"Vin, stop pacing."
"I can't, Josiah. Every minute we have to wait is another minute Chris is in that bastard's hands. From Murphy's descriptions Chris needs us now," Tanner lashed out at the nearest object, driving his fist towards the door.
Sanchez watched the younger man, knowing he was about to blow. As soon as he noticed the direction of Tanner's hand he intercepted it with his own, gripping until the knuckles turned white and trembled in anger. "Had enough, Vin?" Sanchez asked, relieved to see the other man's eyes focus once more. He knew Tanner was strong, but had no idea how much strength he could actually muster when angered.
The Texan pulled his hand out of Sanchez's grip, both men rubbing their bruised knuckles. "Yeah, Josiah, I had enough. Enough of waiting for these guys." A soft knock on the door made both men look up. "Come," he hissed, rapidly shaking his head as once more he fought the urge to call James Curran by another man's name.
"You won't have to wait any longer. We have the Intel reports and we've been given permission to take you with us. It seems you've both got strong recommendations on your files so consider yourselves back on active duty for the moment," Curran told them.
"When do we leave?" Sanchez asked.
"As soon as you two are briefed on the mission parameters."
"What about Chieu?"
"He's going to come along as a guide. It seems he's been in the area of the Laos compound a few times and knows a few things about Nguyen's stronghold. Follow me," Curran ordered.
Sanchez and Tanner followed the blond out of the cabin and to a conference room. Hawkins, Leary, and Ramos were already present as were a couple of unknowns. Curran introduced the two men as Tucker and Parsons from Intel.
Curran sat on the edge of the paper-strewn table and picked up two thin files, pitching one to Tanner and one to Sanchez. He gave them a few minutes to study the satellite photos before speaking. "There'll be two parts to this mission. Leary, Ramos, Hawkins and myself will be responsible for locating and destroying the missiles and Colonel Nguyen if possible. Tanner and Sanchez will be responsible for locating and rescuing Lieutenant Larabee. You'll both be given communication devices and I want you in constant contact with me. If you run into trouble I need to know about it immediately. We go in fast and we hit them hard. The priority is to destroy anything Nguyen can use against other Countries. Total time in and out should be no more than half an hour. The chopper will return to the drop off coordinates in two hours. We have to be there or it leaves without us. Understood?"
"My priority is to get Chris out," Tanner snarled, angered that the rescue of his friend would be secondary to the SEAL mission.
"I understand how you feel, Tanner," Curran assured him.
"No you don't! How can you?"
"How can I? Let me tell you something. I've lost a lot of friends over the years. Some of them had to take secondary roles in missions that were given top priority. I think about every one of them every single time the balloon goes up. Get this straight, Tanner. The missiles are top priority but that doesn't mean I'm not going to do everything in my power to rescue Larabee."
"You even glare like him, Sanchez observed.
"What?"
"We call the look you're giving Vin the Larabee glare. I'd love to see which one of you could stare the other down," Sanchez said, trying to lighten the tension filled bodies in the room.
"Boss, you'd win, hands down," Hawkins stated, a grin on his handsome face.
"Don't bet on it. Chris Larabee has perfected that look over the years," Sanchez told him.
"Sounds like the two lieutenants have more in common than just their good looks," Hawkins laughed at the blush spreading over his friend's face.
"Shut up, Hawkins. Look, Tanner, we'll do everything we can to rescue your friend."
"Thanks."
"We leave in fifteen minutes," Curran said. "Tanner, Sanchez, your new gear is already loaded on the chopper."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Sanchez said as he followed Tanner from the room.
Larabee's right eye concentrated on the hypnotizing effect of the flames before him. He'd been pulled from his cage and was once more hanging upside down by his ankles. He swallowed the rising bile as he watched Nguyen pull out a white-hot poker and walk towards him.
"This is very hot, Lieutenant," the Colonel laughed as he slowly eased the poker towards the blonds' chest. "Talk!"
Chris closed his eyes, knowing what would happen as soon as he opened his mouth. "Larabee..." his screams were barely audible as they escaped his arid throat, but there was no mistaking the agony caused by the tip of the poker being placed against his chest.
"Talk," Nguyen repeated, smiling sadistically.
Larabee didn't bother to speak as he fought to control the urge to tell everything he knew. The poker touched him again and once more he cried out. His useless arms dangling below his head as his body swung wildly from the hook. 'Oh, God, please make it stop,' he prayed silently. He heard Nguyen's voice as the Colonel's anger and frustration grew.
"Larabee..."
Nguyen dropped the poker and began using his fists again. The use of the poker seemed too impersonal to him and he wanted to deal with the prisoner's insolence with his own hands.
Larabee smiled inwardly as he realized the Colonel had given up on the use of fire. He felt the blows to his abused body and knew he could take anything Nguyen dished out as long as he stayed away from the fire.
"Talk! I grow tired of this! Talk or I will kill you!"
'Then do it,' Larabee thought, his body a mass of pain.
"Talk!" Nguyen repeated as he picked up the cooling poker and began battering the injured man's body.
Larabee felt every strike. He knew when his knee broke, he knew when his ankles snapped, he knew when the poker connected with his already broken ribs, felt the agony that erupted as his elbow broke, but that was the last he knew as his mind gave up conscious thought.
Nguyen stood back, his hands on his knees, his breathing labored as he watched the blood seeping from the wounds on the injured man.
"Is he dead?" Quang asked from behind the irate Colonel.
"I don't care whether he's dead or not!" Nguyen screamed. "Leave him there! Let the animals have him!"
"Yes, C..."
Nguyen's head snapped up as he saw the blossoming stain of red on the soldier's uniform. He hurried towards the building he'd used to house the missiles as more gunfire erupted around him.
Tanner, Chieu, and Sanchez raced across the compound, their eyes never leaving the swaying body.
Sanchez fired his rifle, taking down one man but missing the second one.
Chieu left them to follow the man he'd grown to hate.
'Oh, God, Chris, Don't do this to me,' Tanner thought as they reached the battered prisoner.
Sanchez kept his eyes peeled for more soldiers as Tanner reached down and touched the injured man's neck. He held his breath as he searched desperately for some sign of life. Finally releasing it when he detected a faint pulse.
"Vin?" Sanchez asked as his shot took down another soldier.
