Damn! Ethan felt the red-hot pain, the fire blossoming hotly across his chest, spreading, burning deeply. Grunting, he rolled to his knees, jerking the M4 off his shoulder. Through the Night Force scope he could see four Taliban running up, firing wildly toward the helo. He kneeled and shouldered the M4 with the rotor wash battering him from behind. He fired slowly, accurately, brushing the trigger each time. Just as the helo lifted into the air, he killed the last Taliban soldier, then watched his body fly backward, his AK-47 cartwheeling through the air. Satisfaction thrummed through Ethan. He crouched and risked a look upward.
The belly of the Black Hawk was sliding down the mountain, picking up air, picking up speed and banking to the south, getting the hell out of Dodge.
Ethan wiped his mouth, sweat stinging his eyes. As he turned, he ignored the burning pain in his chest. The chest ceramic plate in his Kevlar vest had just taken a bullet meant to kill him. He’d have one hell of a bruise, but he was alive and that was all that counted. Ethan raced back toward his team, his mission accomplished. He was on the radio as he ran, talking to two Apache helicopters that were now speeding toward them from Camp Bravo.
As he raced over the uneven ground, lunging to the ground, landing next to Tolleson, Ethan knew the tide would turn shortly. No one survived the lethal power of an Apache. No one. And he felt good being able to call them in, sending a red laser beam into that wadi to show them where to focus their massive, obliterating firepower.
Tolleson ordered the fire suppression to halt. For a moment, there was a lull. And then, suddenly, the Taliban were laying lead into the team again. Ethan remained near Tolleson, calling in the air wolves that were going to arrive any moment. His mind and heart touched briefly on Sarah. She’d flown in under withering fire, landed that bird perfectly on that small knoll and kept it steady, enabling him to get his two SEAL brothers on board. God, he loved her. And if he got out of this alive, he was damn well going to let her know it.
*
Sarah bit down hard on her lip as pain radiated outward in her upper right arm. She’d taken a shard of Plexiglas—again. Only this time, it was bad. Saying nothing, ignoring the pain flaring every time she moved her hand, she flew the Black Hawk. The bullet had blown out a quarter of the Plexiglas inward on her side, allowing the wind to roar into the bird, making it freezing cold within the cabin.
She’d sent Tait back to help Pascal and Potter, who had their hands full. They desperately needed more help. Tait could do little things to help the medic stabilize the SEALs on board. The copilot could help the SEALs’ oxygen, hold a tourniquet in place or help prepare IVs for the wounded in their care. Tait was good with medical stuff, and Sarah felt positive about ordering him back to help. Just his help could save a life.
Stiffening, Sarah felt blood running down her arm. Sonofabitch, it hurt. She kept her focus on redlining the Black Hawk, sending it hurtling at top speed through the black night toward Bagram. The hospital was standing by to receive the SEALs. A neurology team was already preparing a surgery theater for the SEAL with the head wound. She felt hopeful, knowing that everything humanly possible was being done to save their lives.
Her mind went back to Ethan. She’d recognize his form anywhere. He’d been the one helping to get his SEAL friends to the helo with Pascal’s and Potter’s help. She’d nearly cried out as she happened to glance back toward the door for just a second and see him get struck by a bullet. Pascal had yelled that he’d been hit in the Kevlar vest and was all right. Otherwise, Sarah would have stayed and picked him up also. She knew Kevlar hits were a bastard and hurt like hell, but the person would survive. As she’d lifted her Black Hawk off that knoll, she’d glanced at Ethan kneeling and firing at some unseen enemy down the slope of the mountain. She knew he was all right, but that ridge was teeming with Taliban.
Within thirty minutes of Bagram, Sarah felt relief soar through her as she listened in on radio traffic with the women Apache pilots flying toward the SEAL position on that cold ridge. It took ten minutes. She listened to Ethan calmly guide the pilots to eradicate every last Taliban hidden in the wadi. Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, feeling her heart pound, knowing that he and his team were saved. All that would remain was for them to be picked up by Army Night Stalker pilots flying in a Chinook. Safe. Ethan and his men were safe. Thank God.
