and not heard—to help, work, be responsible and never complain or try to throw off the burdens given to her.
Their tour completed, Susan and Karen retired to the female hospital personnel’s quarters to change into fresh white uniforms, settle their clothes in assigned lockers and have a cup of coffee before their first duty. Susan was the first through the doors of ER when a black navy corpsman ran toward them, out of breath.
“Hey!” the corpsman called. “A training helo with ten marines just crashed fifteen miles from here! We got dead and injured on their way in. Two medevacs are bringing ’em right now! Get ready!”
Susan knew that only two doctors and four nurses were assigned to the ER unit. She gasped as the corpsman’s message sank in and quickly moved to a small side room where she grabbed two green surgical gowns, handing one to Karen. They pulled them on, and Susan searched until she found the rubber gloves. Karen and the other doctor were scrubbing at the nearby sink. Susan’s heart started pounding in dread as she heard the heavy whapping sounds of a helicopter landing outside the trauma-unit door. Its windy wake buffeted the doors leading to the landing pad, and she could make out screams and shouts mingling with the roar of the helicopter’s engine.
Karen ran over to her, her hands held up, and Susan quickly slipped on the gloves. Just as the last one snapped into place, Susan heard the doors burst open. Jerking around, she saw corpsmen pushing five gurneys into the ER. Her mouth fell open as she surveyed the marines lying on them, their clothes torn and bloody, their arms hanging lifelessly.
Choking, Susan watched in a daze as Karen and the other doctors quickly began to ascertain the extent of the five men’s injuries.
“We got another load of five comin’ in!” a navy corpsman shouted.
Before Susan could run across the aisle to wash her hands, Dr. Benjamin Finlay, the head surgeon, caught her by the arm. “Evans, come here.” Rapidly, Finlay ordered her to give the young, blond marine an IV and prep him for surgery. With shaking hands, Susan tried to ignore the extensive injuries to the unconscious boy. The area became frantic as another helicopter off-loaded five more wounded personnel. Everywhere Susan looked, the small area was jammed with gurneys, with doctors and nurses running frantically from one patient to another, ascertaining medical statuses.
Susan tried not to allow her stricken emotions to get the better of her. Efficiently, she fitted the marine with an IV and quickly cut back his clothes to expose a gaping chest wound. Finlay came back, barking orders to several corpsmen to get the marine into surgery.
“This is your first day,” Finlay said, gripping her by the arm. He pointed toward three gurneys in the corner. “Take those three cases. They’re the least hurt.”
“Y-yes, sir.” Numbly, Susan moved toward the gurneys. One marine, a redheaded youth in his early twenties, was holding his bleeding hand. The second marine was also struggling to sit up. He had a mild scalp wound, Susan surmised as she walked over to them. Scalp wounds always bled heavily, but were rarely fatal.
“Ma’am,” the red-haired marine begged, “take care of our skipper. He’s really hurt. Please, take care of him first.”
Susan hesitated. Both young marines, their faces grim, their eyes wide with shock, pointed to the gurney behind her, which evidently bore their commanding officer. Opening her mouth, Susan started to say something. Ordinarily, she’d be the one deciding which patient was worst. But the pleading looks in their faces stifled her chastising words.
Turning on her heel, she finished pulling on the surgical gloves. As she looked down at the marine lying on the gurney, she gave a small cry of surprise and her heart slammed into her throat, her eyes widening enormously. The officer lying on the gurney, his gray eyes narrowed with pain, his hand clutching at his bloody thigh, was Craig Taggart.
“Oh, my God,” Susan whispered, frozen in place.
Chapter Two
Craig bit back a groan as the nurse in the surgical gown turned toward him. The pain from the crash injury he’d sustained moved in unrelenting waves up through his body. He held a tourniquet above the wound, his fist bloodied and wrapped around the web belt that he’d called into service from around his waist to keep the bleeding to a minimum.
As the dark-haired nurse turned toward him, Craig sucked in a breath of air. His eyes, narrowed against the pain, went wide with shock.
“Susan…” he gasped, staring up at her widening blue eyes.
Dizziness assailed Susan. She struggled to breathe, unable to move as she stared down into Craig’s tense, sweaty features, his gray eyes burning with undefin[chable anguish. A hundred fragments struck her with the force of a land mine—fragments from the past, images of how Craig had looked four years ago and how he looked now. His face had always been lean, but the lines bracketing his mouth and crossing his brow were new and deeply etched. No longer was this the young man she’d known at Annapolis. This man, his face hewn by life experiences she couldn’t imagine, stared back at her through gray, hawklike eyes. His features were dirty and muddied, sweat streaking through camouflage coloring to make him look like an alien from another planet.
“What are you doing here?” Craig demanded with a rasp. He couldn’t control his wildly beating heart or the feeling as if his breath were being choked off in the middle of his throat. Susan was here. Susan! Sweat trickled into his eyes, and he blinked rapidly. Her lovely face, now matured and impossibly more beautiful than he could ever recall, wavered before him. He opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out. The sounds of the emergency room assailed his senses, and the smells made him nauseous. Yet Susan stood before him, clothed in green, her hands held up and encased in surgical gloves, staring down at him as if she’d seen a ghost. Well, wasn’t he? Craig asked himself harshly.
“I…” Susan’s voice died in her throat. “Craig…”
Nothing was making sense. Angrily, Craig glared up at her. He tried to twist around, tried to see where they’d taken Andy and Larry, who he knew had been badly injured in the crash.
“Where are Hayes and Shelton?” he demanded, his voice harsh, unsteady.
Susan snapped out of her shock. “Who?”
“My men! Andy and Larry!”
“Calm down,” she whispered, forcing herself to move toward Craig.
“Like hell I will! They’re my men. They were hurt in the crash. I’ve got to find out how they are….”
Susan realized she had to control the situation. Craig was in shock. It showed in his eyes—his pupils were huge and black, with only a thin rim of gray surrounding them. He was trying to get up, to hold onto the tourniquet tightly enough to maneuver into a sitting position. No one cared more for his men than Craig did. She had found that out at Annapolis. If possible, his loyalty to others was even more intense and consuming than her own. Using her best imperious voice, one that few of her patients ever challenged, Susan placed her hand on Craig’s shoulder and pushed him back down on the gurney.
“Don’t you dare move, Craig Taggart.” She glowered at him as he started to protest. She added force, her hand flat against his dirty utilities, and said calmly, “Your men are getting the best care in the world. They’ve already been taken into surgery. Now, you lie here and be still!”
Her hands shaking, Susan took a pair of scissors and began to cut off his pant leg
