Dawn of Valor

by Lindsay McKenna

  “You all right?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

  Rachel held his narrowed, demanding look. “I—yes.” There was a tremble in her voice. And her hands were shaking. She had gathered an armful of dried grass to make a pallet for Chase. Actually Rachel had spent the time alone trying to control all her escaping emotions. Pulling the huge swatches of grass had helped calm her nerves. “I threw up,” she admitted, embarrassed. “I don’t know why.”

  “Welcome to combat,” Chase muttered. Her face was drawn, her eyes bleak. She winced at his blunt statement. “Throwing up is one of many reactions,” he explained, trying to soften his tone.

  Relief jagged through Rachel and she held the grass a little tighter, needing something that symbolized stability. “It is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t know….” Her voice trailed off, absorbed by the wall of rock.

  “How could you? It isn’t every day your unit gets overrun by North Koreans and you get captured.” Chase held her tenuous gaze, finding her features utterly vulnerable now. All the bravado Rachel had displayed earlier dissolved under the realization of what had happened to her over the past twelve hours. Delayed reaction to the mortar shelling, capture and escape had caught up with her, Chase realized. He patted the floor beside him.

  “Listen, come and lie down for a while. You need to rest. This has been one hell of a day for you.”

  The invitation sounded wonderful. “I—I am tired.” Exhausted would be a more appropriate word. Rachel saw Chase give her a tender smile, and it sent a sheet of warmth through her cold, trembling body.

  “Come on,” he urged. “I may be a miserable bastard with a blinding headache, but I won’t bite you. Lie close, it’s cold in this place.”

  Nodding, Rachel crawled forward. “I can give you the grass—”

  “You use it. Come on, think of yourself for once.” He noted that her long, expressive fingers were white. The amount of fear she must be feeling was overwhelming her. Chase took some of the proffered grass, spreading it out thinly across the surface.

  Rachel gave him a grateful look and lay down, her back toward him. She used her arm as a pillow as he had. “Thank you,” she whispered. Even now, tremors ran through her, and she drew her knees upward, wanting to retreat into a fetal position.

  Lying there in the silence, Chase listened to her choppy, uneven breathing. He wanted to reach over and pull her close to him, but he didn’t dare. They were strangers. He was a man and she was a woman. If he tried it, she’d probably be shocked and properly outraged. Fighting the desire to drag her against him, to share body heat and help her up and over the combat reaction, Chase glared out into the gray dusk.

  “When I shot down my first MiG, I landed and promptly threw up in the cockpit of my plane,” he began in a roughened tone. “My mechanic, Sergeant Owens, came over and shoved the canopy back and looked at me. He’s an older fella, and must have at least fifteen years in the service.”

  Chase’s voice washed across her like a warming blanket, soothing the ragged edges of her composure. “W-what did he say?” she asked in a strained voice.

  “Slapped me on the back and congratulated me.” Chase closed his eyes. “He said, ‘Welcome to combat, Lieutenant. Some men heave their guts out. Others have bad dreams. Some cry. That’s the way it is, sir.’ A real short, succinct lesson about war, isn’t it?”

  A whisper of torn breath escaped from Rachel. “Yes. My stomach was upset for a long time. I thought I was getting the flu.”

  The ebony tresses lay sleekly against her shoulders and neck. Chase had a wild desire to reach out, thread his fingers through that beautiful, tangled mass and comfort her. Tearing his thoughts and desires from Rachel, he muttered, “No one said combat was fun. It’s hell. A very personal hell.”

  Sliding her arm against her grumbling stomach, Rachel asked, “Does this feeling ever go away?”

  “Yeah, if you go to sleep, you’ll feel partly human when you wake up.” His brows drew downward. “But I can’t vouch for the memories or the fear. They hang around a lot longer.”

  Closing her eyes tightly, Rachel admitted, “I’m scared to death, Captain. I didn’t realize it until I threw up. I was so busy making sure we weren’t seen and taking care of you, all those emotions just got shoved down inside me for a while.”

  “Call me Chase. And I’m scared, too. Fear’s a healthy thing. It’ll keep us alive and get us out of this mess.”

