On the Edge

by Kerry J Donovan

  Even though completely certain of her ground, Lara took a breath. She’d studied all the relevant literature and had no doubts, and from his prone position, strapped to the stretcher, Ryan gave another quick smile. He made a circle with his right index finger and thumb—the diver’s version of the thumbs up sign. She had Ryan’s confirmation, not that she needed it.

  Lara nodded to the supervisor.

  “Yes, Sergeant Jensen,” she said with confidence. “TOA. Triple-Option Analgesia. Stage One involves treating relatively minor wounds with meloxicam and paracetamol, given orally. Stage Two uses fentanyl for casualties with moderate to severe pain, but who are not in haemorrhagic shock or respiratory distress. Again, the medication is taken orally. Stage Three is for more serious cases and calls for intravenous ketamine for casualties in moderate to severe pain, but who are in haemorrhagic shock or respiratory distress.”

  She took another breath.

  “Incidentally,” she continued, “the Rangers also found that ketamine can increase the palliative effect for casualties who have already been treated with opioids.”

  While she talked, Hardy made his disagreement with her recommended course of action clear in his every headshake and eye roll. He added to the effect by crossing his arms. If he’d been standing, he’d probably have started tapping his foot.

  “And the treatment for this particular casualty?” Jensen asked, using his pen to indicate Ryan.

  “Significant blood loss. Severe trauma to the upper leg. Stage Three, without a doubt. When he wakes, I’d give ten milligrams of ketamine for the first dose, monitored hourly.”

  Jensen paused for a moment before nodding. “Very good, Dr Sloane. Very good indeed.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Hardy demanded, his expression one of total incredulity. “That’s plain ridiculous, man.”

  Jensen lifted his head and stared at Hardy. “You have an alternative treatment protocol in mind, Dr Krüger?”

  “Morphine’s the tried and tested treatment for critical wounds of this severity. Has been for decades, man. You really think this TOA nonsense is the correct protocol?”

  Jensen stared at him long enough for Hardy to break eye contact. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  Hardy’s shoulders sloped in defeat. Lara ignored his overly aggressive stare.

  Ryan groaned and tried to remove the face mask, playing his role to the limit. Lara soothed him and mimed setting an IV ketamine injection. She talked through her actions for the recording which would be used for the post-assessment debrief.

  “Next?” Jensen asked Lara.

  “Confirm the casualty is correctly prepped and move to the evac zone.”

  “Do it,” he said, offhandedly.

  Jensen watched Lara and Hardy finish the task, making notes when he wasn’t talking into his radio.

  When they’d finished, Lara announced they were ready. Jensen nodded and signed the bottom of his form with a flourish.

  “Thank you, Dr Sloane, Dr Krüger. The practical part of your final assessment is now complete. Release your casualty from his restraints. We will give a full debrief in the main lecture room in two hours. In the meantime, you can take the opportunity to have a shower and some lunch. The afternoon session will be entirely classroom based.”

  He knelt beside Ryan, patted his shoulder.

  “Thank you for your time, sir,” he said.

  Ryan opened his eyes, the coloured contacts having changed the natural chocolate brown to dark blue. He smiled. “No problem at all, Sergeant. I’ve not had so much fun in ages—apart from your man’s dribblin’, that is.”

  Lara and Jensen bent to help free Ryan from the webbing straps. Hardy kept to one side, watching but not assisting.

  “Are you the one who signs my expenses chit?” Ryan asked Jensen, his mouth stretching into a cheeky grin.

  “No, sir. You’ll need to see the receptionist in the admin block.”

  “Thanks very much. I’ll do that very thing, so I will.”

  Jensen turned away and hurried across the open ground to monitor Charlie Team, who were poised outside a darkened building full of rubble. Theirs would be the final assessment of the course.

  “Fucking teacher’s pet,” Hardy muttered under his breath when Jensen was out of earshot.

  “Darn it, Hardy,” Lara said, no longer able to contain her frustration, “I’ve just about had enough of your snide comments. Do you have a problem with me?”

