Mulling over potential strategies and scenarios, Roc headed toward the main tent. He hadn’t seen Dr. Andrews since morning. Kerry Chelton had come to him at 2100 and mentioned that the medical team was still working nonstop. They hadn’t eaten all day. Was Samantha Andrews a workaholic? he wondered. Did she drive her people into exhaustion? Of course, looking at the line of people, the desperation clearly written on their dirty faces, Roc understood why the doctor would do just that. He would, too.
Ducking into the main tent, Roc halted and took a look around. The place was filled with noise and mayhem. Children were screaming and crying. One mother was trying to soothe her toddler as a medic put an IV into his tiny arm. Roc knew that hurt. Another mom knelt by her upset child, trying to soothe and quiet her. Several elderly folks, wrapped in blankets given out by the medical team to try and keep them warm in the dropping temperature, sat quietly, their eyes closed.
Roc spotted Sam across the tent, bent over an infant on a makeshift table. The Hispanic parents, both young and anxious looking, hovered on either side of her. Sam’s face was bleached out and exhausted looking. She was placing the stethoscope on the infant’s chest. The child couldn’t be more than three months old. Grimly, Roc headed toward them.
Sam didn’t know Spanish. She listened to the young parents, both in tears, as they rattled along in that language, but she didn’t know what they were saying. Even more frustrating, she could barely pick up a heartbeat on the infant. Wanting to call Ernie over, but knowing she was deluged by people trying to get on the admissions list, Sam took a deep breath. She couldn’t ask her to just get up, leave her job and come over. What was she going to do?
“Doc? You look like you could use an interpreter.”
Swinging her head to the right, she stared in surprise. Captain Roc Gunnison stood there, larger than life, smiling down at her. He held a thermos and two cups in his hands. Hot coffee? she wondered numbly.
“Uh…yes. Do you know Spanish?”
“I do.” Setting down the thermos, Roc turned to the parents and began asking them about their infant.
Once again Sam gently felt for the baby’s pulse. It was weak and fluttering. Still, hope flowed through her, along with gratitude as Roc stood at her side. He was fluent in Spanish, she realized. She saw the relieved looks on the parents’ faces as he talked with them. They eagerly responded.
Roc turned and smiled at her. “The baby’s name is Eduardo. He’s three months old. His mother, Maria,” he continued, gesturing toward the woman, “ran out of breast milk because there’s not enough water to drink to produce milk.”
“Oh…” Sam said. “That’s good news. Then all these symptoms are about dehydration and not something worse.”
“Right on, good doctor.” Roc eyed her closely, noting the shadows in her eyes. It was obvious she cared deeply. She kept her hands around the baby, helping to keep it warm beneath the new, soft pink blanket that had been given to the parents earlier. “I think an IV of Ringer’s solution would be just the thing for this little one.”
“You’re right,” Sam said. She smiled at the parents.
“I’ll take the baby over to Jonesy for the IV,” Roc announced calmly. “You sit here and take a break. There’s hot, fresh coffee in this thermos. Pour yourself a cup.”
Before she could respond, Roc scooped up the infant as if he’d been a father all his life, placing the baby in the crook of one massive arm. He told the parents in Spanish to follow him. The looks of relief shining in their eyes made Sam feel good.
As she sat down on the table, cup of coffee in hand, she watched Gunnison hand Jonesy the infant. The captain surprised her. She’d never expected him to show up over here. Nor had she expected his thoughtfulness in bringing her or her team hot coffee. Damn, but the man was complex. Gratefully sipping the coffee, Sam sighed and shut her eyes. She realized she was tired and running out of stamina. Her normally tireless crew needed to rest, too, she knew. They’d been working for hours.
And yet, as she looked out the open tent flap, she saw at least forty more people standing in line. How could she tell them to go away? That she and her crew needed sleep? Sam was torn. Her mind was stretched and strained from grueling hours of work in a cold environment. What she’d give for a hot shower! And then she felt guilty because these people—Americans one and all—had no hope of such a luxury. She would feel guilty showering over in Kerry’s tent. Sam knew she would.
