Danger Close (Shadow Warriors)

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Here, use this until we can get our medic down here. He’ll stop that nosebleed,” he offered.

  “I’ve got to get word to Sergeant Arnley, Alpha Company,” Cathy said. “We’re with the convoy.”

  “Okay, we’ll notify him,” he assured her, and gave orders for one of his men to go find Arnley.

  There was a commotion near the slide.

  “Over here, Doc. Looks like she’s got a first class-concussion from a rocket,” the officer said, standing up.

  Cathy looked up into the youthful face of a red-haired medic as he knelt in front of her. Again, she was shocked by how young he was and, yet, how old his eyes looked.

  “Got one a little close?” he asked, smiling as he quickly checked her eyes and ears.

  “I think so. Doc, my ears are killing me. I can hardly hear you above the ringing in them.”

  “No problem. Just hang on and we’ll get you fixed up here in a jiffy.” He pressed Cathy down on the cot and, after gently removing her hands from her nose, placed a wet cloth behind her neck. Tipping her head back, the medic pressed his fingers firmly along the bridge of her nose. He continued the pressure for ten minutes. And then, almost miraculously, the flow of blood halted to a slight dribble.

  There was a disruption of movement among the men at the top of the bunker stairs. Cathy heard Arnley’s angry, stinging voice. She struggled into a sitting position and focused on the crowd of Marines parting as Arnley elbowed his way through them.

  The sergeant halted in front of her, his eyes hostile. “What is this?” he growled. “Can’t you even take a nosebleed in a rocket attack?”

  Cathy started to rise, but the Marine officer stepped forward, his voice cool. “The woman keeled over, Sergeant. I suggest you get your own medic over here immediately. Otherwise, I’ll contact your C.O. and we’ll get this problem straightened out pronto.”

  Pulling free of the officer’s grip, Cathy staggered upward and, out of sheer will, stood up and faced Arnley.

  “I’m ready, Sergeant.” Lowering her voice, Cathy turned to the officer and men standing behind her. “Thanks for your help.”

  Pushing past Arnley, Cathy took the stairs at the other end of the bunker. She wanted to cry at the injustice of Arnley’s embarrassing accusations.

  Arnley was on her heels. Once on top and walking out of earshot of the bunker, he growled, “Fremont!” He yanked her around, breathing hard. “You ever pull that stunt again, and I’ll see you out of my team. If you’re hurt, you get your ass to our medic, not another company’s. And who the hell taught you it was all right to leave the trench during an attack? I won’t take this kind of shit from anyone.”

  Cathy stood glaring at him, mouth set. “Get your hand off me!” When he released her she jabbed a finger into his chest. “You sergeants are all alike! You never bother to ask what the circumstance was—you just start accusing and yelling!”

  Cathy steeled herself for a blow that might come. He was no different than the WLF, she thought bitterly.

  He spit to the left, watching her. “All right, Fremont, what happened? Why’d you leave the trench?”

  Her surprise was evident. Cathy expected him to hit her with his balled fist. Instead, he had swallowed some of his acid chauvinism to get the truth of the situation. Trying to steady her raspy voice and between gulps Cathy told him how she had ended up in the bunker.

  “Come with me,” Arnley snarled when she finished her explanation. “Next time, you get your ass over to Crossly if you’re hurt. And keep in mind that your position is to be manned at all times. I don’t give a damn if they blow it out from under you again, you stay in your assigned area. Understand?”

  Yeah, she understood. Cathy followed him, her head pounding with a blinding headache. This was the real war.

  “HEY, EL Gato!” Gomez waved vigorously in her direction.

  Cathy had just finished field stripping her rifle and putting it back together. She struck her head out of her hootch. What now? she wondered. Since their return to the regiment four days ago, life had settled into a continuum of sorts with the team. The morning sun was bright in the clear blue of the Thai sky, almost peaceful looking. “Yeah?”

  “The Cap’n, he wants to see you. Pronto!”

  Frowning, Cathy climbed out of her hootch, picked up her rifle and settled the cap on her head. Jim wanted her? She jogged easily up the hill to where Gomez was standing. The excitement on his round face perplexed her.

  “What’s going down?” she asked.

