Near the End: A Terrence Smith Novel

By D.S. Stratos

There will only be one man left standing.

Captain Terrence Smith is ready to graduate residency in 30 days and become a "real" doctor. But when his name shows up on a dead soldier's prescription bottle, graduation becomes the least of his concerns. As he digs deeper, he uncovers something that puts him

• Language: English
• Publisher: Second Turn Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Feb 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781956219067

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

FOUR YEARS BEFORE PRESENT DAY

Lieutenant Colonel Damon Poneros hated walking alone in the dark. He had heard of a soldier getting killed as he walked to the bathroom by himself, so he was always skittish, even though the walk from the trailers to the office was only five minutes long. The light from the full moon illuminated the dirt road ahead, so he decided to put the flashlight away in order to save batteries. The sweat formed on his forehead and he took out his handkerchief to wipe it away. Despite being in Iraq for six months, he never got used to the heat.

It had been three weeks since he last called his wife. The operation they just finished to push the enemy out of their sector took longer than anticipated. He needed to hear her voice again. It was the only thing that brought him peace amid the chaos. That was one of the many reasons he loved her. He missed lying next to her. And the sex. He became aroused as he continued down the road. Maybe she would talk dirty tonight. That would be nice.

The smell of a full port-a-potty snapped him back to reality. As he turned the corner to go to his office, his holster slid down his leg about an inch, hitting his right knee. He stopped, pulled the holster up and rubbed the sore spot.

Fucking holster. I need the shoulder one. I’ll ask her about that, he said as if the clear desert night would answer him.

He turned the doorknob to the office building, the emptiness sending a chill up his spine. Silence on the battlefield was not always a good thing. Many times his unit had used silence to sneak up on the enemy and take out the threat, but he knew it could just as easily be used against him and his troops. He walked to the back of the building, his office door squeaking as he closed it. It wasn’t until he heard the click of the deadbolt that he allowed his shoulder to drop and his jaw to relax. He put his weapon in the top right drawer of his desk to give his throbbing knee a break.

His wife was seven hours behind on the East Coast. She should be getting ready to eat supper on her end. He picked up the black plastic phone receiver, which nearly slid through his sweaty palms. He wiped his hands on his pants to dry them, then stood up and took off his camouflage shirt, leaving only his brown, sweat-stained undershirt. He picked up the receiver again but waited a few more seconds, still feeling remorse for not calling sooner and wondering if he had to explain why. His mind drifted to the recent firefights, the staccato beat of the gunfire mixed with the smell of burnt blood that lingered in his nostrils. He shook his head to get the images out, trying to focus on the phone call ahead.

He didn’t have to explain it. She wouldn’t understand, but she would know.

His breathing quickened as he dialed the number. But a second after dialing the last digit he hung up the phone. What the fuck is wrong with you? This is your fucking wife, for god’s sakes. Man up. What are you afraid of? You can shoot some asshole but can’t talk to the love of your life? His thoughts became louder in his head, as if a drill sergeant barked at him in his own voice.

He picked up the receiver again and dialed the number. He took some deep breaths to calm himself. A soothing voice answered the phone. Hello?

Hey honey, it’s me.

There was an eternal pause until she responded. Is it really you? I’m so glad to hear your voice. I thought you were dead. I haven’t heard anything in nearly a month. I’m just glad you’re alive.

No fucking insurgent is going to kill me, that’s for damn sure. We’ve just been busy out here, so I haven’t been able to communicate with you. The enemy doesn’t take timeouts.

That’s true. Her voice sounded soft and gentle. Its siren effect slowed his breathing to a relaxed pace. He would follow her anywhere. I bet it’s been hard on you. Can you talk about it?

Unfortunately I can’t, honey. But let me tell you, our soldiers are brave and willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. And let’s hope they never have to. Let’s hope it goes the other way. They want to kill the enemy just as much as I do.

That’s good. How have you been doing? Are you having any flashbacks like you did the last deployment? I worry about you a lot.

Honey, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. We’re doing a lot of fighting, but I’m safe. Sure, there were a few times he worried he might be killed, and once when the sergeant standing next to him was. Still, he hoped he was convincing her because he sure wasn’t convincing himself.

Her voice cracked a little when she said, I know, but I worry. What if you don’t come back? You’ve been gone a long time. I don’t know sometimes if I can take the stress. I don’t like the fact that you’re gone so much. I wish you were here with me.

