Protecting His Own

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Sure.” She saw the worry banked in his eyes.

  “I’ll send him over. Will you be taking your team with you?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  Giving her a slight nod, he headed down the hard-packed earth toward the two men. Sam turned and went back to work, her heart focused on Roc and her worry on the sick children.

  February 4: 0830

  Sam walked with Jack Zimmerman, one of the engineers, who had volunteered to lead her and her group to the house where the sick children were being kept. Private Gonzalez, his rifle in his hands, walked alertly down a chewed-up street ahead of them. The leaning sign they passed indicated that the road was called Sunrise Drive. The houses on either side had been nearly all destroyed. This was not a rich neighborhood, Sam noted. Each house was small, most of them made of pastel-colored stucco and brick. The roofs of most houses had been twisted askew and in some cases pitched to the ground; such was the power of the giant quake that had pulverized the whole L.A. basin.

  Halfway down the street, Zimmerman halted and pointed toward a half-destroyed redbrick home.

  “This is it, Dr. Andrews. The place belongs to Barbara and Dave Platter. They’re the only ones in the neighborhood whose house wasn’t flattened. I’ve been through the building and checked it out structurally, and it’s safe. All the children are in there. The parents take turns being with them, while the rest of us forage for any food or water we can find for them.”

  “I see,” Sam murmured as she walked up the concrete driveway, which was riddled with cracks.

  “Come on,” he urged her, “I’ll show you in. Barb and Dave will be so happy to see you.”

  Sam tried to keep her expression neutral as they walked to the back entrance. There was no door left, just an opening where a blanket had been hung. Jack moved the blanket aside and called for Barbara. Entering, he led them through the kitchen. Sam saw that the ceiling was cracked, and plaster dust was everywhere. There was a pitcher of water, covered, on the counter.

  In the carpeted hall, which was dirty with footprints of the many who had walked it, Sam had to squint to see. It was very dark because there was no electricity. Jack took her to a room on the right and opened the door, which squeaked in protest. The door stuck and she pushed through it after Jack, her physician’s bag in hand.

  The odor of illness assailed her nostrils as she entered. Sam moved aside to allow her team to come into the large room, which had a king-size bed in the middle. She counted at least seven children, of various ages between three and eight, huddled beneath the covers. They were trying to stay warm by sleeping together.

  “Barb?” Zimmerman called. “We’ve got medical help. This is Dr. Andrews and her navy team from Camp Reed.”

  A black-haired woman in her thirties, who’d been sitting near the bed stroking the head of one child, stood up. Her face was pale and pasty looking, her dark eyes widened with the surprise and hope at the announcement.

  Jack laughed. “Hey, we got help, Barb! Why don’t you come over here and tell Dr. Andrews about all these children and their condition? That way, she and her team can pitch in and help.”

  Sam gave the woman a gentle smile and held out her gloved hand. “Hi, Barbara. Call me Sam. We’re here to do what we can.”

  Gripping her hand tightly, Barbara sobbed, “Oh, Doctor! This—this is so wonderful! Someone told us earlier that a group of marines went by, but I never dreamed…We were hoping—oh, God, we were hoping for a little more water….” She turned toward the bed and gestured helplessly toward the children, most of whom were still asleep.

  “Doctor, they’re all dehydrated. All of them have diarrhea…. We do what we can, but it’s uncontrollable. I’m so afraid…” She pressed her hand to her mouth and looked up at Sam, tears glimmering in her eyes.

  “I understand,” Sam told her soothingly, running her hand along the woman’s slumped shoulders. That was why the children were huddled beneath the covers for warmth. Dysentery could cause chills. “You can help us as we assess each child. You have their names? Are their parents nearby?”

  Nodding jerkily, Barbara looked over at Jack, who stood near the door. “W-will you go find the rest of the parents? Bring them here?”

  “Sure, Barb. Not a problem. I’ll be back in a jiffy, don’t worry.”