Sarah brought in her Black Hawk, flaring it out at the last second, the wheels kissing the painted concrete circle just outside the doors of Bagram’s E.R. doors. It was 0300, and the night was black as two gurneys pushed by orderlies along with nurses and two doctors headed toward them. She turned, pain making her grimace. Tait was sliding open the door. The first gurney arrived, and the SEAL with the head injury was put on it and swiftly wheeled away. She watched as Pascal and Tait carefully moved the SEAL with the thigh wound. He was gently placed on the gurney. Pascal hopped out, holding the IV above the SEAL’s head. He was already yelling above the moving blades of the helo, telling the surgeon trotting at his side what his stats were.
Turning, Sarah pushed up her NVGs, feeling light-headed. “Tait,” she whispered. “Get up here.”
Tait climbed into the cockpit. He took one look at her and his face paled.
“You’ve got the controls, Tait,” Sarah said, her voice sounding so faraway. “Call E.R. here. Tell them I’ve got a piece of Plexiglas in my upper right arm.” She closed her eyes, feeling herself beginning to faint. Her last words were, “I’ve lost a lot of blood….”
*
Ethan walked into Bagram E.R. with Tolleson under his arm. It was 0400, and the first gray light of dawn was on the desert horizon around the huge air base. The bright lights of the E.R. hurt his eyes, and he winced.
“Hey!” he called out. “I’ve got a wounded SEAL here. I need help!” Ethan noticed a number of busy nurses halt, turn and run toward him. Tolleson had taken a bullet to the lower leg. Luckily, Ethan had been there, jerked out his blowout kit, found the tourniquet and slid it up above the bleeding wound. It had shut off most of the heavy bleeding.
Within seconds, Ethan was surrounded by orderlies helping him, taking Tolleson out of his arms. They placed the semiconscious SEAL on a gurney and rushed him into a cubicle. There was chaos everywhere Ethan looked. The curtained cubicles were open, and groups of medical staff frantically working over the wounded.
He wiped the sweat away from his eyes, standing there, feeling the effects of adrenaline still crashing through his bloodstream. The MH-47 Night Stalker helicopter had landed at Bagram, bringing Tolleson directly to the hospital. Ethan and the medic, Johnson, had cared for their semiconscious LPO.
Exhaustion began to encroach on his adrenaline high. They were safe. The word made him relax just a little. He was dying of thirst, and he headed for a water fountain located near the doors of the E.R. area. After drinking his fill, Ethan turned, wiping his mouth. And then his eyes widened.
Sarah!
Ethan’s heart thundered with shock. He saw her lying unconscious on a gurney in the second cubicle, her face so damned white he thought she was dead. Mind reeling, his emotions scattering through him uncontrolled, he walked quickly toward her. As he drew near, he could see the dark blood down the right sleeve of her flight suit. What the hell had happened to her?
And then he remembered the Plexiglas exploding above him, simultaneous bullets striking it, shattering it inward into the cockpit, where Sarah was sitting.
Shaken, he moved in a daze toward the cubicle, his gaze locked on her slack face. The doctor, a woman in her forties, was cutting away the arm of her flight suit. The name on her white lab coat was Tisdale. When she pulled the fabric aside, Ethan nearly groaned out loud. There was a fist-size piece of Plexiglas embedded deeply in Sarah’s upper arm. His entire world ruptured as he watched, unable to do anything but see the blood still leaking out around it.
“Sir,” a nurse said in a rush, hurrying over to Ethan. “I’m sorry, but you have to leave.”
Ethan’s gaze turned hard as h
e swung toward her. “Like hell I will,” he snarled, stepping farther into the cubicle, situating himself next to the doctor. He was damned if he was leaving Sarah’s side.
“You aren’t family, sir,” the nurse said, scowling. “Now, please, leave.”
“She’s my fiancée. She’s family, Nurse. I’m staying with Sarah.” There was no way he was leaving. No matter if she’d pushed him away or not. A fierce feeling of protection for Sarah rose in him. He loved her. Ethan would never leave her alone at a time like this.
The nurse paled, her brown eyes widening over his snarling words. She gave a panicked look over at the physician.
Dr. Tisdale looked up. “He stays,” she snapped. “Call E.R., get an operating theater ready for Chief Benson. Stat.”
