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Full Story: Hearts of Darkness (w. ShadowOfDesire)

As Doctor Blake went to work Jack had to admit to himself that while she could be a pain in the ass sometimes, she was pretty impressive to watch in her element. Most docs in the States would probably have been shocked by what the inside of the clinic looked like; to Jack it seemed like a cross between a 1950’s era hospital in some old movie and a death house. But Miranda just dived into the situation without blinking an eye, and there was a really focused look on her face; it was clear to Jack that she was going to give this everything she had, despite the uphill battle she was facing. That put a sad little smile on Jack's face; he knew the day was going to take a lot out of Miranda, but also that he’d now be able to help her recharge when it was all over.

After milling about smartly for awhile Jack suddenly heard a commotion outside the clinic. Stepping to the door he saw a tight group of three young men cutting through the staging area Doc Buni had set up; the three were being followed by an excited gaggle of other villagers and Jack saw Mikhail hovering in the distance, his rifle at the low ready and tucked into his shoulder. Esther went to see what the issue was, but Ian pushed her behind him then stepped forward with both hands on his rifle. As Jack’s Krinkov started to come up Ian stepped forward and suddenly shoved his left arm under the shoulder of the guy in the middle of the little pack, almost lifting him off his feet as he basically carried him towards the clinic; the other two men followed closely behind, talking over each other as they jabbered at Ian and Doc Buni.

As the crowd parted Jack could see that the guy Ian was carrying had a dirty, blood soaked rag wrapped around one of his calves that was leaking blood badly enough to leave a visible trail in the mud. As the big South African medic got closer he called out to Jack. “Cut his leg open to the bone with an axe. Cutting firewood.” As Ian took the injured man into the clinic Jack stepped forward and blocked the door, so that his two buddies wouldn’t get in the way inside. “It’s alright guys” he said calmly. “He’s with the Doctor now, she’ll look after him. Good job getting him here.” As Jack took over keeping an eye on Esther and the crowd outside, he could see Mikhail slouching back to the trucks and lighting another cigarette …
 
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Jack got to see Miranda finally use one of those extra tourniquets he'd swiped, for that was the first thing she applied after pulling on a new pair of gloves and surgical mask. With pressure applied to stop the bleeding, her second act was to give the man a dose of morphine for the immense pain. He relaxed almost immediately as the drugs took effect, drifting and high but still conscious. With him in a more placid state, she began to examine his leg, removing the dirty makeshift bandages to assess the damage. It was a nasty wound, deep and long, though not particularly wide. He'd cut to the bone, but the bone itself was still intact and didn't appear to be cracked or broken.

"I need a steady pair of hands for this." She pointed at one of the village women. "Grab a pair of gloves and mask, and I'll tell you what to do."

"You," she pointed at another. "Get a blanket on him and keep him warm. I can't have him going into shock."

Clamping off the blood vessels was paramount. After irrigating the wound and scrubbing it clean with disinfectant, she clamped off the damaged vessels so she could remove the tourniquet and return blood flow to the rest of his limb. One of the arteries slipped free of the clamp and began spurting blood, but she quickly and efficiently found the bleeder and blocked it off again.

"This is going to take at least an hour to properly close," she warned Jack. "It was a clean cut, though deep. If I get it packed and get him on antibiotics, it might not get infected. If it does, he'll have to lose the leg, but I'll do what I can to save it for now. "

Bloodied hands still working to repair the damage, she threw him a glance over her shoulder. "I need Esther as soon as she's done so we can get him on an IV right away. Unless your first aid training taught you how to find a vein and insert one?"

It was almost too much to hope to find another pair of capable hands. Soldiers were generally accustomed to putting bullets into people, not taking them out. She'd seen more than one burly macho type lose his lunch at the sight of his buddy's (or his own) open wounds.
 
When Miranda asked for help Jack turned to Ian. “Go ahead and give the Doc a hand while I go relieve Esther;” while Jack had done a few IVs as part of his training, he knew the South African medic had far more experience than him when it came to actually patching people up. As Ian propped his rifle against the wall and pulled some gloves from his vest, Jack looked down at the injured guy’s leg; it was certainly a mess and he wondered how much worse it might’ve been if the guy had been using a chainsaw instead of an axe. Living in a Nigerian village could be tough enough as it was, but as a one-legged man? Jack noticed Aldo off to the side, taking shot after shot of Miranda in action; the kid was showing the good sense to not get in the way, so he let him go about his business without comment.

Outside Jack told Esther she was needed in the clinic and that he’d take over sorting through folks while they waited. The older village women had already gotten the gist of what was supposed to happen and when Jack called Kayin over things settled back down pretty quickly; the Nigerian Captain got things reorganized with a light touch and soon was surrounded by some of the village boys, who began peppering him with questions. Jack also fielded his fair share of those, which in his case all revolved around whether the injured man would be okay; he quickly settled on “The Doctor’s are doing everything they can for him and inshallah – if God wills it – he’ll be alright.” It was exactly the response everyone expected and was looking for. When folks also heard that it might be an hour before the vaccinations would resume, many drifted off to find some shade.

After Jack radioed Mikhail to let him know what was happening and also to keep an eye on their Sergeant, he glanced down at his watch. He was far from thrilled with the delay the guy’s injury had caused, but there was nothing to be done about it; handling stuff like this was precisely the point of the entire trip, at least from Miranda and Esther’s perspective. But it still was gonna give the bad guys an extra hour to maybe do something here in the village or more likely, on the way home. Maybe Dieter would get his “reconnaissance mission” after all.
 
With Ian prepping, Esther got the IV into the man in a matter of minutes and paused to watch Miranda at work. The women helping her were enough to assist, for all she truly needed was someone to dab out any blood that got in the way so she could sew the man from the inside out. The smaller blood vessels would heal themselves and find new routes through the body, but the major artery he'd severed had to be repaired.

"Light... I need more light," she said to Esther. The woman took the headlamp from their standard kit and strapped it onto Miranda's head so she could direct it where she wished. With one of her helpers holding another flashlight, she had plenty to find that slippery little bugger and pull him back into place.

With Miranda's assistants taking her direction, and little else she could do for the surgeon, Esther returned to continue the job of vaccinating the villagers. As only twenty minutes had passed, they weren't left waiting long, and she'd likely be done doling out treatment before Miranda had finished the minor surgery.

"Keep an eye on his blood pressure," she told the medic. "If it drops, I need to know immediately. I've got a few bags of O neg, but we'll see how bad it is before we go that far. He's lost some blood, but not enough that his body can't recover. I think they got him here in time."

Miranda worked carefully to repair the major issues, then quickly when the worst was past and she could close up the wound. She was sweating in the heat, but the headscarf she wore absorbed everything before it could drip into her eyes or into her patient. In a place like this, where clean water was hard to come by, packing the wound would be useless. He'd have no resources to have someone change the dressings in a clean and sterile manner, which would likely lead to infection. She couldn't close the wound completely because it would heal from the outside in, leaving bacteria trapped in the wound. So as she stitched him up, she left a length of medical tubing in the wound for drainage. Once the wound began to heal up, they could remove it themselves and any lingering wound would heal up on its own. As amputation was still likely, it was the best she could do for the man to give him a fighting chance.

