Course of Action: Crossfire

by Lindsay McKenna;Merline Lovelace

  Dan called Morales, the other combat medic, letting him know he was hit and had a tourniquet in place. He didn’t know if Morales was alive or not. Every Special Forces A team had two 18-Delta combat medics. Ben was dead. He called hoarsely for Franklin, giving him his location, the type of wound he had and his present condition.

  Dan jerked the tourniquet tight. His teeth clenched as the pain ripped up into his thigh and raced raggedly into his torso. The bleed was lessening. He tightened the tourniquet more, the strap in his dirty, grimy gloved fists, slick with Ben’s blood and his own. Tighter! Tighter! Or he’d bleed out just like Ben.

  And then who would take care of Cait? For a moment dizziness assailed Dan. He blinked through the sweat that leaked into his eyes, his breath raspy, black dots dancing before his eyes. No! He couldn’t faint! Not now!

  The spurting had stopped.

  Dan felt momentary relief. He slumped against the mud wall with Ben nearby. Keeping his gaze roving around him, he saw no more enemy in the area. The Apaches were hovering above their diamond pattern, invisible watchdogs in the black sky above them, loud, the thumping vibration continued to rhythmically beat against his body. They’d stopped firing. The powerful vibration jammed like fists through him, and was all Dan could hear and feel.

  He called hoarsely for Morales once again.

  No answer.

  How many of his team were left alive? Were they all wounded? How many had died?

  The pain drifting up his leg became nearly overwhelming. Dan closed his eyes for a second. He saw Cait’s face, her shoulder-length red hair, that riot of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

  He had met her when he was eighteen years old—he’d come to Hawaii for training. She and her brother, Ben, had seen him on the beach where he was learning to surf. They’d struck up a conversation and, for Dan, it was like meeting old friends once more. He couldn’t admit it to Ben, who was six feet tall like himself, but he was drawn to Cait’s clean, natural beauty, her wide green eyes, the color of the Pacific off the coast of Oahu. She was so full of life.

  He cursed softly as his gloved hand slipped on the tourniquet. Opening his eyes, he could tell there was no more bleed. It slowly dawned on him that something white was sticking up and out of the torn cammie fabric across his thigh. What the hell was that? And then, in the next minute, Dan’s slowing mind recognized it as his thigh bone, the femur. It was broken and jagged-looking, sticking up out of his flesh.

  The shock settled in. He was in serious condition. He called for Morales, giving him more info about his condition.

  No answer.

  Finally, Franklin came back.

  “Dan, only five of us ambulatory. We’ll get to you in a second. Two medevacs just landed. We’re coming for you and Ben...hang on...”

  Dan tipped back his head, feeling tiredness seeping through him like a slow, black, moving river. He closed his eyes and acknowledged Franklin’s transmission, telling him that he’d lost a lot of blood. And that Ben was dead.

  “Not sure I’ll be conscious...” he muttered, his last transmission. The rhythmic whumping of the Apache’s blades comforted him as he closed his eyes. They were on guard above them. They’d protect them, and the medevac Black Hawks were now on the ground and would save the wounded.

  As he thought of Ben, he felt as if his heart had been torn out of his chest. They were both twenty-nine years old. They’d been together for five years on this Special Forces team. They were tighter than fleas on a dog. They were supposed to rotate home in another week. Back to Honolulu, Hawaii, for a well-deserved thirty-day leave. They’d see Cait, go surfing together and have beach picnics, laughter, good times and fun.

  Tears leaked out of his tightly shut eyes. He felt weaker, knowing that the bleed was staunched but not stopped. He could still slowly bleed to death. Where was Morales? He needed a medic. Dan had to stay alive to tell Cait and her family what happened to Ben.

  Ben’s family was so tight. A good family, unlike his own. Ben’s mother was an ER doctor at a civilian hospital in Honolulu. His father was a retired Marine Force Recon colonel. Cait was a physical therapist working over at US Army Tripler Medical Center, helping soldiers who had been wounded get their limbs working again.

  All of those memories flowed through Dan’s short-circuiting mind. He wasn’t worried about his mother, Joyce, who lived in Honolulu. She was an embittered woman, angry at the world. His father, an alcoholic, was dead. Tears leaked down his bearded cheeks. Dan felt suddenly cold, felt the iciness moving up from his feet and into his lower legs. Was this how Ben had felt as he was bleeding out? It must have been. Oh, God, was he dying?

