Destruction: The Dogs of War, a Lost and Found Series

by J. M. Madden

  Jordyn screamed for a medic as Fontana’s eyes closed and he fell unconscious. He was doing this weird gasping thing, like he couldn’t get breath into his lungs. Blood coated him from head to toe, and she couldn’t tell where it was all coming from. There seemed to be a wound in his ribs, and she wondered if that wasn’t why he was gasping. There was also some kind of bandage around his upper left thigh, which looked deep.

  Keying her mic she demanded medical help, then gave her location. Within seconds a man ran out of the fire and smoke toward them. Kenny waved an arm to bring him in, and the man, dressed in a hodgepodge of camo and black, went to his knees on the other side of Fontana. There was a large red cross on his right arm, denoting medical. Immediately, he started assessing Fontana’s vitals; blood pressure seemed low and his pulse was sluggish as well. Jordyn had had basic medical training and she knew that much, but the medic was frowning hard. He didn’t like what he found.

  “I’m Dr. Giraldi,” the man said, glancing up at her. “I’ll be taking care of Mr. Fontana. What can you tell me about his condition?”

  “I just got here, too. Looks like two bullet wounds, chest and leg, but I haven’t gone any further than that.”

  Giraldi nodded, and she stared at the man as he did his evaluation. Commonly on high-risk ops like these there were medics, or corpsmen, but very rarely actual doctors.

  “My assistant is triaging other wounded. Would you mind helping me roll him over, very carefully? I’ll stabilize his head.”

  As Big Kenny stood over them in guard position, she and Giraldi rolled Fontana up onto his side. Jordyn realized a lot of the blood was coming from a cut on the back of his head. Dr. Giraldi spotted it at the same time and quickly applied a bandage that looped all the way around. Then he began cutting the clothes from his body. They found the gash in his ribs, and the weird bubbling in the blood there. “He’s punctured a lung.”

  Giraldi dug in his kit for a minute and withdrew a round piece of bandage. He removed the sterile packaging, wiped the area around Fontana’s injury clean, then applied the bandage. It may have been her imagination, but she thought he took a more sure breath that time.

  “Hopefully that will keep the air out of his chest and keep the lung from collapsing.” He gave her a bright smile. “That won’t kill him.”

  Giraldi continued down, cutting Fontana’s pants from his legs. They peeled away wetly, almost completely saturated with blood. It was as he was cutting them away that he pulled something heavy from one of the cargo pockets.

  “Is this a bag of his own blood?”

  Jordyn looked at it in confusion. “I have no idea.”

  “We’ll set that aside for now. If he comes to and confirms it’s his, we may just roll it right back into him. It would help with his blood pressure.”

  She nodded, wondering where the hell it had come from. Had they been drawing his blood for experimentation?

  Giraldi cut off the makeshift bandage on Fontana’s thigh and it started bleeding again, more than just wound bleeding. “Okay, this is enough to kill him. He’s nicked an artery. Can you assist?”

  Jordyn nodded, knowing that she would do anything she needed to do to keep Fontana alive. Packing the wound with dressings, he told her to hold pressure on it, then he started an IV. Big Kenny moved close enough to hook the bag onto one of his pockets as he continued to cover them.

  Jordyn did as she was told as Giraldi prepared to try to stitch the wound closed. She glanced around the area. It seemed like most of the shooting was done and now the CIA team was rounding everyone up. They were also going cage to cage and checking on the survivors.

  There were a lot of dead here, but it looked like the good guys had prevailed. She spotted Zero and Shane moving through the captured prisoners, and Payne had the camera to his eye, documenting the rescue of the caged survivors. Officer Rose stood over an unconscious a man in civilian clothes, scanning the scene around him and talking into his satellite phone.

  She glanced down at Fontana. It wasn’t her imagination. He was definitely breathing better, but still not normal, full breaths.

