Medusa Rising

by Cindy Dees

  It was enough for her. She’d be the best Special Forces soldier she could be, killing and all, and she’d save as many innocents as she humanly could. But she wasn’t a god, and she wasn’t a miracle worker. She was only one human being standing in the gap and doing her best. Peace came over her.

  Or hell, maybe she was just too damned cold to feel the pain anymore.

  One of the kids clinging to her started to let go. Aleesha wrapped her right arm around the little girl quickly and pulled her close. Oh, no. Not a single child was going to drown on her watch after all she’d gone through down here to save them. A burst of joy filled her as she felt the little girl revive a bit, that tiny body nestled trustingly against hers.

  Come to think of it, she loved this job. Where else did a person get a chance to literally hold the life of a child in her hands like this? She’d been blessed with not one, but two careers that gave her that very opportunity. Medicine and the Medusas weren’t so different after all.

  “Can you hang on a little longer?” she asked the child gently.

  A nod against her neck. She cradled the tiny body against hers for a moment longer and then guided the girl’s hands back around her neck.

  How long she treaded water in the dark and cold, Aleesha had no idea. And it didn’t matter anymore. However long it took.

  Vanessa finally called down an eternity later, “I think I can pull them up now.”

  The Medusas passed up children as quickly as they could, but everyone was exhausted and clumsy. Then finally, blessedly, the last child was handed up. The water level was within a foot of the ceiling of the tank.

  “Everyone out,” Aleesha called. She waited in the water as her teammates climbed out one after another. And then it was her turn. She crawled out of the water and lay gasping on the cold, tilting steel.

  She heard Vanessa say behind her, “C’mon, Michael.”

  God, it felt good just to lie here for a moment.

  Vanessa said more sharply, “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

  And damned if Grandmama’s voodoo intuition didn’t kick in again. Something was terribly wrong with Michael.

  Vanessa shouted, “Michael!”

  Aleesha swung around, peering into the tank. And saw Michael’s dark head slip beneath the surface of the water.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  The ship groaned and lurched a good five degrees, sloshing water all around them. The down-slope edge of her hole through to the second deck was almost touching the water line now. The water was rising so fast she could see it creeping up as she looked at it.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Vanessa shouted over the splashing and roaring of water.

  Aleesha shouted back, “I’m not leaving without Michael. We don’t leave another Medusa behind. Ever! And without him, we couldn’t have done this mission. He’s as much a part of this team as I am. I’m going in after him!”

  Vanessa opened her mouth, clearly to order her not to jump back into that black abyss. But instead, her boss merely passed her the end of the knotted rope and shouted, “Let’s do it.”

  The two of them jumped into the water together. Each keeping a hand on the rope to guide them back to the hatch, they took deep breaths and submerged. It was surreal, swimming around in the cold and utter dark. Her eyes were useless, and she felt her way forward, trying to envision where she’d seen his head disappear. The night-vision goggles she had on her belt weren’t the underwater variety. Damn! She thought fast. He wouldn’t necessarily sink straight to the bottom of the tank. If he still had a little air in his lungs, it might give him enough buoyancy to float, suspended in the water.

  Her own lungs burned. And then screamed. And then absolutely demanded that if she didn’t surface, she was going to pass out. Frustrated, she kicked hard for the top of the tank.

  She came up for air and was startled that there was barely enough room between the water and the tank for her head to clear. She took a couple of deep breaths and went under again. Grandmama, if you’ve ever helped me before, help me now. Help me find Michael.

  She swam forward, her hands outstretched. Time slowed to a crawl as she searched, the water roiling around her and her entire life condensing down into this single instant.

  Then her hands hit cloth. She lurched, feeling that direction again. And bumped into something solid. She’d found him! She grabbed onto the cloth and tugged, kicking for all she was worth toward the top of the tank. Partway up, she readjusted her hold, hooking her hands under his armpits. It was amazing how heavy a human being was with little air in his lungs to help him float.

