by Aiden Bates
The girl had already abandoned Floyd. She had climbed the missile launcher and busied herself stacking it with what looked like bricks. Trent knew enough to know they weren't bricks. "Mal, do we have time for that?"
"We'll make time, Morna." Mal gave the woman a dark look. "We're on the same side." He glanced at Trent. "For the moment anyway. We can at least get them patched up well enough to get them out of here."
"We don't need —" Trent stopped himself when he looked at Lupo, who had passed out.
"I think you do." Mal slid his hand away from Trent. "There's no shame in it. Don't worry. We can go back to resenting each other once your friends can walk on their own, yeah?"
Trent couldn't argue with that.
Chapter Three
If Mal had to come up with a list of things to never do again, driving off into the mountains in an Opel Astra K full of injured Americans would probably top the list. Actually, no. As he put the pedal to the metal for forty-one minutes of hot, sweaty terror, he had to move that action item down to number two. The top of his list of things to never do again would be driving into the Greek mountains, in the dark, in an Opel Astra K full of injured American alphas with itchy trigger fingers, who were trained to kill and eager to do so.
And attractive ones at that...
"You do understand that this is quite possibly the single dumbest thing you've done since you took apart Ma's television to see the men inside?" Morna pouted from the seat beside him, where she was supposed to be keeping watch for things like stray tractors and errant pre-dawn donkeys.
"I'm fairly certain sleeping with that English financier was slightly worse." Mal angled his rearview mirror to get a better look at the SEALs in the back seat. This was not an ideal way to transport four large, injured men. The hottest one, the one with the jaw and the eyes, had volunteered to take the floor back there. Mal couldn't see him, and that was probably for the best.
He didn't need the distraction. The only one of the four who wasn't injured was a tall, bald, black man who hadn't been willing to give up his gun for any reason whatsoever. He hadn't wanted to get into the car, either. Only when their leader, Trent, pointed out this was the only way to get help for Lupo and Baudin did he bow his head and help load his friends into the car.
Mal didn't blame the tall man, whose name turned out to be Floyd. He could have lived without the man's eyes burning a hole into the back of his head, though.
Lupo and Baudin were the worst off. They had both lost a lot of blood. Mal had gotten them bandaged up, at least well enough to last them an hour. He was going to have his work cut out for him once they got to Maroneia, though.
"Okay, the Englishman was stupid," Morna agreed. "Palling around with these Americans? I mean, at least your boy toy there didn't have guns."
"True." Mal managed to huff out a little laugh.
"You guys got a problem with the USA?" Floyd's voice rumbled from the back seat.
"The whole brink of nuclear war thing has a few people a tad concerned about long-term investments, thank you." Morna sat up a little straighter. If she had a handbag, she'd have held it primly on her lap.
Floyd opened his mouth, and then shut it again. "Okay, not going to argue that. Maybe it looked a little odd from the outside." He looked around the car. "So what exactly are you people, Interpol?"
"Er, no." Mal squirmed in his seat. "Not as such, no. It's probably best we don't talk about that."
Floyd narrowed his eyes. "Terrorists?"
"No. Hell no." Morna scoffed. "If we've done our job right, you'll never hear of us. We don't have an agenda. We don't have a religious or ethnic…thing…we want to force on anyone. It's kind of the opposite, really."
"You just go around and blow up abandoned schools." Floyd yawned. "Sorry. It's not the company."
"We've got coffee and tea at the remote site." Mal glanced at his sister. "We're not exactly supposed to be proselytizing, either."
Floyd snorted. "I'll bet."
Mal wouldn't have minded staying back to blow up the school, to be honest. He liked explosions, especially when no one could be hurt by them. They couldn't risk being caught, and he and Morna knew there would be more to risk for the SEALs if they got caught than for anyone else.
Ordinarily, Mal wouldn't care if the SEALs got into trouble. Trent and the others might rat Mal and Morna out, and it wasn't like they stood out or anything.
And maybe he wanted to do something for Trent. Was that a sin? Sure, Mal didn't have a lot of interest in Americans, but Trent was cute. It wasn't a bad thing to want to do something nice for him. They were working on the same side in this case, at least.
They pulled into the garage at the abandoned hotel. Whoever built the place had plenty of foresight when he'd put it up. He'd put in underground parking for employees. The customers and the employees were all gone, and so were the underground groups that had been using the hotel after the place had been abandoned. New organizations had risen to take their place, and the Wolves had joined them once Mal met with the owner.
He, Morna, and Floyd got out. "Okay," he said, with a sigh. "The first thing we have to do is to help your friends. The best place for that is Kitchen Two."
"You want to work on them in a kitchen." Floyd crossed his arms over his chest. "Why does that sound dumb?"
"It's still got running water," Morna pointed out. "That's why. It's a pain in the arse because we still have to lug them upstairs to rooms, but Mal's right. We should do this as safely for them as we can, if we're going to do it at all."
