's explicit no-contact instructions. A military police officer stepped into the hall as soon as reception called for help.
"You have no idea what you're doing," Miller told me. "My father's finished. Rusk is talking. Everybody wants someone to blame."
"You gave an order to injure me."
"I needed you out of the parade. That's all."
For the first time, I heard the smallness of it. No grand purpose. No urgent mission. He had looked at my limp and seen something that might spoil his perfect picture.
"You could have put me on the bench," I said. "You could have followed my medical restrictions. You chose violence."
His eyes darted toward the police officer. "Tell them we misunderstood each other."
I thought of Lowell, Bell, Torres, Rusk, Doc, and a dead corporal whose name Miller had used like a weapon. I thought of Dad's letter folded inside my uniform.
"No," I said. "I'm done making your choices my responsibility."
Shaw entered the hall and directed the officer to escort Miller away for formal questioning and enforcement of the restrictions already issued. He stopped fighting the escort when he saw no one was coming to rescue him.
May you like
Doc touched my shoulder after the doors closed. "That took more courage than marching on a torn knee."
Then she held up the specialist's report. "Clara, we need to talk about the operation."
