by J. B. Havens
“There’s more,” Jordon choked out. He moved to hold her hand, but stopped at the looks the others were giving him. Fuck it, they had gone through hell together. He had carried her to the LZ, and dug a bullet out of her leg, so these mother fuckers could get over it. He grasped her small hand in his large one. Her skin was boiling hot against his. She looked so small while she was asleep. When she was up and yelling at everyone she seemed much bigger, larger than life actually.
“Jordon?” Pierce said, touching his shoulder. “You said there was more?” Pierce gripped his shoulder hard, even shook him a little. He was going into shock, he thought. Years of combat in the worst places in the world, and it took this woman in front of him to send him into a flat spin.
“Mateo. Mateo has a son.” Jordon let that bomb settle for a second before continuing. “She saw him, and Mic being Mic, she ran after him. She was taking aim when she went down. I followed her; I had to. She told me to stay on her six, no matter what.” He gripped her hand tight between both of his.
“Jordon, you did good. We are all glad you were with her. She needed you.” Pierce released his shoulder and looked at Phillips. “We don’t know anything about a son. Linc is back at the airfield and we’ve been grilling him hard. He hasn’t said one fucking word about a son.”
“I saw him too. It wasn’t just Mic.” Jordon reached for his canteen and took a long drink. He didn’t need to conserve it any longer. “One thing I really don’t fucking get; no one pursued us. We ran into the fucking jungle, ill-prepared for it, and they didn’t take the easy pickings we were.” He looked at them all, noting the confusion on their faces. “Why? Why didn’t they chase us? Two against dozens. Odds were in their favor. It was almost like they wanted us to get away.”
Chapter 20
They landed at the airfield without incident. Riley came out of the jet to meet them with Linc in tow. Phillips was firmly in command since Mic was down and out. He hopped out of the Stealth Hawk and jogged up to Riley.
“Guard our asses,” he said simply as he marched past him onto the jet. He went right for the first grouping of seats. He folded them down quickly and hooked the cushions together to form a small bed. Piling up blankets and a couple of pillows that he grabbed from storage in the galley, he raced back outside and waved Pierce and Jordon aboard with Mic. Pierce tried to help, but Jordon threatened to murder him on the spot for touching her. Jordon cradled her in his big arms and carried her onto the jet.
“Let’s roll out, ladies. We don’t have time to fuck around. Mic needs a hospital, like fucking yesterday.” Phillips let them file in before taking his place on the floor beside Mic. They were down two very much needed chairs. Jordon knelt beside him, holding Mic’s hand again. He had his other volunteer for sitting on the floor for the next eight hours.
Flynn was the last aboard after securing the Stealth Hawk. Once they got in the air he’d have Jones send a message to Liam, telling him to come pick up the bird. It wouldn’t do to have the top secret technology stolen and reverse engineered. The men were still stowing their weapons as they lifted into the air.
Phillips checked her vitals again. Steady but weak. She needed antibiotics and surgery, fast. The infection had gotten so bad, so quickly; unlike anything he’d ever seen. He was sure that when he saw the x-rays her leg would be lit up with bullet fragments. Her fever was hovering in the range of one hundred and four degrees, which was dangerously high. He prepped two syringes: one with an antibiotic and another with Perfalgan, an injectable version of paracetamol which would bring down her fever and help with the pain. In the meantime he wanted someone slipping ice chips into her mouth every couple of minutes. He opened a sterile kit and began the process of hooking her to an IV. Swabbing her arm, he slipped the needle in with ease and taped it down after pulling the needle out of the catheter. He hung the bag of fluid on one of the clips for stowing their rifles. Spinning the dial with his thumb, he turned the drip up all the way. He injected both syringes directly into the port on her IV. It was the quickest way to get the drugs into her and doing their jobs.
“Pierce, get me a cup of ice chips.” He needed to keep her as hydrated as possible. “Jordon, feed her some ice chips every few minutes; she should be able to swallow the water and the ice will cool her down a bit. I have to go talk to Captain.”
Knocking on the cockpit door, he went in when Captain told him to come ahead.
“Captain.” Phillips looked out the front glass at the clouds rushing past. Such a peaceful, beautiful sight.
