Staff Sergeant Anderson nodded. “Yeah, I do believe you can,” he answered casually. “One of my marines—a Private Hanson—was admitted to you this morning with injuries from an IED incident. I’ve come to see how he’s doing.”
Relieved that their conversation seemed to be back on a more general footing, Katie said politely, “Of course, Staff Sergeant. Please follow me and I’ll take you to him.” She went to step around him as he was blocking her path and without another word, he stood aside then fell into step behind her.
Katie and the staff sergeant entered the air-conditioned coolness of the CTH and she waited while he offloaded his weapon in the weapons room before they continued walking down the corridor, Katie trying to think frantically of some polite conversation she could make but unable to kick-start her brain into formulating a sentence that might sound even remotely intelligent. She found herself feeling distinctly shy—which had never been an inherent part of her character—and tongue-tied again.
She led the staff sergeant past the first ward and eventually arrived at the second. On entering, she took him to the second bed, where the young US marine private was sleeping. Involved in an explosion while out on patrol a few days previously, the young soldier had had to have his left leg amputated from just below the knee. The bones in the limb had been completely shattered, and to save his life, removal of the limb had been the only solution. Again, he was just one of many who had arrived in-country full-bodied and would be returning minus a part of himself.
One other bed was occupied by a young British soldier who had been involved in a separate IED incident from that of the marine private. The rest of the ward was empty and silent, the beds neatly made, each with a green blanket tucked around white sheets and green curtains hanging beside each. The other three casualties from the IED incident that morning still remained in the CCU under observation.
An air conditioner hummed in the background, together with the soft beeping of a heart monitor machine. It was cool inside the ward and Katie felt some of her equilibrium return. The unsettled feeling in her stomach was beginning to fade, although her humiliation at making an exhibition of herself outside was not. Stopping at the foot of the hospital bed, she gestured to the staff sergeant to proceed and he approached.
Moving to the patient’s side, his combat boots squeaking on the rubber floor, the staff sergeant looked down at the young face of his man. His eyes glanced from the ashen complexion, down the white and green bed covers to where it was clearly evident that a limb was absent. “You had to amputate?” he asked quietly, a tone of sadness in his voice, verbally confirming what he could see.
Hesitating slightly, Katie moved to the man’s side. “Yes,” she answered softly, although the young marine was still asleep. “I’m sorry, Staff Sergeant, his leg was just too badly damaged to save. Everyone out in the field, the CTT and ourselves here at the CTH, did everything we could. The only thing that could save his life was amputation. He’s stable now and is doing fine. He’ll remain here for a while then, as long as he continues to remain stable and doesn’t develop an infection, he’ll go back to the US. With rehabilitation and some counseling, he could go on to lead a relatively normal life. He’s young and strong and he’ll get plenty of support and assistance. I know it’s no consolation right now, but he’s lucky to be alive.”
The staff sergeant remained unmoving for long minutes, still staring down at the marine, then nodded. “I understand,” he acknowledged at last. “You’ve done a good job with him.”
He turned around to look at her and Katie, stirred at the emotion on his face, felt a surge of sympathy for him. They all tended to forget that the men in charge of the men and women who were injured or killed felt a great deal of responsibility, loss and guilt. It was almost as tough on their leaders as it was on the patients. “He’ll be fine,” she reiterated, wishing that the expression of sadness would leave the staff sergeant’s face. “We’ll look after him, Staff Sergeant. I can promise you that.”
The staff sergeant nodded again in acceptance. A small silence rose between them until, at last, he cleared his throat nervously. “Well, I guess I’d better get going. I’m glad you’re feeling okay, and thank you again.” With this last parting remark, he strode away from her and left the ward.
Katie remained standing beside the bed, staring after him then at the vacant doorway after he had disappeared, decidedly confused about what had just occurred between herself and the staff sergeant. Now that he had gone, she felt slightly lost and alone. “Oh my God, woman,” she scoffed at herself. “Where are you coming from? You barely know the man. Get a grip.”
She felt stupid and naïve and wondered if her reaction to him as a man had been obvious to him. She was unable to pinpoint exactly what it was about the staff sergeant that had set her pulses racing and an undeniable surge of attraction flowing through her. She had always been independent. Her parents had been killed in a car accident some three years previously and, with no siblings, she had been left on her own. The Army had been her life. She had vowed right from basic training that she would focus on her career, steering clear of any relationships, and the complex problems that always seemed to go hand in hand with them, until she was completely ready. Now, after only a few short hours, Katie suspected that this US marine staff sergeant had unknowingly succeeded in blowing all her hard-won promises and emotional reservations out of the water.
Mentally shaking herself and uttering an exasperated noise, Katie busied herself checking the young private again for any adverse changes in his condition, noted his vital signs on his chart then left the ward, going out into the corridor. She could hear voices coming from the R&R room and started the long walk toward it, desperate for a strong cup of coffee and a chance to collapse into one of the old armchairs there.
