Dawn of Valor

by Lindsay McKenna

  “This is bad,” Rachel agreed, and she dropped into a chair, tipping her head back against the wall. “I’m dead on my feet.”

  Annie scrubbed her hands vigorously. “I don’t have any feet.” She grinned.

  “I heard more choppers flying in.”

  Groaning, Annie dried her hands and sat down next to Rachel. “Oh, no. More wounded, then.”

  Looking at her watch, Rachel saw it was two in the morning. She dropped her arm back into her lap, closing her eyes. “I’m afraid so. This is a terrible Christmas.”

  “The worst,” Annie agreed glumly. “Too bad you and Chase broke up. It would be nice to spend a holiday with a loved one.”

  “We didn’t have much to build on,” Rachel said quietly.

  “Oh, I’m not so sure. But you both got bullheaded.” Annie chuckled. “Maybe, with some time, you’ll both recognize some things about yourselves.”

  Rachel gave Annie a sour look. “He couldn’t keep his hands off me.”

  “So? What guy in love can?”

  Her eyes widening, Rachel stared at her roommate. “Love?”

  “Sure, silly. It was written all over both of you.”

  Stunned, Rachel sat back, digesting that possibility. “He never said it to me.”

  “Probably afraid you’d accuse him of trying to get a kiss or, worse yet, get you in bed.”

  Mulling over Annie’s statements, Rachel nodded. “Six weeks ago, I would have,” she admitted tiredly, drained in every conceivable way. It was Chase’s leaving at her request that had killed her spirit. And it was her fault.

  “And now?” Annie prodded gently.

  With a shrug, Rachel muttered, “I don’t know anything anymore, Annie. Ever since that guy crashed into my life, I haven’t been the same.”

  “Sounds like the love virus bit you good, girl.”

  Rachel managed a thin wisp of a smile, studying Annie in the poor lighting. “Love. Isn’t that funny, I was assigning all his motives to sex, not love.”

  “Well, the two do go together,” Annie said. She became serious. “Let me tell you a true story—about myself. I’ve never told anyone about it, but I think this is the right time and place. I fell in love a couple of years ago with Steve Holden, a pilot. I loved him, but I wouldn’t go to bed with him. I was like you, saving myself for marriage and a husband.” Annie’s voice dropped into a painful whisper. “I loved Steve with all my heart. We’d been dating for six months. Oh, I’d kiss him, but pushed anything else away.” Annie grimaced, unable to hold Rachel’s shocked gaze. “One day,” she forced out in a low whisper, “Steve’s plane crashed.”

  Gripping Annie’s hand, Rachel sat up. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You never said anything about this before, Annie.”

  “Of course I didn’t. Who wants to hear a sad story?” Annie patted her hand. “I told you because I don’t want you holding on to some stupid notion about your virginity and letting life pass you by, Rachel. I’m so sorry I didn’t go to bed with Steve. I’m sorry I’ll never have those wonderful memories we could have shared. I’m not implying we should jump in bed with every guy that comes along. But when it’s a serious relationship, with commitment….”

  Moved, Rachel digested Annie’s impassioned words. “Every time I’m around Chase, I—I want to, but I get torn. I thought every kiss meant going to bed with him, that was all. I never considered the possibility that he might be in love with me.”

  “Do what you want, Rachel, but Chase is crazy about you. The guy was like a lovesick puppy the few times I saw him visit.”

  “Ever since that last argument, I haven’t slept well,” Rachel admitted quietly. “I just keep rerunning the conversation. What if Chase was shot down? What if he died? Sometimes I want to talk to him so badly, I’ve even considered driving over to Taegu. I don’t like how it ended between us. And—and if he is—was—in love with me, that would explain some of his need to hold me, kiss me….” Rachel looked over miserably at her friend. “What kind of game are we taught to play as women with men, Annie?”

  “It’s a mine field for both sexes,” Annie reminded her gently. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Rachel. You’re young to the ways of love. Have you ever fallen for a guy before?”

  “You mean, having the kind of feelings I do for Chase?”

  “Yes.”

  “Never.”

  “I thought so.” Annie sighed. “I think you didn’t realize you’d fallen in love with Chase. On the other hand, he was so head over heels with you, that all he could think about was showing you how much he loved you.”

