Dawn of Valor

by Lindsay McKenna

  Heat stole into Rachel’s face. Wells was sincere. She gently folded the message. “Anyone who is in a war is brave.”

  “No argument from me on that point,” he said. Then he gave her a wink, preparing to leave. “I’ve got to go, there’s plenty for me to do with this push taking place.”

  “Thank you.” Rachel watched Wells disappear out the flaps, the constant boom of artillery shattering the stillness around her. It was nearly dawn. So much had happened so quickly. Where was Chase? Rachel was preparing to test her legs when he entered the tent.

  “There you are.” Chase gave her a tentative smile and ambled in. “How are you doing?” Chafing because circumstances had intruded on their argument after making love, Chase wanted somehow to turn the clock back, to give them time to talk. Nervously he wiped his hands down the legs of his flight suit.

  Rachel’s heart picked up a painful beat, and she held his searching blue gaze. Memory of his lips on hers, his hands worshipping her breasts, making her body sing like a beautiful instrument, would not leave her. “I—fine. Post letdown, to tell you the truth.”

  Chase came over, sitting on the cot opposite Rachel. He touched his head, which sported a new white dressing. “The doc says you did a great job sewing this thick skull of mine back together.”

  Nervously Rachel ran her fingertips along the border of the orders she held. “You deserve only the best, Chase.” So much needed to be said, but Rachel felt time slipping away. “Dr. Wells said they were going to send you by helicopter to a rear MASH unit for X rays.”

  “Yeah. I told them I was okay, but they didn’t believe me.” He gave her a longing glance. “You look kinda pale. Are you sure you’re okay?” Chase had to force himself not to get up and go over to hold her. He saw how washed-out Rachel’s flesh appeared beneath the lantern light. And she was tense, moving a piece of paper constantly between her fingers.

  “Really, I am. I know I’m in shock, but I was more worried about you.”

  “Typical nurse,” he joked huskily. “What about you, Rachel?”

  Tilting her head, she gave him a puzzled look, trying to steel her emotions. “Me?”

  “Yeah. I’d think you’d be going home now.”

  “Home?”

  Chase scowled. “Yeah, stateside. I mean, this has been one hell of a hardship on you. No woman should have to go through what you did.”

  With a little laugh of frustration, Rachel held up the paper toward him. “Stateside, huh? These are my orders, Chase. I’m to report in to a MASH unit south of here tomorrow morning.”

  His eyes widened and he sat up. “What?” It was crazy! His hands knotted into fists on his thighs. “You’re not serious?”

  “Of course I am,” she said quietly.

  “But—Rachel, you damn near lost your life!” The words came out in an explosion of disbelief.

  “Stop shouting at me, Chase!” Damn him! Why couldn’t he understand this was where she wanted to be, helping the men who were wounded? She saw the anger and question in his eyes. “You can be so bullheaded sometimes.” Her voice quavered. “Whatever gave you the idea I’d tuck my tail between my legs and run for home?”

  Sputtering, Chase got to his feet. “Rachel, use your head! This is not a place for a woman. And you, more than anyone, should know that!” He threw his hands upward. “You ought to be going home.”

  “I’m a nurse,” Rachel began tightly, glaring at him. “A damned good one, if I don’t say so myself. I’m needed here.” She wanted to choke Chase. He was stuck on the idea that a woman’s place was at home, in a kitchen or raising children.

  “Then do your nursing stateside.” Helplessness washed over him. She was incredibly beautiful when she was furious, the set of her lips pouring fire through his body.

  “You don’t understand a thing, do you, Chase? You’ve just spent the last couple of days with me behind enemy lines. You’ve seen that I can hold my own just like any man.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” Chase shouted. He loved her. He wanted her safe, and she was sitting there like a pouty three-year-old, stubbornly refusing to cooperate!

  Lurching to her feet, Rachel crossed the tent, sinking her finger deep into his chest. “Wake up, Chase! This isn’t the Middle Ages. This is 1951! I have every right to be here in Korea, just as you do. You’re here to kill. I’m here to save lives.” Her nostrils flared, her words coming out in punctuated snatches. “I was hoping you’d understand. I was hoping for so much. All you see in me is what you consider weakness and inability.” She backed away, the defiance in her tone dissolving. “Look at me, Chase. Not that image in your head about women in general. I’m an individual. Weigh me on my own merits, not what someone has pounded into your head.”

