by Laura Acton
“Fair enough. I won’t pry. We need to determine a safe way out of here for Blondie and Mason.
Leaning back, Mike nodded. “Yeah. Been giving some thought to our situation. Getting Mason out will be the hardest. When I saw the nuns, I thought perhaps we might dress him in a habit.”
Dom chuckled. “He would make one ugly nun.”
Mike grinned. “Doubt we could get him to put one on.”
“I heard you. I refuse to dishonor a nun’s habit. We’re gonna find another way,” Mason grumbled.
Twenty minutes later, stomach sated, caffeine coursing through his veins revitalizing him, scrubbed hands, and wearing a surgical gown, gloves, and mask, Patch held a scalpel ready to make an incision. He glanced at Sister Agatha, who had adequately cleaned the area around Ripsaw’s wound and framed it with a sterile draping. Acknowledging approval with a nod of his head, and a hidden smile, he realized this would be as close to a sterilized field as they would be able to achieve given the current conditions.
Gowned up like the sister and Patch, Brody stood by to assist and track Ripsaw’s blood pressure and pulse. He shifted his gaze to Danny for a second, glad he continued to sleep. Mason took over for him and checked Blondie’s vitals periodically. Refocusing on Ripsaw, he observed Patch make the incision.
With rock-steady hands, Patch cut into Ripsaw. Agatha sponged away the blood and handed him the forceps. Relieved to find minimal muscle damage but concerned the bullet lodged in the bone, Patch said, “Appears a ricochet hit him. Otherwise, this slug would’ve done more damage. Though, he isn’t out of the woods. Bone infection is a real worry. Brody, start the ceftazidime.”
“Which one is that?” Brody asked.
Mike passed him a plastic bag containing the antibiotic. “Here.”
Patch dropped the mashed-up bullet on gauze Agatha held out. Next, he went after the tiny pieces of broken bone and bits of cloth from Ripsaw’s pants and socks. “I’m going to have to clean this wound well. How’s his pulse?”
After Brody finished hooking ceftazidime to the IV port, he took Ripsaw’s vitals and reported, “Sixty-two. BP is one ten over seventy.” Patch’s nod indicated all remained in the normal range.
Irrigating the area with peroxide followed by saline, Patch hoped to wash out any remaining debris and lessen the chance of infection. To that end, he chose to leave the wound open. He packed the site with a moist dressing after inserting a makeshift drain from a piece of sterile tubing. When they returned to base, and Dr. Pastore examined Ripsaw, the doc could suture it closed. Patch covered the injury with a dry sterile dressing and taped it in place.
Once they removed all the disposable draping, Patch stacked several pillows at the foot of the bed and lifted Ripsaw’s leg, elevating his wound above his heart. “All I can do for now. We need to monitor him for signs of sepsis.”
While Patch operated, Mason had removed his vest and sat on the floor near Blondie’s bed. He reached out a hand and placed it on Blondie’s leg as he kept an eye on him. Sitting there brought back memories of the weeks on end when they waited for Blondie to talk to them after Murphy stole his wheelchair. Silent vigils and trips to the latrine to take care of basic hygiene.
Noting the waterproof pad hanging off the edge of the mattress, a precaution Patch insisted they take, meant Blondie would likely be embarrassed. The medic had been blunt in what they could expect with the poisoning. Blondie’s body would expel the toxin from every orifice, and it would become quite unpleasant. Not particularly thrilled about what would come, his vow remained true. His hands would be Blondie’s, and he would do all in his power to maintain Blondie’s dignity as he cared for him. I owe my life to him. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my little brother.
Though he never spoke much about it, he had ample experience assisting males in this manner. His oldest sister, Nan, worked in a nursing home and when he turned eighteen, she got him a part-time job there as an orderly. After a year and a half of assisting elderly men with their basic needs, he decided to join the Army, thus dashing his mother’s dreams of him becoming a doctor. His father fully supported his choice and, in the end, his mom came around and embraced his decision.
After removing his mask and sterile gown, and changing his gloves, Brody picked up a washcloth from the pile Sister Maria brought in and dipped it in the fresh water. He went to Danny and wiped his sweaty face. “Patch, he is sweating so much, he’s gonna dehydrate fast.”
