by Radclyffe
“Why do you make the assumption that you’re the only one who appreciates the seriousness of this situation?” Heat started to rise on the back of Dara’s neck. “Do I look like I spend my time painting my nails on the beach?”
Sawyer frowned, trying to make sense of that. “Where’d you get that from?”
“You really don’t get it?”
“Would I ask if I did?” Sawyer didn’t usually have a problem communicating, although come to think of it, she mostly gave orders, responded to orders, or communicated in the kind of offhand dark humor common to those who lived with death up close and personal every day. After the scene in the trauma room she’d almost forgotten Dara wasn’t a soldier. But while Dara might be able to handle a trauma case as well as a field surgeon, she didn’t think, or feel, like Sawyer. And Sawyer didn’t think like her. Not even a little. “So what did I say?”
Dara rolled her eyes. “The only thing missing was the unspoken little lady, because you certainly sounded like that’s who you were talking to.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“No, I’m pretty sure about that.”
“Trust me,” Sawyer said, trying hard not to laugh. “You are so far from that, it’s not even in the same universe as how I see you.”
“If that’s true, what’s the problem?”
“You’re just not…trained for it.”
Dara straightened and stepped closer, searching Sawyer’s genuinely confused gaze. Sawyer really didn’t get it. How was that possible? “Okay—let me spell it out, because you’re missing the point. I’m a professional, and I’m just as responsible—even more responsible—for those patients in need of evacuation down there than any of you.” When Sawyer opened her mouth to protest, Dara poked an index finger at her, stopping just short of her perfectly pressed camo shirt. To her satisfaction, Sawyer’s eyes widened and she swallowed her objection. Good. She’d surprised her. Obviously, a good offense was the only way to impress her. “I’m totally qualified to care for them during transport, which frees up some of your people if we have an emergency in flight. Besides that, I’ll need to make decisions about who goes where that are going to impact everything that you and your—” She paused. “What do you call them these days? Soldiers?”
“Troops, usually.” Sawyer’s throat was oddly dry, as if she’d been swallowing dust for a week on patrol. She heard the words coming out of Dara’s mouth, but she had trouble absorbing just what Dara was saying. Her brain—no, not her brain, just about every other part of her body—was totally fixated on Dara. The way her eyes flashed, the intensity of her voice, the waves of passion and strength that rolled off her as she closed in on Sawyer. Even the threat—or maybe the promise—of that finger poking into her chest was mesmerizing. What the hell was happening to her?
“Okay,” Dara went on as if she hadn’t noticed Sawyer paralyzed like a green recruit in her first firefight. Stunned to inactivity, disoriented, and in danger of getting blown all to hell. “If we start getting casualties and evacuees from all over the state, I’ll need to make decisions that will affect your troops and what they’ll need to do. It matters that I know what’s going on. You can’t run this operation all on your own.”
Sawyer managed to shake off the weird paralysis, even if she couldn’t suppress the fascination twisting up her insides. She had better control than this—she’d spent her life honing the ability to bury her fear and think, act…lead in the face of any horror. She’d frozen once and it had cost her everything. She couldn’t forget those few moments, couldn’t forgive them, but she would never repeat them. No matter what the cost. “That’s not how command works.”
Dara sighed. “I get that. I do, but you said yourself, it’s different when you’re on a battlefield. When people are shooting at you. One voice—I get that too. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Her heart was actually racing, which was really strange. Thinking about Sawyer surrounded by enemies, people intent on killing her, actively trying to kill her, was terrifying. It wasn’t as if she’d never thought about the realities of war before, but standing there looking at Sawyer, alive and solid and adorably perplexed, the thought of her in danger made her throat ache. “But this isn’t like that. This is a combined—okay, wait, maybe you’ll get this—this is like a task force. You do that, right, with the UN and things like that?”
Sawyer winced. “Oh yeah, and it’s a clusterfuck.” She flushed. “Sorry.”
Dara grinned. “Oh, believe me, I’ve not only heard the term, I’ve said it, and I’ve actually been in the middle of one.”
Sawyer grinned. “Well, then you know what happens when you try to deal with an emergency by committee.”
“I do. Completely. And if anybody ever tried to do that in the middle of a trauma when I was running a resuscitation, I’d have their ass. But that’s not what we’re doing, right? This is like—oh God, why don’t I watch military movies—reconnaissance. I need to change my viewing habits.”
“You know, you’re not making a whole lot of sense all the time?”
“What makes you think it’s me? Maybe you’re just not following.” Despite the seriousness of her argument, Dara was actually having fun. Everything to do with Sawyer was a challenge—when she wasn’t irritated, she was strangely, inexplicably exhilarated. And she had no time to consider the weirdness of that. “Look. I’m trying to figure out a common language here. You know, in the interest of communication and cooperation.”
“I think we’re doing pretty well,” Sawyer said, that slow, easy heat slipping into her voice.
Dara’s pulse skittered again, and this time, fear had nothing to do with it. Damn it, Sawyer was sexy when she sounded like that. Terrible, inappropriate timing. Instinctively, she backed up. “You do understand what I’m saying, then?”