"He's alive, Josiah, but he's in bad shape. We need to get him down."
"God to Bad karma," Curran spoke softly and waited for an answer.
"Hello, God," Tanner's drawl came through almost immediately.
"Have you found your quest?"
"Affirmative. But he won't be able to walk out of here."
"Get him outside the compound and we'll meet you there in fifteen minutes. God out."
"Did they find him, Boss?"
Curran nodded to Hawkins and the two men started deeper into the building. Ramos had gone to high ground in order to watch for hostiles. Leary was to stay at the door and protect their backs from unwanted intruders.
"Someone's coming," Curran whispered as he heard footsteps coming from deep inside the building. Both men held their breath until the two soldiers came around the corner. They dealt with both men swiftly, pulling their unconscious bodies into an unlocked storage closet before continuing on.
"Time," Curran asked.
"Twelve minutes to set up and rendezvous," Hawkins told him.
"Alright, let's find the missiles and get out of here," Curran said.
"Right on, Boss," Hawkins grinned as the two men moved towards the vaulted door.
"Ready?" Curran mouthed as he placed his hands on the handle. A quick nod from Hawkins and he threw the door open, quickly shooting the two men at the consoles. "Affirm missile location while I set the charges," Curran ordered.
Hawkins set about opening the heavy crates, whistling softly as he counted the stinger missiles. "All present and accounted for, Boss," Hawkins said as he placed explosive devices inside each crate.
"Time?"
"Eight minutes. All charges set."
"Then let's get out of here, Hawkins," Curran ordered as the two men hurried towards the distant exit.
"I'll hold him while you cut him down," Sanchez suggested as he tried to find an unmarked place to put his hands.
The tracker nodded as he put away the tiny radio.
The ex-preacher carefully lifted the injured man, gently cradling the body in his arms as he watched Vin Tanner reach up and grasp Larabee's ankles.
Vin could feel the broken bones grating under his hands as he lifted the rope from the hook.
"I got him, Vin, you make sure no one shoots at us," Sanchez ordered as he settled the blond in his arms.
"N...no...h...hurts," Larabee gasped as he felt hands and arms touching his body.
"I know it does, Brother, but we've got to get you out of here," Sanchez told the battered man, his heart breaking at the amount of damage inflicted on him.
"Is he..."
"He's awake, Vin," Sanchez interrupted as they hurried across the open expanse and rushed into the heavy foliage. "We wait here for the others."
"Chris," Tanner whispered as he knelt beside his injured friend.
"V...Vin, Jo...h," Larabee's voice could barely be heard by the two men, yet it felt as if it thundered across the compound.
"Yeah, Cowboy, it's me and Josiah. We're gonna get you out of here."
"N...Ngu...yen," the blond gasped as his breathing became more labored.
"We'll take care of Nguyen," Tanner told the injured man. "You just rest against Josiah until we get you out of here."
"Vin, rig up the mobile stretcher while we wait for the others," Sanchez ordered, knowing the younger man needed something to focus on. Looking down at the single open eye he realized the blond was crying, whether from pain or relief, the ex-preacher didn't know but he felt his own heart pounding in his chest. "We'll get you home, Brother."
"H...ho..." Larabee tried to say the word but dissolved into a bout of heavy coughing, tiny drops of blood evident on his lips.
"Sh, Chris, I've got you," Sanchez assured the injured man. The ex-preacher knew the blond was in trouble as he watched Vin remove the short poles from his pack and quickly put them together to form the braces for a stretcher. It wasn't long before the younger man slid the soft, but sturdy material over the poles.
"Nguyen!" Chieu screamed as he watched the Colonel hurrying out of the compound.
"Chieu," Nguyen laughed as he turned in time to see the other man barreling towards him.
"Caca Dau," Chieu screamed as pictures of his dead family rose in front of his eyes.
The two men locked arms, fighting for supremacy in a world ruled by Nguyen and his men. Chieu fought with all his anger, knowing he had to kill this man in order to save others the fate Chris Larabee had met. Visions of a younger Larabee crying as he held Chieu's son's dead body in his arms raced across his mind.
"You are nothing, Chieu," Nguyen swore as he pulled a knife from its scabbard and brought it up into the other man's stomach. His maniacal laughter was the last thing Tran Dinh Chieu heard as he joined his family in death.
"Ramos, Leary, let's go," Curran ordered as he burst through the door into the open, firing rapidly at the advancing soldiers. "Ramos, put them on their knees," he shouted and smiled as his order was instantly carried out. The resulting explosion knocked the Vietnamese soldiers to the ground and Curran heard the cries of pain and rage all around him. "Time to move out," he yelled as Ramos and Leary joined Hawkins and himself. They raced across the compound just as the building housing the missiles blew, sending fire and debris high into the sky. The force of the explosion driving the four men to the ground.
"Everyone ok?" he asked as they struggled to their feet and raced away from the burning building. He smiled as he heard his three friends all answer with 'fine'. He knelt beside the body of Chieu, shaking his head at the others as he stood and followed them out of the compound.
They made it to the wooded area and Leary moved to check the injured man still cradled in Sanchez's grasp. He was shocked and amazed to see one familiar green eye looking at him. Even with the excessive bruising and lacerations on the face he knew Hawkins was right about the extent of similarities between Curran and Larabee. "Let me take a look at him."
Sanchez relaxed his hold on the injured man, speaking in soothing tones as the frightened eye stared at him. "It's ok, Brother, he's just gonna check you over before we get you out of here."
"K...V...Vin," the pain filled voice rasped.
"I'm right here, Cowboy," Tanner said as he placed the completed stretcher next to his friend, ignoring the sounds of gunshots all around them
"Can we move him, Leary?" Curran asked as he stood over the injured man.
"He's in bad shape and I'd rather not," Leary said after making a quick assessment, wrapping soft bandages around the compound fracture at Larabee's right elbow. "But we need to get him to the ship as quickly as we can."
"Can you give him something for pain?" Tanner asked.
"Can't chance it right now. All I've got is Morphine and that'll affect his breathing. He's got broken ribs and from the blood on his lips one may have punctured his lung," Leary explained as he watched the longhaired man cut the ropes from Larabee's ankles.
More gunfire erupted around them and Ramos and Hawkins returned it.