* * * *
After collecting his weapon and slinging the strap over his shoulder, Joe Anderson strode out of the CTH, across the gravel and sand forecourt, and turned out onto the road. Keeping up his brisk pace and heading toward Camp Roosevelt—where the United States Marine Corp—USMC—was based—and an arranged exercise run with his squad, he couldn’t turn his thoughts away from the young CTM whom he had just met at the hospital. He could not dismiss the image of her face from his mind. He remembered her expressive green eyes, her quiet voice and the stubborn tilt of her chin when she had snapped at him. He found himself smiling at his thoughts, and with a startled awareness and a good deal of uneasiness, realized that he was attracted to the woman, more so than he had been to any other. Instantly quelling his wayward emotions, determined not to think about her any further, he forced his attention to his squad and the next two days’ training that he had arranged for them and that he knew was likely to emphasize his reputation as ‘the old man’—or harsher language at his expense, if his men were anything to go by.
* * * *
Back at the CTH, as Katie approached the R&R room and the noise coming from it grew steadily louder, Sergeant Ron Webster, the senior non-commissioned officer in charge of the CTH, approached her from his office. “You look healthy,” he commented bluntly, eyeing her with a certain amount of concern.
“Why thank you so much for the compliment, Sergeant, but I’m fine, thank you,” Katie answered her tone heavy with sarcasm.
“I’m really glad to hear you say that, Corporal,” Sergeant Webster responded dryly. “But you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t believe you. Just do us all a favor. Go and take a break before you keel over. The night teams will be here shortly then we can all get the hell out of here.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Katie replied, “but can I say with all due respect that if you’d been paying attention, you’d have seen that I was already heading for the R&R room before you waylaid me.” With this parting remark and a falsely sweet smile to go with it, she continued on to the area where the medical staff gravitated to when the CTH was quiet. With the exception of the trauma nurses who were attending to the three new patients, the US m
arine and Private Berwick, everyone was present with all armchairs occupied and everybody drinking what was frequently and eloquently classed as the worst coffee in the British Army.
Katie wrinkled her nose at the stale smell that permeated the air. The R&R room was in the last stages of acute untidiness and generally allowed to remain that way. Face masks littered the chairs and floor, the chairs did not match in color or design and their cushions sagged, sadly misused and abused by hundreds of backsides. Magazines, piled and strewn on the surface of the battered coffee table, mixed with empty plastic coffee cups and coffee stain rings. In prime position on the counter, beside a microwave, kettle and portable fridge full of bottled water, was a large coffee percolator with its jug half-full of tarry, black-looking coffee.
As Katie entered the room, everyone glanced up and some of the conversation ceased.
“You all right, Katie?” Leading surgeon Captain Andrew Myers of Surgical Team Two asked.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you, sir,” Katie replied truthfully, turning as Henry Barrow handed her a plastic cup of stewed coffee.
“Ugh, I don’t have a clue how we can have drunk this stuff for so long,” she commented to him. “I hate to think what it’s doing to our insides.” Wrinkling her nose, she thanked him and sat down in the sagging chair that he had just vacated. Sinking gratefully back against its crinkled leather and sighing, she took a sip of the coffee. Disgusting though it was, it certainly hit the spot. As there were no other vacant seats, Henry sat on the arm of her chair with his own cup and everybody turned back to their conversations.
Katie remained silent, deep in thought, not participating in the various discussions circulating throughout the room. She was fully aware that each of the medical staff dealt with the traumas passing through the CTH in their own way. She personally dealt with each issue by attempting to relax for a few minutes following each incident, thinking of what had gone on during the day, analyzing her thoughts then storing them away in the furthest reaches of her mind, refusing to allow them to affect her in any way.
Others dealt with events each in their own individual way—by being loud and jovial, discussing the surgeries in depth, arguing in good humor or just sitting and taking part only when prompted. The trauma teams, surgical teams, CTTs and support staff were highly skilled people, and most of them had been dealing with traumas and emergencies for many years, so the tragedies and events that occurred in the CTH were not unknown to them. None of them, however, could fail to be moved or saddened by the wanton destruction of so many men and women.
After she finished her coffee, wincing at the last tepid dregs in the bottom of the plastic cup, Katie rose, threw the container into a waste receptacle and turned to Lance Corporal Barrow. “I need a shower. That’s where I’ll be if I’m needed,” she said and he nodded.
Feeling even more tired than usual, Katie left the R&R room and went to the end of the corridor, letting herself into the female locker room. She unlaced her boots and kicked them off then undid the ties at the back of her smock shrugged out of it, followed by her baggy scrub trousers. She bundled everything together and thrust it into a large waste bin situated in the room. Returning to her locker, she retrieved her toilet bag and a large bath towel, which she wrapped around herself, then opened another door and went through into the female shower room.
A short while later, Katie uttered a sigh of delight as she stood beneath steaming hot water, face lifted to the sharp, pounding needles, reveling in the feeling the spray caused against her skin. She felt the tension slowly seep from her body and stiff muscles in her shoulders and her neck begin to relax. God, she was so tired. She needed to go back to her tent, collapse onto her camp bed and sleep, but she was still on duty and couldn’t leave until Sergeant Webster had dismissed her.