  Smarting beneath her attack, Chase threw his hands on his hips. “Damn you,” he whispered harshly, “you won’t listen to anyone, will you?” This wasn’t how Chase wanted their meeting to end. He wanted more than anything to embrace her, hold her and yes, maybe steal a small kiss from her. The hurt in Rachel’s face and the huge tears in her eyes tore at him.

  “I won’t listen to anyone who thinks they know what’s best for me, Chase Trayhern! Why don’t you just leave? All we do is argue anyway.”

  He hesitated, trying to think of words to heal the widening rift between them. As he stood, hearing their ragged breathing in the momentary stillness, Chase realized there was no bandage to treat their situation. Rachel wasn’t going to back down and leave Korea. The set of her jaw guaranteed that.

  “Captain Trayhern!” An orderly slipped into the tent, coming to attention. “Sir, a helicopter is waiting to take you to the rear.”

  “Fine. I’ll be there in a moment, Private.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rachel watched the soldier leave, positioning himself outside the flaps. She saw the agony in Chase’s set features. “This isn’t good for you,” she muttered. “Losing your temper increases blood pressure. Your head’s probably pounding.”

  Anger and frustration ballooned within Chase. “My head hurts like hell.” His heart ached even more. “If you’d listen to reason—”

  “Leave, Chase,” Rachel whispered wearily, sitting back down, collapsing on the cot. She could feel her heart breaking with such incredible pain that it felt like genuine cardiac arrest. She avoided his pleading gaze.

  “But—”

  Lifting her head, she shook it. “No.”

  Chase opened his mouth to launch into further argument, but he saw the defiance glittering in her narrowed green eyes. “It’s just that—”

  “I’m not a child, Chase. I’m not the little girl you see me as. Until you can get rid of that image, there’s nothing to share between us.”

  The words hit him hard. He snapped his mouth shut, turned and jerked open the flaps of the tent. Damn her! Damn her to hell! Every step across the harrowed earth multiplied the pain in his heart. The orderly led the way to the helicopter. Chase rubbed his chest, trying to will away the agony ripping him apart. Rachel’s tear-filled eyes haunted him. Little girl. He hadn’t treated her like that! She was just upset by the trauma and unexpectedly making love with him, that was all.

  Chase strode the last few feet and boarded the helicopter. Strapping in, he sat fuming. An icy sensation tore through him. He didn’t even know where Rachel was being stationed! The helicopter lifted off into the dawn sky, the unit below them growing smaller and smaller. Anxiety coursed through Chase. How in hell was he going to find out where Rachel would be? Somehow, he’d locate her unit. This wasn’t the end. He glared toward the red and pink ribbons of color along the horizon. Time, they needed time, and they had none. Absolutely none…

  “Ready, Lieutenant?”

  Rachel sniffed, fighting back the tears. The private smiled uncertainly, holding the flap of the tent open for her. She got up, looking around. Half an hour ago, the tent had rung with heated and angry words. Following the private, she walked carefully over the rutted earth. A jee
p had been rerouted for her use, and the private would drive her south toward her new MASH unit. Her new home. Not the home Chase had in mind.

  As Rachel climbed into the passenger side of the jeep and settled into the seat, she released a long, painful sigh. The sky was a deepening crimson color, highlighting the few clouds with pink edges. Her heart felt as if it had been ground up and destroyed.

  The jeep lurched forward, gears grinding, tackling the tank tracks and bumping along the poor excuse for a dirt road. Rachel held on for her life as she was tossed around, bruising her hips and rear. This was one ride she wasn’t going to enjoy. Columns of Australian troops, their young faces darkened and blank, carrying their rifles on their shoulders, marched slowly toward the front. War surrounded her. Yet Chase’s argument and anger kept pounding through her head like an artillery barrage.

  Gradually the reminders of war were left behind, and the jeep was able to speed up as the road improved. Rachel relaxed, trying to focus on the bare-limbed trees preparing for the forthcoming winter. That was how she felt, as stripped and vulnerable as those trees. She loved Chase. The word warmed Rachel, but the reality of his stance shattered her hope. Why couldn’t Chase see her as an individual instead of lumping her in under the title woman? She was many things. Why couldn’t he see that?

