Applause rose around the table. Sam joined in. There were smiles of delight on every face as Kerry began to ask names and write them on the cups. Sam got into the act by pouring fresh coffee and passing it out to her team. Within minutes, she felt a camaraderie that made her heart swell with pride. Kerry was the epitome of compassion as far as Sam was concerned. She was kind, thoughtful and sensitive—just the sort of person Sam wanted to work with.
As Sam stood there near the stove and watched her team eagerly drink their coffee and chat with the amiable Kerry Chelton, she felt a strong trickle of hope. She also felt pride that the people of area 5, despite all the devastation, could go to this kind of trouble to try and make her and her team feel welcome. Even in hell there was kindness, she was discovering.
All her enthusiasm and good feelings plunged, however, when the tent flap opened and Captain Gunnison came in, standing to the side to allow his grim-faced men to enter. Grayson was the last to come in, zipping the door shut behind him.
At once the energy of the place changed dramatically, making Sam sigh inwardly.
Grayson did the talking, explaining how things worked to the Recon team. When Gunnison looked up, he settled his gaze briefly on Sam. Her hands tightened around her mug as their eyes met.
“Your supplies are off-loaded, safe and sound,” he told her gruffly, heading with Grayson toward the coffee dispenser.
“Good. Thank you, Captain.” Sam cringed inwardly. Her voice was clipped and distant, and hearing it, her entire team lifted their heads as if in unison, collective surprise written on their faces. She sounded so…hard. They never saw this side of her.
Scowling, Sam sipped the scalding coffee, almost burning her tongue. Damn. At all costs, she had to cover up her dislike of Gunnison. But it wasn’t going to be easy…
Chapter 4
February 3: 0730
An hour later, Roc sat across the table from Sam. He’d sent his team to go set up their logistics center, and Sam had given Lieutenant Lin Shan orders to oversee the setting up of a makeshift medevac tent facility here at the landing zone. Kerry and Lieutenant Grayson had gone also, to provide expertise and information.
Sam was antsy and refused to look directly at Gunnison as he spread out a terrain map between them on the rough surface of the picnic table. One naked lightbulb hung over the table to provide illumination, but the sun was shining on the canvas wall, making the space brighter.
“Maybe we need to have a heart-to-heart talk, Doctor,” Roc began, in a low tone no one passing near the tent could hear. Roc was well aware that tents didn’t have solid walls. Voices carried very well to sentries posted outside, or to people walking by. And he didn’t want what he had to say to her overheard by anyone.
Sam lifted her chin. She met and held the captain’s hard, merciless blue eyes. Her stomach felt as if a massive hand had grabbed it and was squeezing painfully. “Look,” she said, holding up her hands, “I was out of line earlier. I owe you an apology, okay? It won’t happen again.”
Furrowing his forehead with a frown, Roc stared at her. He was mesmerized by her long, lean hands. They were the hands of a healer. Hands, he realized obliquely, that he’d like to have graze his flesh. Would her touch be as tender, as warm as he imagined? Disconcerted by his errant thoughts, which had nothing to do with the business at hand, he quirked his mouth.
“You were probably just upset by what you saw out the chopper window,” he said reasonably.
Sitting back, Sam digested his comment. He looked dark, almost threatening, with deep shadows thrown across his impassive features by the light overhead. Gunnison had discarded his helmet and pack and sat in his desert camouflage utilities, his tan web belt around his waist, a pistol at his side. There was nothing tame or polite about him, Sam decided. He was dangerous. In all ways. To her.
Moistening her lips, she said in a low voice, “You’re right, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. I had no idea….” She shrugged helplessly. “My world has been confined to nice, clean hospitals.”
He managed a sour smile. “Yeah, that’s what I figured by the look on your face up there.”
Placing her hands on the map, Sam nodded. “I didn’t know what to expect. Not what I saw, that’s for sure.” Still on guard, because she didn’t trust Gunnison due to their explosive and vitriolic past, she searched his face. There was a slight thawing in his blue eyes as he sat there, his broad shoulders thrown back, his chin lifted with a steel-clad assurance that made her wonder if he’d ever made mistakes in his life. That’s what Sam didn’t like about him—his arrogance and implacable confidence.
