“Dammit!” Jackson barked, grabbing another IV. He thrust it across Morgan to Tennison, ordering him to cut off her other sleeve and insert the second IV of saline fluid in her other arm. It would give Morgan twice the amount of fluids as before. It was a desperate rush to stabilize her.
The helo was roaring, shaking and shuddering as it climbed over the twelve-thousand-foot mountain, straining at the highest possible forward speed in the thin air. Jake sat tensely, his eyes never leaving Morgan’s face. Once the IVs were inserted, Jackson, as gently as he could, removed her Kevlar vest. He threw it across the helo, and it landed at Jake’s feet. He pulled the vest next to the weapons at his side.
“Any other wounds?” Jackson demanded of Jake.
“I don’t know,” he said, swallowing hard. “We got separated.” Jackson nodded and with a pair of scissors quickly cut open the front of her shirt. There were no bloodstains on her tan T-shirt. But when Jackson cut the fabric in half and pulled it open, Jake gasped. Morgan had sustained a bullet to her Kevlar. The huge purple bruise appeared below her right breast.
My God, how had she managed to fight on? And she hadn’t let the hit stop her from returning fire. Jake had seen her bring down Khogani. There had been nothing he could have done directly to help Morgan, as he’d been killing the last Taliban soldier coming up at the same time behind her to shoot her in the head.
Jackson, despite his size and his large hands, was gentle as he and Tennison worked to pull off Morgan’s clothing and inspect her back to examine it for bullet exit wounds. They handled her as if she were a fragile, broken doll.
Jake couldn’t believe what he saw as they eased her over just enough to inspect the back of her body. Morgan had sustained a second hit to her Kevlar vest. Another purple bruise just beneath her left shoulder blade stared back at him. Tears jammed into Jake’s eyes as he sat there, realizing what she’d done. Morgan had exposed herself on both flanks, trying to protect him after he’d been wounded and gone down. He’d tried to get up, but his leg had kept buckling beneath him. The Taliban had fired at her repeatedly. The vest had saved her life twice. How could she have continued to fight with two hits to her Kevlar like that?
Jackson pulled a dark green wool blanket across Morgan’s upper body and gently placed each of her arms outside of it. He put the stethoscope to her heart, head bent, listening…listening….
Jake struggled to take a deep breath. He kept praying they’d get enough fluids into Morgan soon enough to stop her heart from cavitating. The monitors hanging on the back of the copilot’s seat showed that her blood pressure was in the basement and her pulse was dropping. She was borderline. Any second, Morgan could go into arrest.
The expression on Jackson’s face was tense as he was patched through to Bagram air base near Kabul. The man wasted no time in telling them to have a surgical team with a gurney waiting for them. He described Morgan’s medical state in stark detail, giving them the stats and ordering an ortho surgeon to be heading up the surgical team because of her broken femur.
Jake’s gaze moved to Morgan’s face. Her lips were slack, her skin translucent, dark purple crescents beneath her closed eyes. Rubbing his face savagely, all Jake could do was wait. He loved Morgan. He loved her so damn much, and she was lying critical on the deck of a Black Hawk. He could do nothing else to help her. Her life was measured by the amount of fluids flowing into her arteries. And her will to live.
He prayed as he’d never prayed before. He’d trade his soul to the devil if Morgan would be allowed to live.
Eventually, Tennison crawled over to him.
“Sir? Will you let me look at your wound?”
“Take care of her,” Jake ground out, glaring up at the young medic.
The combat medic reared back, as if struck. SEALs had a bad reputation out in the field. And most combat medics knew a lesser wounded SEAL would ignore their own injury in favor of another teammate’s more serious wound.
“Tennison, get over here,” Jackson ordered tightly.
Jake looked out the window. There was blue sky. It was morning. He pulled the cover off his watch, his fingers trembling. They’d been in the air for almost an hour.
“ETA to Bagram?” he asked Jackson.
Jackson was checking Morgan’s blood pressure, which had finally stabilized at a very low setting. “Another twenty minutes.”
“What’s her status?”
“Past critical.”
The way Jackson said the word scared Jake even more.
“What’s a woman doing out here?” Tennison asked, turning to Jake.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jake snarled.