"How long before he's ready to move out?" Curran asked.
Larabee tried to focus on the faces of the men surrounding him. One stood out and he gasped at the all too familiar features on the face of another man. He tried to speak, to ask who the man was, but the sound turned into an agonizing cough.
"Chris?" Tanner cried as he knelt beside his injured friend.
"We have to get him out of here now!" Leary told them. "Get him on the stretcher," he ordered.
Sanchez, Leary, and Tanner logrolled the injured man until his body was lying flat on the conveyance.
Curran grimaced at the painful sounds emanating from the injured man, 'Been there, done that,' he thought as Sanchez and Tanner lifted the poles.
"Where's Chieu?" Tanner asked as they hurried through the trees.
"He didn't make it," Hawkins answered, unaware that his words were heard by the injured man.
'Chieu, no, please, God, don't let him be dead,' Larabee thought as he fought the excessive agony flaring through his body. He had no idea how long they carried him. Time had no meaning compared to the torment racing in his mind.
"Get him in the chopper," Curran ordered as they reached the extraction coordinates.
Sanchez placed his end of the stretcher on the edge of the chopper and helped Vin lever it inside. Both men jumped into the cabin as a scream emanated from the trees.
"You will not escape that easily, Lieutenant," the irate Colonel screamed as he opened fire on the cockpit of the aircraft.
'Nguyen,' Larabee thought and tried to come off the stretcher, crying out as two sets of hands held him in place.
"Don't try to move, Chris," Tanner shouted as he heard Curran give orders to take the man down. More gunfire erupted and a cry from the front of the chopper drew Tanner's attention. The pilot lay slumped against the dash, a thin stream of blood flowing from a hole between two unseeing eyes. The co-pilot's body was also slumped forward but Vin couldn't tell if the man was dead or alive. The sharpshooter instinctively made his way to the front, removing the dead man from the pilot's seat, and placing him on the floor behind the seat.
"Can you fly a Seahawk?" Leary asked as he jumped into the chopper, deftly checking the pilot, then turning his attention to the blond.
"He's trained to fly just about anything," Sanchez assured the medic.
"N...guy...en?" Larabee mumbled, once more trying to get off the floor of the chopper, crying out as new pains made themselves known. He coughed and more blood appeared on his lips.
"You let us worry about, Nguyen," Leary ordered as he wiped the crimson spots from Larabee's mouth.
"C...can't l...let him e...escape...k...killed to m...many p...people a...already," Larabee gasped between coughing and trying to fill his oxygen starved lungs with air.
"Chris, the SEAL team will take care of him," Sanchez whispered placing a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder as Leary continued to treat the injuries as best he could.
"T...they'll g...get him. S...SEALs do the d...deed," Larabee muttered forcefully. The last thing he heard before he slipped into darkness was the soft laughter from the medic at his side.
"Hawkins, can you see him?" Curran shouted.
"Yeah, Boss, he's behind that boulder. I can't get a shot," Hawkins answered as a bullet whipped past his head.
Curran knew they were wasting time. Time the injured man didn't have, but Nguyen was a priority on this mission. They had to kill the bastard or he'd be back in business within the week. "I'm gonna circle around him. Hawkins, Ramos, lay down cover fire," he ordered as he raced across the clearing, bullets kicking up dirt all around him. He felt a bullet tear into his thigh as he dove behind a small bush. Ignoring the burning sensation from the wound he stood up and raced the last few feet.
Nguyen was so intent on finding a way to get in a killing blow to the Lieutenant he'd started firing at the gas tank of the Seahawk, hoping to get them all with one shot.
Curran rounded the boulder and pointed his gun at the Vietnamese Colonel.
Nguyen heard the movement to his left and realized, too late, his mistake. "No!" he screamed as he turned his gun on the blond SEAL.
"Die, you son of a bitch," Curran swore as he opened fire on the Colonel.
Nguyen's body was thrown backwards by the force of the bullets entering his body. He was dead before the last one entered his forehead. Curran checked to make sure the man wouldn't bother anyone again before calling out to his team. "Nguyen's dead," he shouted as he ran back to the chopper, his face registering surprise as he saw Tanner at the controls.
"Pilot's dead," Leary explained, but continued to work on the injured man.
"How is he?" Curran asked as he helped Leary and Sanchez secure Larabee for take off. The medic had placed a cervical collar around the injured man's neck as well as getting him on a backboard.
"Not good," the medic answered. "Looks like you took one, Boss, sit down and let me take a look."
"I'm fine, Rick, look after Larabee."
"There's nothing else I can do for him. Now sit down."
Curran did as he was told as the Seahawk climbed into the air. Leary shook his head and examined the wound. "Bullet's still in there."
"No shit," Curran quipped with a grin.
"Hey, Boss, looks like this one's an easy one for you," Hawkins declared as he pulled the co-pilot from his seat and slid in next to Tanner.
"Radio ahead and warn the ship we have wounded. Tell them we need two teams," Leary ordered.
"Ah, hell, Rick, I'm fine. I can walk."
"Not with that bullet in there, Boss. Now just sit back and relax."
Sanchez smiled at the blond SEAL. "Looks like you've got as much success arguing with him as Chris does when he argues with Nathan. Might as well sit back and relax."
Silence reined on the Seahawk as Tanner expertly flew it towards the coordinates supplied by Hawkins. He forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand, reminding himself that Chris needed medical attention more than he needed Vin by his side.
Half an hour later they hovered over the Enterprise as Vin watched the signals from the man standing below. The Seahawk landed as if it were a feather, coming to rest against the deck. Before the engines stopped Tanner was out of his seat and kneeling beside Chris Larabee. "Stay with me, Cowboy," he pleaded as medical personnel hurried into the cabin.
Larabee heard the younger man's words and forced his eye open, "I...I'm s...still h...here," he croaked.
"You're going to have to move out of the way," a man warned.
"V...Vin..."
"It's ok, Cowboy, they're gonna help you."
"N...gu...yen," he coughed, groaning as his chest constricted and more blood showed on his lips, a stark contrast to the pale skin surrounding it.
"Dead," Curran told him as a ship's doctor checked the injury to his thigh.
"D...dead," the injured man's weak voice sounded relieved to everyone as he closed his eye.