  She stood and the heavyweight paramedic rose with her, looming a full head taller than her five-ten. Ryan propped himself up on one elbow, watching the performance. His lips firmed into an angry line and his frown deepened.

  Hardy bristled and leaned closer. “Yes, girlie. I have a real problem with you. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Really? And where should I be?”

  “Anywhere but on a battlefield.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Too fucking right, vrou. A women’s place is in the bed and the kitchen—in that order.”

  Ryan pushed himself onto his knees, preparing to leap to her defence if it proved necessary.

  She held out her hand to hold him back. They were being filmed for the afternoon’s lecture and, although the likelihood of anyone in Denmark recognising Ryan in his full battledress and camouflage makeup was extremely low, she didn’t want him adding to the risk.

  And anyway, why not let Krüger dig his own grave?

  Lara planted her fists on her hips and faced the bully head on. “That’s what you think, is it?”

  “Yeah, I do. Women are too weak, too emotional,” Krüger announced, throwing back his shoulders and puffing out his barrel chest, courage returning with the onset of a lull in the simulated shelling. “Women make mistakes and get in the fucking way. Men have to cover your backs all the fucking time. If I had my way, women would be banned from all active service. Fucking waste of space, the lot of you. You should go back to your domestic chores. That’s the only thing you’re good for.”

  “How out of tune are you?”

  “All this politically correct bullshit just makes a man’s job tougher. Like I said, women should stick to producing babies and keeping their men satisfied in the bedroom—and the kitchen.”

  “For pity’s sake, do you actually believe that crap?”

  He sneered and looked at Ryan for backing, but received none. Undaunted, he turned his eyes on her once more. “It’s the natural order of things, vrou.”

  Lara gritted her teeth so hard, her jaws started aching. She had to forcibly unclench them to speak.

  “Doctor Krüger, I’d call you a Neanderthal, but that would be too much of an insult … to Neanderthals.”

  Hardy bent forwards at the waist, lurching a half-pace towards her. She jumped back a full pace, dropping into a defensive posture—arms raised, hands open, fingers held stiff.

  Ryan rolled smoothly to his feet and forced his way between them.

  “Now then, young man. I’ve heard more than enough of your bollocks, so I have. I’d be backin’ off if I were you. I really would.”

  A slow smile stretched across Hardy’s dirt-encrusted face, and his blue eyes turned glacial. He flared his nostrils and looked down his nose at Ryan, who stood at least fifteen centimetres shorter and probably tipped the scales at around twenty kilos lighter than the hulking Afrikaner.

  Hardy’s upper lip curled into one of his natural sneers, and he shifted his gaze from Ryan to Lara.

  “See what I mean about turning men into overprotective nannies?” he asked, then returned his scrutiny to Ryan. “You want to show her how tough you are, little man? Think maybe you might get into her panties, ja?”

  Ryan scratched the side of his neck.

  “Ah now, me lad,” he said, so quietly, Hardy had to lean closer to hear properly. “You’ve got it all wrong, so you have. I’m not protectin’ her, I’m protectin’ you. Me? I hate to see a grown man cry, so I do.”

  Krüger pulled in his chin.
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  “Huh?”

  “Now listen here, big feller,” Ryan continued, “You’ve got absolutely no idea exactly how close you are to the most humiliatin’ arse-kicking of your entire pathetic life.”

  “What?” Krüger’s face creased in question.

  “You heard me, you eejit. Take my advice and run along while you still have full use of all your arms and legs.”

  Krüger straightened and laughed. He stepped back, raised his hands, and beckoned with his fingers. “C’mon then, you little runt. Think you can take me? Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Ryan flapped a hand at the big fool, shaking his head at the same time. “Ah now, you’ve gotten it all arse about face, so you have. I’m not talkin’ about you and me havin’ a wee rumble. Oh no. Sure and I’m an old man. Far too old to be takin’ on such a strapping young man.”

  Lara almost laughed out loud, but kept her serious face in play. She couldn’t wait to see how Ryan would talk his way out of this one. Oh, he could take Hardy apart easily enough, but if he did that, he’d open himself up to more scrutiny than either of them wanted.