“But…you’re a SEAL.”
Jake wanted to scream. Why the hell did it matter at all? Morgan was as close to death as anyone could get without outright dying. “Keep your head in the game,” Jake yelled. He jabbed his index finger down at Morgan. “Focus on her!” Breathing raggedly, Jake almost wanted to get up and put a fist into the kid’s face. He was young. This was probably his first tour in a medevac. Thank God Jackson was here. The older man was fighting every mile to stabilize Morgan against all kinds of odds stacked against her.
“Tennison, strap her in,” Jackson ordered him sharply. “We’ll be landing shortly.”
The aircrew chief nodded slightly to Jake, as if to apologize for the kid’s badly timed questions. Jake drew up his knees and rested his head against his arms, exhausted.
They couldn’t land too soon. Jake breathed a sigh of relief as the Black Hawk landed at the hospital, cutting the engines, the shaking and shuddering slowing down. Jackson unhooked the inter-cabin connection, ordered Tennison to slide the door open on the helo. Jake remained where he was. Four men came forward with a gurney, the blades whipping their green scrubs and hair. It was Jackson who was in charge, and he barked orders at the doctors and nurses who assisted. Together, they gently moved Morgan out of the helo and onto the gurney. In moments, they had her strapped in and were trotting toward the open doors that led directly into the surgery unit.
Jackson leaped back on board, his eyes boring into Jake’s bloodshot gaze. He reached out, gripping the SEAL’s arm, pulling him forward toward the door. All the life, the urgency, bled out of Jake. He looked down to see the huge pool of blood that had leaked out of his duct-taped leg wound. Jackson was strong and guiding. Jake moved slowly, every effort draining him more and more.
As the second gurney was moved to the lip of the open door, Jake hesitated. He grabbed the combat medic’s arm. “Thank you…”
“Any time, sir. Good luck. Godspeed.”
It was the last thing Jake remembered as he fainted from blood loss.
Jake snapped awake in the E.R. A team was prepping him for surgery. An orthopedic surgeon came over.
“I’m Dr. Jonas. I’m going to be operating on Captain Morgan Boland. You were with her, right?”
Jake shook off his dizziness. “Yes, sir, I was.” He saw the surgeon frown. “Why?” His heart sped up with fear.
“Her leg wound is very bad, Lieutenant. I’m probably going to have to amputate it.”
Hissing a curse, Jake willed himself up on his elbows, grabbing the surgeon’s green scrubs. “Like hell, you will! You do whatever you can, Doctor, to save her and her leg!” His glare burned into the doctor’s widening eyes. “Don’t you dare take her leg!” His voice cracked. “Give her a chance! You hear me?” His fingers tightened into the material at the surgeon’s throat. Desperation, grief, soared through him as he saw the ortho surgeon tense.
“Okay, Lieutenant.” He pried Jake’s fingers off his scrubs. “I’ll do what I can.”
Breathing hard, Jake snarled, “You’ll do better than that. I’ll hunt you down if you don’t save her leg.”
The surgeon scowled. “At ease, Lieutenant. You’re wounded and you’re going into surgery here in a few minutes yourself.”
There was anger in the surgeon’s eyes, and, somehow, Jake didn’t feel he could trust him. Maybe it was hi
s own weakness that caused this paranoia, but he had to do something. When the surgeon left, Jake struggled off the gurney, much to the chagrin of the nurse who was trying to help him.
“Get me to a phone,” he growled, drilling a hard look into her eyes. “Now.” He pulled the IV out of his arm, dropping it on the gurney.
The nurse nodded. “Come with me, sir.” She led him to an office just off of E.R. Opening the door, she pointed to a phone on a desk. “Do me a favor? Once you finish your call, come back to the cubical so I can prep you for surgery?”
“I will,” Jake grunted, limping heavily. He ignored the pain, closed the door and went to the desk. Grabbing the landline, he called General Maya Stevenson at the Pentagon. Jake was going to move heaven and hell to get Morgan’s leg saved. If anyone could help, he knew the General would.
Jake jerked awake. He sat straight up, gasping for breath. Looking around, his heart pounding, he realized he was in a drug haze. He was in a private room. Perspiration rolled off him, dampening the material of his blue hospital gown.