"Looks like a punctured lung," the doctor examining Larabee told the other doctor. "We need to get him to sickbay stat," he said signalling his corpsmen to lift the stretcher from the confines of the Seahawk.
Larabee's eye opened once more and he turned his frightened gaze on Tanner as they carried him past. "No! Wait, p...please," he gasped breathlessly.
"You can talk to him later," the doctor ordered as they rushed towards sickbay.
Chris was lifted from the stretcher onto an examination table, groaning as the movement caused the pain to flare once more.
He felt new hands touching him, poking him, prodding him. He knew he was hurt bad, felt it in every breath he took. He kept trying to track the people above him with his one good eye. His eye stopped on a tall man with a kind face. "H...help."
"We are going to help you. Can you tell me your name, Son?" Mikla asked as he began his cursory examination. His eyes instantly taking in the bone sticking through the skin at the left elbow.
"C...Chris."
"Well, Chris, we've got a lot of work ahead of us but you're going to be just fine. I'm Dr. Mikla and I'll be looking after you."
"H...hurts," Larabee gasped as he felt Mikla touching his throat. He felt someone cutting the remnants of his clothing from his body and cried out as the movement jarred his broken arm.
"Easy, Son," Mikla warned as he listened to the injured man's chest. His face taking on a worried frown when he heard nothing coming from the left side. "We need to insert a chest tube. Burke, what're his vitals? Franklin, I want two IV's and get me two units of fresh frozen Plasma and two units of O negative blood. Make sure it's run through a warmer."
"BP is seventy-eight over fifty. Heart rate one hundred twenty eight. Temperature ninety five." Burke told him.
"Chris, we're going to put you on oxygen and I'm going to insert a chest tube to help you breath," Mikla explained surprised to see his patient was still conscious as he placed an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. He swabbed the area where he'd be inserting the tube and applied a freezing agent. "Just relax and let us take care of you," he told the shivering man.
Larabee nodded, coughing as he tried to take in enough oxygen.
"Almost there," Mikla assured him as he inserted the tube and attached it to the machine next to the bed. As soon as he finished the procedure he once more listened to Larabee's breathing. Satisfied that they'd relieved one problem, he turned to the other problems facing his patient. "I want a full series of X-rays. Skull, chest, everything. Frank, run the IV's wide open. Burke, he's hypothermic, bring a Bair Hugger and cover him with it till we get the X-ray results," he ordered. He could tell by the swelling around both lower legs that the ankles were broken; the right knee had also incurred some damage.
"Yes, Doctor," Frank said.
"I want blood cultures and a viral assessment. There's no telling what he might have picked up in the jungle."
"Yes, Sir," Frank affirmed as he picked up four vials and began taking blood from the injured man.
Burke returned with the Bair Hugger, attached it to a disposable blanket and draped the inflated blanket over the now nude body. He moved out of the way as the portable X-ray machine was moved to the bed.
"Full series, Carter," Mikla ordered as he left the room.
Tanner and Sanchez stood up as the doctor came out of the room. "How is he?" they asked simultaneously.
"I don't know the full extent of his injuries yet. We're doing a complete series of X-rays and I'll know more when we get them and the results of the blood work."
"Will he be alright?"
"Depends on how hard he fights. He's got to want to fight his way back and even if he does there're no guarantees right now. We're going to do everything we can for him, get him stabilized and send him to Pearl Harbor for further treatment."
"Can we see him?" Tanner asked.
"That's out of the question right now. We have a lot of work to do for him before he'll be up to seeing anyone. Why don't you two go get some rest before I end up with two more patients?"
"I'm not going anywhere till I know he's alright."
"Neither am I," Sanchez agreed.
"I could make it an order," Mikla told them.
"But you won't," Sanchez grinned.
"Not at the moment but if you're still here when we're finished with Chris then I will make it an order. This is going to take quite some time and I don't want to be wondering about you two. Try and catch some sleep while you're waiting."
"We're finished, Sir," Burke called.
"I have to get back. Get something to eat and rest," Mikla warned sternly as he went back to his patient.
Tanner watched as Hawkins entered the room. "How's Curran?" he asked.
"Bullet didn't hit anything major. They're performing surgery on him as we speak. Doc says he'll have to stay off it for a few days and give it a chance to heal. Fat chance of that happening."
"Sounds like he doesn't like to be down," Sanchez observed.
"Hates it. Always fights the doctors. Always wanting out before he should."
"You're one to talk, Dale," Leary laughed as he joined the others in the room.
"Vin, sounds like Curran and Hawkins are a lot like you and brother Chris," Sanchez laughed.
"God help the doctors," Leary joined in the light banter, feeling some of the tension leaving them.
Two hours had passed since the injured man was brought in. That he was still alive was a surprise to the people working on him. That he'd regained consciousness and tried to ask about his friends came as an even bigger surprise and the medical team was beginning to believe he'd actually beat the odds.
Mikla studied the X-rays, making notations on the chart as he did so. Larabee had finally succumbed to exhaustion and pain and lost consciousness. His team was busy cleaning the infected wounds on the injured man's back. Some of them were old and seemed to have healed but others were inflamed and raw looking. They'd cleaned the burns, both the electrical ones and the ones caused by excessive heat on his back and chest. Once that was accomplished they slathered the affected area with Flamazine, covering the white salve with saline soaked gauze and following up with dry dressings. He ordered antibiotics given intravenously to try and fight the infection raging through the patient's body. An NG tube was also inserted in order to deliver much needed nutrition to the malnourished body. A Foley catheter was in place and the small amount of urine present was tinged with pink, evidence that there was some damage done to the kidneys. He turned away from the monitor and walked back to the bed and it's hubbub of activity.
"We need to set the right ankle and knee, the left one will probably need pins. I don't want to touch the elbow. We'll leave that and the left ankle for the orthopaedic surgeon when he gets to Pearl Harbor. Any change in his vitals?"
"Body temp is still low registering at ninety five point five. BP up a little at eighty over sixty. Oxygen still hovering at Ninety two."
"Keep a close eye on the oxygen. We may have to intubate and get him on a ventilator if it doesn't pick up soon. Are the blood test results back yet?" He asked as he checked the flow on the packed cells and the blood plasma. Both liquids were being run through a warmer in order to keep the patient's temperature from falling even further. The two IV's were still running wide open in an effort to re-hydrate the injured man.