  “Oh, no,” Rachel whispered, closing her eyes tightly. “What if you’re right?” She realized the terrible position she had placed Chase in, if that was so. If he had been bold enough to tell her he loved her, Rachel would have assumed it was a line to get her back into his arms.

  “I think I am, Rachel. Really, I can’t stand seeing you so glum all the time. I mean, when Chase left, a part of you died, too, Rachel.”

  Rachel opened her eyes, staring helplessly at Annie. “I’ve been such a fool. Is love always this painful?”

  “It can be.” She released Rachel’s hand. “I think the nicest Christmas gift I can give you is talking about this. I’ve wanted to for a long time. I knew it wasn’t any of my business, but you were hurting so much, I just couldn’t stand it any longer. And take my word for it, love makes a fool out of everybody. Guaranteed.” Annie brightened. “It’s not too late, Rachel.”

  Rachel rubbed her face tiredly. “If I were Chase, I’d tell me to go fly a kite after all the paces I put him through.”

  Annie smiled wryly. “You’ll never know unless you go to him and find out, will you?”

  Rachel nodded, digesting the new possibilities. A flood of nausea struck her. How could she have been so dumb and blind? “I’ve done some terrible things to Chase.”

  “To yourself, too. But chalk it up to experience.” Annie looked up, hearing orderlies bringing the first of the next batch of wounded men through the outer doors. “We’ve got more casualties. Look,” she said hurriedly, rising, “you get over to Taegu as soon as you can. Don’t hold back. Talk honestly and throw everything on the table. Understand?”

  Shaken, Rachel stood, reaching for another set of surgical gloves and a mask. “Yes…”

  The doors leading to the surgery theater were flung open, the first gurney wheeled through by the panting orderlies. The cold wind from outside rushed in with them, and out of habit Rachel glanced at the man covered with dark green woolen blankets. The fresh set of gloves dropped from her nerveless fingers.

  “Chase!”

  Annie whirled around at Rachel’s anguished cry. Taking one look at the man on the gurney and one at her friend, she moved around the orderlies and gripped Rachel by the arm.

  “Sit down,” Annie ordered harshly, forcing Rachel back into the chair. Jerking her head to the right, Annie saw that Doug Thornton had completed surgery on his patient. He was the only available doctor. She told the orderlies, “Take Captain Trayhern to Dr. Thornton’s table.”

  The orderly pulling the gurney nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Rachel fought to get on her feet. “That’s Chase. My God, my God—”

  “No, you don’t. You sit right there,” Annie instructed tightly. “You aren’t going to be the nurse on this case. I am. You can’t possibly keep your emotions separate from what you’ll have to do, Rachel.” She looked around and spotted another orderly nearby. “David!”

  Pvt. David Lesson came over, his thin face concerned. “Yes, Miss Johnson?”

  “Take Miss McKenzie over to admin. Right now. Get her out of here and keep her away from surgery until I come for her. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Rachel moaned, trying to get free of Annie’s grip. “Let me go!” she cried.

  “David!”

  The orderly leaped into action, putting his arm around Rachel’s shoulders, physically propelling her out of sur
gery. Grimly Annie turned, grabbing a new pair of gloves, hurrying into the operating theater where Thornton was already beginning preparations for surgery on Chase Trayhern.

  Rachel sat exhausted in the chair near the wood stove. Three hours had passed since Chase had been brought in unconscious. He was still in surgery. Cpt. Chuck Dancey, his wingman, had appeared fifteen minutes after Chase arrived and kept her company. Both waited tensely. He had told her that Chase had singlehandedly shot down three MiG jets before being blown out of the sky by the remaining six enemy aircraft.

  Burying her face in her hands, Rachel felt tears squeeze between her fingers. David, the orderly, had immediately gone back to check Chase’s medical status. The word from Dr. Thornton was “critical.” Chase had a badly injured left leg and had lost a great deal of blood. There was grave doubt that Chase’s leg could be saved. Dr. Bruce Bonham, a neurologist, was working with Thornton.

  Dancey, a short, black-haired pilot, walked slowly around the perimeter of the tent, his face long and gray with worry. His hands were clasped behind him, his chin resting against his chest as he paced.