The walls were washed light green. There was a window with venetian blinds across it near his bed. The beeps and sighs of monitoring equipment finally caught his attention. A dark-haired, brown-eyed nurse in dark green fatigues quietly entered his room.
“You’re at Bagram air base, Lieutenant Ramsey. How are you feeling?”
Jake swallowed, his throat hurting. “Where’s Morgan? How is she?” he demanded, his voice hoarse.
The nurse stopped and pulled his chart from the bottom of his bed. “Captain Morgan Boland?”
“Yes.” His heart started to pound; his head ached like hell.
“She’s still in surgery, sir.” And then she gave him a sympathetic look. “You passed out from blood loss in the E.R. shortly after you got done with your phone call. Dr. Thornton, your surgeon, repaired your right calf. You’re going to be fine.”
His emotions roared through him. “How long has Morgan been in surgery? Did they save her leg?”
The nurse checked the IV and said, “Seven hours, now. And I don’t know about her leg.”
Closing his eyes, Jake felt anxiety. “I need to see her, then.” Had his call to General Stevenson worked? Panicked, he hoped she’d been able to get to the right people here at Bagram in time.
“That’s impossible, Lieutenant. I’m sorry.”
“I need to be with her. Even if it’s the damn lounge on the surgery floor. Get me up there.” Her cheeks colored at the hostile tone in his voice.
“I’ll ask Dr. Thornton.”
“Screw all of you,” Jake growled, throwing off the covers. He saw his lower right leg bandaged. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he quickly pulled the IV out of his arm and dropped it on the bed
“Lieutenant! You can’t do that! You can’t take out your IV! It has morphine in it to stop your pain.”
“SEALs deal with pain all the time. Where are my clothes?” Jake demanded, standing in the light blue gown that hung to his knees. The pain in his heart wasn’t something he could combat, his love for Morgan transcending any physical pain he might have. Someone had washed him, all the dirt and grime gone. The nurse started to panic.
“I, uh…I have to get the doctor!” She ran out of the room.
Muttering a curse, Jake limped unsteadily over to the closet. Jerking open the door, he found a clean pair of desert cammies in there. His dirty boots were on the floor beneath them, still bloody. Morgan’s blood. His blood. He grabbed the gear and headed to the bathroom, urgency pushing him to get to her side. He worried they’d amputated her leg.
By the time Dr. Thornton arrived, Jake was sitting on the chair, lacing up his second boot. The doctor was in his forties and pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up on his dark hair. “Lieutenant Ramsey? You in a hurry?”
Jake noticed the young nurse peeking out from behind the tall doctor. “Either you tell me what floor surgery is on and which surgery theater Captain Morgan Boland is in, or I’ll go find her myself.”
He smiled a little. “Nurse, get Lieutenant Ramsey a wheelchair? We don’t want him opening up that bullet wound that I just worked so hard to close for him.”
Jake met the man’s dark blue eyes. “Thanks, Doc.”
“She was your partner?” Thornton guessed.
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded, pursing his lips. “Just to warn you, there’s FBI and CIA crawling all over that surgery floor. They’re telling everyone they cannot discuss the fact a woman in combat gear, wounded in a firefight, is here at our hospital.”
Jake stood, feeling pain drift up his leg. “That’s right,” he ground out. “It’s top secret.”
The nurse brought in a wheelchair. Thornton thanked her, dismissed her and brought it over to Jake. “Lieutenant, I’ll take you up there. Normally, I wouldn’t do this, but we’ll go up to the observation room in that surgery theater. That’s as close as you can get to her. Fair enough?”
Grateful, Jake nodded. He didn’t trust his voice. He felt as if he was going to cry. Fighting the urge, he sat down. Without a word, Thornton turned the wheelchair around. The nurse opened the door and he pushed Jake out into the long, busy hallway.
Jake’s heart started to pound hard as Thornton eased the wheelchair into the observation room above the surgery theater. A lump formed in his throat. Below, he could see Morgan, her bright red hair against the white cradle where her head rested.