As he set up a D5W drip, an intravenous sugar solution to combat Blondie’s water loss without electrolyte loss, Patch said, “I’m increasing his fluids.” After doing so, Patch took a set of vitals and wrote them down. Not happy with either, but at least Blondie’s respiration continued to be close to normal, though a little diminished. “I’m going to check Dom’s girls now and start their IVs.”
“Go, I got Danny,” Brody said as he lowered the lighter weight cotton sheet they switched out for the blanket. He began to bathe Danny’s chest and back. Rinsing the cloth, Brody repeated the process several times. Each time the perspiration collected again and ran in rivulets. As he dipped the rag and turned back to wipe his neck, Danny began retching.
Mason bolted to his feet, putting a basin under Blondie’s mouth to catch the vomitus which was little more than bile. Dry heaves continued for endless minutes. The agony etched on Blondie’s semi-conscious face indicated the pain meds had minimal effect. The kid’s wretched moans twisted Mason’s heart.
Holding the damp cloth to the back of Danny’s neck, Brody whispered, “You’re gonna be okay. Alright. I’m not letting you go. You hear me?” He continued talking, though Dan didn’t respond, too lost in pain to realize anything around him.
A foul odor alerted Brody and Mason that they now needed to address another symptom. Mason stood as the retching eased and went to Patch’s supplies. “I’ll take care of this.” He attempted to don a pair of gloves, but his hands were too large. “Damn, they don’t fit.”
Sister Agatha briskly walked over. “Allow me.”
“No. He trusts me.” Mason grabbed supplies to clean Blondie, intending to do it without gloves, and turned to find an imposing sister with stern features blocking his path.
“You cannot do that unprotected. If you let me this time, I will procure gloves to fit you. He possesses no body parts I have not seen many times.” Agatha took the items from the gigantic, stunned soldier. She strode over to the bed. A small gasp escaped upon her first glimpse of the bare-chested man. “Oh, dear Lord. The poor soul. How did he come by such scars?”
Protectiveness for Danny surged forth. “You can’t show pity. Never pity or … or …” Brody couldn’t bring himself to say what would happen with the sisters, Mike, and Dom in the room. “Don’t express pity.”
Compassion entered Agatha’s eyes. “I will do as you wish. I possess much experience in nursing others and am capable of controlling my expressions. Now, please allow me to attend to this brave man.” When the careworn green-eyed man stepped aside, Agatha set to work. With practiced motions, she cleaned Blondie, dressed him in a hospital-type gown from their infirmary to preserve his modesty, put a new pad under him, and fresh linen over him.
When Danny was settled back in bed, Brody slumped down to the floor at the head of Danny’s bed and lay his hand on Dan’s shoulder. He was so grateful the abbess helped Dan by hypnotizing him and that he appeared to be so out of it now that he probably wouldn’t remember what just occurred.
He wished a post-hypnotic suggestion would work to eliminate his justified fear of needles. Certain Dan would need IVs in the future, and tetanus boosters, and would face his phobia, Brody hoped the unit would figure out a solution to help him. Though, that would be difficult because Danny’s needle anxiety was more debilitating than his panic around open water.
As he leaned his head back on the wall, Brody’s thoughts returned to Dan’s aquaphobia. That fear almost cost him a spot in Special Forces. The swimming phase of training occurred after Dan do
ve off the cliff to save Murphy. The asshole Murphy tripped Dan right before his turn to test, slamming his healing shoulder on the ground. Danny barely made the distance with a weird stroke. He claimed his shoulder had been re-injured in the fall … a partial truth.
Keeping Danny’s secrets might someday cause a real problem, but his brother’s trust meant a great deal to him. Breaking confidences always worried him. Danny possessed many insecurities … with a father like General Broderick it was no surprise. The general put his son through hell … this mission a prime example.
The last two years rolled through Brody’s mind, counting up all the times Danny endured hardship or had been injured. It all started with their selection testing in Australia. A snake bit Koala, and as a result, their Australian friend dropped Dan about twenty feet to a ledge injuring his knees and hands. When they made it to training, the whole cliff incident with Murphy cost Dan his spleen, almost ending his Special Forces career before it ever started.