Sawyer blew out a breath. “I understand. You’re a hands-on person. You don’t want to make decisions based on information you haven’t assessed yourself. You want to see what you’re up against for yourself.”
“That’s it exactly!” Dara beamed. “So—when…What? Why am I still reading a big no in your expression?”
Sawyer hesitated, not totally sure herself why she didn’t want Dara to come along. There was precedent, sure—if she wanted to take Dara, she could. All kinds of people were embedded with far less justification—photographers, journalists, reporters. Even biographers, for crying out loud. Plus, she was in command, after all. But she didn’t know what she was flying into, or worse, what she might be flying out of eight or ten hours from now. They should have a clear window of time, but she knew better than to trust predictions. And once they were airborne with patients aboard, they wouldn’t be turning around.
“Is it because you don’t trust me?” Dara asked after the silence went on too long. “You think I’ll panic in an emergency?”
“No,” Sawyer said instantly. “No, I know you can handle yourself under pressure. I’m just not sure I can guarantee your safety.”
Dara froze. There it was—the real minefield that stretched between them. Sawyer seemed to think her authority extended to Dara. “This is my decision. I know the risks. You’re not in charge of me, Colonel.”
“Up there, anywhere in the field, you’re my responsibility,” Sawyer said. “That’s not negotiable.”
Dara struggled to keep her emotions out of her argument. If she let her temper talk for her, they’d just end up with headaches. No one had time for that. “Can you guarantee the safety of everyone else you’ll be flying down there with?”
“That’s different. They wear the uniform, they accept the risk.”
“Well then, so do I.” Dara wouldn’t let Sawyer make her decisions or assume responsibility for them, but she had no problem telling Sawyer the truth. “Besides, I trust you.”
Sawyer almost warned Dara not to be so quick with her trust. She wasn’t afraid of shouldering the responsibility for her troops. If she had been, she would never have joined the service. She ca
red about all of her squad, would put herself on the line for any one of them—or anyone who fought beside her. She’d risk her life for Dara too, but that wasn’t the point. The uniform they all wore wasn’t just symbolic. Their colors, their insignias, their stripes and bars and stars, announced their acceptance of the risk that went with them. Dara wasn’t one of them, and that was all the more reason Sawyer needed to keep her safe.
“What are you afraid of?” Dara asked quietly.
Sawyer stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then you don’t have any reason to say no.” Dara shook her head. She was done with compromise and rationales. “We’re wasting time. Gretchen would love to call the governor or your commanding officer and argue the best interests of the hospital are only served if I go along. She hasn’t had a chance to make a personal splash yet today. It would be just like her to send a sound bite to the press.”
Sawyer winced. The last thing she wanted was to turn a simple medevac operation into a political battlefield. “I have a car outside the ER. I’m leaving now and I can’t wait.”
“I understand. I’ll have Penny arrange coverage for me. Everyone is going to be working overtime for the foreseeable future anyhow. How long do you think we’ll be gone?”
“Possibly until morning. Flight time shouldn’t be more than an hour down if we can maintain normal cruising speed, but we’ve got to allow for delays at that end from weather or general inefficiency.”
“I’ll be ready to leave in ten minutes.” Dara eased past Sawyer and disappeared down the hall.
“Right.” Sawyer closed her eyes and let out a long breath. She hoped to hell she wasn’t making a big mistake.
Dara slung her overnight bag over her shoulder and walked out into the ER receiving lot. Sawyer waited outside, leaning against an idling vehicle. For some reason, Dara had expected a car of some kind, although now that she thought about it, that made no sense. The Humvee, tan and huge, stenciled with an American flag and the words Florida National Guard in black block letters, looked tough and imposing—just like the woman standing beside it. Sawyer wore her uniform cap now, the bill squared and low on her forehead. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her legs slightly spread. Her gaze fixed on Dara and never wavered as Dara approached.
Dara’s skin prickled. Her insides tightened. Her reaction was completely reflexive, totally visceral, and absolutely unlike her. She did not invite glances from sexy women, although Penny never failed to point them out when she did not return them. She noticed good-looking women, of course—beating heart and blood still flowing, after all—but she was always so busy and…busy…the moments were fleeting. Sawyer Kincaid was hard not to notice, and the more she did, the more annoying her unbidden, out-of-character reactions became. She did not have the time or the desire to be attracted to anyone, especially not now and not…her. Not when the only thing she should be thinking about was the job she had to do. And most especially not when she seemed to have nothing at all to say about the attraction. No. No. A million times no.
“All set?” Sawyer asked.
“Yes,” Dara said abruptly. Okay, that sounded just a bit rude. Not exactly Sawyer’s fault she exuded potent pheromones, any more than it was hers their chemistries seemed to mesh. Simple biology and just as simply ignored. “Thanks.”
Sawyer opened the rear door and gestured for Dara to climb inside. When she did, Sawyer followed and pulled the door closed.
“Homestead Air Force Base, Corporal Nomura,” Sawyer said to the driver.
