How are you doing?”
Rachel lifted her hand and felt an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. The air tasted wonderful! She tried to reorient. Emma continued to gently rub her shoulder as if to coax her back to full consciousness. As she closed her eyes, the attack on the base roared back at her. The noise, the danger, the carnage. Her Apache helo had been destroyed. The thick, black smoke rolling across her and cheating her of oxygen came next.
“Come on, open your eyes, Rachel.”
She obeyed and saw Emma in her dark green flight suit standing beside her. She was smiling down at her, relief clearly written in her expression. “Hey, you had me scared there for a while.”
Groaning, Rachel was now aware of the frantic activity in the dispensary. There were orderlies, nurses and doctors rushing everywhere. Of course, she thought, we’re under attack … people are hurt … maybe dead….
Patting her shoulder, Emma gave a sigh of relief. “You’re okay, Rachel. The dude who brought you in said you’d nearly suffocated in that smoke. Thanks to him, you’re alive and not dead.”
Mind spinning, Rachel took off the oxygen mask. Her strength had returned. She was no longer weakened as before. Still dazed, she struggled on the gurney. Emma slid her arm around her shoulders and helped Rachel sit up.
“Hang on,” Emma said, “and I’ll raise this thing.” She leaned down.
Rachel felt the gurney move upward to support her back. “Thanks,” she rasped, touching her throat. It felt raw and hot.
Emma straightened and smiled. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve scalded the inside of my throat,” Rachel whispered.
“Here, drink some water.” Emma handed her a glass.
Though her hands trembled, Rachel took it. The water tasted wonderful. The cool fluid soothed the pain. “Thanks,” she said, her voice sandpapery-sounding even to her.
Taking the glass, Emma nodded. “More?”
“No.” Rachel looked around to get her bearings. She’d been here at Bravo for three months. Never had she been inside the small clinic before. A number of medical people were moving and speaking quickly to one another as more injured were brought into the facility. She turned back to Emma.
“I didn’t know you were here. I thought you were out flying today.”
Nodding, Emma said, “I was. But I’d just landed after the Taliban attack began. Luckily, I was at the other end of the landing strip, so our helo wasn’t blown away.”
“God, it’s awful,” Rachel muttered. She pulled her legs off the gurney and allowed them to hang. Looking down, she noticed her uniform was stained with dirt and weeds. Rachel scowled. “I thought I was going to die, Emma. That damned smoke followed me like a good friend. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time….”
“You were found about a hundred feet off the revetment, Rachel. I think you knew the wind was blowing that same direction, and you were trying to crawl away from it,” Emma said, her tone sympathetic.
Closing her eyes, her hands on her face, Rachel kept seeing flashes of the incident. She felt terribly vulnerable, her emotions in tatters, and her hands fell away from her face. “I have these awful images … the smells, the sounds …”
“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Emma said gently. Touching her hand, she whispered, “It’s going to be with you for a while, Rachel. It’s important not to fight it. In time, it will go away.”
Gripping her cousin’s hand, she said in a wobbly voice, “Thanks for being here.”
“Hey, I’m glad I was.”
“Was Khalid with you?”
“No, I was flying in alone to pick up another shipment of desks and books. He’s up north with his sister Kinah. We’re setting up a new village today. They’re up there with the teacher and introducing her around to the village elders. I got a hold of them by GPS, satellite phone, and they know we’re okay.”
“Good,” Rachel said, feeling stronger and more alert. Though, one thing puzzled her. “You said someone brought me here?”
Emma grimaced. “Hold on to your helmet. I was already here at the clinic helping to bring in the wounded when he arrived with you in his arms. I couldn’t believe it.” Emma gently held Rachel’s scratched and bruised hand. “You’ll never guess who brought you in…. Captain Tyler Hamilton. The dude who tried to get you flunked out of flight school back at Fort Rucker.”
Chapter 2
“Where do you think you’re going, Captain?”
Rachel was starting to slide off the gurney when a balding physician came over. His scowl deepened. “I feel fine, Doctor. I want to get out of here.”
“Hold on, you’ve suffered smoke inhalation.”
“I’m fine,” Rachel insisted, remaining on the gurney. Emma had just left, and she wanted out of this crazy, busy place.
“No, you’re not,” the doctor said. “You’ve got first-degree burns in your throat from inhaling that smoke.”
Coughing a little, Rachel said, “I figured that. But I want to get to my HQ. I want to make sure my copilot is all right.” The fifty-something-year-old doctor rolled his eyes and then smiled.
“Captain, I’ve already sent an order to your CO to have you removed from the flight list for a week. You need time to let that throat of yours heal up.”
“A week for a little smoke inhalation?” Rachel was more than a little stunned.
“Yes. Now, if you’ll just sit still for about fifteen more minutes, I’ll get one of my nurses over here to release you.”
Shocked by the doctor’s pronouncement, Rachel nodded. “I can do that, but I really don’t want to not fly for seven days.” That would leave her reflexes slower than usual. Rachel was used to flying every day or every other day. There were so many things to know about the Apache helicopter that it was imperative for pilots to fly often. This frequency kept them in rhythm with the multi-tasking demands made upon them.
The doctor shrugged. “Humor me, Captain. You’re grounded for a week.” He turned and left.
Rachel sat there gripping the sides of the gurney. Seven days was an eternity. And she felt helpless. She heard from others in the dispensary that three helicopters had been destroyed by the Taliban surprise attack. It had been a very bad day for Camp Bravo. Moving her legs back and forth out of boredom, Rachel watched the feverish pace of the dispensary. There were a lot of wounded men coming in. She was the only woman. How badly she wanted to get out of here and connect with Susan.
Her mind reverted back to what Emma had told her. How could Captain Tyler Hamilton be here? There were two transport squadrons at the CIA base. Apache pilots had nothing to do with them, unless used as escorts, because Chinooks lacked defenses and needed protection. Hamilton’s voice was forever branded in her brain, and she would have recognized it in a heartbeat over the radio link. When did Hamilton arrive? God, she hoped his presence was temporary. Maybe he was with one of the Kandahar squadrons and had flown into the camp with some needed supplies. That meant he’d be gone by now. Back to wherever he came from. Good riddance.
Some relief flowed through Rachel. Her throat burned, and she reached over and picked up a glass of water sitting on a nearby stand. Of all the people in the world to rescue her! After setting the glass back on the stand, Rachel ran her fingers through her loose, dirty hair. Pieces of grass fell around her. She was filthy. All she wanted was to get the hell out of here, strip out of this smoky-smelling uniform and feel the cool water flowing across her. She could wash the dirt out of her hair, too.
A lot of old anger surfaced in