Since joining Blaze’s unit, Dan had been shot and almost blown up when he went into the explosive-rigged building to warn the others when Gambit died. Only luck, or something of the sort, made Blaze pull Danny from point the night Robbie stepped on the landmine. Though, Danny still carried a sense of guilt over Robbie’s death. When the rest of them escorted Robbie’s casket home, the general assigned Danny to Sergeant Carrall’s unit. Travis and Murphy beat the shit out of Dan on that mission.
The following March, Sergeant Parson’s unit left Danny for dead in enemy territory. Brody felt no sorrow that Parson and his cronies died instead. Next came the Humvee IED incident in which they almost lost both Mason and Danny. Brody glanced at Mason. Their tender-hearted teddy bear still bore profound remorse for his actions which caused Danny harm, though none of them, least of all Dan, blamed Mason.
Brody absently rubbed his right forearm where the flames of the fire in the plane licked him. As terrible as that crash and the injuries they all sustained was, it was the turning point for Danny. He opened up with the guys and began to let them into his world, which was a damned good thing since a month and a half later terrorists took Danny and tortured him for three months. The trust established months prior became an integral piece of Danny accepting the unit’s assistance as he recovered.
Exhaling a long sigh, Brody shifted his gaze to Danny. After all his brother endured serving his country, part of Brody wished neither of them made the cut and remained in the military police. If they had failed in the selection testing, Danny wouldn’t be lying here fighting for his life once again.
In the past two years, Danny had done many things which amazed him. Brody prayed beating this toxin would be one more amazing feat he could add to the list. He patted Dan’s shoulder. “The cost of being a Guardian is high. Amaze me again, brother. Be stubborn and don’t let this poison win.”
Up in Flames
43
May 29
Field Outside of Makhachkala – 0330 Hours
Blaze and Winds pulled into a vacant field beyond Makhachkala city limits and roughly twenty miles from Sacred Heart Abbey. This location was the first and best one to suit their purposes. They did not want the vehicles found anywhere near the abbey.
Both men put the vans in park but kept them running. First order of business … destroy the VINs on the dashboard and jambs of the driver’s side doors. Next, they removed the license plates. Before they left for the club, Winds disconnected the rental company’s GPS devices and tossed them in random trash cans along with the destroyed registration paperwork.
After taking care of the plates and VINs, they wiped down the interiors completely to remove fingerprints. Most wore gloves, but Mason and the kids did not, so eliminating all trace which might link any of the children or themselves to these vehicles became vital.
Grinning, Blaze poured the whole bottle of bleach over Ripsaw’s blood and Blondie’s upchucks. Patch planned well for this contingency, pilfering a four-liter bottle from the resort’s cleaning supply room in case they needed to obliterate biological traces. Picking up the kerosene, he soaked the entire interior pouring a significant amount on the areas Blondie and Ripsaw occupied. He would not leave a hint of a trace of them here.
“The other one is clean. Do we need to torch it too?” Winds trotted over to Blaze.
“Yeah, hate to destroy property but even using bleach, DNA might still be recovered, and we cannot take the risk. Mason’s arm bled a little, and he was not wearing gloves. The fire will destroy any trace you may have missed.” Blaze handed the jug of kerosene to Winds.
Winds went back over to the other van to douse the interior as Blaze had and concentrated on Mason’s spot. Blaze was right. They must do all in their power to protect Mason, Ripsaw, and Blondie.
Blaze’s grin returned as he said, “Damn glad we have the best men on our team.”
Peering over at Blaze, Winds said, “Agreed, but what brought about that comment?”
Withdrawing the roll of safety fuse, Blaze set to measuring out two lengths of 150 centimeters. “Ripsaw planned well by requesting Dom find a fuse for us in case we needed to blow up the vans. Dom said he procured this roll from a construction site. Nothing to come back to us.”
When he finished wiping down the empty kerosene can, removing any of the nuns prints, Winds tossed it inside the vehicle. “How much of a head start are you giving us?”