"I have the lab results right here," Burke said as he hurried into the room.
Mikla studied the blood gases and viral test results. His expert eyes taking in the small inconsistencies and noting how they should be treated. "We can dispense with the collar. X-rays show there's no damage to his spine. He's got three broken ribs on the right side and two on the left."
"That's going to make it mighty uncomfortable for him to move around," Burke commented.
"He won't be moving around much at all in the near future," Mikla stated. "We'll be airlifting him to Pearl Harbor as soon as we've got him stabilized."
Chris wanted to stay under. He didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to face the pain he knew would be there to greet him when he did. Without realizing he'd done so a low moan escaped his parched throat.
Mikla was at his side instantly, "Chris, can you hear me?"
He didn't want to answer, but the pain was there, in every part of his body, every nerve ending and he shivered uncontrollably. He groaned as he opened his right eye, trying to focus it on the man speaking to him.
Mikla watched the right eye fight to open, amazed that his patient could accomplish even that little task. The swelling and discoloration around the left eye and temple had spilled over to encompass most of his left cheek and right eye as well. The lone green orb was glazed and he knew Larabee must be suffering from one hell of a headache. He had all the signs of a major concussion, except the vomiting, and that was due to his already empty stomach.
Chris tried to move but his body wouldn't obey his commands. He was a mass of sheer agony and he felt everything Nguyen had done to him. His chest hurt and he struggled to draw in air, coughing and retching as his stomach churned and his lungs ached. "P...please...h...help....hurts..." he mumbled painfully.
Mikla steeled himself against the pleading voice, opening the right eye and shining a light into it. It was sluggish but he was glad to see any reaction at this point. "OK, Chris, we're going to give you something to ease the pain," he explained and saw the relief in the green eye. "Burke give him two milligrams of morphine." Mikla ordered as he picked up a medicinal sponge and gently swiped it over the cracked lips of his patient.
Larabee's tongue flicked out in an effort to snatch the moisture into his mouth, moaning as the sponge was removed.
"I know you're thirsty, Chris, but you can't have anything yet. We've got a few more things to do before we transport you to Pearl Harbor. So relax and let the morphine help you. Try to go back to sleep," Mikla told him.
"W...want...to see ...Vin, J...Josiah," the blond rasped, becoming agitated as he tried to look around the tiny room.
"Tell you what I'll do. I'll let them in for a minute but then you have to get some rest," Mikla stated. "Deal?"
"D...deal."
"Burke, tell Sanchez and Tanner they can come in for a minute."
Burke nodded and went to open the door. He didn't have the words out of his mouth before two men nearly knocked him to the floor in their effort to see their friend.
"Chris," Mikla said, noticing the man's eye had closed once more.
"Hmm."
"Your friends are here."
Larabee forced his eye open again, shifting from one man to the other. "V...Vin, Jo...siah," his voice came out as a mere whisper.
"Hey, Brother, welcome back."
"You're gonna be fine, Cowboy," Tanner said, keeping the fear from his voice. He knew his friend was in bad shape and he wished there was something more he could do.
"A...am n...now," the corners of Larabee's mouth rose slightly as he smiled at his friends. "Chieu?' he asked, wanting to know what happened to his friend.
Sanchez and Tanner's eyes met, a worried frown on both faces.
Larabee's antenna rose immediately at the silent signal between the two men. "V...Vin, Where's Chieu?" he gasped as he fought his way up on the bed.
"Oh, no you don't," Mikla warned as he moved the two newcomers out of the way.
"No, V...Vin. Need to k...know. J...Josiah, please, Chieu, w...what h...happened to him."
"You two out now," Mikla ordered as he tried to keep the blond from coming off the bed, Franklin moved to the opposite side and helped hold the patient down.
"No...oh, God, h...he's dead... I k...killed him t...too," Larabee continued to fight in spite of the pain and his injuries. The struggle didn't last long as the morphine kicked in and the blond surrendered to the calling darkness.
Mikla breathed a sigh of relief as the injured man relaxed against the pillow. "Alright, people, let's get everything done and get him ready for transport."
The next three hours were spent getting the blond as stable as possible with the severity of his injuries. Mikla and his team finished setting the right ankle and knee, immobilizing the left ankle and the compound fracture of the left elbow. The dressings covering the burns and infected lacerations were changed again as they finished readying the patient. Mikla sent copies of the X-rays and test results to the naval hospital in Pearl Harbor. A trauma team would be waiting as soon as the Seahawk touched down with its two patients. He knew James Curran would also be sent to the naval hospital as surgery uncovered more damage to his leg than first thought.
Mikla finished listening to his patient's chest, pleased that air was moving in and out of both sides. The morphine seemed to be keeping the blond unconscious and he hoped he'd stay that way during the trip to Pearl Harbor. He didn't want to chance giving Larabee more pain medication until he'd been put through a complete CT scan. They needed to make sure there were no skull fractures and with the severity of the bruising on the pale face it was entirely possible that there were underlying problems. "How's his temperature and blood pressure?"
Burke looked up from the monitor as he finished recording the new information. "Temperature is Ninety seven, BP is eighty eight over seventy, and Oxygen saturation is ninety five."
"That's about as stable as he's going to get. Rig up the portable equipment and let Gerry's team know we're ready to transport. Have Tanner and Sanchez notified so they'll be ready to move out."
"Tanner and Sanchez are right outside the door. They haven't moved," Franklin told him.
Shaking his head at the thought of the stubborn men he mumbled, "Figures." He glanced down at the patient again, not surprised to see the single green eye staring at him. "Talk about stubborn men. You're supposed to be sleeping," he warned.
Larabee tried to speak but couldn't form his thoughts into words. He'd been lost in terrifying nightmares and didn't want to go back. The memories of the vivid dreams were fleeting now and he let them slip away, not wanting to face the consequences of his own actions. "Bad dreams," he rasped, studying the strange face above him.
"Who wouldn't have bad dreams after what you've been through?" Mikla offered. "How do you feel?"
"Like s...shit," Larabee answered, trying for, but failing to find his cocky grin.
"I bet," Mikla laughed. "We're just getting you ready to transport to Pearl Harbor so just relax and try to rest."
