Free Thunder Running by Rebecca Crowley Page A

here. I probably dropped the ID in the parking lot, can I please—”
    â€œNo need,” he said imperiously, his voice full of the kind of threat she’d heard parents use on children telling improbable lies. “I’ll call up his unit to check. Alpha Company, you said?”
    â€œI’m sure that won’t be necessary, if you’d just—”
    â€œWho’s his commanding officer?”
    â€œI don’t know, he’s a medic, he’s supposed to replace—”
    â€œGreat, I’ll call the clinic. Wait there.”
    He disappeared into what looked like an administration office. She plopped down on the plastic chair beside the plywood door, fourteen years old again and waiting while the principal called her house to report on her poor behavior. Back then she could usually count on her dad forgetting the conversation by the time she got home. She had a feeling Chance’s memory was a lot longer.
    She dropped her face into her hands. She should’ve known she couldn’t handle any kind of normal existence, especially one entwined in the intricacies of military custom. She should’ve stayed in Kansas City, tending bar and shopping at midnight and leaving poor Chance McKinley well enough alone.
    â€œLook, can you just give me a referral slip? It’s a medical thing that needs to be seen by a doctor, I promise.”
    Chance leaned back in his chair, trying to keep a straight face as he regarded the nervous private across the table. “And what reason should I put on the slip?”
    â€œPersonal problem.”
    â€œI need more detail than that, Greene. How do I know whether to send you to a shrink or a proctologist?”
    The young man shifted in his chair. “I need a doctor. This can’t be handled by the unit.”
    â€œAs much as I admire your confidence in your self-diagnosis, I think you should probably tell me exactly what medical issue we’re dealing with.”
    Private Greene looked down at the floor, up at the fluorescent lamp, and finally at a point halfway across the table. “It’s my dick, sir. It burns when I piss, and there’s this discharge—”
    â€œOkay, you don’t need a doctor.” Chance swiveled to retrieve a sterile cup from the cabinet at his back, removed the plastic packaging and handed it over. “It’s probably an STD, but I’ll need a urine sample to be sure.”
    The private stared at the proffered cup like it was alien technology. Chance rolled his eyes.
    â€œPee in this and bring it back. Bathroom’s down the hall.”
    Wordlessly the private accepted the cup and scurried out of the room, not bothering to shut the door behind him. Chance sighed heavily as he started filling out the notes on the visit, then glanced at the clock. Fifteen more minutes and his shift was over. Thank God. He hated working sick call.
    â€œHey, Sergeant?” The E-4 on duty with him leaned into the room. “There’s a weird call from the commissary for you. Something about your wife?”
    â€œMy wife?”
    â€œApparently they need you to head on over there. I told ’em I didn’t think you were married, but the guy said you need to come over in person to verify—”
    â€œCan you do me a favor and finish up with Private Greene? He’s got the clap. I’ll relieve you fifteen minutes early when we serve range duty tomorrow.”
    â€œDon’t even worry about that, just let me know you’ve got everything sorted out. Are you really married?”
    â€œYeah. It’s kind of a recent thing.”
    The younger man’s brow creased. “Does this mean we can’t play pool at Rock’s on ladies’ night anymore?”
    â€œI’ll call you later.” He patted his distraught colleague on the back, edged past a bewildered Private Greene toting a full cup and jogged down the corridor to the parking lot.
    It was only a