  Sam glanced at Lin, her nurse. She saw the worry in her almond eyes, but like any good medical person, Lin wasn’t about to let her worry be seen by Barbara, who was trying to stem her tears. “Lieutenant Shan? Will you start on that side of the bed? Assess each child?” Sam turned to Jones Baker, who had set down his pack. “Jonesy, get the admittance paperwork out and ready to roll on each child, okay?”

  “Right away, Doc.”

  “And Ernie?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Come and help me. I’m going to uncover one child at a time. I want you to take their temperature and do all the recording on what I find.”

  Ernie beamed and quickly dug into her pack. “You bet!”

  Sam headed for the first child tucked in the mound of dirty blankets. All she could see was a topknot of uncombed blond hair.

  “Jonesy, pull seven IVs from your pack, too,” Sam ordered. She tried to keep the grimness from her voice.

  “Consider it done!” Jonesy sang out, flashing a brilliant smile.

  Sam tucked all her emotional reactions away. Right now they had seven children to try and help. She had worked with her team before in the barrios of Los Angeles, at a small clinic set up for Hispanics who didn’t have money for medical help. But this was an entirely different situation. These people had been living in deplorable conditions ever since the quake.

  As Sam lifted a little four-year-old girl with limp yellow hair from beneath the covers, she wanted to cry. Without water, the child could not be properly bathed. And without clean water, the child could not be cured. For a moment, Sam wished she was out on the hill with Roc and his team. This was heartbreaking. Shattering. Here they were in the richest country on earth, and children were dying tragically. A part of Sam wished Roc was near. She needed to talk this out with someone, and somehow, because of his past experience, she knew he’d understand.

  February 4: 1300

  The early afternoon sun had warmed the air to nearly sixty degrees. Roc had shed his jacket and helmet, leaving his flak jacket on as he moved across the hill with his team. Jack Zimmerman had come back after leading Sam to the children, and he and Frank Baylor had assisted Roc and his men in assessing the stability of the hill. By 1300, Roc was up on top of the mound, calling Morgan Trayhern via an iridium satellite phone. With the help of Frank and Jack’s expertise in civil engineering, Roc was able to tell Morgan that the hill was not only stable, but ready for action.

  The blue sky and bright sunshine helped lift Roc’s spirits as he got off the phone. His team, as well as the two retired engineers, sat around him sharing MREs—meals ready to eat. The two civilians ate hungrily, and Roc wished he had more food for them, but they needed to ration what little they had. Lifting his head, he looked off across the ruined suburbs. How was Sam? What had they found? He’d worried about her all morning. And if he was honest, he’d have to admit to himself that he wanted to see her.

  “Sir?” Corporal Barstow murmured. He sat opposite Roc, eating his MRE.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you want us to set up camp here for the night or are we going back to the LZ?”

  “No, we’ll be going back. As soon as we’re done here, we’ll saddle up and find the doc. Once she’s done with her rounds, we’ll hightail it back home for the night.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jack looked up from where he sat on the bare, yellow dry earth, his own MRE balanced on his left knee. “You know, Dr. Andrews is real special, Captain.”

  “Oh?” Roc stopped eating and focused on the silver-haired engineer.

  “Yes, she’s something else. She’s got that special healer’s touch. Now, I’ve been helping babysit those p
oor kids, who have all been sick for the last week, and they’re crying and cranky. Not that I blame them. The moment your doctor came in and started picking up each of those tykes, not one of them cried out or whimpered. It was as if they knew—you know?”

  “Knew she was there to help them?” Roc asked.

  “Yes, but it was more. I stood there in the doorway watching Dr. Andrews and her team work. They operate like a well-oiled machine. Everyone knew what to do, and in what order to do it. I hung around long enough to see each of those kids get an IV to replace the fluids they’ve lost.”

  “Did Dr. Andrews say they were going to be okay?”

  “Yes, she was very happy—relieved, I think—that all seven kids are gonna make it with medical help.”

  “Good,” Roc murmured. He finished his MRE and tucked the empty container into a pocket of his field pack.

  “She’s really special,” Zimmerman murmured, resuming eating. “You must be very proud of her.”

  “We are,” Roc said. He knew intuitively that Sam’s touch was magical.