  The memory of Chase’s kiss, the strength and tenderness of his mouth teasing hers, compounded Rachel’s pain. She closed her eyes, a tiredness thousands of years old settling around her shoulders. How could she have fallen in love so quickly? Was it possible? Didn’t love take at least a year to blossom? Searching her experience and her mother’s advice, Rachel came up with few answers. Her father had courted her mother two years before he had asked for her hand in marriage. Most of the women her age insisted upon a one-year engagement after discovering they loved a man.

  Rubbing her aching temples, Rachel wondered if the trauma of the capture and escape had influenced her emotions to that degree. How could it? With another sigh, she opened her eyes. Perhaps time would give her the answers. Her mother always said time would tell everything. She didn’t even know where Chase was stationed or have an address where she could reach him. Her misery multiplied. It was really the end. He’d made no attempt to get her new address or even mention the fact that he’d like to get to know her better.

  Where was her mind? Her reason? Rachel realized then how much she’d fallen in love with Chase. It had been a one-sided affair. Of course, he wanted her physically, but that wasn’t real love. At least she knew the difference. A coldness invaded Rachel, and she felt the pain jag through her. There was no way to fight her grief, her loss of the only man who had ever stolen her heart. Rachel laughed sadly to herself. She was right back where she’d been: a nurse in a MASH unit. It was as if this had been an incredible dream and nightmare combined, which hadn’t really existed at all.

  Time, she told herself. I need time to grieve for what I’ve lost in Chase. I need time to forget him….

  Buddy Dawson couldn’t die! Chase awkwardly unstrapped from the Mustang he’d just landed at Taegu. His wingman had gotten hit over a target, and Buddy was down. Chase climbed out of the cockpit, walked down the wing and leaped to the muddy ground. Rain slashed at his face as he ran toward the ambulance parked next to Buddy’s fighter.

  Ever since he’d left Rachel, nothing had gone right. Now his best friend was wounded. Clenching his fists, Chase climbed into the ambulance. There was a MASH unit five miles away. After looking at his unconscious friend, Chase closed his eyes, a terrible feeling moving through him. Buddy was incredibly pale, his red hair stark against his pasty flesh. All Chase could think about was Buddy’s three-month-old baby—a daughter he’d never seen. Reaching over, he unbuttoned the pocket on Buddy’s leather jacket, pulling the photo out to protect it. Chase’s fingers closed around the photo, his eyes never leaving his friend’s face.

  The rain was coming down harder, the muddy road a thickening mire rutted with deep trenches, slowing the ambulance considerably. By the time they arrived at the MASH unit, Chase was beside himself. The doors flew open and he leaped out, stepping aside to allow the orderlies to take Buddy inside a huge dark green tent. Cold water stung Chase’s frozen features as he watched them throw a protective blanket over Buddy.

  “Hurry up!” he roared. “Dammit, hurry up!”

  The corpsman grabbed Chase, dragging him away from the ambulance. “Take it easy, sir,” he gasped, watching the wounded man being taken inside.

  Jerking off the corpsman’s hold, Chase shouldered past him. “Get out of my way,” he snarled. The photo of Cindy Ann Dawson remained in his pocket, safe from the rain’s damaging drops as Chase entered the Surgery tent.

  The bright lights hurt his eyes, and he halted at the entrance in confusion. The place was a beehive of activity, with several nurses in dark green surgery gowns moving around Buddy. Two doctors were prepping him for immediate surgery. Chase felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Captain, you can’t be of any use here,” the corpsman said gently. “If you want, you can wait in the admissions tent. It’s across the way. There’s hot coffee over there and a place to sit down.”

  Torn, Chase watched the nurses, masks in place on their faces. Shouts filled the tent, escalating Chase’s tension. The five people around Buddy’s cot looked like a nest of green-clothed hornets stirred up and flying around in frantic urgency, shoving tubes into his friend, poking him with needles and clapping an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose.

  “Sir?”

  Chase resisted, his gaze clinging to Buddy’s slack face. His fingers wrapped protectively around the photo in his pocket. He saw one nurse suddenly jerk her attention in his direction, but he paid no heed, all his focus centered on Buddy.