Roc came back to where Sam was sitting on the table. Stopping near her left shoulder, he turned and faced her, his back to the awaiting crowd.
“How are you doing, Doc?”
“Better, now.”
“Like my prescription?” he asked with a grin as he gestured to the coffee cup she held.
Shaking her head, she muttered, “I don’t know about you, Captain. You’re one surprise after another.”
“Not all bad, I hope?”
Sipping the coffee, Sam didn’t answer. Her gaze went past him to the crowd. “I don’t know what to do.”
Roc nodded. “Yeah, I know. I knew this would catch you off guard. They won’t go away. They’ll stay here all night.”
With a grimace, Sam whispered, “I’ve got to call Morgan Trayhern. He’s got to get a relief medical team in here. How can we leave them?”
“I’ve already put in a call to him on this,” Roc told her quietly. He saw the surprise in her expression. “You were busy. Kerry said you were overwhelmed in here. I made the call on your behalf.”
Sam should have been angry at his going over her head, but under the circumstances, she was grateful. “That’s okay. What did Morgan say?”
Roc shook his head and scowled. “He’s working on it. There’s a lot of civilian doctors volunteering. The problem is getting medical stations set up so we can bring them in. A doc is no good without medical supplies, so we can’t get the cart before the horse. You know how overworked the navy people are at the Camp Reed hospital.”
“Too well. We’ve been working sixteen hours a day, nonstop, taking time only to grab some food and sleep, and we’re back at it. And we’ve been getting some relief from civilian volunteer doctors. The problem is these civilian docs aren’t familiar with the way the medical military works, so it’s a sharp learning curve.”
“Exactly. Morgan says he can’t spare anyone else. But—” Roc smiled down at her “—he’s working on another angle. He’s in touch with the San Diego Naval Hospital, and he thinks he can get a Super Stallion crew to fly up another four-person medical team, with even more medical supplies for us, more IVs. It could be as soon as tomorrow if all goes according to his plans.”
“Wonderful!” Sam whispered, her voice suddenly wobbly.
“Morgan Trayhern is a magician,” Roc said, admiration in his voice. He saw the sudden glistening of unshed tears in Sam’s eyes. More than likely they were tears of relief. “He’s doing everything he can for us under the circumstances.”
Looking down at her coffee cup, Sam choked back her tears. Somehow, just having Roc Gunnison at her shoulder, his tall form shading her from the glaring lightbulbs strung across the tent ceiling, above them, made her feel better. He inspired her with his ingenuity and his grasp of the situation.
“Yes…he is,” she murmured. “And I’m grateful you called him, Captain. Thank you.”
His grin widened. “You mean you aren’t going to go toe-to-toe with me on breaking chain-of-command and stepping onto your turf over this?”
At his gentle teasing, Sam pursed her lips wryly. “No, I’m not.”
Pressing his hand over his chest, Roc said, “My heart be still. The truce really is working—so far.”
“Don’t let it go to your head, cowboy,” Sam said, her lips finally twisting in a smile. Roc deserved a pat on the back for his creative problem solving. Sam was wary, though; if she gave him an inch, would he take a mile? She was afraid he’d take over and that wasn’t about to happen.
Chastised, he lost his smile. “I wo
n’t, don’t worry, Doctor.” Roc looked at his watch. “Want more advice?”
“Yeah, give it to me,” Sam said, finishing the coffee with relish.
“Close up shop. I’ll order Lieutenant Grayson to give these people our supply of blankets, and have them sign their names on a roster so that they don’t lose their place in line. I’ll have him instruct them to come back at 0800 tomorrow morning.”
“Sounds good,” Sam whispered. “My team is wrung out. We’re all used up for today.”
“Yeah, and you haven’t seen anything yet,” Roc warned her gravely.
Chapter 5
February 4: 0530
“Roc?” Kerry Chelton called as she approached him outside his tent the next morning. It was barely dawn, but the line of light on the eastern horizon promised better things in an hour or two, she hoped. Just in case it didn’t warm up, Kerry was bundled up, a wool muffler wrapped warmly around her neck and chin. Her hands were buried deep in the pockets of the marine jacket Lieutenant Grayson had given her.