  Rachel felt nothing but numbness. Every chance David got, he ran over to tell her what was going on in the surgery theater. Annie had been right: Rachel could not have functioned as a nurse, not under the these terrible circumstances. The door opened and quickly closed. David managed a sliver of a smile, his face mirroring his exhaustion.

  “They’ve got him stabilized, Miss McKenzie,” he announced triumphantly, glancing over at the pilot who joined them.

  Her hand against her heart, Rachel rallied. “Thank God…”

  “His blood pressure is holding. Finally. Doc Thornton said to tell you it’s touch and go on his leg.”

  “How much damage?” Rachel whispered.

  “Plenty,” David confirmed. “There’s not a lot of muscle left on his thigh, ma’am. And Dr. Bonham’s afraid there will be permanent nerve damage. They’re trying their best, but from the looks of it—” David grimaced “—well, you know.”

  Closing her eyes, Rachel slumped back in the chair. If Bruce couldn’t locate all the torn nerves and repair them, Chase would have limited use of his leg. “What about gangrene? Was the wound dirty?” Rachel tried to steel herself against the possible answer.

  “Miss McKenzie, there was an awful lot of debris in the wound. That helo flight from the front didn’t help him. Doc Thornton said if gangrene sets in, Captain Trayhern’s gonna lose that leg.”

  Dancey cursed softly, glaring over at the orderly. “Chase will fight this. The guy doesn’t give up. He’ll keep that leg, you wait and see.”

  “I hope you’re right, Chuck,” Rachel whispered faintly.

  “The doc said it will be another two or three hours before they’ve got him fixed up, Miss McKenzie. He ordered you to go to bed and sleep. Miss Johnson said she’d come and get you when they’ve got the captain transferred to recovery.”

  Wearily Rachel got to her feet. Annie, as always, was practical. “I’ll do that, David. Thanks. Could you show Captain Dancey to the men’s quarters? He looks like he could use some rest, too.”

  Dancey nodded. “Yeah, I’d like to catch a catnap.” He looked at Rachel with narrowed intensity. “Wake me up when he’s in recovery, will you?”

  “I’ll have David come and get you, Chuck.”

  “Thanks.”

  Rachel stumbled toward the door, her mind fuzzy, her heart in constant pain. Annie’s words rang in her head. The icy cold weather slapped her brutally, and Rachel sucked in a deep breath, the pain increasing in her chest. A gray ribbon lay along the horizon, harbinger of the dawn. The color mirrored how she felt inside. Trudging to her tent, Rachel had only one thought pounding through her: Chase had to live. He had to live to hear her tell him that she loved him.

  Rachel sat next to Chase’s bed, her fingers resting tensely on his gowned shoulder. It was eight in the morning, and the recovery ward was beginning to stir, the doctors making their rounds. Chase was pasty white, his mouth slack. Walnut-colored strands of hair swept across his wrinkled brow. Gently Rachel pushed his hair back into place. His flesh was cool even though recovery was kept warmer than normal for the patients. Two IVs hung on either side of his cot, the liquid dripping into the veins of his arms.

  Numbly Rachel moved her fingers gently against his shoulder. Soon Chase would come out of the anesthesia. And as he did, she was sure it would be rough on him. No one escaped the nausea and vomiting that occurred all too frequently after such a long and complex operation.

  Doug Thornton dropped by on his rounds. He gave her a concerned look. “How you doing, Rachel?”

  She shrugged. “Better than Chase, that’s for sure.”

  “He rallied during surgery,” Thornton told her, pulling back the covers and placing his stethoscope against Chase’s chest, listening intently. A satisfied look crossed Thornton’s face as he wrote some notes on the clipboard he carried. Bringing the covers up, Thornton muttered, “The man’s got the constitution of a bull.”

  Feeling guilty because she thought she should be working, Rachel started to get up.

  “Stay put,” the doctor ordered her sternly. “We’re trying to rest as many of our people as we can between these spurts of casualties coming in from the front. Just stay with him, hear?”

  Rachel wanted to hug the doctor for his understanding. He was married and had three children back in South Carolina. “Thanks, Doug.”

  “You’re off for the next twenty-four hours, so I don’t care if you stay glued to his bedside or go back to your tent to sleep.”