  “You’re backing down?” Krüger demanded, obviously pleased with himself. “You’re nothing but a lafaard, a coward.”

  Ryan scratched at his beard, keeping the movement slow and careful. Lara had seen a similar action before. Raising his arm that way set Ryan up to move into the forward defensive position, but did it in a non-aggressive, non-threatening manner. He was preparing for action, but without making it look that way.

  “It’s not the first time I’ve been called that, son. But I prefer to use the term canny. I mean, after all, why should I be doin’ my own scrappin’ when I can pay people like Grace Sloane to do it for me?”

  “You know her?” Krüger asked, pointing his square chin at Lara.

  “Oh yes, son.” Ryan smiled once more, and once more, it held no warmth. “I know her. That, I surely do.”

  Lara lowered her hands and flexed her fingers. The next few seconds would prove interesting. Ryan was an absolute genius at thinking on his feet and she couldn’t wait to learn how he’d diffuse the situation without ending up having to batter the supercilious Afrikaner into a pulpy red mess on the already damaged concrete.

  Irrespective of his widespread but totally unfounded reputation, Ryan Kaine was naturally slow to violence. It would take a lot more than a few verbal insults to make him resort to brutality, even if the insults were aimed largely at her.

  “Where from?” Krüger asked, looking at Ryan through contemptuous and suspicious eyes.

  Ryan shook his head slowly. “She’s my bodyguard, you bozo.”

  What now? What’s this?

  “A bodyguard? That tiny little vrou?”

  “That’s what I said, fella.”

  “You need a bodyguard?”

  Where on earth is he going with this?

  “Aye, I certainly do, sonny. And I can afford the very best, so I can. It’s on account of me being the fourth richest man in the whole of Ireland,” he said, pronouncing it as “Oirland”.

  Lara sighed. What would the supervisors in the operations room make of his performance when they listened to the playback?

  Ryan continued. “Although, I am pushin’ real hard for the top spot. Just need to sell a few more million kilos of cheese and butter, so I do.”

  Lara closed her eyes for a moment. Surely the big South African buffoon wasn’t going to fall for it? She’d heard worse Irish accents, but not often, and never outside of a spoof TV show.

  “Are you for real, man?”

  Nope, not one bit of it.

  Lara wasn’t keen on the idea of demonstrating her hand-to-hand fighting skills, but if needs must.

  She opened her eyes wide, relaxed her shoulders and knees, and shook out her hands. If necessary, she’d be ready.

  Ryan had begun training her in unarmed combat from almost the first day they’d set up home in their Aquitaine safe house. She was good, but didn’t really fancy facing someone as big as Hardy Krüger without a weapon. Something like a Sig P226 would even the odds nicely. Either that, or an SA80 assault rifle.

  “Am I for real?” Ryan raised his arms higher and let them fall to his sides. He slapped his thighs with his hands. “Paddy O’Kelly’s my name, and dairy products is my game. Now run along before I let my number one attack dog off her leash. Do you understand me now, sonny boy?”

  He delivered the threat with a straight face and in a quiet growl, making it clear how perilous Krüger’s situation happened to be. Lara crossed her arms and stared at the big man, affecting an aura of relaxed indifference.

  Ryan turned sideways to her and Krüger and threw her an appraising glance before returning his attention to Krüger.

  “What d’you reckon, lass?”

  “Are you seriously asking if I can take him?” Lara asked, trying to match Krüger’s earlier incredulity.

  “Of course not, my dear,” Ryan scoffed. “What I’m askin’ is how long’s it gonna take you to wipe the floor with his ugly face? I’m a tad peckish and achin’ for my lunch.”

  Lara pursed her lips as though trying to run the calculation. “He’s a big chap, Mr O’Kelly,” she said, copying Kaine’s method of appraisal. She tried to fix her gaze on Krüger, but the man refused to offer her any eye contact. “On the other hand, the idiot’s been winding me right up for the whole damned training course. I might just take my time with him. How long can you give me?”

  Ryan scratched at his beard once again. His eyes narrowed in concentration.