It had taken just over an hour for her to finish and apply a sterile bandage to the leg. The man was pale, but not horribly so. With any luck, the antibiotics they'd given him would counter any infection. To ensure he wouldn't come down with another type of fever, one that would surely wreak havoc on his weak body, she vaccinated him, as well. After pulling off her gloves and protective mask and glasses, she sank into a chair and cracked open her canteen. The insulated aluminum kept her water blissfully cool.

"Thank you for your help, all. Good work." She nodded to the village women, especially, who had been amazingly calm under the stress. She offered Ian an appreciative glance, as well, and a slight lift of her chin in acknowledgement.
 
Jack was hovering outside the clinic about an hour later when Ian came through the door; Esther was in the middle of packing up her vaccination stuff and Captain O. was trying to help her when he wasn’t busy dealing with the kids still milling around. The South African medic looked beat as he started pulling his rifle’s sling back over his head, so Jack turned to him and said “Hey, head back to the trucks, take a break. Kayin can keep an eye on Doc Buni and I’ll get Doc Blake.” Ian just nodded, then glanced over to the clinic and back at Jack; “She’s good” was all the medic had to say in reply before he walked off.

After checking in with Captain O. for a minute Jack headed back into the clinic; it seemed very dark inside after being out in the sun and now also smelled of blood in addition to everything else. Jack saw some of the village women collecting up the trash left over from Miranda’s surgery and he looked over at her patient; the guy was still breathing and both his feet were still attached, so that was something. Miranda was sitting in a chair with a canteen in her hand and looked just as tired as Ian had.

Jack squatted down next to the chair and while he didn’t touch Miranda, he did put his hand on the chair arm as if to steady himself; the way he positioned his body also blocked his face and most of her from the rest of the room. He kept his voice low and as supportive as possible as he spoke to her. “Hey, how’s your patient? And how are you?” Jack paused for a second and then glanced at Miranda’s canteen. “You want me to try to scare up a Coke for you? I also have some cookies in the truck if you want; I was saving them for the trip home, but now seems like a good time if you’re hungry.”
 
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Miranda's hand moved, closing the small gap between them to casually touch his. It was a subtle thing meant only for him. She shook her head after taking another long drink. "No, but thank you. I've got energy bars in my pack. I'll eat one on the way out. I'm fine."

Pulling a rag from her pocket, she wiped at the sweat dotting her neck and chest. "The heat is the worst. I've done surgeries that last for hours, but always in a climate controlled space. The heat just zaps you. I'm ready for a cold shower."

"Your man did really well. Steady under pressure. Took direction well. Anticipated my needs. He's a good medic to have on your team." Sighing, she glanced back to her patient. "I need to give them aftercare instructions for him and then we can go. If things get infected, they'll have to get him to the city. There's not much else I can do from here besides completely removing his leg, which I try to avoid at all costs."

"Any trouble outside? Did Esther to get to everyone in the village?"
 
Jack grinned a little at Miranda’s assessment of Ian. “He worked as a paramedic in Jo’burg after he got out of the army. Then he went to work for their version of the highway patrol, responding to wrecks outside of town … on a motorcycle. So yeah, he’s seen some stuff.” Jack paused a little. “He liked helping you.” Jack looked over at Miranda’s patient. “Esther’s fine and the shots are all done. Take whatever time you need. We budgeted for something like this, so getting back home before dark isn’t the … won’t be an issue.” Jack pushed one of his fingers against one of hers for just a second and then stood and spoke in a normal voice. “Alright Doctor, I’ll wait for you outside.”

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Once he got back outside Jack could see a couple of the Privates hauling off the last of Doc Buni’s supplies and he called over to Captain O. “Doc Blake’s wrapping up Kayin. Let’s start loading up and getting ready to go.” Jack looked around. “And find the photographer would you? He better be back at the trucks …” As Kayin escorted Esther back to the Cobras, Jack went back to milling around smartly as he waited for Miranda to finish up with her patient …

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Once Miranda had finished and Jack had walked her back to the MRAPs, their departure from Sumbola went a lot more smoothly than the one from Akanni; there was no singing and no goat either. Sarki Obea saw them off politely enough and made sure to thank both Doctors, and the injured man’s parents also thanked Miranda personally, but that was about it; maybe the village knew something they didn’t, or maybe the locals were just all still in shock about what had happened to the injured man’s leg. Aldo took a few last shots and then climbed aboard, finally looking as tired as the rest of them felt.

Jack told Captain O. his Cobra would be leading on the way back and then he put on his helmet and climbed up into his truck’s cab. After he’d hauled the armored door shut and combat locked it he picked up the handset to call the TOC.

“Reaper Base, Reaper Base this is Joker Six. Mission complete. Signal departure, returning to base via planned route.”

“Roger Joker Six, Reaper Base standing by.” A few seconds later Jack heard Piet’s voice.

“Hammer Team standing by.” Then Jack heard some Russian on the radio and he looked over at Mikhail, who was hauling the steering wheel around to guide their Cobra through the muck and out of town behind Ian’s vehicle.

“Vanya” Mikhail said without looking at Jack. “He says ‘About time.’”
 
Once Jack stepped outside, Miranda hauled herself to her feet and finished up with her other patients and explained the situation to the village women helping her. Her instructions were simple, but very thorough. If the man showed any signs of infection, they were to immediately take him to the city. She wasn't certain if anyone in the village had a vehicle, but people usually could scrounge up transportation if they needed it. And if not, the man would probably die. Miranda gave him a ninety percent chance of survival if his leg didn't get infected, and about a twenty-five percent if it did. Wishing them the best of luck and good fortune, she waved goodbye and reclaimed her kit.

Outside, Esther was passing out lollipops to the children while she waited for Miranda to join her. It was a heart-warming scene, but one she'd rather watch from the sidelines. She was too tired to handle the exuberance of the kids and their excitement at receiving candy. The two doctors walked back to the MRAPs together, comparing notes along the way, and then parted to gear up and join their assigned vehicles.

After strapping on her vest and helmet, Miranda grabbed a couple of bars from her bag before buckling herself into her seat. She didn't really have an appetite and the thought of chewing was almost too much just then, but she knew she needed to replenish her energy reserves, so she forced herself to eat at least one. Back on the road, she offered the second energy bar to Aldo as she tilted her head toward the photographer.

"Get some good shots?" she half-yelled over the sound of the armored car. "Don't forget I want copies of whatever you got."
 
It almost came as a relief when they saw the flash of light. There had been no “philosophy” talk in the cab after they’d departed Sumbola; Jack and Mikhail’s eyes had been constantly scanning since they’d rolled out of the village, wondering not if but when and where it was going to happen. It happened about fifteen minutes later, halfway back to the highway, and a lot of things actually started happening all at once …

The IED lifted the lead Cobra into the air a little as it blew off its left front tire; Jack saw the big, heavy wheel sailing into the sky as he heard the roadside bomb’s “WHAM” through the open turret. Then a shitstorm of frag, dirt and secondary debris pelted the armored windscreen, blinding them for a second. Mikhail stepped on the gas as Jack started talking calmly into his handset; he’d been mentally rehearsing this since he’d gotten up, because no one wanted to sound like a pussy on the radio:

“Reaper Base, Reaper Base, Joker Six. We’ve been hit. North of checkpoint … Delta. Request backup.”

Jack tried to listen for a reply but all he caught was “Roger Joker …” before the MAG up top opened fire and things got really loud. But that’s all he needed to hear. Jack saw Ian’s Cobra come back down and the left side keep settling, and then the sheared off axle caught in a rut and the whole MRAP suddenly torqued over onto its left side; as the lead vehicle skidded along the dirt road Jack could see its gunner being slammed around in the turret like a rag doll.

