Damien sat on the edge of the hospital bed, fuming. He looked down at his leg: about a dozen stitches closed the wound beneath the bandage. The shard of glass had come very close to his femoral artery, luckily not as close as last time in Afghanistan. He'd had many wounds before during his tours of duty, some worse than others. One had even left him in a coma for about a month. But he'd always pulled through, always been found fit for duty. Always reassigned to his platoon.
He ran a hand over his short hair, let out a sigh.
Out in the hallway, he caught a glimpse of Gabrielle talking to Philip Ortega. A small grin came to his face as he watched her. She had managed to punch him three times in the same arm, and he had the bruises to show for it. Her small frame didn't hide