“I saw this level of suffering over in Somalia. Then Kosovo,” he answered, opening his hand as he looked down at the map before him.
“You don’t seem affected by it.” Sam cringed inwardly. There was censure in her voice. When he looked up at her, his eyes had narrowed.
“We have responsibilities, Doctor. Duties. I can’t sit out there like a baby and cry for the world. People suffer. They die. I’d like to think that we can play a key part in stopping that from happening. Don’t you?”
Stung by his simple black-and-white perspective, his frank comment, Sam gritted her teeth. “Anyone ever accuse you of being a burr under someone’s saddle?”
A lazy grin stretched across his mouth. “Now and then. Like six months ago, maybe?” He saw her green eyes flash with anger, and watched her lift her head to an imperious angle. “You think I’ve forgotten our introduction to one another?”
“No. And neither have I.” Sam gripped her hands together until her fingertips whitened. She didn’t like his grin; it said he wasn’t really taking her seriously.
“I can tell,” he answered dryly. “You won that round, though. You should be feeling pretty cocky at this point.”
Nostrils flaring, Sam leaned forward, her voice brittle with tension. “Captain, I don’t see anything as a win or a loss in my E.R. I just didn’t like having to face down a belligerent know-it-all like you.”
“Out in public, even,” he replied smoothly. Roc saw her cheeks burn a rose color. It made her narrowed green eyes even more beautiful. Her thick hair tumbled across her shoulders as she leaned forward. Hair he wanted to touch, to slide his fingers through to find out if it felt as soft and sensuous as he thought it might.
“You were the one who made that happen,” she whispered harshly, her voice shaking.
“I don’t take no for an answer, Doctor. Especially when it involves one of my men.”
“When your man came in, our E.R. was full of a lot of other cases that were a helluva lot more life threatening than his. That was what you didn’t want to hear.”
Shrugging, Roc studied her tight features and flashing eyes. “Yeah, you made that clear, too. But he was bleeding.”
“You’re a paramedic. You know that direct pressure on that leg wound of his would have sufficed under the circumstances.”
“I knew that,” he agreed mildly. She looked absolutely beautiful when she was angry. “But he was my responsibility. A part of my team.”
“You know what?” Sam whispered hotly. “You’re a mother hen. You protect your own. To hell with anyone else who might need help—your people come first. I know your type, Captain. Well, that doesn’t wash in my E.R. Not now, not in the future.” Sam jabbed a finger down at the map. “Tomorrow we’ll be out in the field, and I’m sure we’ll be doing medical work wherever we go. You’re under my command out there, and I hope you realize that. I won’t stand for you questioning my authority like you did in my E.R.”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” He smiled slightly.
She reared back and glared at him. “You think this is some kind of joke, don’t you?”
“No. I just need to know where you’re coming from, that’s all, Doctor. My first responsibility is to make sure your team is protected by me and my men. After we get a perimeter defense set up, if you want my help as a paramedic in your makeshift clinic, I’ll be happy t
o assist you and take direction. I can push an IV just as quickly and efficiently as anyone else on your team.”
She disliked his smug attitude. But at least he wasn’t smiling now; he was serious. Some of her anger dissolved. “Yes, I am concerned about your manners, Captain, if you want the truth. I don’t want to be out there in the field, under the pressure I know that’s coming, and then have to arm wrestle you because you think you know what’s best.”
Shifting his hands, Roc said gently, “Ramp down, good doctor. I’m not your enemy. I’m here to support you in any way I can so long as I get my responsibilities taken care of first. After that, I’m all yours as a paramedic. I see myself as an addendum to your team. I’ll take orders from you without questioning or challenging them. Okay?” He searched her widening eyes. Roc saw the wariness in Sam’s face, saw her waffling over his sincerely spoken words.
“You mean that?” There was a tremor in Sam’s voice. This man just reached inside her and got to her. How did he do that? He was so damned overconfident. She wanted to dislike him, but right now the persuasive tone in his voice was like cooling balm to the fiery anger she felt. For the first time, Sam was seeing the captain’s ability to persuade or dissuade. She began to understand why his men idolized him. He was very good at manipulating them with his voice, his expression. He was not the dummy she’d first taken him to be, she realized, measuring Gunnison with her gaze.