Ethan gave Tisdale a nod of thanks. He knew enough to stay out of the way, and he eased around her to stand near Sarah’s left shoulder. “How bad is it, Doc?”
The woman grimaced. “Let’s put it this way, Petty Officer, that piece of shrapnel has cut into her brachial artery. It’s the most major artery in a person’s arm. If we pull it out here, Chief Benson will bleed to death. She’s got to have surgery in order to have it safely removed. The cut artery is going to have to be sewn back together.”
Ethan nodded, forcing all his reactions into a box.
“You really her fiancé?” the doctor demanded, her gaze moving to his as she finished her examination of Sarah.
“Damn straight.” Ethan would lie to God himself in order to remain with Sarah. He’d take any punishment if the medical staff found out later he’d lied.
“Figures. You SEALs are all alike. You take care of your own.”
“Always,” Ethan ground out.
The doctor gave a number of swift orders to the two nurses and two orderlies standing by. Within minutes, they were transporting Sarah out of the cubicle and into the hall, heading for an elevator at the end that would take her up to the surgery floor.
Once there, Ethan reached out and gripped the doctor’s arm as they swiftly moved the gurney toward the operating room doors. “Dr. Tisdale, take good care of her?” He drilled the doctor with a dark look. A silent warning she’d damn well better save Sarah’s life.
The woman shook her head and pulled her arm loose from his grip. “There’s no way I’m earning a SEAL’s anger. I’ll take good care of her for you.”
Ethan stepped aside, watching Sarah being taken down the polished green hall toward an operating theater. He could go no farther, even though he wanted to.
He once again felt the adrenaline crash plummeting through him, and exhaustion slammed into him. His legs suddenly felt weak. He went to find the surgery waiting room. It was empty, and Ethan was grateful.
Knowing he had to check with Master Chief Hunter, he sat down and pulled out the radio, then punched in the channel that would link him with his team at Camp Bravo.
His heart, however, was with Sarah. She’d looked so pale. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Somehow he’d repair the damage he’d done to their fragile relationship. Ethan didn’t know how, but he’d figure it out. He felt a lump forming in his throat. Tears burned in his eyes as he felt all his carefully boxed emotions come roaring out of him. He wanted a chance with Sarah. She couldn’t die on that damned surgery table, bleeding out. Those surgeons had to save her life!
Ethan felt overwhelmed. Three of his SEAL brothers were fighting for their lives, too. Making the call, reporting in, Ethan apprised the master chief of the status of his SEAL team, including the names of the three who were currently in surgery.
“I’ve been monitoring the medevac, Hawk. How’s Chief Benson doing?” Ethan’s voice grew hoarse as he told Hunter about her condition.
“And you’re there at Bagram with her?”
“Yes.”
“Contact that Night Stalker pilot that brought your team into Bagram. Tell him to send the rest of the team back here. You stay there with her.”
The unexpected good news almost broke Ethan. Hot, burning tears in his eyes, his voice grew thick. “Thank you. I will.”
Hunter didn’t know they’d broken up. He only knew about the letter, and Ethan hadn’t said much to the master chief. Only to give the letter to Sarah in case she came over to HQ. He didn’t broach it now with Hunter. Later maybe.
“I just got a radio dispatch saying you took a hit to your vest?” the master chief continued.
“Yes,” he managed. “I’m good.” Ethan wasn’t going to whine about some pain and a huge bruise across his chest.
“The LT is authorizing you to remain there and get it checked out by a doctor. We’re not expecting you back here for forty-eight hours. Got it?”
Ethan felt an avalanche of emotions. The master chief knew he and Sarah had some kind of a relationship. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have ordered him back with the rest of the team at Camp Bravo. “I got it. Thank you, Master Chief.”
“Let me know how the SEALs are doing when they get out of surgery. And I want to know about Chief Benson, as well. She’s one ballsy broad. We were monitoring her all the way in.”
Ethan almost smiled. “That she is, Master Chief. I’ll give you updates on all of them.”
*
A warmth stole over Sarah. And then, as she slowly became conscious, she was aware of a strong, cool hand wrapped around hers. It took most of her energy to lift her lashes. The anesthesia was still in her bloodstream, and her eyes wouldn’t focus for a moment. Finally they did, and she saw Ethan standing next to her, holding her hand, his gaze intense on her. Even in her semiconscious state, her heart thudded. Ethan was there. With her.