Mikhail stomped on the brakes and halted them almost completely in the disabled Cobra’s shadow, off to its left: normally that would have been perfect, but since Ian’s MRAP was now on its side incoming fire started pinking and tinking up high on the right side of Jack’s Cobra. Jack popped his harness and then looked into the back; as he did he saw Mikhail already sliding out his door, rifle in hand.

The first thing Jack did was punch his new gunner in the thigh. “Shoot lower!” he yelled. “LOWER!” The gunner stood up a little from the deep, deep crouch he’d dropped into and started shooting into the trees on the right side of the road instead of into the air. Then Jack looked at his Sergeant. “Out the back Sarge. Now!” The Sergeant reluctantly grabbed his rifle, popped the rear hatch and slid out of the truck almost on his belly. Finally Jack looked at Aldo and Miranda. “Pop your harnesses and get down low.” Jack was worried about an RPG coming over the top of Ian’s truck and hitting his MRAP. “And don’t get out of the fucking truck!” Just then a round slammed into the armored window behind Jack’s head, and he puckered up as he climbed clumsily over the center console and flopped out the driver’s side following Mikhail…

---

Once he’d gotten his shit together Jack came around the front of his Cobra low and saw Mikhail behind the hood of Ian’s vehicle, putting short bursts into the woods on the other side of the road. So Jack kept going and got to the turret of the lead vehicle; the other truck’s gunner was still alive, but one of his arms looked all busted up, probably from being slammed against the turret’s armored shield. Jack pulled the kid all the way out of the turret and propped him up against the Cobra’s side, then he stuck his head inside Ian’s truck, looking in from what was once the top.

It was a fucking mess. Shit had been thrown all over the place and one of the Privates was hanging in his seat from the MRAP’s new ceiling, struggling with his harness; Esther was lying flat on her back, staring at nothing in shock. Jack grabbed a loose water bottle and threw it into the side of Esther’s helmet to get her attention. “Doc! Doc Buni! ESTHER!” That seemed to snap the Sudanese woman out of it. “Get out of your harness. Help him down.” Jack gestured at the struggling Private then turned his attention to the truck’s cab. He saw Captain O. trying to drag Ian into the back. “I think his leg is broken” Kayin yelled; the South African medic also looked like shit, but was still alive. “Get everyone out” Jack hollered back as he turned to see what his Sergeant was up to at the rear of the truck …

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After Jack had bailed out Aldo fumbled with his harness, then popped it open and grabbed his camera. He looked at Miranda with a weird, sheepish expression for a second, then moved to the back hatch and leaned out a little to start taking pictures; he was promptly shot twice. The first round hit him in the chest, but was stopped by the steel plate in his vest; as the bullet’s lead core flattened out its jacket disintegrated and small slivers of metal ricocheted up into the Italian’s neck and jaw. The second round clipped Aldo’s camera and destroyed it, also slamming the camera into the Italian’s face like a hammer; the second bullet then grazed around Aldo’s skull like a fast moving knife before it went zipping off into the distance.

It seemed like it was going to be Aldo’s lucky day. Then he clutched his head in pain and fell out of the truck, right into the middle of the road …
 
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Chaos erupted. Unlike Jack, Miranda was completely unprepared for the onslaught. She'd expected a full of day caring for the sick and administering vaccinations, not performing emergency surgery in a disease-ridden clinic. Though the energy bar helped by giving her a quick boost of carbohydrates, she'd intended to have another quick nap on the way back. They'd run into trouble their last time out, but that didn't mean that there would always be trouble, did it? Perhaps it was naive of her to hope for the best, but she certainly didn't want to consider the worst.

While the threat of dying was, naturally, the worst thing about those surprise attacks, the second was the terrible noise. The explosion rattled her despite the protection of the armored vehicle, reverberating through her chest jarringly. Gunfire erupted above, deafening them all. She could barely hear Jack yelling above the persistent report of the vehicle's turret. Hastily fumbling for her harness buckle, she flew out of her seat and crouched onto the floor with Aldo, heart pounding as she stared wide-eyed out of the rear hatch.

She didn't immediately catch the meaning of the photographer's look until he was almost outside. "What in the hell are you d... !"

The camera's disintegration caused her to jerk in shock. Screaming, she tried to grab for him before he toppled forward, but her fingers only caught the edge of his boot, not nearly enough hold to keep the hard rubber from being ripped from her gasp. Nearly yanked from the vehicle herself, she scrambled backward before she'd cleared the rear hatch, heart hammering in her chest.

Don't leave the truck, not unless the rest of us are dead and it's on fire.

Frustratingly, Jack's orders from their first trip bounced through her head. She could see Aldo, but couldn't get to him. The moment she stepped outside, she'd likely be shot, too. She cupped her hands to her mouth, trying to make herself be heard above the gunfire, yelling at the Sergeant posted up behind their vehicle. It was of little use, however. She could barely hear herself screaming, so there was little chance of anyone else taking notice. Where in the hell were the spare comm units?!

In the forward vehicle, Esther had shaken free of her initial shock with Jack's help and quickly unfastened herself from her seat. Standing in the confined space was a challenge, especially with the vehicle on its side, but she managed to balance herself on the bottom edge of her seat, climbing to help the Private out of his harness. While he used his arms to pull himself backward, loosening the slack, she unsnapped the buckle to free him. He nearly fell on her as he dropped, but caught himself (and her) before they crashed to the 'floor'. Casting about for her bag, she snatched it up and slung it over her body, working her way up to the turret hatch where they could climb out without being in the line of fire.
 
There was a loud explosion on the other side of the overturned truck, as an RPG round plowed into its bottom; luck was with them this time, and the rocket’s warhead detonated against the bottom of the engine compartment, which soaked up the blast. Another RPG sailed high over both Cobras; the machinegun on the top of Jack’s MRAP stopped firing for a second when it did, but then the new guy got back behind his gun and started hammering away again. Jack looked towards the front of the overturned truck and saw Mikhail feeding a new mag into his rifle, apparently unscathed by the one rocket that’d hit.

Jack finally turned to check on his Sergeant and was satisfied to see him lying prone at the rear of Ian’s MRAP, also shooting back across the road; he didn’t seem to be aiming at anything in particular, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. Jack was about to turn back to the overturned truck’s turret and help start getting people out when he saw someone fall into the road out of the back of his Cobra; for a second his heart seized up, as he thought it was Miranda. But then he realized it was Aldo who was lying out in the open, clutching at his head as he squirmed around. “What the fuck?!” came out of his mouth as he wasted a moment just gaping at the Italian kid.

Jack pulled a smoke grenade from his vest as he moved to the back of Ian’s vehicle, and then he tossed it into the road between Aldo and the other side. As the smoke cloud started billowing Jack followed that up with a frag, which he sidearmed across the road as hard as he could; while he waited the couple of seconds for it to detonate, he hoped it hadn’t hit something and bounced back into the road. After the grenade’s “whump,” he dropped to a knee behind his Sergeant and put a half dozen shots across the road; thanks to the smoke he really couldn’t see anything and just tried to keep his fire low enough to keep the bad guys’ heads down. Then and only then did he go crawling out into the road to check on Aldo.

