Danger Close (Shadow Warriors)

by Lindsay McKenna

  Kay placed her hands on her hips, glaring over at the small medic. Crossly stared belligerently back at her, unblinking.

  “Look, Captain Ingram, Fremont is in serious condition. I can’t stabilize her here. She needs to be packed in ice. She needs specialized IVs to get her electrolytes back into balance. We shouldn’t even be standing here discussing the situation. She ought to be on a nine-line Medevac call for the rear area where she can received trauma care.”

  “That bad?” A nine-line meant the person was critical and could die.

  “Yes.” And then Tucker glanced around Ingram at the Recon officer, silently pleading for his intervention in order to convince her to let Cathy be released.

  Jim eased himself to his feet and wandered over. “There’s a regimental policy that, if in the opinion of the attending medic or—” he glanced at Tucker “—doctor, any personnel is too ill to function, we send them to the rear. I’m sure you’re aware of the order, Captain?”

  Kay jerked her gaze to Boland and seemed as if she hated having to raise her head to meet his impassive stare.

  “How long would Fremont be in the rear, Doctor?”

  Tucker shrugged. “That’s entirely up to the medical staff there, Captain. I’d guess, if she doesn’t turn for the worse, five to seven days.”

  Five days without Fremont would be a godsend, Kay decided. She quelled her pleasure. And if she did take a turn for the worse, maybe she’d die or be sent Stateside; either way, it could prove to be an unexpected bonus that would delight Louise.

  “Of course,” Boland added in the same neutral tone, “you’re in charge, Captain. I can appreciate the microscope you have to function under. Probably plenty of hotshot reporters hanging around to dig up some dirt on the WLF. I’m sure Major Lane wouldn’t want any bad press by having it appear that one of her enlisted women suffered. Our tardiness in implementing standing regimental orders may make the WLF look less than the noble cause that it is. It’s your decision. I’m afraid I wouldn’t do anything but follow the doctor’s orders.”

  “All right, Dr. Tucker, I’ll sign the papers and release Fremont to the rear.”

  Tucker’s face mirrored relief. “I should go with her, Captain Ingram, to—”

  “You go nowhere, Doctor!”

  “But—”

  Kay’s face grew livid. “You’re coming back with me, Doctor. Right now. I can’t allow the company to be without medical support because of one lousy corporal deciding to get a sunstroke.” She jerked a look in Boland’s direction. “She’s all yours, Captain Boland. Any decisions made on Fremont from here on out fall into your jurisdiction. And if she gets worse or dies—” Kay jabbed her finger toward Boland “—your ass is in a sling with the press, not ours. For your sake, you’d better handle this correctly.”

  Boland managed a nod of his head, stepping back as Ingram walked toward the stairs. “I’ll be in touch with you, Captain Ingram,” he promised lightly, struggling to contain his emotions.

  “Doctor? Are you coming?”

  “Momentarily. I want to leave a few more orders to the medic who will fly back to the rear with her.”

  Kay couldn’t tolerate them or the surroundings. She lunged up the stairs. “I’ll be waiting. Don’t be long, Doctor.”

  Jim looked over at his medic. “Crossly, call the Medevac. Tell them it’s a nine-line and tell us when it lands.”

  The Navy corpsman gave him a look of relief. “Yes, sir.”

  The instant they were alone, Tucker turned to Boland. His voice was low. “There are some things you need to know for the doctor who’ll take charge of Corporal Fremont.”

  Jim stepped closer so that Tucker’s voice wouldn’t carry. “Yes?”

  “She is near total physical exhaustion. She’s been running two patrols a day for thirty-three days now. She is one of the bravest women over there,” he began strongly, his gaze meeting Boland’s with frankness, “but her problem with Lane is simply…”

  “What?”

  “Look at her, will you?” Tucker grated. “Dammit, Captain, she’s skin and bones. Literally! Dark circles under her eyes, her skin is peeling off or badly chapped. Lane won’t allow them any healing ointment because they have to be rough, tough soldiers. Cathy has heart. Nothing else could have kept her going like she has without that sheer gut quality.”