  Cait! Behind his eyelids, Dan saw her oval face, that stubborn chin of hers and that wide, smiling mouth. How many times had he entertained kissing that lush mouth of hers? How many times had he ached to make love to her? But he never had. He never would. She was Ben’s little sister and Ben had asked Dan to guard her, make sure she stayed away from military guys who wanted her for only one thing.

  Dan never told Ben that he coveted Cait for himself. She was so fresh, innocent and happy. He always felt better around her. Whether she knew it or not, she lifted Dan, made him feel good about himself. She was the optimist. He was the brutal realist. He’d harbored dreams of telling her he loved her. But Ben would have lost it and their friendship would have been destroyed. So Dan said nothing. And now, as he lay slowly bleeding out, Dan felt grief because he would never be able to tell Cait that he’d fallen in love with her at eighteen and held a torch for her in his heart until his dying day.

  That was the last thing Dan remembered thinking before he lost consciousness.

  * * *

  Everything was hazy. Pain drifted up Dan’s leg and into his lower body, making him groan. Weak, he struggled to open his eyes. His nostrils flared, catching hospital smells like anesthetic and bleach. Why couldn’t he open his eyes?

  “Dan? It’s Cait. Don’t fight so hard. You’re coming out of surgery. It’s all right. You’re alive. You’re safe...”

  Cait’s voice was low and soft, so close to his ear. The sensory experience, combined with her warm hand touching his cheek, oriented Dan. His heart pulsed strongly when he heard her smoky tone. He swore he could even smell her scent, so sweet, reminding him of spicy cinnamon. Her voice was barely above a whisper. So close to his ear. He hungrily absorbed the warmth of her long fingers gently stroking his cheek, as if to soothe the tension he held within him.

  He was alive? Was he? His mind was in pieces and Dan couldn’t put anything together. The pain was like a deep, agonizing toothache drifting up his leg. He felt heavy and he was thirsty. Moving his lips, he became aware his throat smarted with pain and it was dry. God, he was so thirsty! Compressing his lips, he tried to speak, but nothing but a croak came out.

  “Dan? You’re in recovery. Stop fighting, okay? You’re safe. You’re home here with me. It’s Cait.”

  The moment she cupped his cheek with her palm, he stopped struggling. And as she lifted her hand away, moving her fingers gently through his long, clean hair, his scalp prickled with pleasure. His entire body went limp and he groaned, unable to open his eyes.

  Cait!

  Maybe he wasn’t dead after all. Her touch felt so damned good. Steadying. Stabilizing. She felt so very close to him. And like a starving animal, Dan eagerly inhaled her scent deep into his body, and it fed him, helped him focus.

  Minute by minute, Dan’s mind started to hinge back together. The more Cait stroked his head, rearranging his hair here and there because it nearly touched his shoulders, Dan acquiesced to her light ministrations. Some of her words ran together. He didn’t care what she said—it was Cait. He loved her so damn much and he’d never told her. Never. It would have hurt Ben to know that he ached for Cait.

  Ben...

  Blips and flashes exploded behind his shut eyes. He saw Ben, heard himself screaming at him, running to his side. The whole scene downloaded from his spinning brain and sudd
enly, Dan was there, not in recovery. Cait was with him. He could hear her soothing voice speaking to him, but he was back in the village, trying to stop Ben’s bleed. There was such anguish that roared through him—his body jerked and then tensed. Cait’s hand gripped his shoulder firmly, her voice low, fraught with anxiety, near his ear.

  Dan couldn’t hear anything except the explosions, the M-4’s throaty roar, the popping of AK-47s and the thumping of Apache helicopters racing toward their compromised position. No! No! Ben couldn’t die! He just couldn’t!

  A low animal cry tore between his thin, contorted lips. His entire body jerked in response. Pain exploded in his leg and it raced up into his torso, sucking the breath out of him. Cait’s husky, urgent voice broke through his barrier of agony. Dan tried to hold on to it, fought to follow it even though he couldn’t hear what she was saying. He tried to concentrate on her fingers moving soothingly across his tense shoulder, trying to calm him down.