  Jordyn held a focused flashlight beam and several tools she had no name for as the doctor dug into Fontana’s leg and stitched the bleeder closed. It had to be damn near the least sterile environment ever, but she had no doubt that Fontana would be able to walk afterward. And if his healing abilities were as good as he said they were, he would be up and around in no time.

  Giraldi bandaged the leg and pronounced him ready to transport. Stripping off his gloves the doctor keyed his radio and talked to someone. Over the din of fighting and yelling, Jordyn had heard the steady whomp whomp whomp of rotor blades coming close. That was definitely a Chinook.

  “Are you going with him?” Giraldi asked.

  “Yes,” she said, no hesitation. She was not leaving Fontana now.

  There was something over his face, cutting off his breathing. He lifted an arm and tried to pull it off, but the wind was blowing so hard that he couldn’t.

  “Leave it, Fontana,” he heard Jordyn say. “We’re almost loaded.”

  Though it made him a little panicked he left the fabric over his face. The wind eased as he felt himself being carried up onto something, and his cot being set onto a floor. Noise was all around him and he blinked into the darkness.

  Then Jordyn was leaning over him and smiling down into his face. “Hey, we’re loaded. How are you feeling?”

  He blinked up at the line of lights above his head. “Helicopter?”

  “Yeah, we’re in a Chinook headed who knows where. The CIA is driving.”

  He nodded, then winced as fire blazed across the back of his head. He must have made some kind of sound because she squeezed his hand. “You’re okay, but you have a cut on the back of your head and a punctured lung. You’re not as pretty as you used to be with your face all swollen. Your left thigh took some heavy damage as well. But you’re stitched up enough to get the hell out of the jungle. Okay? I’m going to stay with you until you’re stabilized.”

  That one sentence made him feel better than anything. “You’ll stay with me?”

  “Yes, I will,” she said firmly. “I’ll watch over you until you wake up, okay? Don’t worry about anything.”

  Yeah, he believed her. Jordyn Madeira was a beautiful woman with an amazing heart, and if she said she would watch over him, he believed her.

  “Hey, Fontana. Is that your bag of blood we found in your pants pocket?”

  “Yes,” he said, voice drowsy. “Mine.”

  “Okay.”

  He felt her fingers in his hair and even though it hurt to move, he turned his head toward her. Then he let the world drift away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jordyn wanted to throw up, but she’d have to let go of Fontana if she did. The helicopter thrummed beneath her. She sat on the floor next to Fontana’s four-inch tall cot, her hand buried in his hair. If he had any idea what she’d done for him…

  Glancing around the cargo hold, she looked for familiar faces, but there were only one or two who looked vaguely familiar. They’d been on Officer Rose’s team treating the Brazilian survivors at her uncle’s airport. The rest of the people packed into the hold were survivors from this camp, or other critically wounded CIA officers. Giraldi was at the far end of the cargo space, leaning over one of the critically starved men. He’d been moving back and forth almost constantly, putting out medical fires as he came to them. As soon as she confirmed that the bag of blood was indeed Fontana’s he’d changed out the bag of IV solution for the blood. Fontana had improved to the point that once the blood was gone, Giraldi removed the needle completely.

  “Just let me know if you see anything I need to worry about,” he warned.

  Fontana had steadily improved, though.

  “Where are we?”

  She looked down at him, surprised that he was able to even talk. “We’re in the air, flying over the ocean. I believe we’re heading to a carrier or somet
hing in the Atlantic, maybe the Caribbean. No one will say exactly.”

  His eyes closed for a minute, and she wished she had better light to see him by. There was minimal lighting in the hold, just enough to get around. Giraldi was working by flashlight.

  Fontana suddenly sat up enough to look at her, propping himself on an elbow. It had to be painful, but he gave no indication of it. “You’re on a helicopter.”

  Jordyn smiled grimly. “I am.” Her eyes held his for a long moment. “Only for you.”