  “I’m going to stay here until he’s conscious.” Doug’s smile told Rachel everything. The doctor, who was forty-five, was giving her special privileges under the circumstances, and she was grateful. He walked off, going to visit his next patient. Rachel returned her attention to Chase and saw beads of sweat begin to form on his brow. She took a cloth and dipped it into a basin of warm water sitting next to the cot. Live, her heart told him. I want you to live, Chase. You just have to…

  Chase moved his head, muttering something unintelligible. He saw the MiGs ganging up on him. He’d just dropped a load of bombs, climbing up and out of the Yongchong area, when they jumped him from behind a line of hills, coming directly out of the sun.

  Chuck Dancey screamed a warning, and Chase powered the agile Mustang to a higher altitude, jinking violently to throw the first MiG off his tail. For the next five minutes, he fought for his life, taking down three enemy jets. Then, six other MiGs cornered him. A cannon shell fired from the nearest MiG struck just ahead of the cockpit, an explosion tearing through the Mustang.

  Pain had ripped up his leg, digging deeply into his gut. Chase gasped, remembering that slicing pain and the jerk of the parachute seconds later, the icy cold of snow stinging his unprotected face. He remembered swinging like a pendulum through the gray sky, heading down toward the safety of the U.N. lines. As the ground came up to meet him, Chase remembered screaming out Rachel’s name.

  “Sh, Chase, I’m here. I’m here….” Rachel gripped his hand. Worriedly she sponged his face and neck as he fought off the anesthesia. He kept muttering her name and fragments of sentences. Hovering in the background was her fear that he no longer loved her—that he would reject her presence as soon as he became conscious.

  Rachel’s voice penetrated the fog Chase lay suspended within. He dragged his lashes upward. Seeing only a wall of white, he closed them again. Little by little, he became aware of a warm, small hand gripping his larger one. Weakly Chase squeezed back. Rachel. It had to be Rachel!

  “Don’t fight so hard,” Rachel begged softly. She stood up, leaning over Chase, keeping her hand firmly on his shoulder to prevent him from moving around and possibly hurting himself. “I’m here, and I won’t leave you, Chase.”

  Rachel saw him open his eyes, saw how dilated his pupils had become. She gave him a wobbly smile, her fingers stroking his roughened cheek. “Chase, can you see me? It’s
Rachel. You’re safe, and you’re going to live.”

  It took Chase several minutes to digest the message she repeated slowly over and over again. He clung to the sight of her face and her lips now pursed at the corners. He saw the anxiety in her forest-green eyes. Nausea stalked him, and he felt sick and hot, breaking out in a heavy sweat. Weak beyond belief, Chase struggled to keep his eyes open and on Rachel. It was impossible. Surrendering to the mélange of sensations, Chase gripped her hand, as if to lose hold of it would mean spiraling forever back into the darkness.

  Rachel jerked awake, stiff from sitting in the straight-backed chair beside Chase’s cot. Quickly she transferred her attention to him. Weak sunlight was filtering through the tent, giving more light to the ward as she sat up and checked on him. Her heart slammed violently in her breast. His eyes were open and less dilated, telling Rachel that the anesthesia was wearing off. Would he ask her to leave? In utter misery, Rachel had to admit she wouldn’t blame him.

  “Chase?” She placed her hand against his sweaty brow and forced a smile she didn’t feel. All of her brisk nursing facade fell aside as he shifted his limited attention to her.

  Frowning, Chase fought the wall of pain surging up through him. His vision was fuzzy, everything out of focus, but he recognized her voice and touch. “Rachel?” The word came out like sandpaper. His voice was raw and unsteady.

  Swallowing against a barrage of feelings, Rachel stood and caressed his cheek. “Yes, it’s me. How do you feel?” Right now Chase would be semicoherent, and speaking too fast would only serve to confuse him. Risking everything, she slid her fingers across his hand, holding it. Would Chase reject her?

  Rachel was here, with him. His heart pounded hard, underscoring the sudden realization. God, he’d been lonely without her. His life had been hell since he’d lost Rachel’s smile and her fiery, spirited nature. “I—like hell…” Chase closed his eyes, feeling her cool fingers against his hot flesh. Flashes of the fight with the MiGs haunted him. Tensing against a savage tidal wave of pain, Chase sucked air between his clenched teeth. His fingers tightened around Rachel’s hand.