He gripped the receiver a little tighter, sweat dripping from his palm. You shouldn’t worry so much. I don’t do anything stupid. It’s war, so people die. Be thankful that I’m able to defend your freedom over here.

She sobbed loudly but tried to stifle it. He knew she was trying to hide her fears to protect him, but it wasn’t necessary and wouldn’t work. He would continue to worry about her more than he would worry about himself. They were waging different battles within their own minds with no end in sight. He waited a couple seconds for her to catch her breath.

I don’t care about my freedom. I miss you. It’s stressful not knowing if you’re coming back. I don’t know if I can take it anymore.

His eyebrows narrowed as he said, What do you mean? I can’t just jump over and take care of you the first chance I get. I have responsibilities here. I’m doing important work. Our country depends on me leading soldiers into battle.

Her crying stopped. But what about me? What about us? You don’t care about us. You only care about the country. What about me? Do you even care anymore? You’ve been deployed half our marriage. I get lonely not hearing from you for weeks on end, wondering if one day the chaplain will come up the sidewalk to give me news of your death. Am I worth anything to you? You probably… miss … gone.

His pulse quickened and he rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants. What did you say, honey? You broke up there at the end.

She raised her voice as she said, You probably won’t miss me if I’m gone.

These words struck like a dagger through his heart, his thoughts getting the best of him. How could she feel this way? After all I’ve done for her? She doesn’t have to do shit while I put my life on the line.

He finally spoke, his tone harsh. What are you talking about? You should be grateful for what I’m doing. Putting my ass on the line means I make enough money so you don’t have to work. I can’t believe you’re saying this.

Her crying suddenly stopped. I can’t believe you! How dare you tell me how I should feel! Fuck you! You know what? I’ve been cheating on you for about a month with someone else in the unit. Someone who gives a shit about me. I did it one other time—the first time you were deployed. I got lonely and drunk. I thought I was weak and it was an accident. But this time I did it for me. Because you don’t care about me. I cheated because I want someone to pay attention to me and put me first. Something you haven’t done our entire marriage.

He banged his desk with his left hand and stood up, yelling, Who is it? I’m going to fuck them up. I’m going to fucking destroy them. Who is it! I’m going to bury them. They’ll have no career by the time I’m done with them!

See? You don’t care about me! You care more about the person I cheated with than you care about me! I can’t take this anymore. Don’t you care what these deployments are doing to us? You’re never home. How do you expect us to have a relationship when you’re always deployed? How can we ever have kids if you’re never with me?

He gritted his teeth. You know I love you, honey. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t. It’s hard, I know. But I saw your toughness when we got married. I know you can handle it.

I’m tired of being tough. I’m tired of the stress and the loneliness. When you get back, we need to get out of the Army. I can’t take it anymore.

He sat back down. He twirled the phone cord around his finger and took a deep breath. He rubbed his eyes and tried to lean back in his seat. I don’t need this right now. Why are you being so dramatic? I can’t believe you cheated on me. When I find the guy, I’m going to kill him.

She sat up. What do you mean you’re going to kill him?

He’s dead to me. By the time I’m done with him, he’s going to wish he was dead.

She placed the phone on the bed beside her and put her head in her hands. He could probably still hear her. She looked toward the nightstand on his side of the bed. As her crying slowed, she opened the top drawer.

From the phone, she heard, Are you still there? Can you hear me? Answer me!

She took out the 9mm Beretta he kept there for her protection and slid back the bolt, pushing a round into the chamber.

What was that? What are you doing? What was that noise?

She picked up the phone and put it on speaker. That was your gun. The one you used to take to the range with me. I’m tired of competing with the Army.

Uh, wait, honey. Don’t do anything rash. Please don’t do anything rash. We can figure this out.

No we can’t. You’re never going to change, and the Army can’t. It doesn’t matter what happens to any of us. I’m taking control of my life again.

After she said those words, a gunshot pierced the line. NO! NO! I’m sorry! Please, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! Please, no, no, no! He slammed the receiver on the desk over and over and over again until it shattered in his hands. He took his computer monitor and threw it across his office, then banged the desk with both fists.

Then he stopped. His top right drawer called to him. He extended his right hand toward the drawer and pulled on the handle.

Nothing happened. He pulled again, and it still resisted. He kicked the drawer and tried again. Nothing. He kicked it repeatedly, each blow harder than the last, his knee throbbing again, but the drawer refused to open.