  “For a man who won’t make any official statements, Doctor, I’d say you’re hedging,” Boland replied tightly, looking at Cathy’s still features. “What do you want from us?”

  “There is no ‘us’ involved in this any longer, Captain. It’s what I want from you.”

  “Me?”

  “Ingram isn’t going to allow me anywhere near this patient. Cathy’s going to be in and out of delirium until they can get her cooled down sufficiently and lower her temperature.” Tucker paused, getting his thoughts together. “I’m afraid she may babble. Anything she says may prove to be inflammatory, even dangerous, if it gets into the hands of the press. If so, Lane will go after Cathy like a raging bull. Cathy’s never had anyone defend her over there. She’s always placed herself as a shield between Lane and her squad. But now she’s at the end of her rope physically. Please…”

  Jim tried to remain immune to the doctor’s impassioned plea, but it was impossible. “If I can arrange it.”

  Tucker looked at him steadily. “You can do better than that.” His eyes bored into the Marine. “You impress me as the kind of man who hunts up a challenge if things get a little dull.”

  An unwilling grin pulled at one corner of Boland’s mouth. “You’re an astute observer, Doctor.”

  “I’ve spent too many years tending patients not to be able to read people. I’m seldom wrong,” he answered gruffly. “Your eyes give you away. I saw your anger when I told you about Cathy. I think you’re a fair man. Help her. When she comes out of this, she’s going to need some emotional support. I’d do it myself, but Ingram won’t permit it.”

  “I get the feeling she’s more like a daughter to you than just a patient.”

  “Tell me, frankly, Captain, is there any way to get Cathy completely removed from the WLF?”

  “What?” What the hell was Tucker asking?

  The doctor drew in a deep breath and expelled it. “Look, I can use a medical excuse to keep her sidelined for five, maybe seven days. If there was only some way to keep her away from Lane for a longer period of time…she’s in danger…” And then he snapped his mouth shut. The doctor squinted. “You won’t tell anyone what I’ve just told you?” he pleaded, his voice gravelly with worry.

  “I have no desire to see her harmed. I’ll do what I can,” promised Boland. “I’ll see what can be arranged. But if we get shelled again like we were last night, neither Crossly or myself are going anywhere. If it stays quiet, then I’ll try to make it to the rear and spend a couple of hours with her.”

  Tucker nodded nervously. “I’ve overstayed my welcome, Captain. And your generosity. Goodbye.”

  Boland stood there for a moment after Tucker had left. Absently, he walked over to where Corporal Fremont lay, touching a strand of her ginger hair. Somehow, the soft curve of her parted lips, the vulnerability of her features didn’t shout of the toughness that Tucker implied she had; instead, it spoke of sensitivity. Despite her gauntness, she had high cheekbones, an aquiline nose and a mildly stubborn chin with an ovalness that made her face less angular looking.

  Crossly came running down the stairs.

  “Medevac’s here, Cap’n,” he panted.

  Boland turned. “All right, help me get her on board. Grab the IVs.”

  Crossly shook his head. “Man, that officer from the WLF is something else. She was screaming at that doctor when they left.”

  Boland gently lifted Cathy off the stainless steel table, settling her within his arms. “Let’s just concentrate on her, Crossly. She’s more important.” Crossly held the IVs up, walking with him toward the stairs.

  “You going to take her to the rear,
sir?”

  “Yeah. Get back over to the CP and tell Captain Greer where I am. If he needs me right away, have him call and I’ll hightail it straight back.” Mackey would want a report on all this, too, but that would have to wait, Boland decided. As he stepped out into the early evening, he took a deep breath of fresh air. The dust was kicking up in all directions as the Huey helicopter with the Red Cross on its nose landed in the distance, its blades whirling. Corporal Fremont weighed next to nothing, he thought, glancing worriedly down at her. Reflexively, Boland’s arms tightened around his burden and he gently pressed her to him to protect her from the stinging dust being kicked up by the thumping copter blades.

  “Hang on, babe,” he told her against her ear, “there’s help on the way….”