  “Oh, you can take your time, if you like. Been looking forward to seeing you work out your issues on another beefcake,” Ryan said, stepping aside and allowing Krüger free access to her—or rather, her to him. “That oaf in Connemara’s still drinking through a straw, isn’t he?”

  “I have no idea, sir,” Lara answered, beginning to have some fun since she’d seen how Krüger had started backing away without wanting to make it obvious. “Don’t care too much about what happens to my opponents after I’m finished with them.”

  Ryan nodded. “Okay then, lass. Have at it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, sonny. At least you’ll have rapid access to decent trauma care. Actually, it couldn’t have worked out better for you … or for me.”

  Krüger’s uncertain look flicked between Ryan and Lara, but finally rested on Ryan.

  “Better for you?”

  “Ah, so it is. After what happened in Connemara, I ended up havin’ to pay the medical bills. Shockin’, it was. You should have seen the monstrous hike they added to my third party indemnity insurance. Damnably expensive, you know. Now”—he stepped even further away—“as I said, have at it, Grace. Do your worst, lass. I’m sure you’ll be needin’ to let off a little steam.”

  Lara stretched her neck, formed fists, and moved into an attacking pose.

  “No, no,” Krüger said, laughing. He raised both hands in submission and backed further away. “I don’t want any trouble. Just kidding, right. I flap my gums sometimes, but I don’t mean any harm by it.”

  Still backing up, the heel of his boot struck a piece of rubble. He stumbled but managed to keep his footing.

  The shrill note of a referee’s whistle pierced the air. The three of them looked towards the high-pitched noise.

  “Dr Krüger!” Jensen shouted from the far side of the staged war zone. “Pack your bags. There’s no place for anyone like you on this course.”

  “W-What?” Krüger stuttered, turning to face the latest threat to his assumed position as Alpha Male. “You can’t do that. I-I paid in full.”

  Jensen approached their little group and the other course participants turned to face them. Someone in the control room switched off the sounds of combat and silence boomed around them. Jensen pointed to a large window behind a viewing platform on the far side of the staged battlefield. Although over two hundred metres away, the incident control room took up the whole third floor of the college building and provided it
s occupants with a perfect view of the entire amphitheatre.

  “They heard the whole conversation on the ambient microphones, you damned fool,” Jensen shouted, his deep voice loud enough to ensure that everyone in the arena could hear. “I’ve been waiting for you to show your true nature, Dr Krüger. There is no place on this course for racists and sexists. No place at all.”

  “But … But I was joking, man. Didn’t mean nothing by what I said.” Krüger stopped backtracking and straightened, pulling back his shoulders. “You can’t do this to me. What about my sponsors and the course fees? What about my certification?”

  Jensen continued his double-time march across the open ground, sidestepping around the worst of the debris. When he reached Krüger, he held up his clipboard and showed the form to the three of them.

  “I’d usually keep this information confidential, but under the circumstances … I can see no reason to hide it.”

  The form contained a list of names—the course members. The box beside Krüger’s name contained a big black cross. Along the dotted lines beneath the name, Jensen had written three words in block capitals.

  Erratic, Unsuitable, Failed.

  Krüger tensed so much, he almost trembled. His biceps bulged, threatening to split the seams of his sleeves.

  “This is fucking—”

  “Shut up!” Jensen raised a finger to interrupt what was likely going to be a long stream of foul language. “I was going to provide more details during your termination interview, but these notes cover most of the relevant facts. There will be no need for further discussion, and there will be no appeal. We shall send a full report to your employers and will not be refunding the course fees.”

  Jensen stepped closer to the seething South African.

  “Do I need to call one or two of my colleagues to escort you off the campus? I’m certain they would appreciate the chance to discuss the rights and wrongs of bigotry and chauvinism in the modern world.”

  Jensen stopped talking and let the threat hang in the dusty, near silent air.

  Lara tensed for an expected eruption. On the surface, Ryan looked relaxed, but she knew him much better than that. He was ready, willing, and very able to take the blond man apart in a very painful and very public way. Unlike Sergeant Jensen, he wouldn’t need to call for assistance.