Morna and Floyd used luggage carts to wheel the men in, while Mal got ready to work. He didn't kid himself. He wasn't a surgeon. If someone had some serious damage that required hardcore work, the best Mal could do was tide them over until someone with more formal training could get to them. But Mal could hold his own in a pinch. None of these guys had the kind of injury that required specialized equipment. They needed help, but they didn't need a hospital.
Lupo was the worst off, only because he'd lost the most blood. Mal put on gloves and a clean apron and got to work. They didn't have any real anesthetic. They had a local, and they had Floyd and Morna.
"Here comes the fun part," he told them. "He's probably going to wake up for this. I have to find the bullet."
"Oh, hell no." Floyd stepped back.
"We can't leave it in there. It's too much of a risk of infection." He swallowed. "You're going to have to hold him down."
"I can do it." Morna met his eyes.
Floyd looked over at the door. "I'll help."
Mal had to cut off Lupo's pants, but he didn't think the man would mind under the circumstances. Once he had access to the wound, he cleaned it out and got to work. Lupo woke up as soon as Mal started to dig for the bullet, and it wasn't pretty. Morna and Floyd struggled to hold him down, but Mal got the bullet out as quickly as he could. Once that was done, all that was left was the stitching. Lupo had much less to complain about with that.
Mal's next victim was Baudin, who'd been shot in the arm. This injury impacted the bone, and that was no good. He was going to need a proper hospital to take care of that, eventually. Mal's job here was clear — keep the injury from getting worse.
He didn't have the luxury of getting X-rays. All he could do was to get the bullet out, stop the bleeding, and immobilize the arm. When he got into the arm, he could see the fracture wasn't that terrible. There were no bone chips floating free, only a few lines emanating from the impact site. The worst aspect of this injury, like the one to Lupo, was the blood loss.
Mal removed the bullet. Then he stitched the wound shut and splinted the arm. He applied a sling, taking a moment to appreciate that Baudin had the kind of body that could wander around without a shirt on. In fact, he'd go so far as to say Baudin's abs should be exposed to the world.
Once he cleaned up from Baudin's treatment, it was time to work on Trent. This was the part Mal dreaded. The other two guys were hot, sure, but Mal saw hot guys all the time. T
rent, though, was something else. Mal had been forced to think about him for months. And now he had to help Trent off with his armor, his uniform shirt, and then with his undershirt.
Oh God. Mal hoped Trent would be somehow hideous under all that body armor. Okay, Navy SEALs weren't usually unappealing, but maybe he'd have a distasteful tattoo. He had to have something other than that uniform that would make him repugnant, but no. His washboard abs gave way to high and sharp hip bones, exactly the kind of thing that made Mal's mouth water.
Drool wasn't sanitary. Mal had to remind himself of that as he sanitized his equipment.
Trent roused himself as Floyd wheeled his luggage cart over to the prep table they were using as a treatment area. "You're a doctor now?"
Mal forced himself to adopt his usual nonchalant attitude. "I'm what you get under the circumstances. Not that I would mind playing doctor with you, but we do need to make sure you have blood flow to all of the appropriate places. Which, I should point out, means stitches right now."
Floyd looked away. Morna blushed as red as her hair.
Trent blushed a little, and the still-functional part of Mal's brain noted that he still had enough blood pressure to do that. "Okay, well, what about my men?"
"I've already dealt with them. If I don't like their vitals I'll go steal some blood in Komotini, but I'd rather not attract attention right now. There are still some members of the enemy team at large." Just like that, Mal found himself able to focus again. The prospect of live enemies behind them left him unable to think about anything sexual at all.
Trent submitted to having his injuries bathed and irrigated. "You left them behind you? When I saw you walk into that room, I wouldn't have thought that was possible."
Mal concentrated on threading the needle. "Actually, they weren't at home. We found the place by triangulating on a bunker near the school, probably a fallout shelter. Gotta love the Cold War." He knew he was babbling. "Okay, so let's get a look at that bullet wound. I can see an exit wound…"
"It was through and through." Trent winced. "Trust me. I was there."
Mal checked out the exit wound. "I'm inclined to agree with you. Can you move it?"
Trent tried. "It doesn't feel great."
"Hm. There's probably a muscle injury there. I'll stitch it up, and we can put a sling on it. A real surgeon might have another solution, and they'd probably have all manner of physiotherapy and whatnot. I'm just a field medic."
"It's fine." Trent gave him a thin smile.
Mal took the hint and got to stitching. When he finished, he took vital signs from all three of the injured Americans. He could have been happier with Baudin's blood pressure, but it wasn't enough to send him running to Komotini yet. He decided to put them all into rooms and let them get some rest.
Trent went under his own power, while the others needed help. Mal, Floyd, and Morna got the other two situated, and Mal set his alarm to go off every hour to check on Lupo and Baudin.
The next few hours were challenging. Mal wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he didn't dare sleep without checking on Lupo and Baudin. By the time the sun rose, Baudin had stabilized and Lupo had slipped into a more natural sleep.