  “Those kids looked at her like she was an angel come from heaven to heal them. You shoulda seen their faces. You know, they’ve been so sick their eyes are flat looking. But when Dr. Andrews sat on the bed and drew each child onto her lap, her arms around them, and beamed that wonderful smile of hers…well, let me tell you, Captain, I thought I was in the presence of an angel, too. The way she touched them, held them, hugged them…she’s incredible with children. Their eyes shone with love for her.”

  “Dr. Andrews runs the E.R. of the Camp Reed Hospital,” Roc said. “She’s had a lot of experience with sick children.”

  “Well,” the engineer said with feeling, “it sure shows. I’ll tell you, when this is all over, I’ll be writing a letter to my congressman, senators—heck, the president himself—to tell them about Dr. Andrews and her team. If it weren’t for you coming here, those children would eventually die. We just don’t have enough good water to give them. We’ve been drinking less and less ourselves so we could give our share to the children.” His brows dipped. “But it’s unclean water. I spent half my engineering life in Southeast Asia drilling for oil and carving roads outta jungles, and I know what bad water can do to you—in a real hurry. It isn’t pretty, and those kids are so tiny that they can’t stand to lose as much water as an adult can. That dysentery is nasty stuff.”

  “It’s a killer,” Roc agreed. He got up and pulled on his pack. “Okay, men, let’s saddle up. With Mr. Zimmerman’s help, we’re going to find Dr. Andrews.”

  February 4: 1330

  Sam was just coming out of the house when she saw Roc and his team walking up the driveway with Jack in the lead. She’d taken off her jacket and removed her outer layers because of the warmth of the day, and her stethoscope still hung around her neck as she eagerly stepped out into the sunshine. Taking a deep breath of fresh, clean air, she smiled at Roc, who was looking at her intently as he stepped carefully up the driveway. Sam felt all her worry melt away as he approached. Even though he had shaved early that morning, his face was already darkening with a beard, giving him the lethal look of a warrior.

  “Hi, stranger,” she greeted him cheerily as she moved down the driveway.

  “Hi, yourself.” Roc stopped and rested the butt of his rifle on his left hip as he looked past her toward her medical team, who were gathering outside the house. “Everything okay?” He hated sounding official and clipped, but under the circumstances, military decorum had to be followed.

  “Just fine.”

  “Good news on the kids?”

  Nodding, Sam slid her fingers under the straps of her pack. “Very good. We’ve got them on IVs. They are all responding well.”

  “What about water for them?”

  She gave him a wicked grin. “You’ll probably croak, but my team gave them all the water we had.” She patted her pack. “Now it’s much lighter, and I won’t mind carrying it so much.”

  Grinning, Roc nodded as he watched a number of parents trail out the blanketed doorway of the brick house. “We’re only three miles away from HQ. I think my men and I have enough water to share with you black-shoe navy types if you get thirsty on the way home.” “Black shoe” was a name for the shore-based personnel.

  Rising to his teasing, Sam laughed. “Black shoe” was a derogatory term. “That is very gentlemanly of you, Captain.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. If nothing else, marines are heroic.”

  Sam laughed softly. She saw Roc’s gaze flit from person to person and then back to her. He was alert, almost edgy. “You guys are certainly heroes in our eyes.”

  “Compliments will get you a drink of water whenever you want it,” he murmured with a smile. Just then the breeze lifted a few strands of Sam’s red hair, and for a moment Roc wanted to reach out and tuck those errant locks back into place. But he stopped himself.

  “Will we be coming back this way tomorrow?” Sam asked him in a lowered tone.

  “No.” He saw her frown. “The next medevac site is to be established west of here. Why? You worried about the kids and ongoing treatment?”

  “Yes…I am. There’s one child who should be airlifted out of here, to the hospital, Roc. She’s only seven years old, and in the worst shape of the seven.”

  “I just talked to Morgan Trayhern. We’ve got a go on setting up this first medevac site. He’s swinging into action. There’s supposed to be two navy Super Stallion helos in here tomorrow morning. A Navy SeaBee team is coming in to erect foundations, platforms and tents for the medevac model.”

