by Bella Juarez
“She’s one of those antiwar freaks. I just finished a short background check on her and found out she’s an active member of Code Pink. Her Facebook page and her e-mail are full of all kinds of subscriptions to antiwar groups. I don’t think she likes us,” Alex said.
Alex considered all the devious ways he could get her to change her mind.
“What else did you find out?” Gamez asked.
“She and her dad are refugees from Cuba. They came over when she was two. She’s been practicing medicine for four years now. According to her professional records, she’s a hell of a trauma surgeon. She left Ryder Medical Center in Miami when Doctors Without Borders picked her up. Ryder is still holding her position,” Alex informed.
“What’s Dad like?” Shaq asked.
“Keeps his head down and works at a private hospital in Miami in the logistics department. You should see his Facebook page. I don’t think they talk politics,” Alex said with a smile.
The three men chuckled in understanding. The meeting broke and Alex returned to the field hospital. They were still waiting for the Navy to send the physicians that Camp Echo needed. Most of the medics here had more trauma medicine experience than any physician the Navy could send, but a doctor was still a handy thing to have around.
Alex went to his tiny office and started looking through charts and his e-mail. He filled out the request forms needed for the antibiotic he wanted to have on hand in case of an outbreak. For now, he was the chief of staff. It was slow, so making rounds wouldn’t be difficult because there was only one patient for now, Dr. Vasquez. The rest of the men here had only minor injuries and would float in and out to be checked on.
Alex went to check on Dr. Vasquez late in the evening and found her sleeping when he walked behind the curtained partition. He called up her chart on the laptop he’d left in her space and saw that Juan had seen to meals and a pitcher of water. She’d asked Juan to release her and he’d told her he needed to talk with Alex. He smiled to himself. Juan hadn’t mentioned it yet. According to her lab work, she was still weak and needed another round of electrolyte fluids. As he was documenting her therapy, Dr. Vasquez stirred.
“Good evening, angel,” Alex said.
“I’m not your damn angel and I want to leave,” Dr. Vasquez snapped.
Alex smiled. Oh! How I could fix that attitude of yours, Doctor. He suppressed the thought. He found it interesting that she could stir feelings in him that he seemed to have successfully repressed. Instinctively, she seemed to be able to draw buried urges out of him after so many years without any effort.
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Doctor. And you’re not ready to leave. I’ve ordered you another round of electrolytes. You’ll be here at least another twenty-four hours,” he said.
Dr. Vasquez started to argue, “I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t fix with an oral supplement and—”
Alex cut her off with a look. Dr. Vasquez looked away, but he could see she was itching to continue and wanted to fight him. He looked back at the laptop screen.
“You’re my patient and you’ll be here at least another twenty-four hours,” Alex answered. His tone left no room for questions or arguments.
“We have a difference of opinion, Doctor, because I know my symptoms have improved and I want to leave.”
Rein it in. Alex curbed the urges he was feeling because he knew he could be powerful and intimidating with just his body language.
“Would you like to take a shower?” Alex asked, ignoring her last statement.
“Yes. I would. In my own quarters. Back where I came from,” Dr. Vasquez snapped.
“Okay, I’ll get one of my medics to help you,” Alex said, overlooking her tone and her statement.
“Did you hear anything I just said?” Dr. Vasquez demanded.
“If you want to take a shower in the facilities we have here, I can help you with that. If you want to stay like you are, you can do that, too. You won’t be released until I feel that it’s in your best interest,” he said, looking squarely at Dr. Vasquez.
Alex called Juan to help Dr. Vasquez to the shower facilities. He removed the empty IV bag and covered the hep-lock it was attached to so it wouldn’t get too wet when she bathed. He asked for assistance with her linens and instructed the young SEAL medic to help her to their facilities so she could clean up.