The young soldier behind the wheel looked to be in his early twenties, clean-shaven, short-haired, and square shouldered. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me you’d have a driver.” Dara looked for a seat belt and didn’t find one. Sawyer wasn’t wearing one and neither was the driver.
Sawyer must have seen her looking. “They’re not much use if we were to get hit by anything strong enough to flip us. And they get in the way of our equipment.”
“Right.” Dara had seen live feeds from the front—war was something news stations brought right into people’s living rooms. She also had seen what it took to destroy one of these vehicles. Her chest tightened. Being in the armored vehicle, being reminded of the authority Sawyer wore like a second skin, brought home to her exactly how much she was out of her element. She was now part of something bigger than the world she usually inhabited. For the first time in a long time, she felt out of place. Not intimidated, not uncertain, simply a stranger in this new landscape.
Sawyer glanced over at her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” When out of your element, Dara thought, deflect. “Tell me what’s going to happen when we get to the airfield.”
“I’ll—we’ll—meet with the other members of the medevac planning team to coordinate ground support, establish rendezvous points for frontline patient transfer, and set flight plans. Our aviation team will coordinate with the FCC and local domestic airports to clear airspace. Charlie Company has six Black Hawks, including two HH-60 medevac units. We’ll brief the pilots on the mission objectives, review weather projections, set rendezvous points with ground transport, and assess patient needs before we head out.”
“Where will I be?”
“You will stay with me the whole time. And as long as you are with me, you’ll follow orders.”
“Understood.” Dara had no desire to complicate the evacuation mission. She wasn’t going along because she wanted an adventure. She needed to know what she might be facing in the next few days, and she needed to see for herself the condition of the critically ill patients in need of transfer. “When I was getting my overnight bag, I tried to reach the ERT chief at Key West Memorial. He was supposed to get back to me and hasn’t yet.”
“He’s your opposite number?” Sawyer asked.
“Yes—an anesthesiologist. I don’t know him well—in fact, I don’t think we’ve ever met.” Dara fished her phone out of the back pocket of her scrubs. “I’m hoping he’s got a handle on the transfer now and can give me a report.”
“Good idea,” Sawyer said. “The more information we can get on the patients to be evacuated, the better we can plan and allocate resources.”
“I want to try reaching him again. Is it all right if I make a call from here?”
“Go right ahead,” Sawyer said. “The advance intel will save us time.”
“Just making myself useful,” Dara muttered as she dialed the number she’d saved into her phone. This time a secretary answered, and she explained who she was and why she was calling.
“Just one moment, Dr. Sims. Dr. Randall should be here any second…yes, here he is.”
“Josh Randall here.”
“Josh, this is Dara Sims. I’m an emergency medicine attending and the head of the emergency response team at Miami Memorial. How are things down there?”
“Right now, pretty quiet. Cloudy, but not much else happening. The local weather people tell us we’re going to get hit pretty hard pretty soon.”
“I’m flying down with the National Guard to assist in the transfer of your critical patients. Can you tell me what we’re looking at?”
“We’re discharging all stable medical and surgical patients who can go home within the next twenty-four hours. I just came from a walk-through of the ICUs. We’ve got another thirty or so who will need ground transfer, and we’re organizing ambulances for them now. That’s going to take all night and probably most of tomorrow.”
“Hold on a second.” Dara said to Sawyer, “Will you be assisting ground transfers too?”
“Yes—we have transport vans standing by.”
“Okay, I’ll tell him.” Dara filled Randall in, and he said he’d be in touch when he knew how many local ambulances they could get.
“What about the critical patients?” Dara asked.
“The surgical intensive care unit has six patients, all of whom need continued unit monitoring—an aortic
aneurysm repair, a liver resection patient, a septic postop colon resection, two vascular bypass patients, and a multiple trauma patient on a Stryker with a cervical spine fracture.”
Dara’s stomach clenched. “You’ve got someone with a spinal cord injury in your unit? Why hasn’t he been transferred to a regional spine center already?”
“Boating accident—he just came in this morning. We were able to get him stabilized and his spine immobilized, but moving him is going to be tricky.”
“What do the neurosurgeons say?”
Randall gave a laugh that sounded entirely without humor. “About what you’d expect. They want to operate and fuse the spine before he’s moved.”
“How long?”
“They say eight hours once they get started. I’ve seen it take longer.”
“What’s your opinion?”
“From an emergency management point of view, the faster we evacuate the critical patients, the better. The patient’s family wants him operated on here. I think they’re gonna put up a fuss about him being moved unless we do. What’s your timetable?”
“Hold on for a second.” Dara leaned closer to Sawyer. “Can you give me an ETA they can work to?”
“Tell them we want to be in and out by zero thirty hours.”
“Twelve thirty.” Dara shook her head. “If we don’t get there until ten p.m., that’s awfully fast turnaround.”
“If they expect to move quickly, maybe they actually will.”
Dara informed Randall they’d be there between nine and ten p.m. “We’re going to want to get the critical patients moved out quickly.”
“What about the spinal injury?”
“Keep me updated.”
“You got it.”
Dara ended the call. “You might have to leave me there and take the other patients back first.”
Sawyer shook her head. “That’s not happening.”