After he rolled the Italian onto his back Jack could see the photographer’s head, face and neck were a bloody mess. But the blood wasn’t spurting everywhere and the kid obviously was still breathing, so Jack just started dragging him back towards cover inches at a time; there was no way in hell Jack was going to stand up, and thanks to all the shit he was wearing, Aldo’s body armor and the ruts in the road, it was slow, slow going. As he twisted around Jack looked up and saw Miranda through the open back hatch of his Cobra. Part of him really wanted her to stay inside, but he needed help and also knew another rocket could hit his truck any time.

“Gimme a hand!” Jack yelled up to her, before he gave Aldo another heave and got both of them six inches closer to safety …
 
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Despite the perilous situation, relief flooded through her as soon as she spotted Jack crawling to help Aldo. Waiting pensively at the back of the MRAP, she stood ready to help if he needed, stomach flopping with anxiety every moment he stayed exposed and in the open. Every inch closer seemed to take an eternity. As soon as he yelled for her, she didn't hesitate. Much like the sergeant, she slithered out of the rear hatch and dropped to the ground on her stomach, ducking as another barrage plinked against the side of the vehicle and hissed overhead.

At the downed vehicle, Esther had pulled herself free of the roof to drop down behind the Cobra. The RPG blast rocked them all, but she didn't remain stationary once the smoke cleared. Reaching the turret operator, she assessed his injuries before pulling a sling from her bag to quickly immobile his broken arm against his body. They could splint it once they were out of danger, but the temporary measure would keep it from flopping about and injuring it further.

Crawling on her stomach, Miranda finally reached the pair and grabbed a shoulder strap of Aldo's vest, pulling backwards to help Jack heave him a bit closer to safety. He'd seen that look of determination on her before every time she approached a medical issue that needed her full attention. Moving from the ground to the Cobra would be the biggest hurdle. As soon as she felt the bulk of the vehicle behind her, Miranda readied herself to scramble back inside. Her guts were so tightly clenched that she was certain it'd take days for her bowels to start moving again. Over the prone form of the bloody photographer, her dark eyes met Jack's.
 
Time stood still for Jack as he watched Miranda slither out of the back of the Cobra to come help him. Part of himself was so happy and relieved and proud of her that he thought his heart would burst. Part of him knew that if she got hurt, he’d want to blow his brains out. He got really fucking angry at Aldo then, and started heaving the photographer across the road ruthlessly; besides all the muscle and adrenaline, every time Jack planted his feet into a rut and pulled he was cursing bitterly. “You stupid, goddamned fucking motherfucker …” Spit was flying from between Jack’s lips and he bit open his own mouth, but with Miranda’s help they started hauling the kid a foot plus at a time; despite his helmet, the back of the Italian’s head was being banged and scraped across the road each and every time, but Jack didn’t really give a shit about that just then.

Jack realized Miranda thought they were going to try to get Aldo back up into the Cobra. He couldn’t blame her for that, because of all the shit he’d given them about staying inside. But now they were outside, and there was no fucking way they were going to get the photographer back into the hatch; the kid was out of it and with his kit and other crap on, probably weighed close to a hundred kilos. Plus the Cobras were a deathtrap now anyway, with fucking rockets coming across the road at them; Jack hoped his gunner wouldn’t realize that and keep shooting for as long as he could, to keep spoiling the RPG’s aim. Such was the life of a turret gunner. Jack hoped Kayin would realize the same, and get everyone out of Ian's vehicle as soon as he could.

Jack looked at Miranda and yelled. “No, no, not in the truck! Behind it. BEHIND it!” Then he hauled on Aldo's vest yet again. They were close, so fucking close to making it back around the armored bulk of the one MRAP that was still sitting on all four tires. But the smoke cloud was starting to dissipate, and the fire from across the road just kept coming and coming …
 
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Cocksucking piece of shit! Miranda mentally added to Jack's eloquent cursing. If they all lived, she'd be having words with Aldo as soon as the man was awake and coherent.

Understanding where Jack wanted to go, she nodded and slid her body in that direction, angling Aldo toward the protected side of the truck. Once she reached the open hatch door that would provide cover, she pushed herself to her feet and grabbed Aldo by both vest straps. Using her more powerful leg muscles, she helped Jack to drag him behind the Cobra. Several rounds struck the interior of the door, causing her to yelp, but the plating held and neither of them were hit.

All but collapsing, she sat down hard, sides heaving from the effort. If she'd been out of shape or accustomed to physical activity, she would have been all but useless. Even now, her arms burned from the strain, having already been taxed during surgery. There was no time to worry about herself, though. Aldo was in rough shape, and she had to do what she could... while she could.

"Go! I'm fine!" she yelled at Jack, waving him off. In a crouch, she opened the side door of the Cobra and reached in just enough to pull out her medical kit.

Back on her knees beside the photographer, she cracked her bag in search of supplies to help stop the bleeding. She didn't know the full extent of the damage, but the man was going to be lucky to keep his eyes with the amount of shrapnel that had plowed into his face. Most were superficial wounds, though the bullet shrapnel in his neck had gone much deeper and was bleeding sluggishly. Slapping a bandage on the area, she put as much pressure on the wound as she could.
 
Kayin tumbled out of the overturned vehicle’s turret just before another RPG slammed into the truck’s belly; this time it punched a hole through the troop compartment’s floor and the rocket’s slug and all the secondary frag shredded everything left in the now empty Cobra. As that explosion went off another RPG sizzled overhead, narrowly missing both MRAPs yet again; it seemed like the second RPG gunner was trying to fire over Ian’s truck and hit Jack’s, in order to take out the turret gunner. The kid’s MAG stopped firing as he ducked, but then started blasting away again soon enough. The one other Private still in the fight joined Mikhail at the front of Ian’s vehicle, while Captain O. started trying to help Esther with their casualties …

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Jack spit some blood from his mouth, climbed onto his feet and moved back to look around the tail end of his Cobra. He could see shapes flitting between the trees across the road off to his right and snapped off a half dozen rounds in their direction; he had no idea if he hit anything, but at least he didn’t see anyone come across the road to flank them, yet. “This isn’t looking good Jack” his little voice said; “No fucking shit genius” was his mental reply.

Jack fired a few more rounds into the trees, then heard a garbled Russian voice on his headset. Right after that Mikhail called him. “One minute Jek! One minute!” Jack dropped his Krinkov onto its sling as he tucked back behind the Cobra and then fumbled a pen flare launcher from out of his vest. Cocking the little striker with his thumb he shot a red flare through a gap in the trees, high up over their position. As the flare burned into the sky he dropped the launcher onto its lanyard, grabbed his gun, and started shooting again while he tried to count down from thirty …

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American helicopter gunships originally were sleek machines that looked a lot like flying sharks; now, they resemble the hi-tech killer drones you might see in a science-fiction movie. Not so with the Russian Hind gunship; it looks a lot like an ugly, flying bus that’s had two stubby wings bolted onto it. But that bus is so heavily armored the Red Army still calls it “the Flying Tank.” And those wings carry so much ordnance, the Mujahideen in Afghanistan used to call this helicopter “Satan’s Chariot” …

---

When Jack hit six he heard the sound of rotors turning in the distance, but that wasn’t what he was listening for so he kept shooting. Then he heard a kind of distant, ripping sound off in the sky; that’s when he dropped his Krinkov, turned and dived on top of Miranda. As he landed on her Jack heard a whole lot of loud “whooshing” behind him, and then the other side of the road just kind of started to … explode.