“With a burn rate of thirty centimeters per minute, we’ll have about five to haul ass before the fireworks start. We’ll be approximately half a mile away.” Blaze opened the fuel cap and inserted one fuse. He handed the second to Winds to do the same thing. Both ran the lines out almost five feet.
“Ready to fire?” Winds laid down his fuse and hoisted his pack on his back.
“In a moment.” Blaze slung his rucksack over his shoulders containing the license plates they would discard somewhere on their trek back. With a gloved hand, he withdrew a package of matches he took from the Cherry Club. “Glad I swiped these off Panin’s desk while we watched the video. A little misdirection can’t hurt. Get set to run.”
After striking a match, Blaze lit both fuses, dropped the matchbook on the ground with the club logo visible, and smiled at Winds as they both sprinted as fast as possible away from the scene.
As they ran, Winds said, “With luck, we’ll make it back before sunrise.”
“Not happening. Daybreak is zero four fifteen. We’ll need to be extra careful once the sun rises. Give me your thoughts on how we get our guys out of here.” Blaze set a blistering pace for them.
“Crossing the border by land won’t work. Too much possibility of being caught at a checkpoint and it is too slow. Both Blondie and Ripsaw need a hospital fast,” Winds replied keeping pace.
“Perhaps by sea?”
“Yeah, if we can steal a yacht or something. But that still leaves us with land travel through either Turkmenistan or Iran. Neither are good choices. And that doesn’t even take into consideration journeying across the hostile parts of Afghanistan to Kandahar.”
Blaze didn’t like their limited options. “Dom has been resourceful with contacts. Perhaps he knows of another way.”
The loud booms of the gas tanks exploding silenced them. They steadily increased their running pace to a ten mile per hour rate down the deserted paved road. It would take them about two hours to make it back to the abbey if they could maintain their pace. Both remained silent as they ran and let their exfil problem roll around in their heads searching for a workable solution
Alley Somewhere in Makhachkala – 0415 Hours
Blaze took a right into an alley between two stark, Soviet-era, concrete apartment buildings. He continued past the overflowing dumpsters to a secluded parking area. “Sun’s coming up. Time to become less conspicuous.”
Dropping his pack, Winds nodded and unzipped it. “I’ll be glad to shed this vest.” Leaving the reason why unsaid. The constriction and the composite material, the staples of the protective garment respon
sible for saving his life, now brought him discomfort where the bullet hit. He unbuckled his vest and pulled it off. As he stuffed the body armor into the backpack, he allowed a soft, but subtle sigh to escape, one which Blaze wouldn’t overhear. His friend didn’t need to worry about him.
Besides, he was confident his ribs were only bruised. After removing the balaclava concealing his physical features, Winds withdrew a black ball cap from an outside pocket. Though not as effective, it would provide the same functionality after he tugged the brim down to cover his face. After he zipped his rucksack, he stood and swung it back on. To conceal another hiss as his abused ribs complained about movement, Winds pushed up his long-sleeves and said, “Though it is only in the low sixties, I’m sweating my ass off.”
Focused elsewhere, Blaze missed the two hisses from Winds. His mind filled with worry about how to get his men out of here without being caught. He feared for Blondie’s and Ripsaw’s lives, and Mason’s too. His size would be a huge obstacle to overcome … not easy to hide someone as massive and distinctive as Mason.
One necessary task presented itself as Blaze rid himself of his tactical vest and donned a baseball cap. Keeping his gloves on, he pulled out the license plates. “I’m going to toss these in the dumpsters here.”
While Blaze strode to a trash barrel, Winds scanned the area, and his eyes lit on something he never expected. “Shit! Blaze, there’s the goddamned truck. The pufferfish one.” He started for the truck but stopped when Blaze spoke.
“No. We can’t detour.” Blaze shoved the vehicle registration plates into a garbage bag with foul, rotting vegetables.
“Like hell, we can’t investigate!” Winds pivoted to glare at Blaze.
“We have our priorities. We need to return to the abbey without being seen and exfil everyone from here.”
“Priorities? I’ll tell you my priority … Blondie. Mason said Panin didn’t know all of what was in the poison. The kid might die if there is something in there which Patch isn’t aware of … his life is the priority.”