Scarred Survival (Scarred Series Book 5)

by Jackie Williams

  Scarred Survival

  By

  Jackie Williams

  Front cover photography

  Natalie Williams

  Scarred Survival

  Copyright © Jackie Williams 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used/copied/lent in any form whatsoever without the

  written consent of the author.

  All character, names and events are from the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to persons alive or deceased is entirely coincidental

  This book honours all the men and women of our armed services who sacrifice so much.

  Chapter One

  He followed the woman along the corridor. Her military bearing was obvious. A measured pace with her shoulders back and her head held high. Even though she was a good six inches shorter than him she could certainly handle herself, but he felt bad as she carried his heavy bag over her shoulder. It wasn’t as though he was severely disabled. Even with an injured hand, he’d carried his own luggage throughout his journey, but she had insisted on taking his duffle as she had shown him to his room. Her backside swayed gently as she marched down the dimly lit hallway. He took in a deep breath and shifted his eyes up to her shoulders with some difficulty.

  Although he had immediately seen her prosthetic hand when he’d arrived, he hadn’t realized that it was a nearly full arm amputation. As he walked just a pace or so behind her, he noticed the outline of the straps holding the socket of her false arm onto her shoulder. His heart immediately went out to her. Not many women faced such harsh realities of war. She had obviously been one of the unlucky ones.

  Light spilled out into the hallway from an open doorway and he almost stopped, but the woman strode on past and he suddenly realized that he could hear soft snoring coming from the brightly lit room. He glanced towards the door and raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sight of the massive bed hung with open curtains that sat in the middle of the room. There was a long lump lying in the bed, dark hair curling in sharp contrast with the bright white pillows.

  When he turned back to the corridor the woman was staring at him.

  “He doesn’t like the dark or being shut in. It’s fine, we don’t mind what you do here. As long as you’re comfortable we’re fine with it.” Her gentle voice was only just above a whisper.

  He remained silent as the woman stood with her back to another open doorway. She flicked a light switch as he walked forwards and looked inside the room. He whistled quietly through his teeth as he limped inside.

  “You’re kidding me?” He glanced down at her as his brain tried to grasp what he had just seen.

  The woman shook her head as she swung his bag from her shoulder and place it on the ottoman at the end of his bed.

  She lifted her chin back towards the doorway again.

  “My room’s just over there, three doors along on the opposite side. Number twelve.” She indicated with her finger. “If you need anything just knock or use your phone with my room number and I’ll be right over. Don’t think about hesitating. It’s my job to be on call.”

  He nodded gratefully. This place wasn’t what he had expected at all. He’d arrived late and hadn’t really taken in the outside of the huge building, but if the inside was anything to go by, the place was palatial.

  “Thanks, I should be fine.”

  The woman nodded and made her way towards the door. She stopped suddenly and looked back at him.

  “It’s difficult to acclimatize sometimes; if you fancy anything to eat or drink during the night, just go down to the kitchen and help yourself. The doorway is to the right of the main stairs, but the whole place is at your disposal. There’s a vast library, a television lounge and a computer room. You’re welcome to explore.” She walked towards the door.

  His eyebrows made a straight line across his forehead as he considered her words. Not many places invited night time wandering. Her expression didn’t change. She was obviously being serious.

  He gave her a quick smile.

  “Thanks again. I’ll be fine, I’m sure. Night.”

  “Ok, well, night then, sleep well.” Her sultry voice wrapped him in good feelings as the door closed gently behind her and he walked further into the incredible bedroom.

  ***

  The man on the makeshift stretcher groaned miserably.

  Gemma didn’t blame him. He’d been shot through the kneecap. His leg was mangled, blood soaking his fatigues. She watched as the medic working on the victim opened his bag and pulled out some dressings. He peeled back foils and stuck a needle into the injured guy’s hand. Sweat beaded his brow as he attached wires and instruments to his patient.

  Gemma sat well back in her seat trying not to get in the way.

  Two days away from the action and she seemed to have become sensitized to it all again.

  It had been a sad duty. Escorting a fallen comrade was a bittersweet experience. She’d been proud, honoured to accept the assignment but sorry that it was such a dreadful undertaking. She’d nearly bitten through her cheek in an effort to hold back the tears when she saw the young soldier’s broken parents waiting at the airfield for their dead son’s return. There was no way she could cry in front of them. She had to show strength, resolve and respect. Exactly what the serviceman’s parents would have expected of her. She had pulled back her shoulders, sucked her own flesh between her teeth and bitten down hard. At the father’s gut wrenching sob she had clenched her jaw together and thanked God that she didn’t have any children to mourn. She hadn’t known that it would be so hard.

  Her tears fell without restraint on the return journey to Afghanistan.

  Forty eight hours after leaving she was back in her field uniform in the sand and the grit.

  She’d only leapt onto the Lynx as it was heading back to base rather than spend three hours in a dusty jeep on an even dustier road, the offer of a flight coming out of the blue and eagerly accepted by a lone medic and herself. She’d given a quick nod of thanks to the square jawed pilot, the only part of him visible because he’d already pulled his visor down over his face, and he lifted his chin in acknowledgement as she climbed aboard.