“How is she?” he asked in his rough smoker’s’ voice.
“Not good. She needs to be in a fucking hospital, as soon as we can manage it.” He studied the instrument panel in front of him. The blinking lights and switches were nothing he understood. What he did understand was that Mic needed surgery as soon as possible. Their options were limited; it wasn’t like they could walk into just any hospital.
“What do you need from me?” Years of experience had Captain cutting right through the bull-shit.
“When will we reach the States?”
“In four hours we could land in Florida. Another four or five until we reach home.”
“Fuck! I’m not equipped for or skilled enough to do the surgery she needs. Fuck, they will be digging bullet fragments out for hours. I’m a battle surgeon on a good day. This is way above my pay grade.” Phillips wanted to pace, walk off his frustration and inability to act, but the space was too small for pacing. He had to stoop just to fit into the cockpit.
“I can land in Florida and you guys could get to a VA hospital. Some of those docs know all about classified.”
“She doesn’t have eight hours on this plane. Land in Miami.” He shut the cockpit door behind him, mentally slamming it, but doing his level best to keep his shit together. Florida was NOT in the fucking plan.
“Jones. I need you.”
Jones swirled around in his chair, fingers flashing across the keyboard, bringing the monitors to life. “Copy. Tell me what you need,” he said, in his deadly calm voice. The man really never got rattled.
“We’re landing in Miami. I need a hospital and transport for Mic, myself, and Jordon. The rest of you will take Linc back to the compound. It’s the only place he’s going to be safe until Mic wakes up and we figure this fuck-all of a shit storm out.”
“Roger that.” Jones’s fingers danced and clicked, screens flashing with blueprints and security cameras.
“We land in four hours, Jones. You have until then to get everything set.” Jones just nodded, not looking at his hands at all.
****
I felt my arms first. They were too tight against my sides; I was lying in an unnatural position. Too straight, and a blanket was tucked tight around me. I never slept this way. I moved my arms, trying to pull them away from my sides…something caught and pulled in my arm, stabbing me. Groaning, I kicked my legs, trying to knock the blanket off me.
“Shh….Mic. It’s ok. You’re ok. Stop pulling or you’ll rip out your IV and Phillips will have my ass for lunch.”
“Chris?” My throat felt dry and scratchy. I tried to lick my lips, but even my tongue was like a piece of week-old jerky in my mouth. “Water…,” I croaked out.
A straw was slipped into my mouth and cool fresh water slid down my throat, bringing relief like a popsicle on a hot day. I kept swallowing until the straw was pulled from my lips, making water drip down my chin a bit. I tried to move my arm again, to wipe the drop off, but Jordon’s hand was there, doing it for me.
“Where…” I still couldn’t form words too well. My throat was incredibly sore.
“We’re in the air still. We should be landing real soon, though, Mic. Once we land, we’re getting you to a hospital.” Chris gripped my hand; it felt familiar and I had the feeling he’d been doing just that for some time.
“What? Help me sit up.” I let go of his hand and struggled with the blanket. I was Special Forces, dammit, and I was being beaten by a fucking bl
anket! “Get this fucking thing off me. I need to sit up,” I gasped out.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mic.” Jordon kept grabbing my hands, trying to stop me.
“Fucking let go, dammit, if you won’t help me I’ll do it myself!”
“I see Sleeping Beauty is awake.” Phillips stepped into my view, cutting off my bitch fest.
“Fuck you, let me up.” If I could have growled without shredding my throat, I would have.
“Jordon, she won’t stop; just help her sit up.” Phillips actually rolled his damn eyes at me. Jordon slid his arms behind me and sat me up gently, keeping my leg as still as possible. That’s when I remembered my leg. It didn’t hurt too much, which was strange.
“Fever knock me out?” I asked Phillips as I took the cup from Jordon and flung the little straw at him. Childish, I know, but I felt entitled to be a little childish right about now.
“Yup. You had a seizure too. Easy on the water, you don’t want to puke.” Phillips leaned forward and took the cup from me. Damn the man. “How do you feel?” He shooed Jordon aside and started in with the doctor routine on me; checking my pulse and breathing, the works.
“You tell me, Phillips, how am I doing?” I asked him seeing the truth in his eyes. Something was seriously wrong. Worry lines were etched deeply into his face. “Just tell me, Phillips.” I leaned back into the soft leather seat, enjoying the way it cushioned my tired and aching body.
“It’s your leg. You have a bad infection. We’re going to land in Miami and get you into surgery. If you don’t get this taken care of right now, you’ll probably lose your leg.” Phillips did have a way of laying the truth on me.
“Fuck. What’s our ETA and why doesn’t my leg hurt that much?” I kept my eyes closed, trying to block out everything around me and just breathe.
“We land in just over an hour. As for the pain, I gave you an injection to help with the fever and pain. It works quickly, but doesn’t last very long. You’re going to be in a lot of pain by the time we get to the hospital.”
“Where’s Linc? I have a bone to pick with that fucker.” I needed to hash the details of the mission out before we landed. Who knew when I would be back in any sort of shape to handle things?
“I’m here, Staff Sergeant.”
I finally opened my eyes and looked Linc over. He was pale and too skinny, still dressed in his servant uniform with blood spatter dotting him. “Explain. Now.” I snapped out. My anger was rising to the surface with each passing second. If I wasn’t stuck in this chair, I would have my boot on his fucking throat.
“Explain what, exactly?” His upper-crust voice did nothing to hide his outright confusion.
“Mateo has a son. Why didn’t we know about him before?”
“Because I didn’t bloody well know! Contrary to whatever you Yanks might think, I was not privy to every cocked-up detail of the damn cartel! I did the best I could, dammit! If that isn’t good enough for you, than you can kindly go fuck yourself, woman!” He finished shouting and stomped away. Not that he could go far, it was a freaking plane after all.
“Alright then. I guess that settles that.” I took my cup of water back and finished it off. Phillips was right, the dull ache in my leg was slowly working its way up to a screaming burn.
“Mic, let yourself rest. You’re in good hands,” Jordon said, as he brushed my dirty, sweat-soaked hair off my forehead. As my eyes started to close, I saw Phillips injecting something else into my IV. I let sleep pull me back under into its warm embrace. I knew these men would keep me safe.
Chapter 21
They landed in Miami, at a private airport. A typical government blacked-out Tahoe was waiting for them. Jordon once again refused to let anyone else carry Mic as he took her down to the waiting car. He was setting her down and helping to buckle her in as Phillips gave instructions to the others. She was in for a painful ride, and there was no way to safely lay her down in the SUV. Her leg was going to get jostled around something fierce.
The plane would drop Linc and the others off at home before returning for them. Phillips had called Jackson, who pulled some strings and got them a retired Army surgeon and a private surgical suite. In lieu of nurses, Phillips would assist and Jordon would stand guard. The surgery needed to be off the books, and the fewer people who knew about it, the better.
Jordon slid into the climate-controlled front seat and programmed the SatNav with the address for the hospital that Jones had given him. He was blown away by the access Jones was able to get on that computer system. He spared no further thought for Jones and his insane tech abilities as Phillips climbed into the passenger seat.
“Get us moving.” Phillips’s already short temper seemed to be getting shorter by the hour. Chris followed the female electronic voice coming from the console and go them moving.
“Mic, how you holding up?” Phillips twisted around in his seat to check on her. She was sweating and shivering under the blanket that Jordon had tucked around her. Her face was washed of all color; the light that usually burned in her eyes was significantly diminished. Getting shot was bad enough but suffering from a life threatening infection was enough to ruin anyone’s complexion.
“I’ve had better days,” Mic chattered in response. She was still snarking off, which had to be a good sign. “How long, Jordon?”
“Ten minutes. Less if I can help it.” Jordon stepped on the gas, shooting them around a slow moving car full of old ladies. What the hell was it with old people? Put them behind the wheel and they forget the laws of motion.
“Just get us there in one piece, dammit. I’m not in imminent danger of kicking the fucking bucket,” Mic snapped at him, grabbing the handle above the door and holding on for dear life as they took a corner too fast for her liking.
“Copy that, Staff Sergeant,” Jordon chirped at her, not slowing down at all.
“Phillips, did you talk to Jackson?” Her teeth were clacking together so hard she could barely get the words out.
“Yes, and don’t worry about it right now.”
“Fuck you. Just freaking tell me! This is still my unit and I am still your fucking NCO.” She managed to sit forward enough to smack Phillips across the back of his head. Jordon barked out a laugh, quickly tried to swallow it back down, and failed.
“Jackson doesn’t know any more than we do. I told him everything we learned about Mateo’s son. Linc didn’t have any information on him. Jackson is in talks with Liam, trying to figure it out. Happy now, Duchess?”
“Yes, Phillips, thank you.”
“If you two are through, we’re here,” Jordon said, as they arrived and he put the SUV in park. He had stopped outside the emergency room doors, near the ambulance bay.
“No, not here. Go around back. The doc is going to meet us at the loading bay. He said he could get us in easier there.” He turned around to Mic. “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” She was looking worse by the minute. “Are you assisting?” She gasped out in a voice filled with the pain she was trying to ignore.
“Of course. Jordon will stand guard outside the suite.” They arrived at the loading area and Phillips got out to meet the doctor coming forward with a gurney.
Jordon opened the back door and reached in for Mic. “Wrap your arms around my neck.” She reached up weakly, grasping her hands behind his neck. “I’ve got you.” He scooped her tight against his chest, not noticing the dried blood mingled with sweat and dirt coating her skin with a sticky film.
He laid her gently on the gurney, not looking up or acknowledging the doctor until he was sure she was as comfortable as possible. He stepped back and let the doctor look her over.
“My name is Dr. Derek Hamilton. I’ll be taking care of you, Staff Sergeant. You’re in good hands.” He gripped the handles at the foot of the gurney and pushed her inside and onto an elevator. “I would ask for your names, but in this situation I think its best that I don’t know them. Master Sergeant Jackson filled me in enough t
o know the basics of how you sustained this wound, which is all I need to know.” After going up to the sixth floor, Dr. Hamilton once again pushed the gurney; this time going into a brightly lit and freezing cold surgical suite.
“Where can I scrub in?” Phillips asked. They were both still armed and covered in mud and blood. Not exactly conductive to a sterile environment.
“Over there,” Dr. Hamilton said, pointing to a door that led into a room with sinks and shelves of scrubs. “I suggest you both change, so you at least blend in a little if someone comes by.” Dr. Hamilton was wiping Mic’s IV port with an alcohol wipe and injecting big syringes full of a cocktail that would knock her out. Jordon didn’t get a chance to say anything to her before her eyes closed. Phillips grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the other room.
“Snap out of it. We don’t have time for this. Jackson says this guy is the best and I’m going to be in there as well. She’ll be fine. Change and get washed up. Getting the blood and grit off of you will do wonders for your mood.”
Jordon turned away without a word and began to strip, throwing everything but his weapons and boots into the trash. As it was, the boots would have to be chucked as soon as he could. He stared at the leather; seeing the blood dried on top of the soles hit him like a kidney punch. He knew in the bottom of his gut that some of the blood was Mic’s.
Standing at the sink in just his boxers, Jordon ran a towel under the water and began scrubbing. Rubbing the soapy cloth over his arms and chest, he rinsed away the sweat and grime. The bright white towel immediately turned brown and red as the dirt and blood comingled on the pristine surface. The irony was not lost on him, as he took something pure and bright and sullied it. He tried to brush aside the imagery and focus instead on cleaning the blood out from under his nails with one of those little nail scrubber things. For some reason, he just kept thinking that he couldn’t bear to hold Mic’s hand again until her blood, and the blood of others, was cleaned from his body. If there had been a shower available he would have stood under the water and scrubbed until his skin hurt; if that’s what it took to be clean again. Bending down, he ducked his head under the near scalding hot water, scrubbing the pieces of leaves and chunks of dirt, and who the fuck knew what else, out of his hair. He was driven to be clean now. Every inch of him that was possible for him to reach needed to be free of these past few days. He scrubbed and scrubbed, ignoring Phillips in the background.