  He flashed her a big grin, gripping her arm and tugging her along. “He’ll tell you. Hurry, he’s waiting for you with a chopper over at LZ Bravo.”

  Now she was confused. But Gomez, the blithe Latino spirit he was, said nothing more and continued to smile like a Cheshire cat. As they approached the Huey chopper, its blades moving fast, kicking up dust and stinging dirt, Cathy saw Jim Boland standing nearby, waiting for them. Gomez delivered her to the captain and backed away.

  “The Chief of Ban Pua, Krit Pramoj, is an old friend of mine,” Jim explained rapidly. “When I was over here two years ago, he made me a member of his large family. I set up a medical clinic to help the Thais combat parasite problems.” He gripped her arm, leading her toward the Huey marked with a bright Red Cross on its nose.

  “After my men and I left a year ago, the LA destroyed the clinic and killed Krit’s four sons. He has one daughter left, Sirikit. Right now, she’s in a difficult labor with her first child and Krit is frantic. He won’t let the ROKs or British medical people go near her. He’s insisting that I come and help her deliver what Krit hopes will be a male child, so he’ll have a grandson to carry on in his steps.”

  Cathy halted, her mouth dropping open. “Why are you telling me this?”

  He became sober, an unsure look in his eyes as she held hers. “I need you to deliver that baby, Cathy.” He held up his hands. “You have smaller, more delicate hands. I don’t. Sirikit’s built more like a girl than a mature woman. She’s narrow hipped and I’m sure that’s part of the problem. Will you help?”

  She stood in shock, the powerful wash of the blades buffeting her. A hundred questions careened through her. With a nod, she climbed into the Medevac.

  Cathy settled down beside him, the chopper revving up, breaking contact with the earth. The noise was earsplitting and Jim cupped his hands to her ear.

  “You said you delivered three babies, right?” he shouted. The warm, humid wind whipped in the opened door as the chopper lifted high above the series of jungle-covered hills, banking and moving north at a rapid speed.

  Her heart pulsed strongly as she stared at him. Boland was so close, his body wedged next to hers, his hand resting on her shoulder. “Yes. But, Captain—”

  “Call me Jim. This is no time for military formality. Listen to me. I’m going to tell Krit you’re my friend and a medic, and then he’ll permit you to assist in the delivery. Sirikit doesn’t speak English. I’ll be there to translate.”

  Her eyes rounded. “How many babies have you delivered?”

  “Two and they were easy births.”

  “But if this is a complicated birth, she ought to be taken back to the rear to a medical facility. Or have a doctor flown into the village to help her. Jim, I’m not qualified…”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t worry. In the first place, Sirikit would refuse to leave her village. They’re all deathly afraid of flying. My hands are tied, Cathy. I figured if I brought you and your experience, Sirikit would stand a chance of surviving. And so would her baby.”

  Cathy wrung her suddenly sweaty hands, biting down on her lower lip. “My God,” she muttered.

  Jim leaned over. “Here’s the stats—she’s been in labor for sixty-three hours.”

  “That’s a very long time. You said this was her first baby?” Cathy’s heart wouldn’t slow down.

  He nodded. “Her husband was killed by the LA three months ago. Krit doesn’t want to lose Sirikit and the baby.”
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  Shakily, Cathy rubbed her brow and forced all her medical knowledge, which she had tucked away, back to the surface of her memory. “Could it be a breech birth?”

  Jim nodded. “That’s my first guess without examining her.”

  She shot him a helpless look. “Jim, this is way beyond my experience. I might…I might kill her.”

  “She’s dead if we don’t help her.” He held up his hand, positioning it next to her smaller, slender one. “If it is breech, you may have to move that baby around. You’re the one who can do it because of your hand size. Don’t worry, I’ll be right there with you, babe.”

  Cathy groaned and shut her eyes, willing away her panic. All she could feel was the fear of what could go wrong. And then she felt Jim’s fingers capture her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. Cathy opened her eyes and met his gaze.

  “Together,” he promised her. “Like the good team we are.”

  Chapter 11

  THE INSTANT the Medevac landed outside the sprawling Thai village on a tributary of the Mekong River, they were surrounded by smiling, waving children. Cathy had never met any of the Thai people—her life orbited around her hill on Delta and jungle patrols.