  JIM STOPPED trying to figure out his emotional reaction to her and accepted it for what it was. Cathy Fremont invited that kind of intimacy, Boland thought, as he waited in one of the many tunnels between bunkers. The areas served as cramped operating theaters.

  The regimental medical facility nestled in amongst the small city comprised of SEATO forces to supply the efforts of the front. Resembling a busy city, the empty area sat well out on the Khorat Plain, west of where all the fighting was taking place. A number of medical operating tents and Quonset huts were above ground.

  Medics and doctors in white smocks over their olive drab utilities trundled back and forth through doors of a Quonset hut surgery facility where he stood waiting just outside the Emergency Room area. Jim was alerted to the presence of Dr. York, who had admitted Cathy for treatment, as he appeared. The doctor was in his middle thirties, the front of his green surgical cap and shirt sweat soaked.

  “Dr. York?”

  He took off his green cap, revealing short red hair that was slicked down against his skull. “She’s stable and going to be fine, Captain Boland. An hour in the ice pack has brought her temp down to a manageable level. You got to her just in time or we’d be putting her on a C-130 for Bangkok and praying for minimal brain damage.” He wiped the sweat off his furrowed brow. “Right now, we’re pumping her full of electrolytes and as much liquid as she can take through two IVs to restabilize her.” He frowned. “I was worried for a while. She’s not in good physical condition.”

  Black anger moved through Boland. “Yeah, I know that. What now?”

  “My medics are moving her to Recovery Area Alpha right now. It’s a Quonset hut we reserve for female patients.” He gave Boland a curious look. “I kind of expected one of the women officers from Delta to be tracking the corporal’s medical status.”

  “Through an odd series of circumstances, I’m babysitting her. Although, you’d better contact Captain Ingram, XO of the WLF, and keep her updated on Corporal Fremont’s condition.”

  York shrugged his broad shoulders, gesturing him to follow. “Okay by me. She’s going to be disoriented when she starts coming around. You’re a paramedic, so you’re familiar with sunstroke victims.”

  “Right.”

  “You can reach Alpha this way.” He pointed down a polished green tile hall. “I’ll show you where she’s been taken.”

  Boland walked through any number of halls. It seemed like ER was the hub on the wheel, each spoke a hall that led to another Quonset hut area. Finally, they came to a quieter area, through double doors. There was a row of eight cots. Jim saw Cathy lying at the far end on the last cot, with two IVs in her arms. Her utilities had been removed, replaced with a wrinkled, clean white gown that matched her pallor. Despite her sunburn, she looked ashen against the sheets. Only the light blue blanket on the top of her drove away the starkness surrounding her. She was the only female in here. The doctor removed the clipboard from a hook at the bottom of the cot and studied it intently.

  “She’s anemic, too. I’m not surprised. Tomorrow, when she’s conscious, we’ll administer her a dose of B12. That ought to bring her back in a hell of a hurry. Wonder how long she’s been that way?”

  Jim took a folding chair leaning up against one wall and moved it beside her cot. “Probably for a while,” he said, sitting down.

  York stared at her hard for a moment. “Damn shame, if you ask me. I’ve read about Fremont in the Stars and Stripes. They call her the Valkyrie, you know? If any of her officers or that doctor over there had any sense between them, they should have given this woman rest long before this. What the hell is Major Lane doing? It’s a wonder she doesn’t have a higher KIA or WIA if she treats all her women like she has this one.” He shook his head and hung the clipboard on the hook. “Let one of my medics or nurses know when you’re leaving to go back to your company. I’ll have to send someone on an hourly round to check on Fremont.”

  “I’ll stay with her until she becomes conscious.”

  York smiled tentatively. “Might be a while.”

  “I’ve got the time.” I want to take the time, Jim amended to himself.

  “Yeah, I’d take the time too. Not a bad-looking gal. If she’s half as nice as she looks, I’d stick around too.”

  Jim grinned in agreement. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  York laughed and raised his hand. “Good luck, Captain. And to her, too.”