"C...can't rest..." Larabee groaned as his body sent pain signals to his exhausted brain.
The doctor watched the face anxiously and knew without a doubt the man needed something to help ease the pain he was in. He reached for a syringe and a vial in the cabinet next to the patient's bed, drawing two milligrams of morphine and injecting it into Larabee's IV. "That should help," he explained, gently patting the uninjured right arm. "Now try to go back to sleep."
"T...thanks," Larabee told him as he felt the pain ease slightly.
"You're welcome, Son," Mikla smiled as he watched the battered features relax into sleep once more.
Vin Tanner sat in his assigned seat on the Seahawk, his eyes never wavering from his injured friend. The portable equipment surrounding the secured stretcher made him shiver. Mikla explained what everything was for before they left and the sharpshooter listened intently. He knew the corpsmen seated between Larabee and Curran knew what he was doing, but he wished Stacey Midland and Nathan Jackson were here.
"You alright, Brother?"
The sharpshooter tore his eyes from Larabee's still form, letting them come to rest on the ex-preacher. "Not me you gotta worry about, Josiah," he assured the older man as his eyes flicked to the stretcher holding the second injured man. "He's so much like Chris," he whispered, his throat constricting as he realized they still might lose their leader and friend. Mikla's words resounded in his agonized mind, giving him little comfort and a lot of worry. 'He's not out of the woods, gentlemen. The blows to the head are so severe there could be skull fractures and he may have brain damage. There's no way to know for sure until they do a CT scan at Pearl.'
'Skull fractures? Brain damage? Dammit, Cowboy, you better not be thinking about giving up. We've got too much to do,' Tanner thought, his eyes once more settling on the immobilized figure.
"He's a fighter, Vin."
"I know, Josiah, it's just hard to see him like this. If we'd only gone when we first found out he was missing instead of waiting for the bureaucrats to give permission."
"You can't second guess things, Vin. From what I saw a lot of the injuries were inflicted long ago."
Curran listened to the conversation between the two men. He knew what they were going through. He'd seen his own friends in similar situations and suffered much the same way. There was nothing harder than sitting around, waiting for word on someone you cared about. His mind travelled back to the injuries he received in Beirut, two bullets, one a simple easy extraction, the second much more serious and caused him to be laid up for two weeks. He turned his head and was able to see the man in the second bay. 'Been there, Larabee, and if your friends are anything like Hawkins, Leary, and Ramos, you'll have all the support you need.'
He turned away and his eyes met with two intense blue ones. 'So much like, Dale,' he thought. 'Wonder if Larabee calls you Hot Shot?'
"How're you feeling, Lieutenant?" Burke asked.
Curran turned his head towards the corpsmen, a thin smile on his face. "Fine," he answered.
"Any pain?"
"No."
Burke shook his head and smiled, "You wouldn't tell me you were no matter how bad it got, would you?"
Curran's pale face split in a cocky grin so similar to Chris Larabee that it caught Sanchez and Tanner unawares. "Shit, Josiah, did you see that?"
"I most certainly did, Brother."
"What's wrong?" Curran asked.
"Chris does that exact same thing. Bet if we looked back far enough we'd find you two were related. There's no way two men who look so much alike can't have common linage somewhere," Sanchez explained.
"We'll be landing in ten minutes," the pilots voice came from the front of the Seahawk.
Burke turned to Larabee and checked to make sure everything was still secure. He made a few quick notations on the chart before sitting back in his seat.
"How is he?" Tanner asked.
"Stable. His temperature is still a little low, but he's doing well."
Tanner nodded his head and looked back towards the patient. He thought of the others and what they were doing right now. Word was sent of the rescue but no details were given. He knew the first thing he needed to do when they landed was call The Firm's office and tell the others what was happening. 'Wish I could give them better news, Cowboy,' he thought.
Strange voices penetrated the void he'd been relaxing in. The void was a safe place; a place that was relatively pain free and he didn't want to leave it. He knew what would be waiting for him the minute he left the void so he fought against the call of the strange voices.
"Chris, I need you to open your eyes."
Larabee felt hands touching his body. Poking him, prodding him, hurting him all over again. "No, not a...again," he cried out as someone touched his elbow.
"It's alright, Chris, you're safe. I'm Dr. Bradley and I just need to take a look at your elbow," he explained, hearing a soft hiss of pain from the injured man. Bradley gently opened his right eye and checked the pupil. "We're going to send you for a CT scan and then we'll be taking you to surgery, Chris. Think you can put up with my poking you for a little longer?"
"G...guess so. D...don't seem to h...have m...much choice," Larabee coughed dryly. "T...thirsty," he whispered.
Bradley took a pink sponge, removed the protective wrapper, dipped it in water and moistened the cracked lips and the inside of his patient's mouth.
"Thanks," the blond groaned, lifting his right arm to rub his aching head.
Bradley caught his hand and gently forced it back to the bed. "I want you to keep still, Chris."
"Head hurts."
"I don't doubt that for a minute but I don't want you moving around. We're taking you down for that CT scan right now and once we see the results we'll know better how to help you. Alright?"
"Y...yeah," came the raspy reply.
Sanchez watched as the younger member dialled the number for the office at The Firm. It would be late afternoon in Billings and they knew the others would be there. The phone was picked up on the second ring, Wilmington's voice cutting through the quiet. "Hello."
"Buck, it's Vin." Tanner could almost hear the man as he sat up and took notice.
"Vin, is Chris alright. God we've been so worried. Captain Dunne's office called to say they'd found Chris but that's all he could tell us."
"Slow down, Buck," Tanner ordered.
"Hold on, Vin, I'm putting you on speaker phone so the others can hear you."
"Alright, Buck."
"Go ahead, Vin," Wilmington told him.
"First off we did get Chris out."
"How is he?" Jackson's worried question made the sharpshooter's throat constrict.
"He's in bad shape, Nate."
"Fuck!" Wilmington's angry voice swore.
"What happened to him?" Dunne's question overlapped Bucks expletive.
"Nguyen had him set up. From what we've been able to find out he used Chieu to get Chris back to Nam. They were waiting for Chris and Chieu when they arrived at the scheduled meeting place. Nguyen kidnapped Chris and took him to his compound."
