Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
He tuned out Tovey and the senior chief talking, tuned out the roar of the incoming chopper, focusing everything on Rogers as he worked to stabilize him. Get the artery clamped. Get the clotting powder out. Move on to the second wound. He’d been through this enough to be on auto-pilot, keeping his breathing calm and even, murmuring soothing nonsense to Rogers, who was drifting in and out of alertness.
Tovey and the senior chief made way for two of the helicopter crew to bring in a stretcher. “We going to need a field transfusion?” The female crew member asked him as they transferred Rogers to a stretcher. “I’m type O negative too.”
“Excellent.” That was good news because Rogers was fading fast, despite Mark’s efforts. The blood loss was heavy. “Stand by for that.”
They got the team and Rogers in the chopper, him continuing to monitor Rogers’s vitals, prepping him for an IV line for the field transfusion. Person-to-person transfusions were tricky as fuck, but it was the only thing that was going to keep Rogers alive till they could get him to base.
Luckily, the crew member—Higgins—had good veins on her, and with the senior chief’s help they got her and Rogers rigged up while the bird sped toward base, crossing back from enemy airspace to the base they’d been stationed at the past few months, every second counting now.
“They’ve got an ambulance set to meet us, and an OR waiting,” Tovey yelled above the roar of the chopper.
Good. Good. That was all good, but it was going to matter fuck all if Mark couldn’t manage the bleeding and the transfusion in time. He was doing what he could to the wounds, but this was going to take a skilled surgeon for a full repair.
But Tovey had promised Rogers that Mark wasn’t going to let him lose his leg, and hell if Mark was going to fail him. The helicopter touched down, and he raced with the stretchers toward the ambulance the second they were clear to exit.
Hurry. Hurry. Hurry. His heart pounded throughout the ambulance ride to the base hospital. Rogers was going to need airlifting to Germany before the night was through, but first they had to finish saving his life.
“We’ve got him,” the surgeon said, meeting the ambulance. “Fast thinking on the field transfusion. Good work on wound management as usual, Wizard.”
As usual. Just another day’s work for him, and it wasn’t until the OR doors banged shut that he let himself fully breathe. He wandered back to the treatment area where Higgins had been taken.
“Think he’ll make it?” Higgins asked from her stretcher while a different set of personnel tended to her. Field transfusions were risky, and she’d need some fluids and juice to help recover.
“Yup,” the nearest nurse answered for him. “Wizard’s the best we’ve got.”
“Thanks.” Wizard shrugged off the praise. Only thing that mattered was that Rogers made it. He was starved from a week and a half of nothing more than MRE rations while they were deep into enemy territory on a top-secret mission with only limited contact with the base personnel here. He needed food and a shower and his bunk, but he wasn’t going anywhere until he had word of Rogers’s prognosis.
“You are pretty miraculous.” Higgins’s eyes twinkled. She’d been on the helicopter crew for a couple of his missions now, and they’d bantered some. She was nice, with a deep west Texas twang and short blond hair. “You want to grab something stronger than juice when we’re done here? After you wash the stink off, of course.”
“You need rest,” Mark hedged. He could tell what she was getting at as she’d been dropping pretty heavy hints that they should spend some off-duty time together.
“So do you. But come on, at least let’s see what the chow hall has to offer after they let me go. You’re not going to do your buddy any favors, waiting around here all bloody.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll go shower. But I’m coming back to check on both of you. Then we’ll see about food.”
Food he could handle. A drink with Higgins? That was far more dicey, and he continued to waffle about how to get out of it while he showered the blood and grime off, and got into fresh clothes. He didn’t bother shaving—that would be tantamount to admitting he did want to start something, and he was too damn impatient to get back to check on Rogers.
He got the report that Rogers was due to be airlifted to Germany within the next few hours, holding steady after surgery. He was debating whether to go back, see if Rogers was awake, when Higgins came up to him in the waiting area, looking refreshed after her IV, color back in her pink cheeks.
“So about that food...” She grinned up at him.