  Ben died! He died! He’d bled out! A moan, like that of an animal being tortured ripped out of Dan. He was too weak to move. Too weak to open his eyes. And how he wanted to see Cait, but he couldn’t. The last thing he remembered feeling was Cait’s lips pressed against his sweaty brow, her voice trembling with emotion, her hands cupping his sweaty face. Anguish, grief and loss plunged Dan into a spinning, darkening hell and he knew nothing more.

  Chapter 2

  Cait Moore tried to fight back her tears as she watched Dan Taylor slowly become conscious. Her brother, Ben, was dead. Word had reached them a week ago. No one had told her and her family how he’d died. Looking at Dan’s face, the deep tan, the slashes on either side of his thinned mouth, she knew he would know. Maybe it would give her and her family some desperately needed closure. They’d buried Ben three days ago at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific at Punchbowl Crater on the island of Oahu. Her heart ached with loss for her big brother.

  She stood watching Dan, who was in a slightly elevated position on the bed. He’d come out of seven hours of surgery at Tripler Medical Center, his second surgery in seven days. Cait had found out that they’d planned to amputate his leg during his first surgery at Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany. Dr. Allison Barker, who was an exceptionally talented ortho surgeon, had stopped the amputation. When Dan had arrived at Tripler, Allison had put screws into Dan’s leg instead, saving it from amputation.

  Her heart swelled with feelings for Dan. Beneath his tan, he had an unhealthy pallor. Her gaze drifted to the two IVs, one in each of his arms. One was a continuous morphine drip because bone pain could only be addressed with this opiate. The other was feeding him the necessary fluids and nutrients he needed to stay alive and recover. He wore a blue hospital gown that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and his powerful chest.

  Memories assailed her as she stood, her hand lingering on his arm, feeling the sprinkled dark brown hair beneath her fingertips. Would Dan ever be able to surf again? Allison and her surgical team worked on soldiers and Marines whose limbs had been destroyed. Dan would become Cait’s patient at some point because she’d pleaded with her boss, Dr. Jackson Berringer, to allow her to work with him. Cait was grateful Jackson had granted her request. She was a damn good physical therapist, and she wanted no one else but her to help Dan to recover his ability to walk and do the things he had done before being wounded.

  Absently she moved her fingers slowly up and down Dan’s ropy forearm, watching his lids quiver. He was finally coming out of the worst of the anesthesia. She couldn’t settle her roiling feelings, which swung between her grief at Ben being dead and her relief that Dan had gotten out of that firefight alive. Tears stung her eyes at the thought that Dan could have been killed, too. She wiped her tears away and sniffed. He couldn’t see her crying. He’d ask why, and she couldn’t tell him. How long had she loved this brave soldier? Ever since she’d met him.

  Cait made a frustrated, muffled sound, forcing her tears away. Dan’s eyes would open at any moment now. How she loved him. And he didn’t know. She’d never spoken of it to him. Ben had wanted her to consider Dan a brother, but she never had. Her big, overprotective brother would have been crushed if she’d ever admitted that she had, over time, fallen hopelessly in love with Dan.

  Everything had changed now. Cait knew Ben had always worried about her falling in love with a military man. He’d warned her they were out for sex and sex only, that she needed to marry a medical doctor because they were more stable and reliable. They would respect her for her keen intelligence and she wouldn’t have to worry about her husband being killed in combat, making her a young widow.

  Ben had wanted her to be happy. And to have a good, stable marriage. But it had become so tough on Cait, every time they came home on leave, to pretend and hide her feelings from Dan. And keep the secret from her brother.

  Her hand stilled on Dan’s forearm. How many times had she dreamed of Dan loving her? Kissing her? Cait’s gaze drifted to his strong, chiseled mouth that only now was beginning to relax. The morphine drip was giving him some badly needed relief from the nerve pain.

  Suddenly, he opened his eyes.

  Cait moved closer, fingers wrapping around his wrist, watching his gray, cloudy gaze. He was drifting in a morphine cloud.

  “Dan? It’s Cait.” She smiled down at him, reaching out, grazing his cheek and pushing his long, nearly shoulder-length hair behind his ear. His gray eyes suddenly became raptor-like and fastened on her. Her smile grew. “You see me?”

  “Y-yeah...Cait...”