"Chris should never have gone," Wilmington hissed.
"Mr. Larabee didn't have much choice. He was called back to active duty," Standish's voice was also edged with worry.
"Where are you, Vin?" Jackson asked.
"We're at the naval hospital in Pearl Harbor."
"Are you and Josiah alright?"
"We're fine, Nathan."
"You gonna tell us what's wrong with Chris, Vin?" Wilmington asked, the silence on the other end of the line was enough to grate on the ladies man's nerves. "Vin?"
"Alright, Buck, I'll tell you what we know. They're just taking him for a CT scan of his head. Nguyen worked him over pretty good and his face is badly bruised. He can't open his left eye at all and there are a lot of lumps and cuts as well. Both ankles and his right knee were broken, his left elbow has a compound fracture and will need surgery to repair it," he drew a deep breath as he tried to continue cataloguing his friend's injuries.
"Let me, Vin," Sanchez said as he took the phone from the trembling man. Tanner nodded gratefully and sank into a chair, closing his eyes and fighting the nausea he felt building in his stomach.
"Vin?"
"No, Buck, it's me."
"Josiah, is Vin alright?" Jackson asked, concerned about the fear he'd heard in the other man's voice.
"He's fine, Nathan, nothing that a little good news wouldn't cure right about now."
"We could all do with some good news. What else is wrong with Mr. Larabee?" Standish voiced the question on all their minds.
"Isn't that enough?" JD asked worriedly.
"More than enough, JD, but there's more isn't there, Josiah?" Wilmington asked.
"I'm afraid so. He's got a total of five broken ribs, one of which punctured his lung so they've inserted a chest tube. He was severely whipped; some of the marks are infected. He's got burns from a stun gun and from something else. The doctors figure it was a hot poker or something like that. His kidney's were bruised, he was hypothermic when we brought him in and his blood pressure was low," he stopped to catch his breath.
"What else?" Jackson asked, knowing the ex-preacher wasn't done.
"H...he was really dehydrated, Nate. The bastard didn't give him anything to eat or drink for who knows how long. He's lost a lot of weight and we both know Dr. Midland's been harping on him to gain some."
"Tell me that son of a bitch is dead!" Wilmington swore.
"Curran killed Nguyen."
"Who's Curran?" Dunne asked.
"That's classified, Son, but suffice it to say Nguyen won't be bothering Chris anymore."
"Josiah, we'll be there as soon as we can arrange to have the jet fueled and ready for take off," Jackson explained.
"Alright, Nate, Dr. Bradley is just coming out of Chris's room and I want to hear what he has to say. We'll see you when you get here."
"Take care, Josiah," Jackson said as the line went dead.
Tanner was on his feet as a stretcher carrying his friend was pulled from the room. He knew Josiah was right behind him as both men hurried after the retreating form.
"Gentlemen, wait," Bradley ordered as he stepped in front of the two men, causing them both to pull up short. "They're taking him for a CT scan and you won't be able to go in with him so please be seated."
"Is he going to be alright?" Tanner asked for what felt like the hundredth time.
Bradley looked from the older man to the younger one before answering. "You both know the extent of his injuries," both men nodded. "Then you know he's in critical condition and we don't even know if there's any damage to his head besides the obvious ones. We'll wait for the results of the CT scan and if nothing shows up we'll take him to surgery and Orthopaedics will repair the compound fracture of his left elbow and probably put pins in his left ankle. I'm going to be honest with you guys. He's in bad shape and he may not make it. We're going to do everything we can for him but you should be prepared."
"He'll make it, Doc," Sanchez said sharply. "He's strong and we'll be here to help him."
"That's good because once he starts to recover he's going to need all the help he can get. The physiotherapy alone will be murder on him. The wounds to his back and chest are painful enough but the broken bones are also going to cause him misery."
"Anything that needs to be done we'll do," Tanner swore.
"Look, right now there's nothing you can do for your friend. He's going to need you more when surgery is over so why don't you two go get something to eat and grab some sleep," Bradley knew his words were falling on deaf ears but he had to try. The two men standing beside him looked ready to keel over but they wouldn't give in to it.
"I'm not going anywhere," Tanner told him.
Bradley shook his head. "That's what I thought. All right, he'll be in CT for about forty minutes. That gives you time to get something to eat. I don't care if you eat it in the cafe or bring it here just make sure you get something."
"We will, Doc," Sanchez assured him as the doctor turned away. "Come on, Vin, let's get a sandwich or something."
"I can't leave him, Josiah."
"Vin, you need to keep up your strength."
"I'm staying."
Sanchez rolled his eyes as he looked at the younger man. "Alright, Vin, stay here. I'll bring something back for both of us."
Tanner's blue eyes were filled with sadness as he sat in the chair across from Chris's room. "Thanks," he mumbled as his eyelids slid shut.
Sanchez watched as Bradley strode towards them. He knew, instinctively something was wrong and he reached over to touch the sleeping form in the next chair.
Tanner came awake with a start and glanced around, rubbing at the stubble on his chin as he tried to ease his aching body. He stood up as Bradley hurried towards them. "What's wrong?" he asked, knowing things were not good by the look on the man's face.
"We've got the results of the CT scan back," Bradley told them.
"And?" Sanchez asked.
"It showed a small subdural Hematoma in the left temporal region."
"What the hell does that mean?" Tanner asked.
"It means there was damage done to this region by at least one of the blows Chris received."
Tanner's hands clenched into fists as he looked at the doctor. "What are you going to do about it?"
"He's on his way to surgery right now. Phillip Jordan will perform the surgery. He's one of the best neurosurgeons in the field. I'm sorry, gentlemen, I know this wasn't the news you wanted to hear."
"You got that right, Doc," Sanchez muttered. "What about the surgery to his arm and ankle? Will they fix those up as well?"
"It depends on how things go. Dr. Jordan will have final say in the matter but Orthopaedics will be present and if he okays it they'll perform the surgery as soon as Jordan's finished. Look, Gentlemen, it's going to be a long night so you might as well try to get some rest."
"Where's the ICU?" Tanner asked, knowing that's where Chris would be taken after surgery.
"It's on the third floor. Ask at the desk where the waiting room is," Bradley told him.
"It's ok, Doc, we'll get some rest while we're waiting for word on Chris," Sanchez assured the man.