She was on oxygen, an anesthesiologist monitoring her functions. Her body was draped in blankets and sheets. There was a medical team of ten people around her. Anxiously, his gaze moved to her thigh. Relief showered through Jake. Morgan still had her leg! No longer was the bone sticking out.
Tears stung Jake’s eyes, and he fought them back down deep inside himself. General Stevenson had reached out and made sure the surgeon wouldn’t amputate Morgan’s leg. He was grateful to the woman.
“What’s happened while I was unconscious?” he demanded of Thornton, who stood behind him. “I’m a combat medic for my SEAL platoon, so can you give me her medical lowdown?”
“She coded two hours ago, Lieutenant Ramsey.”
Jake’s breath jammed in his throat. That meant Morgan’s heart had stopped beating. He stared at her, desperation mounting in his chest.
“They worked hard to bring her back,” Thornton quietly assured him. “She’d lost nearly three pints of blood. No one really knew just how much blood she’d initially lost. They’ve been replenishing her blood type ever since then.”
“And now?” Jake croaked, leaning forward, unable to tear his gaze from her.
“Stable.” Thornton patted his shoulder. “She’s going to make it, Lieutenant. We weren’t so sure two hours ago, but we are now. Jackson, the aircrew chief on your medevac, really saved her life. I don’t know if you knew this, but he’s an 18 Delta combat medic. The best we have. He used two IVs to replace missing blood. If he hadn’t…”
“What’s going on now?” Jake demanded, his voice strangled with emotion.
“Cleanup. There are probably twenty or so bone splinters and fragments they have to find and then remove before they can close her up. She’s lost about thirty percent of her femur, but with time, physical therapy, the bone will grow back. Tomorrow, you’ll both be on a C-5 flight to Landstuhl medical center in Germany. She’ll undergo further surgery there. We’ve saved her leg, but there’s a lot more to be done and they have the facility to do it. We don’t.” The surgeon’s voice dropped. “She’ll never be able to do what she did today again, Lieutenant Ramsey.”
Leaning back, Jake felt utterly exhausted. He closed his eyes, gripping the wheelchair arms, his knuckles whitened as he tried to keep his emotions in check. Morgan would live! And her leg had been saved! He didn’t give a damn if she ever saw combat again. He loved her. He wanted her safe, dammit. And as far away from Afghanistan as he could get her.
“Listen,” Thornton said, breaking the silence, “I need to place a call to Jim and Cathy Boland. They
know their daughter was wounded, but they don’t know if she is going to live or die. Would you like to speak to them instead? I think you’re a lot more involved with Captain Boland than most people would guess.”
Jake opened his eyes. He twisted a look up at the doctor, who smiled slightly. “Yes, I would like to talk to them. I’m sure they’re worried sick.” He wanted to personally reassure them.
“I’ll take you down to my office so you can call them.”
Morgan was going to make it. Jake felt like a dying man who had been granted a new lease on life. With a deep, uneven breath, he muttered, “Yes, let’s go.”
The doctor smiled and turned the wheelchair around. “You SEALs are something else. You know that?”
“SEALs stick together,” Jake muttered defiantly. “They’re our family…. We leave no one behind….” And he’d have willingly given his life for Morgan’s. In a firefight, they were an unbreakable, unstoppable team. And they would always take care of their own, no matter the life-and-death consequences. All that mattered was that Morgan was going to make it. Oh, God, thank you…for everything….
Jake tried to compose himself in the doctor’s office. Thornton had left him alone so he could make the call to Morgan’s parents. He stared at the black telephone, the number for the Bolands before him. Never having met them, he tried to think what he was going to say. He knew Jim and Cathy Boland had been in the military, been in combat. Cathy Boland had nearly died in a firefight, if not for Jim coming to rescue her in time to save her life.
As he rubbed his face tiredly, Jake felt exhaustion so deep he could barely think beyond his wildly fluctuating emotions. Thornton had told him that the Marine Corps had called her parents to say she’d been gravely wounded in combat, but nothing else.
Jake took a deep breath and dialed the number. It would be seven in the morning at the Boland household. The phone rang. Jake’s fingers tightened around the receiver, his eyes closed, trying to steady his emotions.
Down Range (Mills & Boon M&B) (Shadow Warriors - Book 2) Page 18