  The desire to turn over and crawl into his arms was overwhelming. Rachel’s eyes widened at the yearning deep within her. Chase had a rough timbre to his voice, and this time it was filled with incredible tenderness. Realizing he wasn’t an ogre all the time took another layer of weight off Rachel’s shoulders.

  Sighing, she closed her eyes. “I’m so tired, Chase. I’ve got to sleep….”

  “Then do it. We shouldn’t both sleep. One of us needs to stand guard. I’ll wake you up in four hours and then you can take the watch.”

  He was right, Rachel realized with a jolt. They were in enemy territory with no promise of getting back to their lines or getting out of this alive. She wrestled with the fear again, everything foreign to her. “Four hours,” she repeated tiredly. And within moments, she spiraled into a dreamless sleep.

  Rachel awoke with a jerk. Sunlight was streaming across the valley outside the cave, striking the withered ocher landscape. Heart pounding, she sat up, looking to her right. Chase was snoring softly, asleep. Fear stabbed through her. He hadn’t awakened her in four hours. When had he fallen asleep? The possibility of the enemy finding them while they both slept was great.

  Crawling to the mouth of the cave, Rachel flattened out on her stomach, perusing the windswept terrain. A few birds were singing, but she saw no other sign of life. Relief rolled through her and she got up, moving back to where Chase lay.

  Without thinking, Rachel smoothed several limp strands of his hair away from his bandaged forehead. In those velvet moments, her heart blossomed with an incredible array of feelings as she gazed down at his face. Even in sleep, Chase’s brow was slightly furrowed with pain. His mouth sent unbidden desire through Rachel and she stared at it, wondering what it would be like to kiss him, to feel his masculine strength.

  Right now, Chase looked almost boyish. The rumpled strands of his hair, although short, added to his look of vulnerability. His antagonism stemmed, Rachel was sure, from being wounded and in pain. The shape of his mouth told her he wasn’t always a grouch. No, his mouth promised strength coupled with great tenderness. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder as she drank Chase into her mind and heart.

  The night before, Rachel had been on the receiving end of his tenderness and care. Chase hadn’t had to share the story of his first combat experience with her or admit he’d been sick afterward. Despite his masculine stance toward women in general, he had been sensitive enough, concerned enough, to overcome his considerable male pride and share something of value between them.

  “You’re something else, mister,” Rachel whispered. “Something else…” She couldn’t compare Chase to any man in her experience. Of course, over the years, men had made passes at her, even stolen kisses. Rachel had been taught that the gift of herself was to be saved for marriage and her husband. Therefore, the groping hands of a number of boyfriends had been turned aside with studied insistence.

  Looking at Chase, Rachel wondered if her resolve was strong enough. There was an intense sensuality to his mouth, to his whole body! She ached to spread her hand across his massive chest and explore it, not as a nurse, but as a woman. Sure, she knew the names of the bones and muscles. But Chase beckoned and stirred fires that lay beneath medical expertise.

  Stymied by the new, unexpected feelings, Rachel closed her eyes. She had to think. She had to separate her emotions toward Chase and be clear about their escape effort. Because of the severity of his head wound, he wasn’t capable of staying awake at night. She would have to be their eyes and ears, catching quick
naps during the day in order to stay awake at night to protect them.

  Her stomach growled loudly, and Rachel pressed her hand against the region. She was starved. The stream in the rear gave her an idea, and she moved quietly out of the cave and into the sunlight. Chase was sleeping soundly. Let him. At least one of them would wake up in a good humor.

  Chase blinked, the light hurting his eyes. It took several minutes to realize where he was. His mind wasn’t functioning very well at all, the pain a constant sledgehammer within his head. Grunting, he rolled over onto his side. Where was Rachel?

  His mouth was thick and gummy, a croak coming out instead of her name. Dizziness assailed him briefly as he sat up. Rubbing his hand across his jaw, he realized belatedly that he needed to shave, the bristles sharp against his palm. His eyes adjusting to the sunlight, he looked around the silent maw.