"Gentlemen, are you here for Chris Larabee?"
Tanner came to his feet, his eyes wide, his body tense as he stared at the dark haired man before them. "Yes," he answered. "Is he alright?" he asked as he looked at the clock and saw six hours had passed since they'd taken Chris to surgery.
"Sit down."
"What? Why?" Tanner asked, his legs shaking, his heart pounding as he looked at the newcomer.
"Because you both look like you're ready to fall down," Jordan answered and smiled as the two men dropped heavily onto their chairs.
"How is he, Doc?" Sanchez asked.
"We successfully removed the Hematoma and Orthopaedics was able to fix the elbow and the ankle. He's listed in critical condition at the moment and we've left him intubated."
"So he's going to be alright?" Tanner asked hopefully.
Jordan looked at the two exhausted men before speaking calmly and professionally, "What you gentlemen need to realize is that even with the intervention of surgery he may not make it. I'm hopeful that he will but with the injuries he's received, the blood loss, and the fact that he was dehydrated it's a miracle he's come this far. There's nothing else we can do except wait and hope."
"What about brain damage?" Tanner asked, remembering Dr. Mikla's warning.
"Worst case scenario is that he could die. We won't know if there's any brain damage until he's awake and able to talk. If he does make it there could be speech problems. His short-term memory could be affected. There are any number of problems to deal with when a head injury is involved. I'm sorry I wish I could give you better news but I thought you'd rather hear the truth."
Tanner stood up and swayed momentarily before hurrying from the tiny room.
"You'd better make sure he gets some rest," Bradley told the ex-preacher. "Actually both of you look like you could use some sleep."
Sanchez met the eyes of the doctor, his own eyes filled with the pain the man's words had inflicted. "Can we see him?"
"How did I know you were going to ask that? Give the nurses time to settle him in. I'll have someone let you know when you can see him."
"Thanks, Doc," Sanchez whispered gratefully.
"You're welcome," Jordan stood and left the room.
The ex-preacher stood and went in search of the sharpshooter. He found the younger man staring into a glass-enclosed room. "Vin?"
Tanner shivered as he took his eyes off the scene in the room. "He's been hurt so much, Josiah."
"I know, Brother," Sanchez agreed as he too turned his attention to the room where nurses were adjusting equipment, changing IV's and hanging more blood. Both men went quiet as they listened to the nurses tending their injured friend.
"Cindy, did you give the Dilantin yet?"
"Just administering the one gram loading dose, Barb. I've noted on his chart that Dr. Jordan has ordered three hundred milligrams given three times a day. I also noted he was lethargic when we tried to rouse him," Cindy said as she injected the drug that was used to prevent convulsions.
"Thanks, Cindy, I think we're finished for now. I'm going to tell his friends they can come in," Barb said as she moved to the door. "You can come in now," she told the two tired looking men.
"Thanks," they responded in voices barely above a whisper.
The soft whoosh of the ventilator, the continuous beep of the heart monitor, the tubes and IV lines reminded both men how fragile human life really was.
Vin leaned heavily against the side rail as his legs threatened to give out on him. The lack of sleep coupled with the worry he felt for his friend finally caught up to him. He would have fallen if not for the strong supporting hands of the older man.
"Easy, Brother," Sanchez whispered.
"Thanks, Josiah," Tanner muttered as he turned back to the bed. His eyes taking in every mark on the battered face, noting also the lack of hair left on the left side of Larabee's head. "Don't worry, Cowboy, it'll grow back," his low voice reached the others in the room and brought a trembling smile to the ex-preacher's face.
"How's he doing, Cindy?" Sanchez asked.
"He's holding his own, Mr..."
"Sanchez, Josiah Sanchez and this is Vin Tanner."
"Cindy, I'm going to try and rouse him a bit."
"Alright, Barb. Would you two mind moving away from the bed for a few minutes?"
"Vin, come on," Sanchez said as he took the younger man's arm.
Barb Collins placed her fisted hand on Larabee's sternum, carefully avoiding the gauze bandages covering the wounds. She gently rubbed her fist back and forth while she talked in soothing tones. "Chris, it's time to wake up. Come on open your eyes. I've read on your chart that you have green eyes and that's my favourite color," she continued talking to him as his eyelid fluttered open. She waited until he turned to the sound of her voice, smiling down at him, talking softly in an effort to calm the panic she saw rising there. "You're in the intensive care unit at the naval hospital in Pearl Harbour. My name is Barb and I'm the nurse taking care of you. You have a tube in your mouth and that's why you can't talk. You're on a ventilator and it's going to help you with your breathing so you can rest and get stronger. I have to do a quick check on you and then I'm going to let your friends see you, " Barb explained, relieved to see some of the panic leave the battered features. When he once more focused on her she again talked softly. "I want you to squeeze my fingers for me," she smiled as a few seconds later he did as she asked. "Ok, Chris, that's very good. Can you release them for me now? Very good," she said as she continued the standard Neuro check, noting each reaction. She watched as his eye slid shut again.
"What was that for?" Tanner asked as he stepped back to the bed.
"It's a standard Neuro check, Mr. Tanner. We'll be doing that every hour while he's in ICU. His reactions tell us whether or not there's a problem."
"Was there?"
"No, Mr. Sanchez, he reacted perfectly to the simple commands he gave him," Cindy answered. "Now, Barb and I have to suction out the ventilator and it's rather unpleasant to see so I'd advise you two to leave now."
"No, Ma'am, I'll stay."
"No, you won't. If you don't get some sleep you'll end up flat on the floor here and I certainly don't want to have to pick either of you up. Get some rest and don't come back for a couple of hours."
"But..."
"No buts. Go now or I'll have security bar you for twenty four hours."
"Vin, we'd better do as she says," the older man advised.
The sharpshooter nodded as he placed a trembling hand on Larabee's right arm, careful not to touch the two IV's and the A lines running into his wrist. "I'll be back, Cowboy, you just make sure you're here when I do," he ordered as he moved away from the bed.
"I'll look after him, Chris," Sanchez assured the blond as he noticed the green eye looking at him. He waited till it closed again before catching up with the younger man.
"You've got good friends there, Chris," Cindy said as the two nurses suctioned the tube running into the patient's mouth.
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