The lead pilot had clearly been around, and knew enough to make his attack run danger close; frag started “tinking” and “pinking” off both Cobras, and went whizzing past both vehicles like big swarms of very angry, very lethal metal hornets. After several seconds of that the explosions stopped, only to be replaced by a distant “whump, whump, whump” as the gunship opened up with its autocannon, and slugs bigger than Jack’s thumb started punching through everything but the very thickest tree trunks about thirty yards away. Jack knew one of those rounds would go right through the steel plate in his vest as if it was made of cardboard, so he hugged Miranda even tighter until he heard the Hind roaring past overhead like a hurricane, its attack run complete. Then, as Jack rolled over and looked into the sky, he saw the lead bird’s wingman start his attack run – because as a wise man once said, “there’s no kill like overkill.” From the smoke trails Jack could see the second chopper was putting his rockets in further away from the road, to catch anyone who’d run from the first gunship or was just hanging back from the ambush like a slacker; the second Hind started shitting flares as it came in, probably because a flash of sunlight had triggered its countermeasures pods. As the second gunship banked away Jack could see its Crew Chief also firing out the side with his machinegun and he wondered why the guy was even bothering; maybe the Chief didn’t want to feel left out ...

---

“Let your plans be as dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.” Sun Tzu, The Art of War.

--- Bonus Video Footage ---

The below link will take you to a unique video showing Hind gunships in action against ISIS in Syria, about when Miranda and Jack were in Maiduguri. Despite the title it’s only graphic if you have a good imagination and remember this isn’t Hollywood CGI; the rockets, cannon rounds and bombs are all very real, as are the (unseen) targets they’re hitting. The rather bouncy soundtrack is “Barra Barra” (essentially “Out! Out!”) which will be familiar to anyone who’s seen Blackhawk Down – it’s basically a call to rid the Muslim world of the many ills that plague it today, which sadly includes terrorism. The video is a little over five minutes long and builds nicely to a conclusion, but if you’re pressed for time the first 45 seconds or so show why the Muj in Afghanistan (who have devolved into today’s Taliban) really did call the Hind “Satan’s Chariot,” and the last 45 seconds show why ISIS isn’t terribly fond of seeing Flying Tanks come over the horizon as well.

Russian Hinds Butchering ISIS in Syria 2015-2016
 
Miranda had known hell in many forms. She'd witnessed the very worst in humanity, even before she joined the MSF and began traveling to third-world countries. Gangs, drugs, murder. They were common themes among the poor, the lower classes, no matter the country. The more destitute the neighborhood, the more people struggled to survive, and the more they were willing to do to ensure that survival. Criminals took advantage of such situations. Shot-callers, slingers, drug lords, dealers, enforcers. So many names for the same deplorable deeds.

She'd seen people stabbed to death by those types, comforted women who had been raped by multiple men and left to die, spent hours pulling bullets from unfortunate innocents who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, wept over the ones she couldn't save until she'd exhausted her tears. She'd been part of teams to provide food, shelter, and medical aid to refugees fleeing their war-torn countries and genocidal war lords. Besides being shot herself on the night her husband had been murdered, she'd been shot at plenty of times in the field -- for many cartels and gangs were quick to take offense at anyone invading their territory for any reason.

This, however, was the first real combat she'd ever seen. Explosions, RPGs, attack helicopters -- she'd never been so close as to be threatened by them. The contact during their first trip seemed like child's play by comparison. What they now experienced was well and truly frightening.

When Jack covered her body with his to keep her safe, she did the same for Aldo, covering as much of the photographer's head as she could without smothering the man. As she lay in the dirt with Jack's bulk weighing her down, she closed her eyes and tried not to panic. Her adrenaline was pumping furiously, ears ringing from the explosions, and she inadvertently held her breath the concussions stopped. The anticipation was the worst, waiting for one of those stray bits of shrapnel or bullets to come hurtling at just the right angle and pierce both helmet and skull. The feel of Jack holding her was the only comfort she had in that moment, though it was scant little protection against the very real threat of death.

When Jack rolled away, she took a deep breath and dared to raise her head a trifle, following his gaze to the angel overhead that brought death upon swift wings. Those at the other vehicle had taken cover, as well, and warily uncurled as the worst seemed to be over. Surely the enemy was in a hundred pieces by now. Despite the danger, Esther continued to administer medical aid where she could, only interested in stabilizing the soldiers enough so that they could travel.
 
It suddenly seemed eerily silent even though Jack’s ears were still ringing; he realized that wasn’t because of the hearing protection he was wearing, but because all the firing coming across the road at them had stopped. There were no animal sounds either; the critters had all taken off long ago. Jack looked at Miranda and was relieved to see she looked fine; Aldo looked like he hadn’t been hit again either. “I’ll be back” was all he said, in a voice that was too loud because he’d been yelling since the start of the ambush.

After hauling himself upright Jack went around the rear of his Cobra low and the first thing he saw was his Sergeant, curled up into a little ball behind the back of the overturned truck; Jack couldn’t blame the guy, but still kicked the bottom of his boot anyway. “Sarge! Make sure you’re reloaded and eyes across the road; there could still be some out there.”

As the Sergeant started responding Jack looked to his left and saw Doc Buni and Captain O. already up and tending to Ian and the gunner with the busted arm; it looked like they were getting their casualties ready to be moved. Beyond those four Jack could see Mikhail pressing down on the last Private’s arm, showing him how to stop some blood that seemed to be oozing out of it, maybe from stray rocket frag; Mikhail noticed Jack and gave him a quick thumbs up before the Russian turned to on getting a pressure bandage onto the Private’s wound. Finally Jack glanced up at the top of his Cobra and saw the gunner’s eyes and the top of his helmet peering over the armored shield, which was scratched and dinged in a half dozen places by fresh impacts and ricochets; the barrel of the kid’s gun was still red hot and smoking, just like it was supposed to be. Jack gave the gunner a thumbs up and saw the kid poke just the very tip of his thumb above the top of the shield in reply; Jack resolved right then and there to make sure his new gunner got a decoration or a promotion or something in recognition of his bravery.

There was some more garbled Russian on the radio and Jack looked towards Mikhail; the Russian veteran had finished with the pressure bandage and posted the lightly wounded Private to watch the front of Ian’s truck. Mikhail radioed something back then gestured behind Jack’s Cobra, off into the bush in that direction. “Lending zone fifty meters west. I tell him we have wounded.” Jack thought for all of two seconds then replied. “Okay, you hold here with Sarge and the two other guys we have left.” Then Jack looked at Kayin and Esther. “Do what you need to do to get Ian up and hobbling along. We need to get him and the wounded gunner to the landing zone.” The South African medic opened his eyes when he heard Jack and answered with as much pain in his voice as he had on his face. “Somebody give me a hand and help me walk; I’ll fucking make it.”

Jack left Captain O. and Doc Buni to sort out their two casualties, then headed back to Miranda staying low. “The choppers are coming in, about fifty meters that way” he told her quickly as he gestured off into the distance. “Can we get him up and moving?” he added as he glanced down at Aldo. “If he can’t walk we don’t have any stretchers, but there’s a body bag in the truck we can stick him in, drag him along or maybe carry him.” Jack finally took a moment to slap a fresh magazine into his Krinkov while he waited to see what the verdict was on their Italian photographer …
 
Miranda shook her head at Jack. "He isn't conscious, so there's no way we're going to get him on his feet. We'll have to use the bag to carry him. You leaving his vest on?"