  Fontana blinked and some expression crossed his face. Tossing the sheet from himself, he rolled off of the cot to the floor. He gasped in pain but seemed determined. Jordyn was leaning against a heavy metal crate. Fontana maneuvered himself until he was laying over her lap on his right side, his heavy arms wrapped around her waist. His head ended up resting in her left elbow, her right arm over his back. It definitely wasn’t a long-term comfortable position, but it was exactly what they each needed in that moment. Jordyn felt her anxiety ease. She reached out for the sheet he’d pushed away, and she drew it up against his back. He still wore his blood-stained underwear, but she thought that maybe being that exposed would cause him to be uncomfortable.

  There was a nip against her left breast, hard enough that she felt it even through her uniform and bra. It had been just at the edge of her bulletproof vest. She looked down at him and saw a flash of a grin, and the dimple in his cheek. He tightened his arms around her, and she around him. Yes, this was exactly what they needed.

  They flew for at least two hours and Jordyn had to admit it was one of the smoothest flights she’d ever been on. So smooth that she fell asleep herself… with the solid warmth of Fontana cradled in her arms.

  Fontana woke when the bottom fell out of his stomach. The noise around him was almost concussive, it was so loud, but he realized they were landing. Jordyn’s arms were strong around him and he wondered how long they’d been in the air.

  His body felt like he’d been run over by a truck, but he was breathing normally now with no pain in his ribs. Pulling his arms away from her luscious body, he pushed himself into a sitting position, and found himself looking at her full lips. Without thought or hesitation he leaned in and captured her mouth, trying to convey how much he appreciated what she’d done for him.

  Jordyn rested a hand on his cheek and smiled against his mouth. “How are you feeling?” She whisper/shouted over the sound of the engines.

  He pulled back to look at her. “I’m fine.”

  As soon as he sat up she shifted her legs, stretching her booted toes flat, then vertical. He must have been a hell of a burden for her. “Sorry,” he mouthed. He was lucky he hadn’t crushed her.

  She shook her head and leaned close to his ear. “I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Thank you.”

  The fact that she’d flown with him, and hadn’t been in control of the stick, was really something to him. Would anyone else in his life had done something so selfless for him? The other Dogs of War maybe, but they weren’t here right now. And it wasn’t on the same level as what she’d done for him. It was a true, emotional sacrifice.

  Fontana looked out one of the windows but all he could see were misty clouds, lit by the green flash of the position light on the chopper itself. They were landing but he couldn’t see what they were landing on.

  Scooting his butt back against the floor until he leaned against the same crate as Jordyn, he pulled her in tight against his shoulder. She sagged into him, arm draped carelessly over his lap. Fontana tried not to react, but he couldn’t help himself, and he knew the moment she felt him. She looked up at him incredulously. “Really?” she chuckled.

  He gave her a shamefaced look and shrug. “What can I say?”

  She rocked her head against him. “You have life threatening injuries. There’s no messing around until you’re completely healed.”

  Fontana took stock of how he felt. His pain level was at about a three, negligible. There was some achy pain in his thigh, but not enough to keep him from walking off the helicopter. His scalp wound itched and he was breathing like normal. More importantly his body was telling him that it needed more of her. Maybe she was the reason he’d healed so well. “I’m fine, seriously. I’ll walk off this chopper.”

  Jordyn frowned, and he could tell she was wondering how much of what he told her was bravado.

  At that moment the engines whined and a glow began to build outside the window. They were landing on something dangerous, and he could feel the anxiety she tried to fight.

  You’ll be all right, he told her mentally, somehow knowing that she would be able to hear him. I’m holding you and I would never let anything hurt you.

  Her big eyes blinked at him and he knew she’d heard him, but she didn’t respond. He thought he might have heard oh, fuck, but he wasn’t entirely certain. Either way, it was enough to distract her until the Chinook was solidly on the asphalt platform of whatever ship was providing their refuge.