Suddenly, there was a banging on the door. Sir, is everything all right?

Damon fell silent, the top drawer mocking him.

Sir, are you in there? We’re going to break down the door if we don’t hear anything!

I’m here. Save the door. Give me a second. I was on the phone. He turned his chair to the right and got up, banging his right knee on the desk. He unlocked the deadbolt and let the non-commissioned officer in.

Sir, are you okay? It looks like you were in a fight. What happened?

It’s over. My life is over.

Sir, you don’t look good. Let’s take you over to the commander so we can figure out what to do.

Damon nodded as the NCO walked him out of the office, leaving someone else to clean up the mess.

CHAPTER TWO

TWO-AND-A-HALF YEARS BEFORE PRESENT DAY

The vibrating pager shook the nightstand. As Captain Terrence Smith rolled over to grab it, he banged his wrist on the side of the table.

Fuck, that hurt, he said to himself. His eyes opened quickly, responding to the throbbing in his right wrist. He grabbed the vibrating square and pushed the gray button to stop the motion. A number from the sixth floor. Those patients were pretty stable, so what could they want at—he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes to look at the clock—0413. In the morning? Damn it, only one hour of sleep. Twenty-two hours so far and about ten left to go.

He stood up to fully regain consciousness, the full moon shining through the window. He picked up the phone from the receiver and dialed the number. This is Dr. Smith, medical officer of the day. Did someone page me?

Yes sir. It’s about Ms. Klein in Room 622.

Terrence realized he’d fallen asleep in his white coat. When he tried to pull the sign-out sheets from his pocket, they exploded like confetti from a cannon. What the hell? This is the twenty-first century and we’re still using goddamn paper. He crouched, shuffled through the papers on the floor and found the one with Ms. Klein’s information. He gave it a quick study. Oh yeah, her. What’s wrong?

She’s complaining of pain when she takes a deep breath. We gave her Tylenol two hours ago, but it’s not touching it.

I don’t see that she is written for anything else as needed, correct?

Yes sir. Vitals are stable and she says she feels better since getting the antibiotics yesterday, but she feels like her lungs are on fire.

Okay, give her morphine 1mg. Hopefully that will last her until the team gets back in the morning.

Um, sir, I can’t take a verbal order on morphine. You have to put it in the system so I can see it.

Fine, I’ll put it in right now. You should see it in a few minutes. Does that work for you? he said, his tone harsher than he meant it to be.

Yes sir. Sorry to wake you. We’ll take care of it.

Good. He shook his head back and forth to wake up more. He sat down at the computer and started the log-in process, which always took forever. His eyes closed ever so slowly, but he snapped his head back, willing his body to stay awake. The computer flashed to life and he went to the electronic medical record, put in the morphine order, logged off, and lay down. It took a few minutes for him to drift back to sleep. Why would her lungs feel like they were on fire? This wasn’t supposed to be a serious case. Some TV drama where only the best doctors could save her. But knowing the morphine would help her rest, exhaustion won over and Smith passed out.

The alarm announced its presence, the harsh beeping causing Terrence to turn over and slap it harder than necessary. 0600. Time to start looking up overnight occurrences on his own patients. The smell of breakfast burritos from the microwave down the hall caused his stomach to rumble. I have time to go grab some chow.

As he reached the door, James, his fellow intern, walked in and blocked his exit. Did you take care of Ms. Klein last night?

Um, I think so. Pneumonia lady with pain from breathing?

Yes. Did you give her morphine for her pain?

Yeah. One mg. Why?

She’s dead.

What? They told me she was getting better!

She got 10mg instead of one. I saw the order.

Terrence rushed to his chair, nearly falling out as he spun to the computer. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he said under his breath while the computer logged on. He pulled up her record. FUCK! he said as he banged his fist on the top of the desk. Ten mg. It was right there in front of him. His jaw dropped. Man, I am so sorry, I thought I wrote for 1mg. I didn’t get a call that it was wrong either.

Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s dead.

Come on, man, it was an accident.

Look, man, I know you didn’t mean to do it, but it happened. Now we have to deal with the consequences.

Terrence knew he was right. He stared at the screen through sleep-deprived eyes, the 10mg mocking him and his imperfections. This can’t be happening, he thought. Wait, I could just change the dose now and no one would know. It would not be that hard. Stop. They