1. Reeves

one

"Private Mathews." Sarg announced his presence from the combat support hospital room doorway. In pristine uniform as always, he stood with his heels clicked together.

"Sargent Darcy." I laid flat on my back without a pillow, aware that something was missing when I went to salute. I couldn't lay here, not showing respect. I fumbled to pull my other hand out from the linen blanket and offered a left-handed salute.

Sarg positioned his hand for salute, holding it in pause. After a long beat, he dropped his hand with his signature, "Very well." As he crossed the room, flashing an envelope in the air, my stomach dropped.

"Discharge papers." I stared at the letter without reaching for it. It wasn't a total shock. Obviously, I couldn't continue to serve with only one hand, but it was not the instant flood of relief I would have assumed I'd feel. It was simply the last punctuation mark on a sentence conveying frustration.

I had planned for a military career my entire childhood. Playing with green plastic army soldiers in my living room every day. This was something I was born to do. Of course, I enlisted during peacetime, when it was an easy way to travel, and pick up a few foreign languages. All that changed when the country was invaded. After two years of war, and now an amputation, my military career had come to a screeching halt.

"What are you going to do now?" Sarg asked, still holding the letter. It was a bit of an awkward exchange since he was standing closest to my missing hand. For me to grab it, I'd have to sit up and reach all the way across my own body. I didn't have the strength to do that.

"I guess I"ll start over." It wasn't hard for me to say that. Actually, it seemed rather nice to say. New Beginnings.

"I heard King D'Long is auctioning off some of his private farmland. It sounded like it might be a peaceful place to transition to civilian life."

"Really?" I coaxed my head to the side, visions of rolling prairie flashed through my mind. My grandfather had farmed a bit when I was younger. He was already past retirement age, and mostly just hayed the fields, but I had spent many Saturdays on his lap in the tractor. We'd listen to the only station that came in on the tractor"s AM radio, and spit sunflower seeds out the window. I never got tired of it, even when the weather wasn't that great. I got an awful lot of thinking done, puttering along the fields. It was a much simpler way of life. Well, until something broke down, but with my grandfather, fixing things was usually just as entertaining. I wasn't an expert by any means, but it did sound like a nice change of pace. "When's the auction?"

"Tomorrow. If you want, I can put in a good word for you."

Pursing my lips out, I pictured myself standing alone in a field. Not a soul around. The vision was so clear, I could almost smell the fresh cut hay. I could wake up each morning before the sun was up, make coffee, and sip it slowly as I ran the tractor.

Sounds like heaven . . .

After a long quiet moment, Sarg reached the letter forward, placing it on my bare chest. "Well done, Private Mathews. It was a pleasure to serve with you." I was ready for him this time, pulling my left hand to my forehead as he saluted me. Then he turned on his heel and marched out.

I picked up the letter, and flipped it over, examining it. I couldn't even open it with only one hand. This was going to take some getting used to. There were things I would need to relearn. Judging from last night's nightmare, I had a long road ahead. I dropped the letter, letting my gaze float back up to the ceiling where it was most comfortable.

After everything I've been through, it sounds nice to get some land in the middle of nowhere and be alone.