  Ten minutes into the flight and she was beginning to regret her decision. The pilot had suddenly informed them of a change of plan as he picked up an S.O.S right below them on their journey. He’d swooped low over the crashed armoured vehicle after receiving an all clear from the ground.

  Less than five minutes later they were back in the air and speeding towards help. Six men had been caught up in the unexpected skirmish. The guy on the stretcher was the only one in any serious danger, but even that looked as if it was being brought under control. His leg was going to be a problem for the rest of his life, but he looked as though he was going to live a reasonably long one.

  The medic began administering pain relief. The shot soldier’s face slackened slightly and his eyes drifted closed.

  “What a complete cock up!” One of the rescued men shook his head as he stared down at his shot teammate. “Should have been a clear run through. These pockets of resistance are getting to be a bloody nightmare. Has anyone actually bothered to tell these people that we’re on their side?”

  The question was rhetorical, but the other men nodded in agreement. One of them spoke bitterly over the noise of the engines.

  “Command said the route was clear only twenty minutes ago. Something’s arse about face here. Every time we go out we get it big time. It’s only luck that none of us have been hit before. I’m beginning to think that there’s a leak in our communications system. No one else should have known we were going that route today. They can’t have put an am
bush in there on the off chance. There’s just no way.”

  Gemma pretended not to listen. It wasn’t her business and she couldn’t even speculate on their problems. She kept her eyes down and her mouth shut while they talked it all over.

  The pilot had set his course and her stomach rolled as the helicopter veered slightly. She’d never enjoyed the sensation and what with the groaning, bleeding man lying at her feet and the hissed talk of ambush all around her, she couldn’t wait to be back down on the ground.

  The medic standing over the injured man reeled off some figures into his headset and she was relieved when she heard the pilot give an estimated arrival time of less than five minutes. They’d be landing in the field hospital a few miles from her base, but she didn’t care. She was going to take the next jeep ride back. No way was she getting in a helicopter again when she didn’t have to. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end, a sure give away that something wasn’t gelling here. From the way the men were talking she had decided that there was something not quite right about the whole ambush and pick up. She wanted to be as far away from them all as possible.

  There was a sudden loud bang and the helicopter lurched to the right flinging her into a webbing pouch hung at the side of the craft. The men yelled as they were bounced across the floor of the craft and the helicopter dipped violently. The guy on the stretcher screamed as the medic fell on his injured leg and Gemma scrabbled to keep upright.

  The pilot bellowed into his headset, but there was nothing he could do. The Lynx was falling fast swinging sideways as it dropped. The sickly smell of fuel seeped into her nostrils as she slammed into the side of the craft again and she wrenched herself round but her arm was caught. She was suddenly hanging in midair, feet swinging as the men rolled around the cabin. One fell right out through the open side door while another hung on grimly to the fuselage, but it was no use. Metal strained as they fell then crumpled around them as they hit the stony ground hard.

  It took less than a second to realize that the screaming in her ear was her own voice. Her trapped arm had been wrenched right out of its socket by the force of the crash. She closed her mouth and tried to remain calm, but it was difficult among the shouts and groans of the remaining men. She could still smell fuel and she prayed to God that a fire didn’t break out. She peered through the clouds of rolling dust that billowed through the one open door of the cabin before she pressed herself back into the wall of the craft as the dust swirled and took on demon like qualities. The moans of pain from the men were drowned out by an even more terrifying noise. A whirring, shrieking, blizzard of sound suddenly entered the crushed cabin through the open side. It decapitated one of the team and then carved right through the middle of the guy who had fallen from the stretcher. It ploughed onwards, splattering everything around it with blood and innards as it came flying towards her.

  The Lynx gave one final shudder as it settled into the dirt and the webbing dropped a couple of inches just as the flying rotor blade bounced off the floor and came up towards her face. She flung herself out of its path only to discover that her arm was still caught. A white hot flame suddenly sent her screaming to the floor, blackness closing in as she had just time to register that she could still see her arm swinging in the thick netting still attached to the side frame of the craft.

  The only problem was that her body was now nearly ten feet away from it.

  Gemma shot up in the bed, heart pounding hard, sweat pouring from her body. She leaned over and scrabbled for the lamp switch. Soft light bathed over the rich cover on her bed and she let out a deep breath as she gazed about her gorgeously decorated room.

  She fell back onto the stack of sumptuous pillows and took some more deep breaths. The dream had been real enough once, but she was over it now. Had been for nine long years after waking up with a vast mass of wires and tubes surrounding her.

  It had been an unlucky flight, that was all. Unlucky that she’d decided to jump on at the last minute and unlucky that the pilot had diverted to pick up an injured man. He could have left it for the medical team, but he’d made the decision to become a hero.