  It was near 0300 and he was grateful for the air-conditioning. Boland was beginning to doze off fitfully again when he heard Cathy stir. Broken bits of sentences slipped between her cracked lips. He heard the name Thatcher several times and saw a pained expression hover on her brow. She moved her head slowly from side to side, as if trying to dodge something. Boland grimaced at the stiffness that had accumulated in his back and got up, moving tiredly to the cot. Despite his own weariness, he found himself watching as her dark lashes fluttered briefly against her translucent skin. The sprinkling of freckles across her nose gave her a childlike look.

  He leaned over, placing his hand on her gowned shoulder as she began to move restlessly. Was she locked into that firefight where she got wounded? His hand became more firm on her shoulder, to help her find reality instead of living in that private hell etched in her twisted features. In an effort to soothe her, Jim began talking to her in a low, steady tone. Gradually, whatever nightmare had held Cathy prisoner, released her. She quieted and her breathing evened out. She relaxed beneath his hand as he gently stroked her hair.

  Glazed emerald-green eyes stared up at him through dark lashes. My God, the color of her eyes were like cool water of an indescribable depth. Her pupils were huge and black, the green iris rimmed in black, making the color even more dramatic.

  “Cathy?” Funny how her name rolled off his tongue almost reverently.

  Her forehead wrinkled. “You…” Her voice was scratchy from disuse. She closed her eyes and then reopened them with effort. “I—I remember your voice.”

  A thrill of hope went through Jim. She had a warm, husky voice, like good whiskey going down mellow. No longer was she behaving like a cornered animal. All her defensive walls had been shattered by her weakened condition, leaving the real Cathy Fremont for him to view and talk with. He trod carefully, realizing this. “Yes,” he answered softly.

  He took a damp cloth from the nearby bowl that sat on a table and began to sponge her glistening face, neck and upper arms. “You had sunstroke at the river yesterday afternoon,” Jim explained, speaking slowly so that she could digest it. “I carried you to our med bunker. You’re here in the rear area now at the regimental medical facility. They packed you in ice for an hour and brought your temperature down. You’re going to be okay.” He offered her a slight smile. “Welcome back to the world of the living.” Bringing up the chair, Jim sat down, maintaining a hand on her arm in case she started to flail around again, as she had done before. He didn’t want her ripping those IVs out of her arms.

  “Wait…who are you?”

  “Boland. Jim Boland. Do you remember we met down at the river?” He’d had a sunstroke two years ago out in the Thai bush, and remembered how his body reacted. He knew what she was going through, so he patiently covered everything ag
ain in a low voice, stopping when he saw that it was too much for her to absorb. Gradually, over fifteen minutes, some of it began to compute and then she slipped into sleep, but not unconsciousness. Elated, Jim got up to hunt down a medic or nurse.

  The second time, pain awoke Cathy when an African-American medic removed one IV from her arm. The medic, in a green T-shirt and utilities, gave her a dazzling smile of welcome. His teeth were almost painfully bright against his sweating dark mahogany features.

  “Corporal Fremont, I’m Hospital Corpsman Third Class Bobby Young. Welcome back. I’m going to get a doctor now. You thirsty?”

  She nodded, her gaze moving to and centering on Jim Boland, who stood in the shadowy recesses, leaning against the corrugated wall, his face sober and intent upon her.

  “Good girl! The Cap’n here will give you all the OJ you want. Ain’t that right, Cap’n?”

  “Count on it.”

  “Be right back, Cap’n. I’m goin’ to find Doc York. You just stay and hold this pretty lady’s hand.”

  Jim returned to his chair. “Come on,” he coaxed her huskily, sliding his arm beneath her shoulders and drawing her up against him. “Let’s get some of this juice down you. Anything’s better than having them stick an IV back into your arm.”

  So many questions began to form in Cathy’s barely functioning mind, but they were all put on hold when he pressed the rim of the glass against her lips. The cool sweetness of the orange juice slid down her parched throat and Cathy found herself gulping down the contents like a dehydrated animal.

  “Easy does it. There’s more,” he murmured, his mouth near her ear.

  Just the huskiness of the Marine’s voice and the way he held her brought another tidal wave of bared feelings to the surface of her unshielded state. Fighting back the tears, Cathy offered him a broken smile after she drank the glass. He lowered her to the cot and then tucked her in.