Roc had just finished giving his sergeant orders to get the team ready for a three-mile march to the first potential medevac site north of the landing zone. “’Morning, Kerry,” he said, turning to her.
She smiled up at him. “Ah, I see. ‘Morning’ instead of ‘good morning.’ You’re just like Quinn.”
Grinning lopsidedly, Roc adjusted his flak vest and pulled his heavy jacket closed over it. “I’m a realist,” he corrected. “I’ll wait to see what the day brings.”
“Quinn said it was quiet last night. So that’s good.”
“Yes.”
“Listen, Dr. Andrews doesn’t seem to be up and moving around yet. I was wondering if I should go over to her tent or—”
“No, I’ll do it.” Roc wondered why the hell he’d said that.
Kerry’s eyes grew merry. “Considering how you two don’t seem to be getting along, I was willing to do the duty. I think she worked too hard yesterday and needs the sleep. I gave her an alarm clock. She probably slept through it.” Looking at her watch, Kerry added, “And Quinn said you wanted to be out of here within thirty minutes.”
“Well,” Roc murmured, slinging his M-16 across his left shoulder, “that isn’t going to happen if the doc isn’t up yet.”
“No, I don’t think so. I do have a suggestion….”
Roc appreciated Kerry’s unobtrusive style of handling a delicate situation. “I’m all ears.”
Motioning to the chow tent, she said, “I’ll betcha a hot cup of coffee under her nose will wake her up.”
“I can learn a lot from you, Kerry. Stick around.” He nodded his thanks and headed off for the chow tent.
The February morning was quite chilly. Looking to the right, Roc could see his team assembling outside the HQ tent. They’d already eaten and were ready to saddle up. Looking to his left, toward where the doctor’s tent sat at the end of a row of similar structures, Roc felt his heart melt a little.
Judging from Sam’s face last night, she’d worked way too long yesterday. Roc understood why. Going to the chow tent, he got a cup of coffee in a chipped white ceramic mug and headed to her tent. At the entrance, he called her name. “Dr. Andrews?”
No answer.
“Sam? You awake in there?”
No answer.
Setting the cup down near his boot, Roc unzipped the tent opening. Picking up the cup once more, he slipped inside. When he’d allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimness, he saw a cot on the left side of the space, with a bundle of covers over a scrunched-up body. An unwilling grin pulled at his mouth. Setting his rifle down, he zipped the tent back up to stop the warm air generated by the electrical heater from escaping.
There was a lightbulb overhead and he switched it on. The naked glare illuminated the cozy space. Roc turned and saw a mass of unruly red hair sticking out from the covers. She’d pulled the thick wool blankets across her face to keep warm. Something tugged at his heart again as he moved toward Sam.
There was something childlike in the way Sam was sleeping on her side, that topknot of red hair in stark contrast to the marine-green blankets covering her. Leaning over, Roc placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a firm, gentle shake. “Sam? Hey, wake up.”
She groaned.
Smiling, he lifted his hand away and stood there watching her move slowly. Though the covers had been pulled away from her face, her eyes were still closed. Roc hadn’t realized how thick and long her lashes were until just now. He stood above her, his hands resting on his hips. She had a sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and nose that made her look more like a schoolgirl than a mature woman. Fighting a desire to lean over and caress that soft cheek to see if it really felt like smooth velvet, Roc simply stood there, absorbing her beauty.
A voice chided him for being here. It was an invasion of her privacy. But his heart said, Forget it, stay. So he did.
As Sam’s lashes fluttered upward to reveal drowsy green eyes, Roc couldn’t help but smile. He sat down on the cot across the way. Holding the cup of coffee near her face, he said, “Time to wake up, Doc. You’ve overslept. I’ve brought you some coffee to jump-start your day.”
“Wh-what? Huh?” Groggy, Sam rose up on one elbow. She had been so cold last night that she’d slept in her uniform to keep warm. The only thing she’d shed was her combat boots. Blinking sleepily, she saw Roc staring back at her, one corner of his mouth pulled upward. That was a smile, she supposed, as her gaze settled on the proffered cup of coffee he was patiently holding out in her direction. Rubbing her face, she groaned. “Uhhh…what time—”
“Zero-five-thirty.”