  She ought to be near the surface now. She kicked again, and her head bumped into metal! Oh, God. The tank had filled up. There was no more air pocket! Silently blessing her SEAL swimming instructors who’d drilled all the panic out of her in situations like this, she tugged on the rope she still held. That way. The hatch was to her right.

  She followed the nylon lifeline and glimpsed a faint light ahead. Her lungs about to explode, she swam toward it and broke the surface of the water just as she was sure she couldn’t hold her breath one more millisecond.

  She drew in a great gasping breath of air. Water poured down all around her now, rushing through the hole in the second floor. Vanessa was there, in the gap, drawing several hard breaths, as if she planned to go back down into the tank.

  Her boss didn’t speak—neither of them had the breath for it—but she helped pull Michael’s limp body over to the hole in the floor. The two of them started to hoist him through it when hands reached down from above without warning and lifted his weight away from them. Karen and Misty. Together she and Vanessa climbed carefully through the ragged hole in the floor.

  Lord, it was already knee-deep in here, and the walls tilted at a crazy angle. Karen was already pounding on Michael’s back, clearing water from his lungs. As the Marine rolled him over onto his back, Aleesha crawled over to him.

  She plastered her mouth on his and, plugging his nose, breathed hard into his body. She felt Karen starting chest compressions beside her. Aleesha counted the requisite number of compressions and blew into his mouth again.

  She felt the moment when he tried to draw a breath. She rolled him onto his side and held his head while he emptied his stomach and lungs of the water clogging them. She plastered her hand to his carotid artery, a pulse throbbed again. They’d done it. He was alive. The cold water had slowed down his bodily functions, including blood loss, enough that they’d had time to save him. Thank God for small favors.

  Vanessa spoke over her shoulder, “We’ve got to get out of here. Can he be moved?”

  Aleesha realized she was kneeling in a good three feet of water, and on the downhill side of the hallway, it was more like four feet deep. “I don’t think we’ve got any choice. Looks like this ship’s trying real hard to sink.”

  The women nodded and stood up.

  “I’ll take him,” Aleesha grunted.

  Thankfully, her teammates didn’t argue with her. They understood her need to save this man. Karen hoisted Michael into a vertical position, and Misty arranged his arms around Aleesha’s neck from behind in a fireman’s carry.

  She staggered forward under his weight, found her balance and took off down the hall, slogging through the water as fast as she could. Vanessa sent Kat and Isabella ahead to scope out how they were going to get off the ship.

  They reached the forward stairwell, and Aleesha started up it. Each step was an exercise in agony. Her legs felt like noodles, her feet as heavy as lead. But no way was she stopping. Step by agonizing step she climbed, up and out of the bowels of hell.

  She heard footsteps rushing at them from above. Kat called down to them.

  “The lifeboats have launched, and everyone else is off the ship. We need to get up to Deck 10 and there’ll be a rescue helicopter for us.”

  Aleesha groaned. It figured. Vanessa and Karen, on either side of her, reached out and put their hands under her armpi
ts to help her.

  “Just like the old days back in training, eh?” Vanessa grunted.

  Aleesha grunted back. She wasn’t too proud to accept the help at this point. And Lord knew, they’d all dragged each other up enough mountains back in the days when Jack Scatalone was still doing his best to make them all quit Special Ops training.

  A flood of light spilled into the stairwell ahead and a silhouette stood in the door. “This way,” Kat called out.

  One more flight of steps. Aleesha counted in her head. Twelve steps. And then they were there. Light burst all around them as they stepped outside. Squinting, she saw Isabella waving them over toward the high side of the deck to an open area where all the lounge chairs had slid away. A U.S. Navy helicopter hovered overhead, a pair of PJs—pararescue jumpers—hanging in the door already, a cot-size basket on its way down to Isabella below.

  Aleesha staggered over to the basket and let her teammates lift Michael off her shoulders and lay him in the basket. She watched him as the PJs winched him up in the copter. It seemed like hours until the basket lowered again. But finally Kat, Isabella and Karen climbed into it and rode up to safety.