  The huts were lumber with palm-thatched roofs, and sat four to six feet off the ground on stilts. They were built up on stilts to protect them from the monsoon flooding of the river. They also offered shelter for the animals that huddled beneath them.

  Cathy saw many fires with hanging pots and women and young girls of all ages who were tending them. The pungent odor of spices blended with onion and garlic. Chickens scattered and squawked in their wake while dogs barked excitedly at the edge of the procession.

  She had little opportunity to look closely at the curious Thais but she and Jim were obviously welcomed. Many of the women were standing and holding their hands in a prayerlike position to greet them. Most of the younger women wore colorful skirts and blouses, while the older ones wore a single wrap of cotton cloth loosely around their bodies.

  Within minutes, they neared a huge, beautifully constructed multiroom house high above the ground on thick teak posts. So many odors, sights and sounds assailed Cathy’s senses. Children, women, colors and warmth…there was life here, Cathy thought, life, happiness, family. Her throat tightened with unexpected emotions.

  Cathy stared up at the impressive house in awe. Jim took her arm and guided her up the stairs and onto the wide platform deck that surrounded the structure. There, she met Krit. He was a shrunken man of indeterminate age who placed his hands together in greeting. Jim handed Cathy the rucksack and greeted Krit similarly. She stood there, amazed at Jim’s ability to speak rapidly and fluently in Thai. Krit’s drawn face lit up briefly as Jim introduced her. Cathy gave Jim a pleading look.

  “Do I bow or what?” she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

  Jim shook his head. “Smile and just be your special, beautiful self.”

  Blushing fiercely, Cathy turned, smiled and gave a slight bow. Krit, in return, gripped her arm and urgently motioned her inside. Cathy heard the soft voices of women inside the second room and someone sobbing for breath. Cathy moved toward the room, realizing it was Sirikit.

  “Cathy?”

  She turned. “Yes?”

  Jim pulled her to a halt just before they entered the room. The headman bowed and left. Jim’s face mirrored his worry. “Sirikit’s mother and her two aunts are in there with her. Are you ready? Krit says warm water and soap are in a basin waiting for us.”

  Her heart beginning a slow pound, Cathy nodded and followed. Cathy saw Sirikit lying on a woven mat, surrounded by three older women who held her hands and lovingly stroked her head.

  Within moments, Jim had the three women retrieving cloth, soap and more hot water. Sirikit’s oval face was bathed in sweat. Jim knelt down, resting his hand against her damp black hair that spread like a halo about her head and spoke quietly to her. Cathy saw the strain of Sirikit’s labor, her eyes sunken and dark, her usually golden skin now little more than a waxen pallor. Cathy was kneeling opposite Jim when he gestured for her to meet Sirikit. The seventeen-year-old girl weakly turned to Cathy, her hand trembling as she reached out to touch her in greeting. Cathy gripped her hand, somehow wanting to tell Sirikit not to give up hope. The Thai’s belly was large and swollen. Cathy rose and quickly rolled up her sleeves, then washed her hands and arms up above her elbows in the warm, soapy water. With Jim’s help, she dried her hands, dusted them with talcum powder and shoved her hands into the surgical gloves that fit above the elbows, as well. He washed up and she repeated the same procedure with him, a strong sense of urgency and camaraderie binding them.

  “She’s so young,” Cathy said quietly.

  “Yes. They marry early and like large families.”

  Cathy’s face grew soft. “She’s little more than a child, Jim. A beautiful child.”

  “I know, babe. But women over here are pretty mature for their age. At least emotionally speaking. Sirikit’s body has yet to catch up to the demands of carrying a baby this early. Ready?”

  She glanced up at him and then at the girl whose face was ravaged with agony. “Yes.”

  Jim took his place at Sirikit’s side, talking soothingly, his one hand resting her shoulder. A look of relief on the girl’s face was evident to Cathy as she knelt by her feet. She waited until Jim explained in detail what she was going to do. He gave her a nod and Cathy slowly began her examination of the Thai girl, being as gentle as possible.

  Sweat dampened Cathy’s brow, her eyes narrowing with anxiety as she saw that the child was lodged in the birth canal and was, indeed, breech.