“Of course I do. We’re on the same side. At least we were the last time I looked. You’re navy, I’m marine, but we work together, right? We’re not enemies.” Roc pointed toward the zippered door to the tent. “Our real enemy, the Diablo gang, is out there. Our other enemy is the epidemic. We’ve got our hands full, Doctor. I don’t need to fight with you, on a third front, do I?”
“Unless one of your men gets injured,” Sam growled.
Chuckling, Roc smiled at her. “Guilty as charged. I’ll give them orders to stay clear of injuries, okay? That way, we’ll have our agreed-upon truce in place and we can each do what we do best, without interference from each other.”
Sam couldn’t return his smile, but grudgingly agreed. “Yeah…okay…”
“I think you’re a little shook, is all,” he added gently. “Give yourself some breathing space on this mission. This is an ugly situation, no two ways about it. We’re hemmed in with danger from Diablo. They can strike unexpectedly, so we have to keep our guard up all the time. You have to focus on your medical efforts to help the people. I’ll do everything in my power to keep you all safe, so don’t let that be a worry to you. Recons are good at what we do. Frankly, I’d like to get my hands on the leader of Diablo. Nothing would make me happier.”
Sam sighed audibly and relaxed her shoulders. “Okay, Captain Gunnison, truce. I need one. You’re right, I’m shocked by what I’ve seen. I haven’t been in third world countries like you and I know this situation is gonna hit me hard.”
“It will be worse out there,” Roc warned her gravely. “These are our people, Doctor. This is our country. Our kids are the ones suffering and dying.” He leveled a stare at her. “This isn’t going to be easy. You’re going to be in a triage situation all the time, with very little wiggle room to do anything for those who are going to die, anyway. What do you tell the parents? They’re going to be distraught. They’ll be angry and in your face because you put their child aside for another who might make it with aggressive medical intervention. I’d say you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“You’re right,” Sam whispered. “It’s bothering me already….”
Rubbing his jaw, Roc saw the last of the anger dissolve from her eyes. “Want some advice?”
She looked at him and nodded. “Yeah. Voice of experience?”
“You could say that. In Somalia, the kids always got to me. They’re cute little ragamuffins with huge eyes and bright, hopeful smiles. They followed us around like excited puppies. And they were starving. They were full of worms and parasites. They were gaunt. Yet just giving them a hug, a piece of candy, a smile, made them happy. The advice is—do what you can and you have to be satisfied. You cry in private.”
Sam found it tough to believe that Roc Gunnison had a heart, but as she sat there, their knees nearly touching beneath the table, she heard the undisguised warmth in his baritone voice and saw his eyes thaw with fond memories. Maybe he wasn’t the ogre she’d met in E.R., after all. He was complex, Sam decided, and right now, she had to focus on the mission—not him. Still, there was a part of her that was intrigued, and she wanted to know more about the man who wore that Marine Corps uniform. The realization surprised her.
“Okay, I hear you.”
“Let’s look at this map, shall we? I’ll help you piece together what you saw from the air a little while ago, and we’ll discuss some possible sites that we should look at.”
Nodding, Sam said, “Yeah, I’d appreciate that. Reading maps is not my thing. I know it’s yours.”
“Map and compass work,” Roc agreed with a slight smile.
Meeting his gaze, Sam felt hope. Maybe this would work, after all….
February 3: 0930
Sam hadn’t realized two hours had flown by. She’d been so focused on Gunnison’s terrain evaluations she’d lost track of time. It was only when Lieutenant Shan came into the tent that Sam realized how long they’d been working.
“Doctor, we’ve got several tents set up over here.” She gestured with her right hand. “Word’s gotten out that a medical team is here, and already about thirty families are waiting in line with sick kids or elderly that need immediate medical help. Do you want to come and show us what we should do?”