  The basket lowered one more time. Misty climbed in first, and then Vanessa shouted over the rotor noise, “Your turn, Mamba.”

  They’d done it. They were getting off the Grand Adventure. Mission accomplished. Almost in a state of shock, she climbed into the metal basket, ducking under the support chains. She helped Vanessa climb in, and then Misty gave the signal to the PJs to go.

  The cargo bay of the helicopter was not large enough to accommodate Michael and the PJs working on him plus all six Medusas, so Misty, Vanessa and Aleesha got a thrilling ride in the mesh basket to the looming flat top in the distance.

  “That looks like the Roosevelt,” Vanessa shouted.

  Aleesha nodded back. Good. The aircraft carrier had excellent medical facilities and a fine trauma doc on board. She’d met him at a couple of medical conferences.

  She kept looking up anxiously at the helicopter above until Vanessa finally shouted, “The PJs know what they’re doing. And Karen will kick their butts if they don’t keep him alive.”

  That might be so, but she wasn’t going to relax until she saw Michael—alive, conscious and on the mend—with her own two eyes.

  “Roosevelt ops, we have the last seven passengers from the Grand Adventure. Request emergency medical response meet us on the flight deck.”

  Jack’s heart skipped a beat. The Medusas and Michael. Who was hurt? And how badly?

  The helicopter pilot must’ve heard his unspoken questions, for he continued, “We have one casualty. Male. Gunshot wound to the upper chest, suffering from blood loss and shock.”

  Praise God. His ladies were okay.

  “You heard the man,” the admiral barked from behind him. “Let’s get a trauma team up to the flight deck on the double. That bird’ll be here in three minutes.”

  “Do you need me up here, sir?” Jack asked.

  The admiral answered dryly, “I know how to direct the recovery operation to get those lifeboats out of the water. Get out of here. Go say hello to your girls.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack replied smartly. And then he turned and sprinted out the door.

  Their helicopter drew near the Roosevelt. The pilot lowered their basket onto the flight deck and hovered until the three of them had jumped out of it. Then, as they ran off to one side, it descended, setting down gently. Karen, Kat and Isabella hopped out while the two PJs from inside the bird and four more corps-men rushed Michael onto a gurney and into the ship. Aleesha ran beside him, listening as the PJs briefed the trauma doctor on duty.

  “Gunshot wound to upper left quadrant of the chest…shock…hypothermia…blood loss…”

  Nothing life-threatening to a good medical team. Michael wasn’t out of the woods by a long shot—his wound would need a thorough cleaning, he needed a transfusion and to get warmed up, and they’d have to monitor his shock carefully. But odds were he’d live. Abject relief almost made her ill.

  The group careened into the ship’s hospital, and she was shoved out of the way unceremoniously as the trauma team went to work. Her legs wobbled. A medic moved beside her and put a supporting hand under her arm. “Why don’t you have a seat, ma’am?”

  He wrapped a heavy wool blanket around her, and she huddled in its scratchy warmth as the doctors worked on Michael. It seemed to take forever, but in reality it took only an hour or so to stabilize and patch up the patient. A reasonably quick job as trauma medicine went.

  Finally the doctor stepped back from the gurney, stripping off a pair of bloody surgical gloves. The floor was littered with bloody towels, blood-soaked gauze pads and sterile wrappings. Thankfully, not too much actual blood pooled on the floor beneath Michael. They’d given him two pints so far, and that had helped stabilize his blood pressure. A third pint of whole blood and a saline drip were hooked up to his arm, as well.

  The doctor came over to her. “Doctor Gautier?” he asked in surprise. “What in the world are you doing here? The last time I saw you at that conference in Denver, you were stationed at Great Lakes.”

  She smiled up at him humorlessly. “It’s a long story. Really long. Is he going to be okay?”

  The doc glanced over his shoulder. “The bullet didn’t hit anything vital. Cracked his collarbone. I’ll set that later when he’s a little more stable. We’ll have to monitor him for further shock, of course. Keep a close eye on his vitals for a while. But he’s strong. In good shape. Yeah. He’ll live.”

