About Heisenbooks Pennsylvania, United States
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Starting as a hobby and growing into a data-driven retail E-commerce bookseller, Heisenbooks is poised to exceed 1 million in sales in 2019 - if that number is not reached in 2018. With consistent growth and profitability, this sole proprietorship has outgrown several spaces and now contracts 21 young people to list, pack, ship, and service customers in the educational book marketplace.
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30 day return guarantee, with full refund including original shipping costs for up to 30 days after delivery if an item arrives misdescribed or damaged.
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Excerpt
Wires and tubes crisscrossed on the bed, and Sergeant Major Jimmy Dalton carefully scooted them aside as he gingerly sat on the edge. With a callused
hand he tenderly brushed a stray lock of gray hair off the face of the woman
lying there.
He could feel the press of her thin thigh against his hip, and he stared at her face, letting his hand lightly trace over every wrinkle and line etched there by the years, lingering on the closed eyelids. He let out a deep breath and took her hand in his, careful not to disturb the IV line in the back of it. He leaned over, his lips close to her ear. His voice was a low, gravelly
one, one that gave an immediate sense of confidence to the listener.
"Well, my Treasure, another great day in airborne country. The colonel gives his regards. He was by last night. Lots of people are worried,
but I know you're going to be all right.
"The Christmas formal is only six weeks away and, well, I was wondering if you might want to escort this old soldier there." Dalton waited, head cocked as if listening to an answer, before speaking again.
"You've been away from home for four months now. I think it's time to be coming back. I miss you."
Dalton felt her skin under his fingers. He remembered the long years when he had so yearned for just this sensation, to be able to feel her once more. He leaned close and put his lips to her ear. "You waited for me for five years when I was a POW, I'll wait forever for you. So we can be together once more."
"Sergeant Major Dalton?"
Dalton slowly straightened and looked over his shoulder at the door. A young woman, at least by his standards young, somewhere in her thirties, stood there. She held a metal clipboard in her hand. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I'm Dr. Kairns. I was assigned yesterday to take care of your wife. I assume you
know that Dr. Inhout, who was caring for your wife, was transferred."
Dalton slid off the bed, his highly polished boots making contact with the tile floor. Dalton was a little less than average height, five foot nine inches tall, and had a stocky, well-muscled build. His face was dark and well tanned, cut with deep lines, his hair heavily peppered with gray and cut very short. He walked across and held out his hand. Kairns, after a moment of surprise, took it.
"Thank you for taking care of Marie, ma'am," Dalton said.
"Well, you're welcome, but I haven't really done anything yet." She held up the chart. "I have--"
Dalton took her elbow. "Perhaps we should talk outside."
Kairns looked over at the bed. She knew the woman could not hear them, but she allowed herself to be escorted out of the room. They walked down the
hallway to an empty waiting room. Large windows revealed Cheyenne Mountain to the west, the sides covered in snow. Between the window and the mountain lay
rows and rows of barracks, motor pools, and housing areas, all comprising Fort Carson, home to the 4th Infantry Division and the 10th Special Forces Group. Behind and to the right of Cheyenne Mountain, and barely visible, was
the bright white top of Pikes Peak, catching the first rays of the rising sun coming over the Great Plains of Colorado from the east.
Kairns flipped open the chart once more. "We took another MRI and there's no doubt your wife suffered an aneurysm in the anterior portion of the frontal lobe." Kairns looked up at the sergeant major. He nodded, indicating he knew
what an aneurysm was.
Kairns showed him the MRI. "It happened here. Fortunately, there wasn't too much bleeding or swelling of the brain, but I have to warn you it could happen at any moment even though she's been in here a while. The brain is very strange. Very delicate at times, very tough at others, and there's much we don't know about it."
"Why is she unconscious?" Dalton asked. Ever since being admitted four months ago, his wife had been in a coma.
"In effect, she also suffered a stroke. I thought Dr. Inhout would have explained all that."
"He did, but I'd like to know what you think the situation is, given that you are the one who is going to be caring for her."
Kairns said, "Even if your wife regains consciousness, there is a high likelihood of some brain damage. The blood that came from the burst blood vessel, well, that flow was interrupted, obviously, and the part of the brain that blood vessel feeds did not get enough oxygen for an extended period of time."
Dalton nodded to indicate he understood. He walked over to a hard plastic seat and sank down in it. He wore heavily starched camouflage fatigues that were covered with insignia: The Combat Infantry badge with two stars and the
Master Parachutist badge were sewn above his name tag. Below it was sewn the
small dive-mask badge indicating Dalton was scuba qualified. On his left shoulder was a Special Forces patch, of subdued green and black to match the
fatigues. Above it was a Ranger tab and a Special Forces tab. He wore an identical Special Forces patch on his right shoulder, indicating combat service in the unit.
The patch was in the shape of an arrowhead, homage to the stealthiness and craftiness of Indian warriors. An upright dagger was in the center, to indicate the covert way Special Forces operated. Three lightning bolts ripped across the dagger, representing the three means by which Special Forces soldiers infiltrated their objective: by air, sea, and land. The patch, and the green beret that went along with it, were the insignia of the elite of the United States Army. Sergeant Major Dalton had served thirty years in the unit, one of the very few left on active service who had served in Vietnam. Mornings like
this he felt the cumulative effect of those thirty years.