  “Well?” Jim’s voice was calming.

  “Breech. She’s fully dilated. The baby should have come out of there a long time ago.” Cathy felt perspiration run down her temple and looked over at him. She flicked a glance at the three women who sat obediently nearby, hope burning in their dark, intense eyes.

  “Cord might be wrapped around its neck, preventing it?”

  “Yes. The baby’s feet aren’t pink but they’re not blue yet, either. His oxygen supply is low because he’s been trapped in the canal for so long.”

  Relief shadowed Boland’s gray eyes and he managed a slight smile. “Then we’re still in business.” A bluish tint could have meant the baby was not getting enough oxygen to survive.

  Sirikit moaned, another contraction rippling up through her. She suddenly arched, screaming. Cathy automatically tensed. What could she do? What should be done? A Cesarean? My God, she didn’t have the training for that. Sirikit collapsed, her face glistening and contorted, the contraction passing.

  “Cathy?”

  “The baby’s too big for her.”

  “We can’t C-section it, babe.”

  “I know. Dammit!” She sat there for a few seconds, groping for a way to free the baby. “Jim!”

  “What?”

  Excitedly, she looked at the girl and then at him. “Can you get her up? Into a kneeling position? The downward gravity might help the baby come with the next few contractions. I’m going to pull one of the baby’s feet gently out. And then the other one. With the next contraction and the gravity, he might slide free.”

  “Good idea. Okay, let me explain to them what we want.”

  She felt helpless, unable to communicate with Sirikit. Only through touching her did Cathy feel as if she were in contact with the exhausted mother-to-be. She was courageous, Cathy thought, watching as Jim and the girl’s mother gently brought the girl into a kneeling position. Cathy motioned to the other woman to pull aside the sweat-soaked cloth Sirikit was wearing so that she could monitor the baby closely. Each sob, each gasp of Sirikit went through Cathy like a knife. Cathy leaned down, in contact with the feet of the infant. Carefully, she maneuvered one leg downward and then the other.

  “He’s moving,” she gasped. “Tell her to pant until the next contraction comes and then push. Hard.”

  Jim held the Thai girl, feeling her sag d
eeply into his supporting embrace. He couldn’t tear his attention from Cathy as a glow suffused her cheeks, dampness dotting her features.

  “The baby’s coming…it’s coming…” Cathy whispered excitedly.” Good…good, she’s doing fine…fine…one more. Just one more and it’ll be ours!”

  Sirikit sobbed and pushed, her face frozen in pain.

  Jim clasped her firmly so she wouldn’t slide out of his grip.

  Cathy uttered a small cry of jubilation as the baby slid out into her welcoming hands. “I’ve got him!” she cried. Her joy turned to terror as she realized how securely the cord was wrapped around the infant’s neck. “Jim! He isn’t breathing—my God—”

  Jim laid Sirikit down and went to Cathy’s side immediately.

  “Easy,” he rasped. Gently, he took the baby from her hands. Jim quickly suctioned the mucus from the baby’s nose and mouth.

  “No…” Cathy whispered fiercely. She watched in mounting terror as he began to blow small puffs of air into the baby’s tiny nostrils.

  The small, slippery bundle resting in Jim’s hands moved. A crooked smile of relief shadowed Jim’s features as he returned the baby to Cathy.

  “He’s alive!” Cathy wobbled. As soon as she was sure the infant was breathing, she laid him down and placed clamps along the umbilical cord. Jim handed her a pair of scissors. Quickly, she cut between the clamps so there would not be any bleeding. Cathy swabbed the area afterward with disinfectant and tied it off. Jim knelt nearby, moved by Cathy’s gentle handling of the infant. With a tremulous smile, she raised the infant upward, kissed his wrinkled brow and gently placed him on his mother’s belly.

  “It’s a boy, Sirikit. A beautiful, beautiful baby boy.” She leaned over the Thai girl, her hand trembling as she touched her arm. Jim translated and everyone laughed and smiled and cried with relief.

  Sirikit wept softly, holding her son. As exhausted as she was, Sirikit grasped Cathy’s hand and squeezed it weakly, whispering something in Thai.