  “Oh,” Sam whispered, “that’s great. I still need to see these kids tomorrow, Roc. Somehow.” She opened her hands in a pleading gesture.

  Shrugging, Roc said, “We can’t be all places at once. There’re too few of us and too many of them. I know you care, but right now your mission is to search out three suitable spots for medevacs.”

  Frustrated, Sam nodded. “Yeah, okay, I hear you, but I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

  “Look,” Roc murmured quietly, “maybe if we get done with the second area early tomorrow, we can walk back here and check in on them. No promises, though.”

  “Good,” Sam exclaimed in relief. “Let me tell Barbara. I need to leave her with instructions in case we can’t make it back tomorrow.”

  “Hey,” Roc warned her darkly, “don’t make any promises to this woman. Diablo’s around somewhere. If you come back here, it’ll be with me and my team. You’re not to go anywhere by yourself, understand?”

  Nodding, Sam said, “Yeah, I understand.”

  As she went back to the house, Roc stood there, frowning. He knew this would happen. Sam and her team were helpers and healers. Seeing the devastation had made the doctor far more aware of how badly needed her services were out here. Sam would want to come back no matter how late it was tomorrow night, how tired she was or how exhausted his team became from their reconnaissance duties. Damn.

  Rubbing his chin, he waited patiently, his rifle on his hip, as Sam talked with Barbara. Turning to his sergeant, he ordered, “Buck, have everyone leave their MREs and all their water, except for a quart of it per person, with these people.”

  Simmons grinned hugely. “Yes, sir.”

  Roc saw the delight and gratitude on the faces of the parents as his men shrugged out of their heavy packs and began to hand over food and water to them. Maybe, if Sam realized these people and their children would have supplies for a day or two, she’d be less likely to worry about them or bolt back here even if she was dead on her feet.

  It wouldn’t matter how generous they were; the food and water wouldn’t last long. Roc knew that at least fifty people had banded together here to try and help one another survive. Still, he absorbed the delight on Sam’s face as she hugged Barbara and then walked back to where he stood.

  “You really are a hero, Captain. Thanks for sharing your food and water with them. They are so desperate….”

  Giving her a look f
illed with warning, Roc muttered, “I’m doing this because I don’t think we’ll be able to get back here tomorrow, Doctor. You’re going to have to pace yourself. You have only so much energy and drive in a twenty-four-hour period. I’m not going to let you spread yourself too thin, nor am I willing to put my men at risk because you want to help the world twenty-four hours a day.”

  Scowling at him, she said nothing.

  He saw her chin jut out in defiance. That hurt. Didn’t she have the sense to know she could wear herself out? No one could work twenty-four hours a day. In his business, getting a good night’s sleep meant being better prepared for the enemy the next day. Sighing, Roc supposed he couldn’t blame Sam for not understanding, but he sensed their different points of view could cause friction, enough to explode into a confrontation between them as this mission continued.

  The thought made Roc unhappy. A confrontation with Sam was the last thing he wanted. Recalling Jack’s glowing report of her healing abilities, he smiled to himself. She was so damned headstrong, opinionated and spontaneous—qualities he’d never experienced in a woman. In his heart, he pined for a few private moments with Sam Andrews. Maybe he’d get them on the way back to the LZ. More than anything, Roc wanted to know about the person, the woman who stood at his side, her eyes glowing with hope, her lips breathlessly parted as she watched his men give their food and water to those who needed it even more than they did.

  Chapter 8

  February 5: 0030

  Sam couldn’t wait any longer. Glancing at her watch, she realized it was past midnight already. Dressed warmly, she stole quietly, a pack on her back. Settling the navy knit cap on her head, she absently touched her jeans and moved uncomfortably in her Kevlar vest.

  The children were on her mind. Especially the little seven-year-old, Ani, who had been in the worst condition. Gulping, Sam blinked rapidly as she tried to get her bearings. The chugging sounds of several gasfed generators rumbled in the background. Above her, the sky was clouded over and threatening rain. Pulling her jacket collar around her neck against the inconstant wind, she made her way across the broken parking lot of the shopping mall, stumbling as she went.