  His voice was hoarse and rough. “It’s okay, Dan. You’re coming out from anesthesia.” His dark brown brows dipped. “Am I speaking too fast for you?” Cait knew words ran together when anesthesia still lingered in a person’s body. Her heart mushroomed with powerful emotions, wanting to kiss him, but he was conscious now and he’d remember if she did. And how could she explain her actions to him then?

  “N-no...fine...where?”

  “Tripler Medical Center. Honolulu.” She didn’t want to stop touching Dan. At the very least, there was the healing value of touch with physical therapy, but her need to touch him ran much deeper.

  His large, black pupils widened as she ran her fingers through his mussed but clean long hair. The nurses had washed it, but it needed to be combed. Cait knew Special Forces A teams grew long hair and wore beards so as not to stand out in the Middle East.

  She watched his eyes grow dazed and then slowly wander back to her and actually look at her. Cait couldn’t stop smiling. How badly she wanted to kiss Dan, welcome him home, celebrate that he’d survived.

  “H-how long since...since I got wounded?”

  “Seven days. They kept you in a drug-induced coma after taking you out of the field, Dan.” She saw his eyes grow to slits, felt the shift of energy around him. He remembered the firefight. She could sense it and see it in his wrinkled brow, the hardness coming back to his gray, murky eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Ben didn’t make it...but you did.” Cait swallowed and fought the tears flooding her eyes. “You’re alive, Dan. And you’re going to live...”

  At that moment he jerkily lifted his hand, his roughened fingers weak but still able to lift and capture her hand.

  “I tried to save him, Cait...God...I tried...”

  “It’s all right.” She wobbled, heard the grief and guilt in his gruff voice. “No one’s told us what happened...only that he died in a firefight.”

  Dan closed his eyes, fingers tightening around Cait’s slender hand. She wore a hospital uniform of blue scrub pants and top. Her beautiful red hair was up on her head in a loose, askew topknot. She wore pink lipstick, but the flush across her cheeks was natural. Her scent, the cinnamon shampoo she used, the steadying firmness of her warm skin beneath his cold fingers, helped him focus. Hearing the stress, the grief in her low, tortured voice, brought up his own anguish over Ben’s death.

  Dan stared up into her green eyes glistening with unshed tears. She was fighting back those tears, an
d it ripped into him. He’d never had any defense against Cait. He was vulnerable to her at all times. His fingers tightened around hers.

  “He didn’t feel any pain, Cait. He got hit in the neck.” He stopped. His voice had become harsh with agony. “I—I tried to save him... I’m sorry... I wanted to so damned bad but...” Dan choked, tears burning in his eyes. He turned away, embarrassed that tears ran down his face. He released her hand but Cait caught it, wrapping her fingers tightly around his.

  “It’s all right, Dan. I know you did everything you could. God...I’m so grateful you’re alive...” She choked back a sob.

  Just having Cait’s strong hand around his helped. Dan couldn’t stop the tears and finally pressed his face into the pillow. He couldn’t bear to look at her since he knew grief was written in her features.

  Finally, as he got a hold of his floating, amorphous emotions, Dan forced himself to turn and look into her shadowed green eyes. “I—I’m so damned sorry, Cait...”

  “Hush,” she whispered, lifting her hand, gently smoothing out the wrinkles on his tanned brow. “It’s all right. Ben died doing something he loved, Dan. And you were with him.” Her eyes grew misty. “At least he died with you there. That had to be a comfort for him.”

  Dan shoved the grief down deep inside himself. “Yeah...I was there. I tried.” Her fingers trembled slightly as she continued to graze his brow, his cheek, her touch so featherlight. Dan felt like a dying man who was being given absolution by a saint. He lifted his lashes, staring into her warm, anguished gaze—Cait had never looked so beautiful, so fresh and alive, as right now.

  “Are you in pain?”

  Yeah, his heart felt like hell, writhing with anguish. “A little,” he mumbled. “I’m on morphine. I can feel it dialing back the pain.”

  She smiled a little. “Yes, you are.”

  When she continued to hold his hand, Dan felt a gratefulness he couldn’t give words to. How like Cait to intuitively know he needed her right now. She wasn’t a physical therapist for nothing. At Tripler she was considered the best of the best. And she’d been helping soldiers recover from lost and wounded limbs since she was twenty-two and now she was twenty-eight.