  Rachel’s eyes widened. She snapped her gaze from Chase back to the man on the cot. Giving orders quietly to her team of nurses, Rachel shut out the shock she felt at seeing Chase again. Her heart took a ragged plunge at realizing he was standing no more than ten feet away. In those agonizing seconds, Rachel saw a man who was pale and drawn, not the cocky pilot she’d known before. The look in his eyes shredded her composure. She glanced down at the pilot they were working feverishly to stabilize. She guessed he must be a good friend of Chase’s. The war had finally become personal to him.

  Within the next two minutes, they had the pilot transferred to the operation theater, the doors swinging shut. Rachel was the head surgery nurse, quickly getting her instruments ready for the two doctors who were going to try to save this man’s life.

  “Shrapnel,” Dr. Todd growled to his partner, Dr. Davis.

  “Busting tanks when it happened, according to the corpsman,” Davis added. He shot a glance over at Rachel. “Ready?”

  “Let’s go,” she whispered, hands hovering over the myriad of items that could possibly save the man’s life. The minutes congealed into a tense ballet between Rachel and the doctors. She kept taking blood pressure readings, watching it drop repeatedly. The pilot had lost too much blood. Although they were pumping as much whole blood as possible back into his body, they were losing the battle for his life. The main artery in Dawson’s leg had been severed. Rachel wondered how he had been able to fly back and land the plane before fainting from loss of blood. Chase slammed back into her mind. The look of agony in his eyes haunted her as she handed clamps to Dr. Davis. Chase.

  Chase prowled the admissions tent like a caged animal. The place was deserted, the rain pelting down on the canvas, creating a dull background sound. He kept looking at the photo of Buddy’s daughter and praying. Buddy had to live! He had a home and a family waiting for him. His wife was only twenty, and they’d been married less than two years. He kept looking toward the wooden door. The urge to find out how Buddy was doing was killing Chase.

  Glancing at the watch on his wrist, he realized it had only been forty minutes since they’d arrived at the MASH unit. Chase paced restlessly, rubbing his brow where an ache was centering. Just as he was about to h
ead back over to the surgery tent, the door quietly opened and closed. He jerked to a halt in the center of the tent, his gaze swinging to the figure standing inside the door. It was a nurse, her surgery gown darkened with rain and splattered with blood. Chase’s eyes widened as she took off her mask and pulled the sweat-stained green cap from her head. Black hair, shining beneath the lantern light, tumbled around her shoulders.

  “Rachel!” Her name came out explosively, raw and primal.

  She stood uncertainly, the mask and cap dangling in her left hand. “Chase?”

  He blinked once, as if not believing his eyes. “What—I mean, I didn’t know you were here.” His voice was terribly off-key.

  Walking over to him, Rachel managed a strained smile laced with sadness. “I’ve been here a month.” She frowned, gripping his arm, her voice lowering. “I asked the doctors to let me talk to you about Lieutenant Dawson.”

  Chase tensed, his eyes darkening. “Buddy?”

  “Yes.” Rachel swallowed hard, forcing herself to hold his anguished gaze. Chase knew what she was going to tell him—she could see him trying to prepare himself for the tragic news. She gripped his arm more firmly. “He was your friend?”

  Chase couldn’t speak. His throat closed up. Instead, he nodded, holding on to the photo in his right hand.

  “I’m sorry, Chase. Buddy didn’t make it. He’d lost too much blood. He went into cardiac failure.” Her fingers tightened as she felt him stiffen, denial coupled with disbelief in his features.

  “No!” His cry caterwauled off the tent walls. Chase spun from her grasp and walked to the other end of the tent.

  Rachel watched Chase halt, his back to her. The shadows accentuated his hunched and shaking shoulders. He was crying. Without thinking, she walked over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

  “Chase,” she murmured in a strangled tone, “I’m sorry. So sorry…”

  Just the firm touch of Rachel’s hand on his shoulder made Chase turn blindly in her direction. His eyes were filled with tears, blurring her softened features and sad green eyes. “It can’t be…it can’t be.” He held up the photo for her to look at, his hand trembling. “Buddy’s got a new daughter, three months old. He’s never seen her…he’s got a wife. They’ve been married just a short time—” His voice cracked, the wall of pain welling up through him.