  Where the hell was Rachel! Dammit, didn’t she realize the enemy was close? Where was she? Out powdering her nose? His anger rose with the incessant pain in his skull. Thirsty, he slowly got to his hands and knees, working his way back to the stream, drinking his fill.

  Chase realized with renewed grimness that he was in no state to travel by himself. Just that small amount of crawling to and from his grass pallet had proven that. That would mean another day of leaning on Rachel, depending on a woman. He frowned, drawing up his legs and resting his brow against his knees. Good thing she couldn’t read minds; she’d surely get her back up over that last thought.

  Why did her independence and lack of need to lean on a man bother him so much? He barely knew her. They weren’t engaged. Matter of fact, there was nothing between them. In his mind’s eye, Chase pictured her natural grace, the way her hips swung freely from side to side and the defiant way she held her chin, just daring someone to challenge her.

  A grin leaked through his tightly set lips. What a beautiful hellion she was. He’d like to tame her, watch her defiance melt into cries of pleasure. Would her eyes deepen in color, a velvety green to match the richness of fulfillment he would give to her? Or would they lighten in color, like sunlight splashed across the surface of a lake?

  Where was Rachel? Chase lifted his head, becoming more concerned. A good ten minutes had passed, according to his watch. Had a patrol discovered her? Was she captured, refusing to tell them where he was hidden? Ugly and unwanted pictures flashed through Chase’s mind.

  His anger was turning into genuine worry. Chase rarely worried about anything. But his Irish lightweight was out there somewhere, causing him a hell of a lot of unnecessary consternation. Suddenly, with a muffled curse, Chase rolled onto his hands and knees and started to crawl toward the glare of sunlight. He wasn’t used to the avalanche of unbridled emotions that came with his decision to try to locate Rachel. The pain in the region of his heart was as real as the pain in his head. He knew why his head hurt, but he was stymied by the ache that was widening every moment in his chest. Whether he liked it or not, Rachel meant something to him. Not knowing whether to be happy or sad about that discovery, Chase forced himself forward.

  Chapter Four

  “Where the hell have you been?” Chase exploded.

  Rachel froze at the lip of the cave, her hands filled with food for them. Her mouth dropped open and then she snapped it shut, her green eyes blazing as she held the pilot’s furious gaze.

  “Where have I been?” She glared at Chase. Her voice grew strident in uncharacteristic fashion. “Who do you think you are, bellowing at me like I’m some child to be punished?” Thrusting her hands forward, she shoved the food under his nose. “These are mussels. I found them in the stream in back of the cave. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved and I intend to eat these slimy things!”

  Chase watched her move by him and sit down on the grass pallet. His anger cooled by degrees as he made his way back to join her.

  “It’s almost eleven hundred,” he grouched, sitting cross-legged, opposite her. “When I woke up, you were gone. How the hell did I know you were out foraging for food? For all I knew, the enemy had captured you.”

  “You’re the one who overslept. What did you want me to do? Wake you up and tell you where I was going?” Rachel tried to stop the hurt and accusation from leaking through her voice, but she couldn’t help it. Like a child finding treasure, she had happened upon the mussels in the stream. Finding enough food for both of them had made her confidence soar. When Chase bellowed like a wounded bull, demanding to know where she had been, it had spoiled her joy. Did it ever occur to the thick-headed pilot that she didn’t have pencil and paper to leave him a note?

  Chase stared down at the black and gray mussels, digesting her righteous anger. “Look, I’m a bear today. My head hurts and I’m hungry.” That was as close to an apology as she was going to get from him.

  Rachel flicked a glance up at him. “People aren’t usually at their best when they’re injured, Captain.”

  “Call me Chase,” he ordered tightly, trying to defuse the anger that hung between them.

  Rachel shoved six mussels toward him. “I don’t feel very friendly toward someone who can only yell at me. You’re not my father. We’re both adults in a bad situation, so let’s start acting like it.”

  He glared at her. “I was worried, okay?”

  “Worried?” Rachel grabbed the first mussel, using a thin stick to try to force open the shells. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  “I like you and I was concerned.”

