Chapter 29 – Ramsey
One Week Later
My unit finally moves to a more stable base camp, and Harlow and I mention calling home to let the family know we’re okay and where they can reach us via mail, at least.
As we set up our tents, one of the guys— Chad— says, “Is it alright with you guys if I use the phone room first, privately? My sister is undergoing cancer treatment, and I might just get a little…”
Emotional.
“Of course,” we say. “Go ahead and call her now. The rest of us can wait.”
“It’s so weird to think of everything going on back at home, while we’re out here,” says another of my buddies. “I know it’s only been about four months, but it feels like forever, since we were all back at Kirtland, doing our final training, and then pissing around during R&R.”
I try not to think about Monica, during the last visit I spent with her, when we walked on the beach and made fantastic love. I think I kind of screwed it up at the end, by laughing when she suggested Skyping with my family.
In my defense, I’d honestly thought it was a joke. But she’s been distant since then, more reserved. I plan to call her soon, but I don’t have high hopes for her reception of such a phone call.
Most of the time I’ve been here, I’ve felt okay, although we’ve been doing some risky operations. I listen to Monica’s soundtrack and keep plenty busy, just with work. I think of her often, but I feel it’s something in the past; just as she wanted and we both promised from the beginning. It must help me, though, because I haven’t had too many night terrors. When I do, I listen to the songs to help calm me down, and remember how Monica used to rub my back.
It usually works. The most dangerous part of our trip is over, and miraculously no one was injured. Now we’re training some Afghans with the rest of our time left here.
“Speaking of training at Kirtland,” another guy says. “You remember that chick fighter pilot with the F-35? Who did the close combat support training?”
Most of the other guys nod or mumble— a few aren’t even paying attention and others make jokes alluding to the tampons in the pink plane— but I try not to look like I’m paying too much attention, although of course I’m all ears. Why’s he talking about Monica?
“I heard she’s out on disability, or retiring or something,” he continues.
What? I think. Disability? Is she okay?
“Woah,” says another guy. “That’s kind of weird. She seemed super into her job. She liked to act tough and brag about being a chick in a guy’s world, that kind of thing.”
“I know, right?” the first guy says. “That’s why I found it so surprising. I guess it must be a health issue, or I can’t imagine why else she would suddenly want to be done.”
“Maybe a mental health issue,” someone else jokes. “I bet she’s a real basket case.”
Harlow glances at me, and I shoot him a defensive glare in return. He’s been worried about my night terrors and what he calls my “depression” lately, but I keep reassuring him that I’m just fine.
“You talking about Carrington?” asks Tim, another guy in our unit, as he walks over from the supply truck with some rope and tarps.
“Yeah, just speculating on why she’s out on leave,” someone says.
Tim wipes sand out of his eyes and says, “I heard she got knocked up.”
“Woah,” says a chorus of guys, in unison, and one says, “I didn’t even know she was married or anything. Who knocked her up?”
Yeah, I want to ask. Who knocked her up?
I suddenly feel dizzy, and I take a drink of water from my canteen. Harlow’s still looking at me kind of funny, so I try to act as normal as I possibly can. But I have to admit this news has thrown me for a loop.
“No idea,” says Tim, with a shrug. “And it’s all just speculation I heard through the grapevine. Apparently some commanders were talking shit when they got drunk while planning joint mission training. The funniest part was that some of them supposedly said they’re sad to lose her and how she’s a great pilot who was very helpful during trainings, blah blah blah.”
There are jokes about how a guy in a skirt could do a better job, and how maybe she could bring her baby on the airplane and breastfeed it while she flies. Womens’ lib, and all of that.
Some guys even said that this is why women shouldn’t be allowed into the military; they just leave as soon as they get knocked up. I’m feeling a little less wobbly, so I bend down to pound a stake into the ground, hoping I look inconspicuous, even to Harlow.
“I don’t know that she’s announced a pregnancy or retirement or anything like that,” Tim continues, “But I think the speculation was started because the timing of it is fishy. She’s using her sick leave, and someone said something about maternity leave, and someone else said word on the street is that she’s putting in her resignation papers. All signs point to pregnancy, but who knows. There’s no official word yet.”
He shrugs as if to say, “Oh well,” but I’m still rather incredulous.
Monica can’t really be pregnant, can she? I think. I’m sure she would tell me. But what if it isn’t mine? Or what if it is mine, but it was all part of some ploy that Monica had, as a way to have a baby and leave the Air Force?
That doesn’t really make sense, and I wouldn’t suspect it of Monica, but I feel foolish and confused. I suppose I don’t really know her that well, even though I thought I did.
I’m determined to sneak off to the phone room as soon as Chad is back, before Harlow or any of the other guys take their turns. I’m not sure how I should go about it, but I know I need to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible.