Course of Action: Crossfire. Lindsay McKenna
cursed softly as his gloved hand slipped on the tourniquet. Opening his eyes, he could tell there was no more bleed. It slowly dawned on him that something white was sticking up and out of the torn cammie fabric across his thigh. What the hell was that? And then, in the next minute, Dan’s slowing mind recognized it as his thigh bone, the femur. It was broken and jagged-looking, sticking up out of his flesh.
The shock settled in. He was in serious condition. He called for Morales, giving him more info about his condition.
No answer.
Finally, Franklin came back.
“Dan, only five of us ambulatory. We’ll get to you in a second. Two medevacs just landed. We’re coming for you and Ben...hang on...”
Dan tipped back his head, feeling tiredness seeping through him like a slow, black, moving river. He closed his eyes and acknowledged Franklin’s transmission, telling him that he’d lost a lot of blood. And that Ben was dead.
“Not sure I’ll be conscious...” he muttered, his last transmission. The rhythmic whumping of the Apache’s blades comforted him as he closed his eyes. They were on guard above them. They’d protect them, and the medevac Black Hawks were now on the ground and would save the wounded.
As he thought of Ben, he felt as if his heart had been torn out of his chest. They were both twenty-nine years old. They’d been together for five years on this Special Forces team. They were tighter than fleas on a dog. They were supposed to rotate home in another week. Back to Honolulu, Hawaii, for a well-deserved thirty-day leave. They’d see Cait, go surfing together and have beach picnics, laughter, good times and fun.
Tears leaked out of his tightly shut eyes. He felt weaker, knowing that the bleed was staunched but not stopped. He could still slowly bleed to death. Where was Morales? He needed a medic. Dan had to stay alive to tell Cait and her family what happened to Ben.
Ben’s family was so tight. A good family, unlike his own. Ben’s mother was an ER doctor at a civilian hospital in Honolulu. His father was a retired Marine Force Recon colonel. Cait was a physical therapist working over at US Army Tripler Medical Center, helping soldiers who had been wounded get their limbs working again.
All of those memories flowed through Dan’s short-circuiting mind. He wasn’t worried about his mother, Joyce, who lived in Honolulu. She was an embittered woman, angry at the world. His father, an alcoholic, was dead. Tears leaked down his bearded cheeks. Dan felt suddenly cold, felt the iciness moving up from his feet and into his lower legs. Was this how Ben had felt as he was bleeding out? It must have been. Oh, God, was he dying?
Cait! Behind his eyelids, Dan saw her oval face, that stubborn chin of hers and that wide, smiling mouth. How many times had he entertained kissing that lush mouth of hers? How many times had he ached to make love to her? But he never had. He never would. She was Ben’s little sister and Ben had asked Dan to guard her, make sure she stayed away from military guys who wanted her for only one thing.
Dan never told Ben that he coveted Cait for himself. She was so fresh, innocent and happy. He always felt better around her. Whether she knew it or not, she lifted Dan, made him feel good about himself. She was the optimist. He was the brutal realist. He’d harbored dreams of telling her he loved her. But Ben would have lost it and their friendship would have been destroyed. So Dan said nothing. And now, as he lay slowly bleeding out, Dan felt grief because he would never be able to tell Cait that he’d fallen in love with her at eighteen and held a torch for her in his heart until his dying day.
That was the last thing Dan remembered thinking before he lost consciousness.
* * *
Everything was hazy. Pain drifted up Dan’s leg and into his lower body, making him groan. Weak, he struggled to open his eyes. His nostrils flared, catching hospital smells like anesthetic and bleach. Why couldn’t he open his eyes?
“Dan? It’s Cait. Don’t fight so hard. You’re coming out of surgery. It’s all right. You’re alive. You’re safe...”
Cait’s voice was low and soft, so close to his ear. The sensory experience, combined with her warm hand touching his cheek, oriented Dan. His heart pulsed strongly when he heard her smoky tone. He swore he could even smell her scent, so sweet, reminding him of spicy cinnamon. Her voice was barely above a whisper. So close to his ear. He hungrily absorbed the warmth of her long fingers gently stroking his cheek, as if to soothe the tension he held within him.
He was alive? Was he? His mind was in pieces and Dan couldn’t put anything together. The pain was like a deep, agonizing toothache drifting up his leg. He felt heavy and he was thirsty. Moving his lips, he became aware his throat smarted with pain and it was dry. God, he was so thirsty! Compressing his lips, he tried to speak, but nothing but a croak came out.
“Dan? You’re in recovery. Stop fighting, okay? You’re safe. You’re home here with me. It’s Cait.”
The moment she cupped his cheek with her palm, he stopped struggling. And as she lifted her hand away, moving her fingers gently through his long, clean hair, his scalp prickled with pleasure. His entire body went limp and he groaned, unable to open his eyes.
Cait!
Maybe he wasn’t dead after all. Her touch felt so damned good. Steadying. Stabilizing. She felt so very close to him. And like a starving animal, Dan eagerly inhaled her scent deep into his body, and it fed him, helped him focus.
Minute by minute, Dan’s mind started to hinge back together. The more Cait stroked his head, rearranging his hair here and there because it nearly touched his shoulders, Dan acquiesced to her light ministrations. Some of her words ran together. He didn’t care what she said—it was Cait. He loved her so damn much and he’d never told her. Never. It would have hurt Ben to know that he ached for Cait.
Ben...
Blips and flashes exploded behind his shut eyes. He saw Ben, heard himself screaming at him, running to his side. The whole scene downloaded from his spinning brain and suddenly, Dan was there, not in recovery. Cait was with him. He could hear her soothing voice speaking to him, but he was back in the village, trying to stop Ben’s bleed. There was such anguish that roared through him—his body jerked and then tensed. Cait’s hand gripped his shoulder firmly, her voice low, fraught with anxiety, near his ear.
Dan couldn’t hear anything except the explosions, the M-4’s throaty roar, the popping of AK-47s and the thumping of Apache helicopters racing toward their compromised position. No! No! Ben couldn’t die! He just couldn’t!
A low animal cry tore between his thin, contorted lips. His entire body jerked in response. Pain exploded in his leg and it raced up into his torso, sucking the breath out of him. Cait’s husky, urgent voice broke through his barrier of agony. Dan tried to hold on to it, fought to follow it even though he couldn’t hear what she was saying. He tried to concentrate on her fingers moving soothingly across his tense shoulder, trying to calm him down.
Ben died! He died! He’d bled out! A moan, like that of an animal being tortured ripped out of Dan. He was too weak to move. Too weak to open his eyes. And how he wanted to see Cait, but he couldn’t. The last thing he remembered feeling was Cait’s lips pressed against his sweaty brow, her voice trembling with emotion, her hands cupping his sweaty face. Anguish, grief and loss plunged Dan into a spinning, darkening hell and he knew nothing more.
Cait Moore tried to fight back her tears as she watched Dan Taylor slowly become conscious. Her brother, Ben, was dead. Word had reached them a week ago. No one had told her and her family how he’d died. Looking at Dan’s face, the deep tan, the slashes on either side of his thinned mouth, she knew he would know. Maybe it would give her and her family some desperately needed closure. They’d buried Ben three days ago at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific at Punchbowl Crater on the island of Oahu. Her heart ached with loss for her big brother.
She stood