  She sagged in her chair. “Is he awake?”

  “He’s groggy. I’m running some heavy-duty painkillers into that IV drip. He may not be lucid.”

  “Can I talk to him?” And how many times had she heard these very same questions from the loved ones of her patients? It felt weird being on the giving end. She could almost recite the doctor’s answer as he gave it to her.

  “Only for a minute or two. Don’t overtax him. He needs his rest.”

  She nodded and stood up. Dragging her blanket with her, she moved over to Michael’s side and took his hand in hers. It was cold. Pale. So lifeless. “Hey, English,” she said softly. “Some hero you turned out to be. You know, you could’ve told me you were about to pass out down there in that tank. We’d have relieved you.”

  His eyes opened partway and he smiled up at her weakly. “Thought you’d go for the hero type. Wanted to impress you.”

  She reached up to smooth the damp hair off his forehead. “Oh, I’m impressed all right. Right down to my toes.”

  One corner of his mouth tilted up faintly. “Glad to hear it. I’m pretty impressed by you, too. Who’d have guessed? Women commandos…” His voice trailed off.

  “Sleep now,” she urged him quietly. “You and I are going to have all the time in the world to compare résumés once you’re feeling better.”

  His eyelids cracked open a fraction, sluggishly, as if it was a tremendous effort to do so. “Promise?” he mumbled.

  “Yeah. I promise.”

  His fingers tightened on hers ever so faintly. And then they went slack and fell away from hers. Her heart jumped for a second in panic, and her gaze snapped to the monitors beeping softly beside the bed. Vitals were stable. She released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  The doctor touched her shoulder. “I’ll take good care of him.”

  She nodded, her eyes burning. Oh, yes, Michael Somerset. She promised, all right.

  “Ma’am?”

  Her eyes lurched open.

  A seaman stood there, diffidently. “They need you on the flight deck.”

  They who? Her teammates? Was one of them hurt? Her protective impulses were already on overload. She dropped her blanket immediately and nodded to the seaman to lead the way.

  She stepped outside and was buffeted hard by a gust of wind. Mother Nature had held back about as long as she was going to. Hurricane Evangeline was almost on them. She had no
doubt the Roosevelt carrier group was already turning northwest, away from the storm.

  Ducking her head low, she caught sight of her teammates standing in a tight cluster by the helicopter that had brought them in. She trotted over to them. “What’s up?”

  Vanessa shrugged. “I don’t know. The admiral told us to come out here.”

  Weird.

  “By the way,” Vanessa commented, “I’ll be glad to write a letter to the British government telling them what Michael did for us and how he helped save all those people if you think it’ll help.”

  Aleesha smiled her gratitude at her boss. “If the Brits won’t reinstate him after this, I may have to sic Jack on the queen.”

  Misty laughed. “How about all the Medusas? The Brits won’t stand a chance.”

  Aleesha nodded. “That’s a deal. Speak of the devil…”

  The Medusas turned around as Jack hurried over to them. Apparently, he and Vanessa had already had a private reunion while Aleesha was still downstairs with Michael, for they only traded brief smiles.

  Jack announced, “We’ve got the interrogators briefed up to explain to everyone from the Grand Adventure that you’re all CIA agents. It’s not great, but it’s better than nothing. Oh, and the initial pass through the female passengers doesn’t show anyone who meets your description of the twenty-fourth terrorist. She’s either still on the Grand Adventure sitting on the bottom of the ocean or she found her way off the ship by some other means.”

  The Medusas absorbed that one in silence.

  But then Aleesha shrugged. “Hey, we served the innocents—except the officers and Inger, of course.” She added quietly, “Somehow I don’t think she minded dying to save those kids. She was a brave girl.”

  They were all silent, reflecting upon the noble sacrifice of courageous people who’d died at their posts.

  And into that sober void a seaman stepped around the nose of the helicopter and gestured for them to follow him. “This way, ladies.”