“You’re here at Bagram, Sarah,” Ethan told her quietly. He smiled a little, relief in his low voice. “You’re going to be okay.” He leaned over, taking her mouth gently, giving her his warmth, his love, breathing his life into her.
Ethan’s mouth felt wonderful on her lips—so warm. His trembling hand moved across her hair; the tender gesture brought tears to her closed eyes. As Ethan lifted his mouth from hers, she looked up into his face. He was wearing clean cammies, his face and hair clean, as well. Her heart expanded fiercely with that unnamed emotion that lifted her. Fed her hope.
His kiss heated her body. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She saw his worry for her reflected in his stormy gray eyes.
“Y-you’re okay?” she managed, her throat dry and sore. So much of her wanted Ethan. When she had been losing consciousness, Sarah had understood that by running away from him, she’d made the worst decision of her life. But she’d been adamant. She’d seen Ethan die before her over her sharp words, her demands. Her heart ached unremittingly. The damage had been irrevocable.
“I’m good. How are you feeling?” Ethan anxiously looked at her face, at the purple shadows beneath her glorious blue eyes. He didn’t care if Sarah had asked him to leave her and never return. He’d take the flak. Her anger. Anything. He just wasn’t going to abandon her in her hour of need. Sarah had more color now. He could see the fine veins beneath her eyes. The taut skin across her cheekbones told him she was under stress.
“Thirsty,” she muttered.
Ethan was grateful Dr. Tisdale had given Sarah a private room instead of putting her in a ward with six other wounded men. He slid his arm beneath her shoulders and lifted her just enough so that she could drink from the straw in the glass. Just getting to hold Sarah, to feel her in his arms, made his heart surge with joy.
They had washed her black hair, washed away the blood and sweat he’d seen on her in the E.R. The light blue gown did nothing but enhance the beauty of her cloudy-looking eyes. Ethan could tell she was fighting the anesthesia.
“More?” he asked.
“No, I’m fine…thanks,” Sarah whispered, reveling in the strength of his arm around her shoulders. She wearily rested her head against him, feeling infinitely weak but happy. “You’re okay. That’s what I needed to know.” She closed her eyes and sank back into the netherworld of anesthesia
and sleep.
*
Ethan watched anxiously as Sarah drew out of her deep sleep. It was near noon, and the sun shone through the venetian blinds of the small, quiet room. After easing stiffly out of the chair where he’d slept off and on all night, he stood at her bedside. In her left arm was an IV giving her nutrients. He could see part of the white dressing, her right arm in a sling, keeping the injured area protected. He heard her moan, her lips parting, her brow wrinkling. Was she in pain? Ethan almost pushed the buzzer attached to the edge of her pillow to get a nurse in there to give her more medication. Something cautioned him to wait. He tried to brace himself because Sarah had made it abundantly clear she did not want him in her life. His emotions were raw and screaming to reclaim Sarah, to beg her for forgiveness, but he couldn’t protect himself from whatever truth she might say to him. This time, she’d be wide-awake. Not in the netherworld of anesthesia.
When Sarah’s blue eyes slowly opened, Ethan’s breath jammed in his throat. Her gaze was no longer cloudy. The anesthesia was finally dissolving out of her system. Did Sarah see him? He wasn’t sure until he lifted the fingers of her left hand and gently held them in his own. And then those glacier-blue eyes of hers moved slowly, meeting his gaze. He smiled a little, feeling soul-deep relief.
“You’re home,” he told her, his voice unsteady. “And you’re going to be okay, Sarah.” His throat ached with tears of relief. Ethan swallowed several times.
Ethan’s voice was like a healing balm poured over her heart. Sarah felt his calloused fingers around her own, heard the barely veiled emotions in his voice, saw the anxiety deep in his eyes as he watched her closely. She managed a grimace. “Where am I?”
Ethan slowly went over a very abbreviated list of events that had gotten her to Bagram hospital. Every minute, he watched Sarah becoming more alert, her eyes cleaner and more sharply focused on him. By the time he was done, she sighed.
Risk Taker Page 16