  Startled, Rachel jerked a look up at Chase. It was true. She could see the concern, not anger, in his blue eyes. Heat rushed into her cheeks, and she quickly dipped her head, pretending to work at opening the mussel. “Oh…”

  He wanted to throttle her. “You’re touchier than that plane I fly.”

  “Flew,” she corrected, trying to pry the shells open.

  “All right, flew.” Chase sat back, shaking his head slightly. “Has anyone ever told you you’re stubborn, bullheaded, and a know-it-all?”

  Rachel eyed him. “Many times. Usually, men who are defensive about my ability to think and speak for myself, Captain.”

  Irritation rippled through Chase. Still, he admired Rachel’s skill at being able to find them food. How many people would have overlooked the stream, not thinking of edible creatures other than fish? He picked up a mussel and, using a penknife he always carried in his pocket, opened it.

  “Where’d you learn to hunt for mussels?” he demanded sourly, revealing the mussel’s fleshy interior. Chase handed the opened shell to Rachel, taking the one she was having no success with.

  Rachel stared. He had a knife! Reluctantly she took the proffered mussel. “My dad taught me how to survive in the woods if I ever got lost.” She eyed the meat, thinking how slimy it looked. Her stomach growled. Could she eat it?

  “Where?”

  “Maine.”

  “No wonder you’re so bullheaded and independent.”

  Rachel grinned, noting that the surliness in Chase’s voice had disappeared. She watched as he expertly opened the rest of the shells in quick succession. “Back where I come from, I’m seen as self-sufficient, not any of the unflattering adjectives you’ve labeled me with.”

  “Are you always this feisty?” Chase looked up, snared by the amusement in her eyes. There was a crooked smile on her full, firm lips…lips he wanted to taste, subdue and pleasure.

  “Are you always down on women?”

  “Touché.” Chase folded the penknife and slid it back into his pocket. “I happen to like women very much.” And then he smiled boyishly for the first time. “After all, I’m single, relatively good-looking and they seem to like me, too.”

  Rachel gave him a flat look. “Typical arrogant fly-boy. Your ego’s as big as that inflated head of yours.”

  Chase popped the first of the mussels into his mouth, relishing the meat. “Lady, you have to have a healthy ego to fly a prop plane up against a jet-powered North Korean MiG.”

  He had a point, Rachel reali
zed, still eyeing the mussels unenthusiastically. She really did have to eat them if she was going to have any energy to walk and help Chase.

  “Go on, eat,” Chase encouraged, popping a second and then a third one into his mouth. “They’re good.”

  Wrinkling her nose, Rachel muttered, “I hate clams and such.” She shivered. “They’re so slimy!”

  Grinning, Chase said, “I don’t believe it. Lieutenant Rachel McKenzie has a weak spot in her armor after all. I’ll be damned.”

  “You,” Rachel retaliated heatedly, “don’t know the first thing about me. Just because I don’t like to eat slimy creatures doesn’t make me weak!” Gingerly she picked up the flesh between her fingertips, holding it before her.

  Chase took pity on her. He saw the agony in Rachel’s eyes. “I know enough to see you’re going to have a tough time swallowing them.”

  With a little sound of defeat, Rachel put the flesh back into the shell. “I can’t eat it. I’m afraid I’ll throw it up.”

  “No, you won’t. I thought that at first, too, when I learned to eat them a long time ago. I lived in a lot of places, growing up, because my father was in the military for thirty years. Once, we lived near the ocean. Mom is a Massachusetts native, and she taught us how to hunt for clams on the beach and eat them.”

  Grimacing, Rachel muttered, “I’m glad for you.”

  “Maine has lots of beachfront property, too.”

  “I lived inland.”

  There was something vulnerable about Rachel at that moment. Chase reached out, placing his hand on her slumped shoulder. “When was the last time you ate?”

  She shrugged, stabilizing beneath his firm touch. “I don’t know. The ROKs and Aussies retreated around dawn yesterday. We’d been up through the night ferrying our patients to the helicopters, getting them out of there before the enemy overran our unit.”