* * * *
Izzy had to get the hell out of here. She was surrounded by the very worst sort of people and she sure as hell didn’t buy for one second that Doc didn’t know what she was talking about when she mentioned the effects of their grenade on its victims. The medic walking with her to the bathroom was a sweet man, Juan. He was too young to be here and he was throwing away a medical career to fight a war. She hated the global militarism her country was engaged in even more when she looked at the young people that were coming in and out of this hospital.
“How long has that guy been a doctor in the military?” Izzy asked.
“We don’t have a physician assigned to us yet, ma’am. Senior Chief Richards is the senior medic on staff. He’ll run the hospital until we get one,” Juan said.
“Really? Why do they call him Doc?” Izzy asked as she narrowed her eyes.
“We’re combat medics. They call us all Doc,” Juan said with a smile.
Izzy bathed slowly, letting the hot water run over her battered and very dirty body. Despite her mood, it felt good to take a hot shower in relative peace. She scrubbed her body and washed her hair a couple of times. When she stepped out, she saw the towels and blinked when she noticed her shower kit sitting on top.
Izzy ran her brush through her damp hair and was glad she’d relaxed it before she left home. It had been the best advice La’Rett had given her, when she started talking to Izzy again. Not everyone at home was happy about her decision to come to Afghanistan and do this kind of work. Her best friend was at the top of that list. Izzy put on the scrubs and socks that were set aside for her. She was grateful they didn’t give her a hospital gown. She opened the door and saw Senior Chief Richards with his arms folded, leaning up against the wall, waiting. The better she felt the more she hated him and his smug-ass ways.
“Feel better?” Chief Richards asked.
“I want to leave,” Izzy said.
“You’re not ready to go,” Chief Richards said.
“You’re not qualified to make that decision. You’re not a physician,” Izzy said, folding her arms.
“It doesn’t matter. There isn’t a physician in the Navy that would argue with my diagnosis and recommended therapy,” Chief Richards said as he walked toward Izzy.
Izzy was five foot seven and had to look up at Chief Richards, putting him, by her estimations, at well over six feet. About six three, she guessed. He was in scrubs with a gun strapped to his leg and looked intimidating with his beard and long hair. Dressed as one of the locals, he could walk right past them without a second glance. The only thing that might have given him away was his sapphire eyes. If he couldn’t scare them, he’d charm them with that voice. He was a big man physically and knew how to psychologically intimidate someone. Even so, Izzy didn’t shrink back. In fact, it pissed her off that he was attempting to bully her.
“I want to see my labs, or did you even think about running labs? And I want to see my supposed prognosis,” Izzy demanded.
“Labs have been run, Doctor, and you can see your chart when we get back to your space,” Chief Richards said, taking her arm firmly as he led her back to her area.
Izzy shivered at his touch. It wasn’t soothing and gentle like before. It was firm and unyielding. She’d been fighting an attraction to this man she couldn’t explain. As they walked through the corridors of the small hospital, she briefly forgot her attraction and looked around. She was fascinated with the organization of the small field hospital. She noticed a self-contained mini medical facility right down to a pharmacy and had to fight the urge to ask questions. It seemed to be a very efficiently run operation.
They arrived at Izzy’s space and Chief Richards logged into the laptop sitting next to her bed. With a couple clicks of the mouse he was at her latest lab report. She swallowed hard because his diagnosis was right on and another round of electrolytes with the added stay would have been something she herself would have recommended.
“Any more questions, Doctor?” Chief Richards asked as an arrogant smile played around the corners of his mouth.
Izzy was angry again. She wanted to reach up and slap the damn arrogance off his handsome face.
“It’s not that bad,” she grumbled as she slid between the sheets.
“I need to take your vitals, unless in your professional opinion you think I’m unqualified to that, too, Doctor?” Chief Richards asked.
Izzy gave Chief Richards a withering look as she held out her arm for the blood pressure cup. Now he was really pissing her off because he was laughing at her. He went through his routine and gave her the stats as he read them.
“What’s your name?”
