Berkley Street Series: Books 4 to 6 Bundle

Chapter 3: At the Manchester Veteran’s Hospital

Shane Ryan sat in the main waiting room of the VA Hospital in Manchester. He had his arms folded across his chest and his head bent down. Around him, people talked, a television played, and he did his best to stay calm.

In his back pocket was a folded and creased letter from the Department of Veterans Affairs. The message inside had informed him that as of the first of September, he could receive treatment for his burns at the newly reopened Sanford Veteran’s Hospital. Since the VA was able to offer him treatment, the letter had continued, the government would no longer pay for any services obtained through private doctors or institutions.

“Son, are you alright?”

Shane lifted his head and was caught off guard. A man in a monk’s robe stood in front of him. The man was short, his head was shaved, and he looked like he had endured a hard life. His face was etched with wrinkles. One eye was cloudy, the other was clear, the iris a bright blue. Several small scars worked their way up the side of his face and into the scalp.

“Yes, Brother,” Shane said, gathering himself. “I am. Thanks.”

“May I?” the monk asked, nodding to the chair beside Shane.

“Sure.”

The man sat down and offered his hand to Shane. “Dom Francis Benedict.”

“Shane Ryan,” he said, shaking the hand. He looked at the monk and said, “Never thought to see a monk in here.”

“Well,” Dom Francis said, smiling, “part of the rules of my order require that we reach out to those in need. And since I’m a veteran too, I figured this was a good place to be. Plus, my Abbot gave me permission.”

“You’re a vet?” Shane asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

Dom Francis nodded. “Army. What about you?”

“Marines,” Shane replied. “Career man. Legged it for a while. Too long, actually.”

The monk chuckled. “Yeah. It’s definitely not easy on the knees or the back. What’d you do after you were infantry?”

“Linguistics,” Shane said, “mostly Pashto and Arabic.”

In Pashto, Dom Francis said, “I’m impressed. Not too many can speak it.”

Shane laughed, shaking his head and saying in English, “Okay, I need to know, how did you learn Pashto?”

“I was an 18 Delta,” Dom Francis said, smiling softly.

“Special Forces?” Shane asked.

Dom Francis nodded. “Fifth. Spent a little bit of time in Afghanistan.”

“Damn,” Shane said appreciatively. “Yeah. I did a few tours there as well. What made you shift from the Army to religion?”

“Combat,” Dom Francis said. “I was weapons. I got hit pretty badly on my last rotation through. I decided if I made it out, I was going to join the Benedictine monks. I went to school at St. Anselm’s in Manchester before I enlisted. What about you, how’d you learn Pashto?”

“Honestly,” Shane said, “I just picked it up listening to some of the interpreters speak it.”

Dom Francis raised an eyebrow. “Can you do that with any language?”

Shane nodded.

“Are you sure?” the monk asked in Chinese.

“Of course, I’m sure,” Shane said, answering in kind.

Dom Francis smiled. “Did the Marines know about your special ability?”

“No,” Shane said, shaking his head. “And I was perfectly happy with them not knowing either. They would never have let me out.”

“I’m surprised they let you out anyway,” the monk said. “There aren’t too many who can speak Pashto. Even when I was medically discharged, they gave me a hard time. They wanted me to stay in at a desk.”

“Not for you?” Shane asked.

“No,” Dom Francis said. “Definitely not for me. I joined Special Forces to get out and see the world. Free the oppressed. All the good stuff. Not to sit there and teach.”

“What do you do now?” Shane said. “When you’re not here?”

“Teach,” he answered, with a wry smile.

Shane laughed until his sides hurt, and he was still laughing when his name was called. He wiped a tear from his eye as he stood and held out a hand to the monk. “A pleasure, Dom Francis.”

The man shook it as he stood up. “I’ll be around. If you ever need to talk, you can leave your name here, or call up to the college. Ask for Dom Francis. Don’t ask for Benedict. There’s got to be ten of us who took the name.”