Page 78 of Sloane

“You’re in Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany. You were hurt in an explosion.”

Bits and pieces of what happened came flooding back to me, and I tried to sit up.

“My men. How are my men?”

I felt gentle pressure on my shoulder and found I didn’t have the strength to fight it, so I laid back in my hospital bed.

“You were transported here along with three other Marines. They are all stable.”

Relief flooded my system.

That meant O’Brien, Buckley, and Rivers had all survived.

Then I remembered we’d been on a rescue mission and Callahan had been injured, and I bolted upright—well, as best I could.

“Who is here? What are their names?”

“I’m—I’m not sure.”

I was ready to rip the cords out of my body and hop out of bed to find them myself.

“I need to know their names!”

Machines started screeching, and a small army of people in scrubs piled into the room. The next thing I remember was my world going black.

~~~~

The bee-stinging sensation was back as I slowly opened my eyes. The pretty blonde was gone, replaced by a muscular six-foot dude wearing navy-blue scrubs, with close-cropped hair. I’d recognize that haircut anywhere.

“How are you feeling, Captain?” he asked in perfect English

“My left side is killing me,” I croaked.

He nodded and pulled a vile from his pocket and plunged a needle into it.

“I can help you with that.” He flicked the syringe as he told me, “I’m your nurse, Lieutenant Commander Pritchard.”

So, I was right about him.

I watched as he injected the needle into a port that connected to a tube that led to my right arm. Within seconds, I felt better.

“Thank you,” I hoarsely whispered.

“Let me get you some ice chips,” he said, then disappeared.

A few minutes later, he returned with a cup of ice along with some reinforcements.

Another man in scrubs stepped forward and introduced himself.

“Captain Davidson, I’m Dr. Warneke, the lead doctor overseeing your treatment.”

I nodded my head in acknowledgement, and he continued, gesturing to a man dressed in fatigues. I noticed the yellowish leaf on his uniform signifying his rank as Major, but just didn’t have it in me to salute him.

I figured I’d get a pass, considering I was probably butt-naked underneath my gown.

“This is Major Branson.”

“Sir,” I whispered harshly, then tried to tip the cup of ice with my right hand, but it was too encumbered with tubes and tried to switch the glass to my left.

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