Sam was on her feet in an instant. “Yes, Lin.” She looked at Gunnison who was studying her through half-closed eyes. His gaze sent a shiver through her; and the feeling wasn’t a bad one. Unable to stay and thoroughly analyze that sensation, Sam grabbed her dark blue knit cap and settled it on her head.
“Put your flak jacket on, Doctor,” Gunnison drawled, pointing to the dark blue flak jacket hanging on a hook behind her. “You go nowhere without it on. Just get used to wearing it, like the good friend it is.”
Frowning, Sam nodded. “Yeah…thanks.” She threw it on, grabbed her dark blue navy pea coat made of thick, warm wool, and her baseball cap, then followed Lin out of the tent.
The sun was bright. The temperature at 0930 was in the low fifties, the wind brisk and chilling. Looking around the small tent city, Sam could see a line of people waiting patiently near the medical tents that had just been put up.
“What’s the mood of the people?” Sam asked as she shortened her stride to match her nurse’s.
“Desperate,” Lin said sadly. “There are a lot of kids. Many babies.”
“You got the IVs set up?”
“Yes, we do. Jonesy has ten IV carts set up. We’re as ready as we can be.”
“Okay…good.”
“I put Ernie on the admissions desk.”
“Excellent.”
“She’s not happy about that.”
“I don’t imagine she is, but we need someone bilingual on the desk because we need these people’s names, addresses and so on.”
“Even if their house is rubble?”
“Yes.” Sam’s heartbeat picked up as they approached. She tried to abort the emotions that hit her. These people, Americans, looked like gaunt prisoners from some foreign country. Their clothes were dirty, unkempt, their faces filled with desperation. Many of the fathers held sick children in their arms, wrapped in blankets to keep them warm. The faces of the mothers mirrored the same anxiety.
Swallowing hard, Sam glanced down at the lieutenant. “This is not going to be easy, Lin.”
“No kidding. My heart’s breaking already, Doctor.”
“Yeah…” Sam stepped into the main tent. Ernie sat at a “desk” that was really several wooden fruit crates placed next to each other. She had her admissions forms and pen in hand. There was a heater spewing out warm air, b
ut because one side of the tent was open, it didn’t do much good. Still, it was better than nothing. Sam checked on Jonesy, who had ten metal chairs set up in a row with an IV drip next to each. They were going to need a lot of intravenous fluids to replace lost electrolytes in the children who had dysentery or diarrhea from drinking bad water. Without fluid replacement, an infant could die within a day. Sam felt an urgency thrumming through her as she took off her dark blue jacket and pulled on the white lab coat Lin handed to her. Wrapping her stethoscope around her neck, Sam looked over at her people.
“Okay, let’s roll. Ernie, start admittance procedures. We’re good to go….”
February 3: 2300
Roc looked at his watch. It was 2300—11:00 p.m. He huddled deeper in his jacket against the evening chill. For once the flak vest, always a pain to wear because of the way it chafed his flesh, was doing some good; it was keeping him warm. Leaving the HQ tent, he ambled toward the medical complex, where an ever-growing line of people waited. Kerry had told him midday that word was flying like wildfire around the area that a medical team had arrived, and people were walking miles with sick infants and children, hoping to get the urgent medical care they needed.
In his hand Roc had a thermos of hot, fresh coffee and two cups. He’d been busy all day working with Lieutenant Grayson, plotting and planning strategy in order to understand the dynamics of Diablo. Grayson had direct experience with them, and Gunnison needed his valuable input. He liked the young officer a lot. Grayson was thorough, quick and knowledgeable.
The garish lights around the tent complex threw deep shadows across the dusty, chewed up asphalt under Roc’s black military boots. With his M-16 rifle slung over his left shoulder, Roc was careful where he stepped on the uneven ground. There was no such thing as “safe” around here. Not with Diablo roaming the area. The gang was unpredictable, a loose cannon. Two days earlier, they’d attacked the military complex, but had been thrown back by Grayson’s team in a brief, vicious firefight. The tent city was growing and held a lot of supplies. It was obvious the gang members were testing the camp’s defenses to see if they could break in and get the goods. They hadn’t managed to, but their attempt served as a warning that no place was safe.
Protecting His Own Page 5