Unbidden, a clear, detailed image of Staff Sergeant Anderson’s face popped into her mind and Katie unwittingly shivered, nerve ends quivering. There was something about that man, something dangerously sexy, some element of his presence or character that she had never come across in a man before. Perhaps it was his eyes, which had sent shivers up and down her spine, or the calm strength that appealed to her as a woman. Whatever it was, whatever charisma he had, the memory of him was doing things to her that she had never experienced before and it was making her feel extremely uncomfortable.
Katie lurched from a daze, realizing that she had been standing in the shower with her eyes closed. “Damn!” she exclaimed loudly, her voice echoing around the shower room, “Leave it alone, Katie girl. That man is most definitely not for you and you, my girl, are most definitely not interested in him.” As if calling her out on her denial, a small voice piped up in her subconscious and amusedly quipped, Liar!
Feeling flustered, Katie soaped herself vigorously, determined to push thoughts of Staff Sergeant Joe Anderson to the back of her mind and mentally labeling them ‘dangerous’. Concentrating on what she was doing, she scrubbed her skin to ensure that there was no blood left anywhere, washed her hair thoroughly then turned off the shower. She felt a little better—more alert—and the fatigue had relinquished its hold on her slightly.
With the towel wrapped around her body once more, she went back to her locker and retrieved her multi terrain patterned combats—MTPCs—boots and khaki T-shirt. She sprayed on deodorant, dressed then sat down on the bench to lace her boots. She checked that her dog tags were still around her neck, put on her webbing belt, put a torch into a deep pocket of her trousers and finally put on her military cap, fastening her combat helmet by its chinstrap to her belt. Recently, due to the increase in hostilities on the base, there had been an update to the camp Standing Orders relating to the code of dress, so all personnel now needed to carry their personal weapon and helmet with them at all times. As cumbersome and inconvenient as it was to have to carry a helmet and light support weapon—LSW—orders were orders and were there to be obeyed.
Ready at last, Katie left the showers, intent on making her way back to the R&R room, where Sergeant Webster met her at the door just as she was about to enter.
“The next teams are in,” he announced, looking her up and down. “You look a lot better than you did, almost human again. You can stand down now. Go and get some chow and sleep. I’ll see you for notes tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. See you tomorrow,” Katie rejoined with relief, grateful that she was finally free to go off duty.
On her way down the corridor toward the doors, she popped her head into the CCU to briefly check on the soldiers operated on just a short while previously. All three were still asleep and being attended to by the trauma nurses. The three women and one man raised their hands in farewell to Katie who smiled, whispered, “Goodnight,” and walked on. She looked in on the US marine and the British soldier but they too were still asleep. Henry Barrow was checking the young Army soldier’s pulse and he nodded his goodbye.
Katie hurried toward the double doors, hoping that before she reached them and let herself out of the building, she would not be stopped by Sergeant Webster with an order that she stay on. She hastily retrieved her weapon, slung it over her shoulder, thrust one of the doors open and stepped outside, immediately feeling as though she had been released from prison.
It was now 2000 hours but still warm, the air oppressive with heat and dust. Dusk was beginning to fade toward night but Camp Churchill was still busy with personnel either going on or coming off duty, others heading at a brisk stride toward the mess to eat, and vehicles trundling slowly up and down the main road, trailing dust clouds behind them. The sun, a flaming red ball, was low on the horizon, and the first glittering star had appeared like a bright diamond in the deep blue sky.
Katie took a step onto the gravel and sand that formed the large turning area for emergency vehicles and for the second time that day almost jumped out of her skin when a familiar voice behind her asked, “How’re you doing, Corporal Walker?”
Chapter Three
Katie spun round s
harply and, in doing so, her boots slipped on the sharp stones, somehow became entangled, and she sat down on the hard ground with a heavy thump. Her teeth clicked together, almost catching her tongue between them, and her backside protested at the forceful contact and the countless sharp edges digging into her tender rump. “Oh shit!” she exclaimed beneath her breath, biting her lip in a futile attempt to block any further obscenities.
Reclining against the wall as though he had all the time in the world, arms folded and booted ankles crossed, Joe Anderson chuckled.
Katie, legs bent at the knees with her elbows resting on them, head lowered, murmuring further obscenities at the innocuous ground, jerked her head up, eyes flashing, immediately on the defensive.
“Oh, you think this is funny?” she snapped. “I could have broken my bloody neck. Do you often make a habit of scaring the pants off of unwary females, Staff Sergeant?” Feeling her cheeks hot with mortification as a result of her ungainly fall, she was angry.
Still staring at her with more than a little interest, Joe tried unsuccessfully to wipe the smile off his face. “Nope,” he eventually answered casually, “but I do have to say that you look kinda fetching sitting there in the dirt.” He straightened up, adjusted the M4 slung over his shoulder and walked slowly toward her, the grin widening on his face.
“So not funny,” Katie exclaimed, humiliated at ending up on the ground at his feet, extremely irritated that his presence was causing a resurgence of the feelings of attraction that she had experienced earlier that day and furious at his apparent casual disregard for her predicament.
For the Love of a Marine Page 3