Planting her hands on her knees, she pushed herself up and hurried into the Cobra to fetch the bag, unrolling it as she returned. She hated the thought of stuffing Aldo into a body bag, but it was the best they were going to do. After unrolling and unzipping it, she shoved it next to Aldo and, with Jack's help, pushed him onto his side so they could get the fabric laid out beneath him. When they rolled him back, she began tucking bits of him inside until they could zip it up partially. At least the damn thing had handholds, which would make it easier to carry than trying to grip Aldo's limp limbs.

The other two wounded were on their feet with Esther and the Captain tucked beneath one of their arms to help them limp along. Knowing that time was a huge factor, they were doing their best to hurry to the landing site, but the pace was still painfully slow. Miranda crouched at Aldo's feet, hands gripping the straps of the bag as she waited for Jack to take position, giving a little nod when she was ready to lift. She was careful to use her legs rather than her back to pick up the photographer. With one on either end, it was easier than dragging him while crawling on one's belly.

Her dark eyes were much calmer as they sought Jack's. "I want Esther to fly back on the 'copter. Someone needs to stay with the wounded and keep them stable. Someone needs to stay with the rest in case something else happens, and you're down your medic."

Miranda could feel a feeling of waiting, anticipation, lingering between her shoulder blades, like she expected a blade to be shoved there at any moment. It was too quiet. She fully expected enemy survivors to start popping shots at them at any moment, and that fear motivated her to hurry more than anything. She ignored the burning discomfort in her arms and shoulders as Aldo's body dragged at them. She fought past the compulsion to sit, take a breather, and let her heart calm down. Her patient's safety was paramount, and she'd drag the man across the scrubby terrain by herself if she had to.

Portable stretchers. Why didn't they have portable stretchers as part of their kits? Why weren't the Cobra's equipped with them? She made a mental note to send a strongly worded letter to her MSF contacts. A folding stretcher wouldn't take up much room, weighed very little, and would have made life a lot easier.
 
As they rushed to get Aldo into the bag, Jack heard Miranda talking about Esther flying out with the casualties. “You’re both going” he said matter of factly. “The ground QRF has two medics with them and they’ll be here soon enough. On three. One, two, three!” Covered by Mikhail and what was left of his team, they made it to the Landing Zone without any interference; humping the unconscious Italian fifty meters through the bush in a body bag was still a pain in the ass, but a walk in the park compared to dragging him ten feet across a road under fire.

---

They got to the LZ just as the first Hind was coming in. It was moving too fast and pointed the wrong way, but at the last moment its nose pitched up and the whole tail swung around so that the big helicopter was oriented correctly. As the chopper came down Jack could see that the LZ was actually a little too small, but the pilot and the Hind’s armored rotor blades didn’t give a shit about that; branches in the way were blasted to pieces in the blink of an eye.

The helicopter’s troop doors were opening before it settled onto its landing gear. As Jack leaned into the rotor wash and started heading for the nearest door he saw two of the air QRF guys hop out. Tony, the one in the lead, had been a South African para before he joined the Legion; he was as big as Ian and carried his light machinegun like it was a .22. Next to him was a Russian guy who’d been with Mikhail in Chechnya; his name might have been Roman, and he had a grenade launcher under the barrel of his assault rifle. As he struggled forward Jack saw two more heavily armed QRF guys come around the bird’s nose and pass Kayin and Esther, who were leading their casualties towards the door on the other side.

The Crew Chief kicked a heavy pack that had two orange streamers attached to it out the door after Tony and Roman; Jack knew it was loaded with spare ammo and medical supplies. As he looked at the cockpit Jack saw the pilot turn towards him and slide up his helmet’s dark visor, to reveal Vanya’s flat, ugly face; Jack could have kissed the guy. Vanya held up something and for a second Jack thought it was a bottle of vodka, and that the old Ukrainian was toasting him. Then Jack blinked and realized Vanya was just holding up his thumb, as if to say “I see you American. You may approach my helicopter.”

By the time Jack and Miranda got to the chopper Esther, Ian and the Private with the broken arm were already loaded and Kayin was hauling the other troop door closed from the outside. With the Crew Chief’s help they got Aldo onboard and then Jack turned and pushed Miranda towards the Chief; “She’s going too!” he yelled, before he turned and bent to grab the supply pack.

It had been noisy as hell while the Hind’s engines had been idling, but as Jack moved away from the gunship its turbines started to scream; Vanya had evidently seen Jack heading off and decided it was time to go. The big helicopter lurched on its gear as the five rotor blades started hauling the thirteen-ton war machine off the ground, and the Crew Chief reached out to Miranda with one gloved hand while his other held onto the troop door. Inside the troop compartment Miranda could see Esther staring at her with wide, frightened eyes as she yelled something; there was no way for Miranda to hear what Esther was saying, but reading her lips wasn’t hard at all.

“GET ON! GET ON!”
 
"So long as you have someone with medical training going with you," Miranda replied between grunts, not about to argue given the dire circumstances. The Italian seem to grow heavier with every step, but Miranda wasn't about to ask for a break. There simply wasn't time.

While the overhead blades were high enough that there was no danger of anyone being decapitated, she couldn't help but duck as they hurried under them. Had it not been for her helmet, her hair would have been whipping painfully about her face. After depositing the Italian in the safe keeping of the crew, she pulled her kit off her shoulders and tossed it on board. Before Jack could skitter away, one hand caught his vest, and she leaned close so he could hear her above the noise.

"Stay safe and get your ass back to the base. None of this 'come back on your shield' shit, Jack. I'll be waiting!"

Before the helicopter could leave without her, she took the offered hand and used the step on the door hatch to launch herself into the vehicle, scrambling inside beside Aldo's prone form where they'd strapped him to the floor. She turned to have one last look outside, watching Jack and his crew for as long as she could before the Crew Chief closed the exterior door. Miranda took a moment to sag against the wall as she felt the gunship rise into the air and tilt in the direction of the city.

She'd wanted to stay with Jack, knowing she could take care of any medical needs faster and better than anyone they had with them, but Miranda knew she was a liability. He'd be worried about keeping her safe, which could jeopardize his own safety. She wasn't going to do that to him. Some things were worth arguing over, but this wasn't one of them. He and his team would make it back safely without her weighing them down. With her gone, he could concentrate on keeping himself and his team operational.

The interior of the Hind was bare bones in the crew compartment. There wasn't much more than a few pieces of emergency equipment and two back to back bench seats for the crew. With Aldo strapped to the floor, there were enough seats for those returning. She took the outside of one of the benches beside Aldo so she could keep an eye on him. After making sure the other wounded were strapped in, she buckled her belt low across her hips and tightened the strap, sagging against her seat.

Her hands and clothes were covered in Aldo's blood, but they weren't shaking. Her heartbeat had mostly returned to normal. The knot of tension in her stomach hadn't subsided, and likely wouldn't until they were back safely and Jack's team had returned, but that was the price one paid for caring about another. When did that happened? She closed her eyes and tried not to think about what she'd do if Jack didn't make it back.
 