  Once they were stable, Jordyn pushed to her feet. He accepted her help to stand because he couldn’t bend his thigh the way he needed to without ripping stitches, but he was steady on his feet once there. They waited against the bulkhead of the ship for their turn to leave. He wound the sheet around his hips and tucked it in like a towel.

  A man with dark hair started directing Navy medics on the unloading of patients. He stopped short in front of Fontana and stared, frowning. Flicking on a flashlight, he leaned in to look at the bandage over his ribs, then pulled the sheet out of the way of his damaged thigh. Flicking the light into Fontana’s eyes he checked his reaction, then pressed a stethoscope to his chest to listen. When he pulled back he wore a puzzled expression.

  “Let the more injured off first, doc. I’m fine.”

  Blinking, the man nodded. “Yes, I think you’re right. I’ll have someone park you somewhere so I can check you later.”

  Then he was gone, directing again. Jordyn laughed when the man kept glancing back, like he was waiting for Fontana to fall over, but he had no plans of doing that.

  It was twenty minutes later before they were finally led off the Chinook. Fontana had looked out the windows and realized they were on an amphibious warfare ship. Ospreys, Harriers and AAVs— amphibious assault vehicles— lined the expanse of the ship’s deck. Nostalgia surged in his gut. This had been his old stomping ground, so to speak, but he didn’t recognize this one in particular. He asked the young man leading them across the landing strip the name of the vessel.

  “This is the USS America, sir. She’s fairly new.”

  “Apparently.”

  The sailor led them under cover and into what was obviously a temporary hospital. There were several partitioned areas, not exactly private but not out in the open either. When the curtain was pulled they would have a modicum of privacy.

  “Think you can find me some clothes, sailor?”

  The young man nodded. “Yes, sir. Your sizes?”

  Fontana reeled them off. “Something combat-worthy if possible.”

  The man blinked, then nodded. “I think I can do that.”

  And he disappeared.

  Fontana sat on one of the chairs, leaving the other for Jordyn. There was an exam table on the other side of the little area, but he definitely didn’t want to sit there. His left thigh was itching like a bitch and he pulled the sheet away. The gunshot wound where Truckle had shot him had completely sealed up and the stitches that the doctor had put in were beginning to fall out.

  “Jeez,” Jordyn breathed. “It looks like it happened two weeks ago. How the hell is that possible?”

  Even he had to admit that the speed of the healing was faster than normal. “I’m not sure exactly.”

  He started plucking at the black stitches, but she waved his hands away. “You’re making them bleed. Quit pulling on them like that.”

  She leaned over his leg and began teasing out the threads with her short, pretty fingernails. He had to admit that she was much gentler
than he’d been to himself. Once she had a handful of stitches, she rubbed her hand over his thigh, wiping the few bloodstains away. It didn’t hurt, but it did make him shift for another reason.

  Jordyn seemed to realize what she was doing and pulled away, but he caught her hand. “I wanted to thank you,” he said softly, “for being there for me.”

  Her eyes filled with tears and he was truly shocked. Jordyn was too strong of a woman to cry. “I had to leave you first, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. When I saw them attack you… I thought I’d never see you again, and it scared me. Oh God, it scared me.”

  Reaching out, he wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. He couldn’t remember anyone ever crying over him. “I’m sorry it scared you. They were on me before I could retreat. With Anton there, I knew they wouldn’t kill me outright. He would be curious about who was watching him. Actually, though, he wasn’t the dangerous one.”

  He told her about Dustin Truckle, and the pain he’d left him in.

  “Good,” she snapped. “It was no less than they did to you for eight months.”

  Yes, that was true, but he still felt a little guilty. “We need to bring him in for questioning if he’s still alive. Have you seen Rose?”

  She shook her head, her dark hair falling over her eyes. “I think he was still at the camp when we left.”

  Drawing her into his arms, he rested his chin on top of her head. “And I assume the rest of Alpha Team is there.”

  “Yes. None of our crew was hurt.”

  That was excellent news, and no less than he’d expected.