“Oh, jeez, I overslept!” she exclaimed, throwing off the covers and awkwardly sitting up. The tent floor was dirt, and when her sock-covered feet hit it, she quickly lifted them up once more and sat cross-legged on the cot.
“Here,” Roc offered quietly, “hot coffee. This was Kerry’s idea and it’s a good one.”
Murmuring a husky thank-you, Sam eagerly took the cup. The moment her fingers touched his, she felt that same wild tingle arc through them. Giving him a quizzical look, Sam brought the lip of the cup to her mouth and sipped gratefully.
“Mmm…”
As she tipped her head back, closed her eyes and made that purring sound in her throat, Roc decided she was truly beautiful, in a wild, untamed way. Her thick, slightly curly hair made an unruly halo about her head. Again he was struck by the desire to get up, thread his fingers through that red-and-gold mass and kiss those soft, parted lips of hers.
Shocked at the direction his thoughts were taking, Roc scowled. Before he could get up, Sam opened her eyes and gave him the sweetest smile he’d ever received.
“You know what?” she said, her voice raspy with sleep. “You are truly an angel in disguise. Thanks for the coffee. I owe you one….”
Forcing himself to his feet, Roc suddenly felt hemmed in, as if the tent were growing smaller by the moment. This was Dr. Samantha Andrews without all her armor in place. What he saw thrilled him and scared him. She was incredibly attractive and vulnerable right now, not the hard-nosed medical doctor he’d confronted before.
“Forget it,” he told her gruffly, bending to pick up his weapon. “Can you make HQ in thirty minutes? My men and your team are already saddled up and almost ready to go. And the good news is that the other medical team from San Diego is going to be here at 0800 to take care of these people on the list.”
Stung by his sudden gruffness, Sam cringed inwardly. For a brief moment, she’d seen Roc’s face come alive with interest and surprise. Those icy blue eyes had thawed and she’d felt an undeniable warmth aimed toward her. She’d felt his protective aura embrace her, too.
Shaking her head, Sam wondered if she was crazy. No, she just wasn’t good at waking up all of a sudden. She never had been. It took two cups of coffee and at least an hour for her to get rolling.
“Yeah…I’ll make it, Captain. Thanks for bringing the coffee. And I’m glad Mor
gan was able to free up that team. My day is starting off great.”
Unzipping the tent opening, Roc grunted and slipped out. Why had he gone in there in the first place? He should have let Kerry do it. She’d offered. Unhappy with himself, he said tersely, “Okay, Doctor. Thirty minutes. We’ll be waiting.” And he zipped the tent back up, turned and left.
February 4: 0600
Sam hurried to the HQ tent exactly thirty minutes later. She was winded, having run a comb through her hair, brushed her teeth and thrown on a fresh blouse. Everyone was already there, standing around and chatting. Roc was off to one side, his brows drawn down in silent censure over her tardiness. As she hurried up to the group, Sam realized he had a right to feel that way.
“Good morning,” she called out breathlessly.
There was a chorus of jovial responses.
Sam smiled and said, “I’m late and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Everyone looked forgiving except the captain. She turned to Roc. “Okay, Captain, lead the charge. I’m good to go.”
Nodding, Roc barked at Lance Corporal Ted Barstow to take point, or lead the procession.
Barstow nodded, hefted his weighty pack and slung his M-16 over his shoulder, keeping it handy. Immediately, the twenty-one-year-old Oregon native moved out in a northerly direction, map and compass in hand.
Roc turned to the group. “Doctor, the ball’s in my court now. We’re going to proceed like this. You will instruct one of your people to follow Corporal Barstow no closer than fifty feet. We’ll keep that distance between us for the entire trek. That way, if we meet up with any snipers, they can’t nail us as a group. Staying spread apart gives us an advantage that way. Understand?”
“Of course,” Sam murmured. “Jonesy? You go first. Then me—”
“No, Doctor. You’ll stay at the rear of this column with me and my radioman.”
Protecting His Own Page 6