The helicopter landed on the runway just outside the back gate to Jack’s base; there were a bunch of utility vehicles and an MRAP ambulance clustered nearby. As soon as the Hind’s doors opened a half dozen medics rushed forward to start offloading the casualties onto litters. A balding man in uniform came up to Miranda and Esther and escorted them off to one side; he looked like he was in his forty’s and wore glasses. After the gunship had taxied off to rearm and refuel, and it was quiet enough to talk without yelling, the man stuck his hand out and started speaking in a South African accent. “Nigel Tovey, Medical Officer; you must be the MSF doctors. We can probably handle the fractures here, but what can you tell me about the photographer’s injuries?” After Doc Tovey had listened to Miranda he nodded. “Alright then, he’s going to the military hospital straight away. He’s not one of mine, so if you know his employer or a next of kin, feel free to let them know.” Tovey gestured at the gate behind him. “You can get back to your vehicle through there. Thanks for all your help.” Then Tovey shook hands again and climbed into the back of the MRAP.

---

Several hours later Jack’s Cobra finally bounced back onto the main highway heading west. It was tucked into the center of the ground QRF convoy, and the trip back to Maiduguri was the easiest driving Mikhail had ever done in Nigeria; people tended to pull over when they saw a 90mm gun in their rear view mirror. The air QRF guys were spread loaded in the four Casspirs, along with the salvaged equipment from the overturned truck that couldn’t fit into Jack’s vehicle; the remains of his team were all piled into the back. Mikhail looked over at him after a bit.

“Are there any more cookies?” Jack grabbed the bag from the dash and held it open so the Russian could get the last one. As he snacked Mikhail asked another question. “So what was the count?

Jack thought for a sec. “Twenty-six if we’re going by heads. Twenty-eight if it’s bodies. Plus the two prisoners.”

Mikhail grunted. “So twenty-eight. Dieter will be pleased. And Valeriy too. Vanya still knows his business.” The Russian paused before he went on. “And us?”

Jack shrugged. “Not bad, considering. Ian’s leg looked broken and so did his gunner’s arm. Not sure about Aldo though; he wasn’t bleeding out, but I don’t know about his eyes.” Jack was still pissed at the Italian photographer, but now that the adrenaline was wearing off he also felt bad for him too; the kid might have been an idiot, but it wasn’t like he’d shot himself. Jack looked at the mangled remains of Aldo’s camera, which Jack had picked up and tossed on the dash; hopefully whatever pictures the Italian had taken were worth it. “Oh, and the one scratch you patched up.”

“And how were Doctor Bleck and the new lady?”

Jack sighed before he replied. “Neither was hit, but I don’t know what they thought of it all. Doc Buni didn’t seem very happy, and as far as Miranda goes …” Jack shrugged again.

“I would not worry about Doctor Bleck. She is always very professional”

Jack smiled a little as he thought of how “professional” Doctor Blake had looked when she bent over her stovetop and parted her legs for him. But he didn’t mention that to Mikhail, and also couldn’t stop thinking about what Miranda’s reaction to the day might be.

“Those were good cookies, you should get some more” Mikhail added helpfully.

---

The convoy rolled back through the gate just before sunset. Once everything was offloaded Jack cut his guys loose, telling them they’d do their debrief and cleanup tomorrow. But Jack still had to hang around, because Dieter was off getting yelled at by the 7th ID’s General Officer Commanding; apparently the GOC was pissed that he hadn’t been told some of the gunships were finally operational. Not that Dieter worked for the guy, he actually reported directly to Abuja, but Jack’s unit was dependent on the 7th for its logistics. So as Jack cooled his heels, he sent Miranda a text:

Hey, am back. Can’t get away 2nite, hopefully c u 2morrow. I may go see Aldo if I have time. Hope u & Esther are ok. XO – J

After he’d sent off his message Jack drank some more coffee and waited for his boss to return …
 
Miranda and Esther took the MSF car back to her place, since it was closer. She could tell that the other doctor hadn't fully recovered from the trauma and was still in a state of shock. While the other woman cried in the shower, Miranda got her a change of clothing, made them both some lunch, and called the military hospital to check on Aldo's status.

A few moments later, she phoned Jelena. "Hey, it's Miranda. Yes, we just got back. I need you to find Naomi and get her to the military hospital. We came under fire on the way back, and Aldo was hit. It isn't as bad as it could have been. He mostly just got pelted with shrapnel, but he has multiple lacerations on his face and neck. I just called the hospital, and he's still in surgery, but they say he's stable. I'm sure he'll be under for a few hours while they repair the damage. The man isn't going to be as pretty as he used to be, but he'll live. I'm heading over there after I make my report, so will see you soon. You, too. Thanks for your help."

Esther was looking a trifle better when she emerged from the bedroom, so Miranda pushed a sandwich on her and went to clean up herself. After they'd eaten, she called a car to take them to the MSF compound. Reports had to be made, and this one was best done face to face.

---

"What in the hell happened out there?!"

Miranda gave the man a dull look. "You know what happened, Steven. They have watchers out all the time. Every mission is destined for some sort of contact. We just don't know how bad it's going to be until it happens. For Christ's sake, we didn't ask to be shot at."

He frowned. "Maybe not, but this just proves that it's getting too dangerous out there to continue these operations."

Her heart sank. "You're going to cease all cooperation with the Nigerian military?"

"Not within the city. Outside of it? Yes. No more military escorts."

Miranda's mouth dropped open. "You can't be serious. You're going to send people out there without anyone protecting them?"

"The military presence is what draws in the Boko Haram! We're strutting through their territory in armored vehicles that basically shout 'shoot us with an RPG'. So that's going to stop. No more armed escorts. We'll find civilian escorts, travel in civilian vehicles, and won't be a provoking factor. We're here to help, not fight."

"You're crazy if you think that's going to work. They might not shoot up the convoy -- they'll just stop them, rob them, take the women, and then shoot up the convoy!"

"We're medical professionals. Even the Boko Haram have to see the value in that. They might need medical aid, as well, and we can provide that."

Miranda stared, aghast. "You're fucking delusional!"

He snapped his fingers, surging up from his desk to bark at her. "Watch your attitude, Doctor! If you want to keep operating that clinic of yours, you're going to start following the rules. Otherwise, I'm sending you back to the States on the first plane out of here."

Steven Isaacs was in charge of the local MSF chapter and not normally a man Miranda would cross. He had the power to reassign any of them at any given moment, so it was best to stay in his good graces. He was a stickler for the rules, as well. If Miranda mismanaged the clinic, she'd find herself doing scut work someplace far shittier. Only the generous contributions she'd been able to bring in so far from colleagues, and the possibility of losing them, put her a notch higher in his eyes than the rest of the MSF volunteers. Even so, she walked a dangerous line by giving him attitude. She normally pushed back as much as she dared. This time, however, she didn't think he was bluffing.

Trying to quell her anger, she unclenched her jaw. "Just think about it before you make any rash decisions, alright? You'd be effectively killing your team before they ever left. That, or they'd end up political prisoners... or worse."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing is going to happen for the next few days. We need to survey the areas that need the most assistance. Things will calm down. You're worrying too much. Get your report to me as soon as possible. Until you hear from me again, it's business as usual."

Knowing that nothing was going to immediately change his mind, Miranda offered the barest of nods and then stalked out of the man's office.

---

As promised, Miranda made her next stop the hospital to check on Aldo. He was out of surgery and post-op and had been moved into a room. It wasn't a private room, but luckily the second bed wasn't occupied at the moment. Before she ventured inside, she caught Jack's text and sent him one in return:

Glad you made it. We're fine. Aldo is stable. At the hospital now. See you later.