  Wrong helicopter, wrong pilot, wrong choice, all at the wrong time. She had refused to dwell on the loss of her arm for more than a few days after waking up and discovering herself to be attached to what looked like a hundred sets of wires and tubing. There was nothing she could do about it so she had to get on with it, especially as the rest of the men on the ill-fated flight hadn’t been quite so lucky. All of them had died, including the idiot of a pilot.

  It wasn’t often that it came back to haunt her, but she had been uneasy the evening before. Something about the new patient at the rehab centre had disturbed her. Something in his square jaw and clipped tones had sent the hairs on the back of her neck into overdrive.

  She rubbed her eyes, took a final deep breath and looked over at her clock. Five in the morning. Way too early to get up, but probably too late to go back to sleep. Some of the guys couldn’t get out of the habit of a six o’clock start and while she didn’t have to begin work until eight, some of them liked some early morning company.

  She stared upwards for a few moments longer, still slightly disconcerted at the sight of the silk lined, vaulted canopy hanging above her before she pushed herself out of the brocade covered bed.

  The shower called to her.

  She smiled at the natural stone bathroom as she ran her fingertips across the tiles. It was all so beautiful. Not flashy or overdone but elegant and inviting. She turned on the huge faucet of water overhead and stood beneath the drenching spray while thanking the Gods of wet-room heaven and Ellen Reeves’ design details for the fabulous French shower system. Three months at the new rehabilitation centre and she still appreciated her usual morning wake up call.

  She stood there for longer than normal as she washed the lingering dream away, lathering shampoo into her dark, curly hair and rinsing before she stepped out of the spray. She gathered up a huge, fluffy towel and wrapped it around her body. She held the top of the bath sheet with what was left of her arm and tucked the other end of it in tightly just above her breasts.

  She pulled a fresh towel from the airing cupboard and sat on the bed as she wiped the scarred skin of her arm with the warm cloth. When it was thoroughly dry and powdered she picked up the prosthetic arm that lay on the bedside table and clamped the socket over her residual limb. She pulled the buckles tight before testing the metal fingers. She flexed her muscles in her upper arm and shoulder and watched the way her fingers moved as fascinated that the tiny hydraulics worked so efficiently as she had been on the first day she saw them. She was still amazed that the electronic pads inside the socket could read her muscle movements and work the tiny mechanisms. The current advance in prosthetic limbs was totally incredible and there was a certain beauty to her robotic arm’s movement.

  She dressed quickly, pulling on her long sleeved t-shirt and baggy trousers before she shoved her feet in her boots. Twisting her still damp hair into a loose bun, she made her way out of her room. The corridor was silent and the sound of her boots echoed along the wooden floor. They had decided against carpet in the main walkways of the château. Too many of their guests had lost lower limbs and what with still getting used to their prosthetics, Ellen and David, owners of the château, had chosen to lightly polish the original wooden floorboards. She made her way downstairs, following her nose towards the smell of freshly made coffee.

  Joe stood leaning against the kitchen work surface, mug in hand and a big smile on his scarred face as he shared a joke with two men who sat at the kitchen table. They all fell silent and then gave each other sneaky grins as Gemma entered the room. Joe picked up another mug and filled it with coffee before handing it to her.

  She nodded a good morning and inhaled the rich aroma before she sipped the coffee. Her sigh of satisfaction preceded her words.

  “Thanks, don’t let me interrupt. I doubt there’s a joke I haven’t already heard.” Th
e men at the table laughed as Joe sniggered into his mug.

  “Actually you might not have heard that one, but in any case it certainly doesn’t bear repeating in front of a lady.”

  Gemma frowned and deliberately turned right and left, clearly searching for the other occupant of the room. She grinned suddenly and fanned her free hand in front of her face.

  “Oh! You mean me. Well, Joe, it’s only taken you ten years to notice but yes, you are absolutely right, I am a lady.” She rolled her eyes as the other two men laughed even louder, but her good-natured smile soon disappeared and she grimaced as she sipped her coffee. She reached over for the sugar, stirred in two spoonfuls and ignored Joe’s uneven raised eyebrows. The scarring on his face had faded slightly over the years, but there was no mistaking that he had been in a terrible situation earlier in his life.

  “Hmm, unusual for you to take sugar. I always thought you were sweet enough as you are.” He winked a drooping eyelid over a sparkling blue eye.

  Gemma raised her own eyebrows back at him and shoved his arm with her shoulder. He gave a pretend humph of pain and grinned at her before she spoke.

  “I am usually. Had a bit of a nightmare and after the late night last night, I’m feeling washed out. I thought some sugar might give me a boost. I’m going to need it if we’re going sailing today.” She peered out of the kitchen window. The sun was breaking through the low clouds sending red and gold streaks of light across the gentle waves in the bay. The tide was on its way in. It looked as though it was going to be a perfect day for getting out on the water.

  Since coming to the château she had been out sailing with Joe on several occasions and while she wouldn’t call herself any kind of expert she had found a certain affinity with the water that made her a great sailor. She loved the salty air on her face and the spray on her skin and she was looking forward to letting the guests join in with her joy.