Not that she was truly interested. Izzy only asked because when she finally lost it, she wanted to call him a bastard properly and his name would be necessary.
“Senior Chief Alex Richards,” he said as he updated her chart on the laptop.
“Why are you here? You’re obviously a talented paramedic. Why aren’t you helping people who really need you? I’ll bet medical school would be a snap for you.”
“You’re too late to save me, angel, and I am helping people who need me. More so then you’ll ever know.”
“No, not like this. You’re just patching these kids up so they can go out and die. This is wrong. As a medical professional, you know it’s wrong,” Izzy said passionately.
“Did it ever occur to you that these men want to be here? And they believe in what they’re doing? The United States military is a volunteer force. No one is holding us hostage, angel.”
This guy was a challenge. They had brainwashed him thoroughly.
“Most of these kids didn’t have much of a choice, especially minority kids,” Izzy pointed out.
“You’d be amazed at what some of us have walked away from to be here,” Chief Richards said quietly as he walked out of the area.
The place seemed unnaturally quiet when Chief Richards walked out. Izzy briefly scolded herself for being such a bitch with him. She was bored and still a little apprehensive. Her mind was working again. She heard artillery shelling outside and shivered. This was a constant noise here, and she could never seem to get used it because it never stopped. She was too nervous to relax, so Izzy sat and stared at the wall. She needed to move around and do something to drown out the sounds of war. Even though she hated everything the United States military stood for, it was an efficient organization and she recognized she could learn something from this place. She wanted to explore this small hospital and see its inner workings, thinking maybe it would ease the restlessness and fear she was experiencing.
Standing and walking, Izzy paced back and forth in the tiny area. She went as far as she could and looked down the empty ward. She’d been responsible for setting up the small clinic that she ran in Kush. It was crude and the organization invested enough money for her to get the critical supplies she needed. In reality it was still very rudimentary and basic. She went back to bed and laid her head back. She must’ve dozed because Juan, the young medic, was back when she opened her eyes.
“Ma’am, are you comfortable? Is there anything I can get you?” Juan asked.
“A book, if there’s one around,” Izzy said jokingly.
Juan smiled as he checked her water pitcher. “Senior Chief thought you’d want to read something. He told me to give you this,” he said, handing her a binder. “He said to enjoy.”
Juan left and Izzy opened the binder, reading the title page. “A Clinical Study in Bulgura neritina Bacterium” by Senior Chief Alex Richards, USNSPECWG 5. She dove into the paper and forgot her fear for a while. She was fascinated at the detailed study and depth of research that had gone into it. It detailed the diagnosis and the treatment of a woman who was injured and wound up with an unidentifiable bacterial infection.
The documentation read like a published medical journal. There were clinical lab findings, pictures of stains, and detailed chemistries in the study. Izzy sucked in a startled breath when she saw the picture of the bacteria stain in the paper. It was the same one she’d seen in the four patients that had died after the grenade attack.
“You should be sleeping. It’s four in the morning,” Chief Richards said from the small partitioned entry.
Izzy twitched and brought her head up sharply at the sound of his voice. Where the hell did he come from?
“You’ve seen this infection. The antibiotic, I’ve never seen this combination of chemicals. I’ve never heard of it, moxifloxacin-n. Is it new?” Izzy asked.
“Brand new. In fact it was experimental when I used it on the patient in that study,” Chief Richards said.
“What was the prognosis? I haven’t gotten that far,” Izzy questioned.
“The patient survived and so far there’ve been no adverse side effects. She gets checked with labs every three months,” he said with a grin. Izzy smiled slightly at the jab and looked down at the binder in her lap. “The first couple of labs are in the appendix,” Chief Richards said.
Izzy flipped to the back of the appendices and found the first sets of lab results. She nodded in satisfaction. It was a very thorough lab. She found it hard to believe that the man who wrote this paper was not a physician. He writes like an experienced physician. She thought back to the brief glimpse she got of the hospital.