Her stomach unknotted just a little. With Jack back safely, she could worry about other things... like the stupid photographer and Naomi's unborn child. The drama never ended, it seemed.

Rapping softly on Aldo's open door, she poked her head inside, searching for Naomi and Jelena.
 
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When Miranda looked into the room the first thing she saw was Aldo lying partially propped up in bed; there was an IV in his arm and he was still out, though there was no way to immediately tell if that was because of the anesthetic or if he was now just sleeping. The side of his head, jaw and neck were heavily bandaged, and what Miranda could see of the Italian’s face was one gigantic bruise; at least his eyes weren’t bandaged and he seemed to be breathing on his own. Naomi and Jelena were sitting in a couple of chairs almost knee to knee; based on how they were dressed, it was pretty clear they’d come straight from work. Naomi immediately leapt up when she saw Miranda and rushed over to her; words began gushing out of the Ethiopian woman’s mouth in a low, frantic tone.

“Oh my God Doctor Blake what happened will Aldo be okay the Doctor said he would be but I didn’t understand him are you alright they said you saved him are you alright what happened?”

Naomi started to reach out towards Miranda, as if she wanted to take her hands or touch her, but then she hesitated and started wringing her own hands together instead; Naomi’s arms were shaking and it was pretty clear she was on the verge of tears. Then Miranda noticed Jelena step up behind Naomi and place a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder; “Breathe girl, remember to breathe.” The Croatian woman’s voice was an odd mix of stern and gentle. “And give Doctor Blake enough time to answer your questions.” Then Jelena looked at Miranda. There was an equally odd expression on the Croatian’s face now; not unfriendly, but decidedly wary.

“I am happy you are alright Doctor Blake” Jelena began in her accented English. “I was told there was another MSF doctor with you as well; I trust she was not hurt either.” The Croat glanced at Aldo then back at Miranda, and her tone became as guarded as her expression. “So was the … was Aldo the only one shot, or were some of these mercenaries injured as well?”

Naomi flinched when Jelena said the word “shot” and flinched again at the word “mercenaries;” in response the Croat squeezed the younger woman’s shoulder a little, as if she was holding Naomi upright through sheer strength of will while they both waited for Miranda’s answers …
 
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Knowing what the young woman needed more than anything was comfort, Miranda took hold of her hands and gave them a squeeze. "Yes, take a breath. He's going to be fine. There will be swelling, but that will go down in time, and his wounds will heal. None of them were particularly deep or life threatening. He was mostly hit with shrapnel. His vest and helmet protected him from the actual gunfire. I'm mostly worried about his vision, however. He was hit full on in the face, so that might have caused some damage to his eyes. We'll see when he wakes up."

She gestured for them to both sit and brought over one of the other chairs from the unoccupied side of the room. "On the way back, we were caught in a serious gunfight. They set an IED in the road, which disabled one of the vehicles. Aldo was in my vehicle, the one that didn't hit the bomb, but he foolishly did what he always does... tried to get a shot of the action. He leaned out with his camera and was hit twice. One went into his vest and the other destroyed his camera and knocked him it back into his face -- that's where the majority of the damage happened. Major Grainger and I, well mostly the Major, dragged him to safety. I patched him up as best I could and they brought him here as soon as we landed."

Glancing to Jelena, she nodded a fraction. "Several of the other men were hurt, though not fatally so. There were a couple of broken bones and another gunshot wound, but thankfully no one else sustained anything else besides minor contusions." Miranda found she had a couple of those that she hadn't remembered getting. "Esther Buni was the other doctor that went with us this time. She's fine. We both are. No injuries, just a bit rattled. It was... very intense."

"The Nigerian Air Force sent one of their quick response teams to take out the men that attacked us. I don't know who they were. I'm assuming they're part of Boko Haram, but won't know for sure until I see the Major again. He said he might stop by to see how Aldo is doing. Aldo owes him a lot. I wouldn't have been able to drag him to cover without the Major."
 
Jack was finally able to get away and after he’d checked on Ian and the injured gunner, he headed over to the military hospital. Doc Tovey filled him in on Aldo’s condition and prognosis, so Jack wasn’t all that surprised to see the young Italian still out when he walked into his room. He also saw the three women sitting together; he was glad Miranda was there, because Naomi was looking at Jack like she was afraid of him and Jelena looked like she wanted to kill him. So Jack bit the bullet, walked over to the group and knelt so he could talk to Naomi face to face.

“Naomi, I’m very sorry about what happened to Aldo; he asked if he could come along again and I told him yes. He took a lot of great pictures of Miranda … Doctor Blake and Doctor Buni helping people, kids in the village we went to. A man cutting firewood almost cut off his own leg with an axe …” Naomi flinched “… but the doctors saved him.” Jack paused for a moment then went on.

“On the way back, Boko Haram attacked us. I don’t know why, we were just trying to get the doctors home. I told Aldo to stay in our armored truck, to get down but …” Naomi was leaning towards Jack now, her eyes glued to his “… I think he decided to start taking pictures.” Jack looked at Aldo and sighed. “That’s his job I guess.” Jack pulled the remains of the Italian’s camera out of his go-bag; earlier Jack had taken a minute to wipe the dirt and blood off of it, and now was glad he had. Naomi just stared at the camera in Jack’s hands. “I thought he might want this back. Maybe he can use it for parts, maybe the memory card’s still okay. Or maybe he’ll … want to hang on to it, to remember how it … saved him.” Jack held the camera out to Naomi. “Here, why don’t you keep it for him, until he wakes up?” Naomi reached out with her small hands, took the camera from Jack and cradled it against her stomach.

“Doctor Blake probably told you the rest. She and I got Aldo to cover and then she took care of him until the helicopters came.” Naomi looked over at Miranda then back at Jack. “The doctors think there's a good chance he's going to be fine. But even then, it’s going to take time for him to get better. He’s going to need you; he talks about you all the time.” Jack looked down then back up. “Will you help Aldo, Naomi? Help him get better?” The young woman sat up a little straighter and gave Jack a small nod. He looked over at Miranda and then at Jelena; the Croat still didn’t look all that friendly, but at least she wasn’t glaring at him anymore. Then to Jack’s surprise, Jelena spoke to him.

“Major … Jack, Naomi has been here for quite some time. Is there someplace she can get some food? Perhaps you can take her?” Naomi immediately protested but the Croatian woman shushed her and told Naomi they’d come get her straightaway if Aldo woke up. Jack was a little puzzled by Jelena’s request, but knew better than to question it when the Croat gave him a look. “Sure” he said as he stood, “we’ll try to bring something back for you too.” Jack held his hand out to Naomi and together the two left the room; for some reason it occurred to Jack to close the door behind him.

Jelena looked from the closed door to Miranda; her expression was completely neutral and her voice was businesslike, but also low enough for Aldo not to hear. “Naomi has always been an emotional girl. But for the last few days she has been impossible. Today, even before this …” Jelena gestured towards Aldo’s bed “… she could get nothing done at work.” The Croatian woman reached into her bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, then immediately put them away again. “I know she went to see you on Friday. She told me she was just dropping off photos for him. But when I looked at the driver’s log, I could see she was with you for much longer than that.” Jelena looked Miranda right in the eyes. “What is going on Miranda?”
 
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