A Soldier's Reunion. Cheryl Wyatt
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leaned close to Ben. “Stay with her ’til you hear from me.”
Blinking rapidly, Ben looked torn. “We’re already two men short. If I don’t go, that puts you at only four.”
“We’ll make do. I can use you here for now. Run the command post. Once we see Reece is okay, you can join us on the bridge.”
Ben gave a short nod. “I’ll call the church. Tell folks to pray. Refuge hasn’t experienced anything like this in its history that I’m aware of. And we don’t know who all was on that bridge…” Ben’s composure faltered.
Nolan knew Ben loved little Reece as though she were his.
“Don’t buckle, Dillinger. Keep your head. Make sure our airmen’s families are accounted for. Have everyone wait here at the DZ or Refuge B and B. Cell and landlines will be jammed from mass calls going in and out.”
Nodding, Ben slipped a bronze arm around his wife-to-be.
Shoulders hunched, Hutton chewed his tongue and blinked close-set eyes while shuffling near. “I praying too, Benny.”
“Thanks, buddy.” Ben hugged his brother, then faced Nolan. “Can we load? I’ll help with that at least.”
Nolan covered the phone and nodded.
Two minutes later, gear in arms and courage in their steps, the PJs were out the door.
The harrowing look in Ben’s eyes echoed the sentiment screaming through Nolan’s mind: had Reece been on that bridge when it collapsed?
“How bad is it?” Nolan asked Petrowski as they sprinted to the waiting chopper minutes later.
“Pretty bad.” Aaron Petrowski, commanding officer of their team plus two others, answered above rotor noise. “Bridge collapsed in a V.” Aaron heaved an extraction basket hoist into the craft. “Expecting mass casualties if we can’t get those people off.”
Nolan paced his breathing as he tossed heavy medical packs into the belly of the bird. Diving gear and rescue equipment loaded, Nolan climbed in, followed by his other three teammates.
Petrowski hunkered in and faced the opening. “Where’s Ben?”
“Tell you in a minute. What else?” Nolan signaled the pilot to take them up.
Petrowski studied him. “There’s a flammable tanker about to boil from flaming cars. If heat expands it, she’ll blow.”
“Cars near enough to ignite it should something spark?” Nolan asked above howling wind as the chopper lifted.
“Yes. Unfortunately, so is an elementary school bus.”
Vince swore softly.
Pulse kicking, Nolan’s gut clenched. “Full of little kids?”
Petrowski nodded. “On their way back from a field trip.”
Nolan’s stomach hollowed. “The reason I had Ben stay behind for now is because his stepdaughter-to-be might be on that bus.”
Petrowski’s head jerked around. “You serious? Little Reece?”
Anxiety for Ben and Amelia fought for rabid hold but Nolan steadied himself. “Yeah.”
As if their team hadn’t already been under enough pressure with the possibility of Nolan being plucked from it. No one voiced it, but everyone felt it. Any mission, starting with this one, could be Nolan’s last with the team, thanks to superiors wanting to use him elsewhere.
Sighing, Petrowski slid a hand over his silvery-blond buzz. “News air surveillance report a dozen children are on it.”
“Can we have the news chopper megaphone them off the bus?”
Petrowski stretched out his legs. “Problem with that is there’s no place safe for them to go should the tanker blow. Unless all the cars burn themselves out, that’s a mammoth possibility.”
Brock’s head tilted toward Nolan and Petrowski. “Plan?”
Paper spread over the floor, Nolan diagrammed. “Lift kids in rescue baskets here. Two pararescuemen per litter. Work fast.”
“So, what exactly happened? Any word on that?” Brock shifted closer to hear over the chopper blades whipping air. The Pave Low’s engine noises gurgled up the southern Illinois sky.
“A small aircraft flew into the support beams near where the bridge connects to land,” Nolan answered.
“Steel beams are bending under the pressure. Concrete’s crumbling. Engineers at the scene say the bridge is tilting an inch every five minutes. Any second, the rest could give way. At this time nothing short of prayers will brace up that bridge.”
He eyed the team. “Refuge divers got to most cars that slipped into the water and helped people out that could be.”
“And those that couldn’t?” Nolan asked.
“Couldn’t be helped.” A grim cloud camouflaged Petrowski’s face.
“I hope someone has the sensibility to get the kids off the bus. Though the tanker’s volatile, they probably have a better chance off than on. Even minor shifts could hasten its plunge,” Nolan said.
Petrowski brushed a hand over his forehead. “Worse thing they could do is get off then back on the bus for any reason.” He eyed Nolan. “Pray the bridge holds until we get there. Can’t land a chopper on it, so we’ll rappel rigs in teams of two.”
Nolan ignored Vince’s smirk at Petrowski’s praying comment. Team brotherhood was stronger than personal feelings.
Once they hit the bridge, everyone would be about the mission.
Screams of a dozen children drifted through the smoke and clamored for Mandy Manchester’s attention.
Disregarding her own pain and fear, she scrambled through mazes of twisted metal, forcing her feet across puddles of burning gasoline. “M-must get to them. Please help me.”
But who was listening? No one. Not for a long time.
Today, today please hear me—for them.
Determination compelled her beyond an overturned truck. Its driver lifted himself from the cab. He’d be okay, she decided as she ran past. The dawning sight of a crumpled orange school bus clenched her stomach.
Using her uninjured hand, she pried open the door. Fought to cover her mouth at the sight of the driver’s forehead, lacerated like the interstate. She was a doctor-in-training! Think she’d have learned to control outward reactions by now. She rushed to press his shirt hem to the angry knot.
“Be okay. Just a little bump,” he slurred.
Little? Hardly. “Hold pressure here. Don’t let up, okay?” She spoke in calm tones but a take-charge voice. He’d need at least five stitches. So would she, but who was counting?
“I’m a doctor. Who’s hurt the most?” Mandy moved on to two adults who identified themselves as teachers. One rested a hand on the other, slumped over.
“Her neck hurts.” She peered at Mandy with wide eyes.
“Hold her neck like this and keep it still. Carefully walk her to an area where you’ll be seen by First Responders.” Mandy demonstrated by placing the teacher’s hand on her cohort’s neck and jaw. She helped them outside before returning to the mounting pandemonium on the bus, which leaned so far left it felt like it would soon topple over the gaping bridge.
Something inside her screamed to get these children out. Triage training kicking in, she maneuvered down the aisle. Even with careful movement, the bus shifted several inches. Screams cut the air in tones resembling ambulance sirens.
Halted and heart pounding, Mandy grasped a green spongy seat with her good