Trent had gotten a couple of hours' sleep too. He roused himself to stagger out into the hallway and speak to Mal. "We can't just hide out here forever."
Mal leaned against the wall. He could have gotten lost in Trent's pretty green eyes. "I'm sorry. Your gear is in the trunk of the Opel."
"You brought us here in an Opel?" Trent's eyes bulged, and his face got bright red.
"Well yeah, why?"
"You mean besides the fact that I'll never live it down? I don't know. You want to explain how you broke the laws of physics?"
Mal tossed his head back and laughed. Maybe there was a touch of hysteria to it. "You learn to improvise, Trent. I'm sure that's something you've done a time or two. Come on, let's get your things. I'm sure we can contact your handsome Master Chief."
"I told you before. He's married. Five kids."
Mal didn't try to hide his shudder. "I can't imagine. But him being married doesn't make him less handsome."
Trent blushed, and Mal laughed again. "Sorry. He is handsome, but come on, Trent. You're too easy."
Trent looked away. "Let's just see if we can get the radio working, okay?"
Mal remembered himself. It wasn't the time for him to sit there and try to seduce Trent. If nothing else, Trent had just been injured.
They retrieved the radio from the Opel and made their way out onto the balcony out back to make the call. The balcony overlooked an abandoned almond grove, and the scent threatened to overpower Mal.
Trent fiddled with the radio for a minute, and found the frequency he wanted. "This is Away Team Three looking for base, do you copy?"
The voice on the other end was gruff and familiar. "This is base. Is this Kelly?"
"Yes, Chief. Three casualties, none fatal. We found help in an unexpected quarter." Trent made eye contact with Mal and shrugged.
Mal didn't mind. He'd have been offended, and a little frightened, if he and Morna had been expected.
Chief cleared his throat. "There was an explosion. The building was reduced to rubble."
"Yes. The work of the terrorists. But I can assure you that all four of us have survived. We've been taken to an outside location for assistance."
"What location is that?"
Mal sighed. He didn't want to step in, or to give anything away. He didn't have a choice. He took the mic. "Chief, so lovely to hear your voice again. It seems our paths converge."
"You." If Mal had to judge, he'd say Chief’s voice wavered between something he'd find on his shoe and something he'd find in the comments on a political Facebook post.
"Us." Mal grinned cheerily. It was the only response he could think of. "Your men are being cared for at an abandoned hotel near Maroneia. I can get them to you at a meeting point near here fairly quickly."
"It will take us about a day. We have casualties here." Was this what the man sounded like when he got teeth pulled? Mal wouldn't doubt it. "Can you give us that long?"
"Absolutely, Chief. Your men are a delight. We're thrilled to entertain them. Let us know when and where you want to make the exchange, and we'll do it."
Mal terminated the connection and met Trent's eyes. A full day with Trent wasn't in anyone's best interest.
~
Trent took another nap in the dusty bed Mal had assigned him. He shouldn't let himself rest, not while his men were laid up. He should be at their sides, watching over them with his gun out. He didn't have the energy right now.
Floyd was in good shape. He could step in and keep an eye on their apparent saviors while Trent rested. A couple of hours' sleep got Trent into a much better mental state, and he could get ready to face whatever came next.
He headed into the hotel lobby, where he found the red-haired girl cleaning her guns. She had a lot of them, and it looked like she knew how to take care of them too. Trent needed to stop thinking of her as a civilian. "I don't know if we've been properly introduced," he said, looking down at her. "I'm Trent Kelly."
She flashed him a quick smile. "Morna O'Donnell. How are you feeling this fine morning?"
"I've had worse days." He looked around. "What is this place?" The facility had once been beautiful. It hadn't yet fallen into decay, although most of the more luxurious appointments had been ignored.
"Oh, maybe thirty years ago or so, someone decided the mountains up here needed a luxury hotel." She put down the gun she was cleaning. "Then he found himself a clue and figured out that the market for a luxury hotel without a clear view of the water is pretty limited. The owner has a lot of left-leaning sympathies, so he lets different groups use the place sometimes." She glared down the hall. "Of course, if certain people didn't feel compelled to go saving the tools of imperialism all the time we could probably keep using it, but here we are." She flicked her gaze back to him. "No offense, of cour
se."
Trent moistened his lips. "So he goes around saving Americans a lot?" He decided not to address her comment about imperialism just now. He couldn't exactly deny it, and people who called other people "tools of imperialism" to their face weren't usually in the mood to listen to reason.
"He's not a big fan of collateral damage." She sighed and took up her task again. "And to be honest, he's right. We were going in to deal with whatever they were planning to do at the airport, but we weren't exactly enthusiastic about taking on twenty or more Daesh terrorists by ourselves. You guys kept their attention on you, which let us do our jobs."
Trent scowled. "We're professionals. We're not there to be a distraction for…for whatever you're supposed to be."