A Man Alone. Lindsay McKenna
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Peruvian mountains. But first they’d have to fly to Cusco, the nearest large city, and have an emergency medical team take this marine into surgery to try to save his life. Maya and her crew had done this so many times before that the hospital staff in Cusco no longer asked who or what they were. Flying around in black, unmarked helicopters, wearing black, body-fitting uniforms, helmets and highly polished leather military boots, these women were an enigma to those who saw them. The hospital officials no longer asked about them, they simply allowed them to offload their wounded, give their names and a contact number of someone in a high government office in Lima, the capital, before they left for parts unknown.
As Maya knelt there, holding the thick, blood-soaked dressings over the marine’s leg, she saw color starting to ease back into his pale, sweaty face. “I think he’s coming to,” she warned Angel.
“That’s okay…I’ve got him on morphine. He ain’t gonna feel a thing. Don’t worry, he won’t put up a fight.”
“Good,” Maya rasped as she watched the man’s dark, short lashes move. Angel didn’t always get painkillers into her patients soon enough, and they came back to consciousness swinging and fighting. And in a small helo like this, there wasn’t much space to dodge flying fists. Maya positioned herself so she could face him. He’d be groggy, in deep shock, and probably not very coherent around his surroundings. Reaching out, she gripped his bloodied, scraped left hand and held it firmly in her own. Angel quickly traded places with her in order to work on his leg, trying to sterilize it as best she could. Maya leaned closer to the marine.
The noise in the cabin of the Cobra was ferocious. Dove had redlined the engine to full throttle. The aircraft was old and shook like an old dog on trembling legs as it flew powerfully toward Cusco. Below them, the green velvet cape of the jungle spread outward. They were down below ten thousand feet and were beginning to wind among the loaf-shaped mountains clothed in green raiment. Wispy white clouds that always clung to the mountains blew like smoke across the windshield of the speeding aircraft.
“You’re alive,” Maya shouted near his ear. “Just take it easy. We’ve got the senator’s daughter on board. You’re both safe.” She squeezed his hand to drive home her words.
His eyes opened slightly, to reveal murky-looking green depths.
Maya held his vacant stare. His mouth opened, then closed. His pupils were huge and black—from the hit of morphine Angel had just shot him up with. Good. He didn’t need to know what had happened to his right leg. The marine blinked twice. She saw more awareness coming back to him. He had a strong mouth, and was used to being obeyed when he spoke, she was sure. There was nothing on his uniform to indicate his rank, but she knew instinctually that he was an officer.
“You’re safe. You’re on board my helicopter. We have your girl with us. She’s safe, too. Hang on. We’re flying you to Cusco, to a hospital there. You’re in stable condition.” That was a lie, but Maya didn’t want the marine freaking out if he learned the truth of his fragile medical state.
There was so much noise in his head that Thane could barely make out what the woman leaning close to him in the black, tight-fitting uniform was saying. Where was he? His mind was spongy and refused to work properly. He felt like he was half out of his body. Floating. She was wearing a helmet. She must be a pilot? Not a soldier, no…His mind searched. What? Yes. That was it. Helicopter. He was in a helo. He could feel a familiar shaking and shuddering going on around him. He could feel the constant sensation all though his back and limbs…except for his leg. His right leg. Why couldn’t he feel anything there? He could feel the shivering everywhere else.
Looking up into her face, Hamilton saw the grim set of her full mouth, the narrowed look in her eyes. She was a warrior, no doubt. There was a dangerous glint in her emerald eyes, too. The look of a hunter. Yet, for a moment, Thane saw something else in those slitted, feral eyes. What? He opened his mouth to speak.
“Captain Hamilton…” he croaked. The taste of mud was in his mouth.
She nodded. “Okay…good…we know who you are now.” On missions like this, the Recons wore no identification of any kind, not even their dog tags. “We’ll contact the proper authorities, Captain. I’m Captain Maya Stevenson, army spook pilot. You just hang on. We might look like a ragtag bunch, but believe me, you’re in the best of hands.” She grinned a little.
He tried to smile. He felt the strength of her hand around his. She was surprisingly strong—a big-boned woman, at least six feet tall, who was strong and confident. Right now, he needed that kind of reassurance. Thane became aware of another person. His eyes widened a bit. There was another woman, dressed in a similar black uniform, bent over his legs. She was putting white bandages on him. Funny, he couldn’t feel anything down there. What was going on? When he tried to lift his head, the captain gently pressed her hand on his shoulder and kept him lying down.
“Whoa, Captain. You’re in no shape to go anywhere. We want you to lie still, hear me? That’s my paramedic down there, Sergeant Angelina Paredes.”
His mouth was so dry it felt as if it would crack. He was thirsty. Barely moving his head to the left, he saw the red-haired girl. It took long moments to place her. His mind wasn’t working worth a damn. Closing his eyes, Thane let out a trembling breath of air from between his bloody, bruised lips.
“Thank God, she’s safe….”
Maya smiled and nodded. “You did good, Captain. You’re a real hero. None of us thought you’d survived that direct rocket hit. You’re one tough son of a bitch, for a marine.” Maya saw one corner of his mouth rise at her teasing comment. She felt heartened. Maybe this guy was going to make it, after all. Still, his blood loss was horrific. And her sergeant was working like a wild woman over his mangled, continually bleeding leg. Right now, the last thing Maya wanted this heroic officer to know was that his leg looked like hell and there was every reason to believe that, once they reached Cusco, the surgeons would remove it.
That was heartbreaking to her. A man like this, who had incredible courage, would now became an amputee. He didn’t deserve such a reward, Maya thought. Looking up at the girl who huddled in the corner, her eyes huge with tears, Maya felt for her, too. Life was nasty sometimes. Valerie Winston would never forget this. And Maya hoped she would never forget the men who had given their lives to rescue her. People like Captain Hamilton made the world a little better place to live in. A safer place for people like Valerie.
Leaning down, her lips close to his ear, Maya said, “Just try to rest, Captain. We’re going to be landing in Cusco in less than thirty minutes. I’ve got the best paramedic in the world taking care of you.”
Thane forced out the words. “Thank you…for everything.”
Angel looked up momentarily, her lean, angular, dark brown face tense, the corners of her full mouth pulled flat. Her hands were bloody as she wrapped his injured leg.
Maya looked down at the marine once more. He had lost consciousness again. That was good. “It’s sad, Angel. This guy deserves medals and it looks like he’s going to lose this leg instead as a reward for what he just did.”
“I dunno,” Angel rasped as she reached around Maya and dragged her paramedic pack toward her. “If Dr. Del Prado is the bone surgeon on duty there at the Cusco hospital, he might try and save this dude’s leg. He’s got the ability to do it, but he’s the only one in Peru who could pull it off.”
“Better hope our best bone doctor is on duty, then,” Maya said grimly.
“Captain?”
It was her copilot, Dove Rivera.
Maya lifted her head and looked toward the cockpit. “Yeah?”
“I’m receiving a top secret message for you, Captain. It’s from Rolling Thunder. You expecting something from them?”
“Yeah…” The mission they were currently on was run by Perseus, a covert agency that often collaborated with the government. “That has to be the head of the organization, Morgan Trayhern. This mission was his ops—operation.” She