“You look like you have questions. Do you?” Chief Richards asked.
There were so many questions Izzy had. She didn’t know where to start. Most of her questions were personal questions. Why isn’t he a licensed physician instead of a paramedic? Chief Richards knew more about medicine than some of the doctors she’d studied and worked under.
Hell, by this study and what she’d seen, he knew more than she did. How long had he been involved in medicine? What other kinds of diseases had he seen and treated? Did he know any unique methods for trauma injuries? What kind of training had he been through? How did he manage to set this hospital up and how did he organize it? Was he married? Whoa! Where the hell did that come from? Izzy almost shook her head. She needed to remind herself she didn’t like Chief Richards.
“Can I see the hospital?” Izzy asked.
Chief Richards said as he worked to unhook the IV that she was connected to, “I was wondering when you would ask.”
Chapter 2
NAVSPECW Camp Echo
Near Kush, Afghanistan
78 km from the Pakistani Border
April 20, 2009/0936 Zulu
Rock had cleared the information Alex had given Dr. Vasquez. Captain Jack “Rock” O’Malley, commander of Special Warfare Group 5, had gone so far as to allow Alex to enlist Dr. Vasquez’s help in the hospital if he thought they could use her. It didn’t look like the Navy was sending a doctor anytime soon because they were short. They’d get them, eventually. Rock managed to justify a civilian doctor’s slot for her temporally until military doctors started filtering in.
Alex’s advanced training had included training in being a solo practitioner, so he was perfectly capable of running this hospital without supervision. He and a couple of the other SEAL medics were capable of performing surgery if they had to. It would be nice to have a trauma surgeon in their midst. Because of Dr. Vasquez’s ties to antiwar groups, Alex and Rock had decided to watch her if she did treat any of the SEALs at Camp Echo.
They walked around the field hospital as Alex explained the facilities layout to Dr. Vasquez. He could tell by her questions she was fascinated and impressed with the hospital’s capabilities. It was small but all encompassing. He took her to the lab and showed her around. He walked her around the pharmacy and the operating room.
“You guys don’t
have a surgeon, do you?” Dr. Vasquez asked.
“Three of us can perform surgery if we have to. Unfortunately we’ve all had to. Sometimes we didn’t have the luxury of an operating room,” Alex said.
“What’s your survival rate?” Dr. Vasquez asked.
“Depends on how bad it is. Mine’s pretty fair. The two other medics have okay track records. If we can save them, believe me, we try, but sometimes there is no saving them. This is more of a triage hospital. We usually try and stabilize them enough to be airlifted out of here to a surgical hospital,” Alex said.
Dr. Vasquez asked a lot of questions while they were in the radiology area of the hospital. Alex could tell by her questions she wasn’t experienced in the logistics side of setting up a clinic or a field hospital. Alex explained the training the special operations medical personnel received and how their schools and training rotations were the most intensive of all personnel in the military. In some cases, it was more intense and longer than what a civilian doctor would do. He explained how they were sent back for refresher training every two years for almost six months.
“I’d offer my help since you don’t have a doctor, but I’m sure you wouldn’t accept. You probably don’t need it,” Dr. Vasquez said.
“Are you offering your help, Isabel?” Alex asked.
“I thought you were sending me home,” Dr. Vasquez said.
“There’s been a delay in your trip and I’ve been cleared to assist with medical aid whenever the locals need it, so, if you want to help, I’ll take you up on it. I get the feeling we’ll get busy,” Alex said.
“I wouldn’t mind helping out as long as we’re also helping the locals,” Dr. Vasquez said tentatively.
“Doctor, I need you understand something before you make this decision. I run this hospital and make all the decisions here. It will be very confusing for my staff if this goes any other way. Please don’t undermine my authority and don’t try and tell me what to do. Advice is one thing and I’m always open to it. Orders are another and I will not relax my authority. Are we clear?” Alex asked.