Page 22 of Rescue Me (Tempting SEALs 6.10)

“Take it, Desi,” Sam yelled, waiting for Desi to adjust his strokes to make allowances for Sam taking his hands off the oars. The second Desi was rowing on his own, Sam pulled out the MP5 and returned a blast of fire. Two men went down, splashing into the water. Eight hundred rounds a minute had a lot of stopping power.

He chambered another 9 × 19 mm Parabellum ammunition cartridge. Thirty rounds left a lot of holes. He was counting on it. The roller-delayed blowback mechanism of the weapon fired from a closed-bolt position. When the trigger was pulled, the bolt was already locked forward against the cartridge, which reduced the amount of mechanical movement, improving accuracy. And Sam needed every advantage he could get.

He got another man in midair, as the guy tried to vault over a log. Two more who’d chosen wading in the thigh-deep water lapping the shore rather than the obstacle race that was the bank. Sam got them both in one sweep.

He saw the alternate view of the leopard’s tail or head or streamlined body as it ran behind the soldiers, stealthy and well hidden in the brush. It was keeping well back, but hauling ass, ready to pounce should a man fall behind.

Sam knew they had maybe a minute or three before the next set of rapids. Not as steep as the first, but navigation would require both his strength and concentration. The river narrowed substantially right there, and the drop was perhaps twelve feet in a hundred-yard stretch. There wasn’t a chance in hell the soldiers would miss them at that range. Sam’s heart raced with anticipation as bullets strafed the water beside the boat. Several hit above water, striking the pirogue but missing them by fractions of an inch.

“What can I do?” Beth shouted, still doubled over.

“Nothing!” Jesus. She was enough of a target as it was. He didn’t want her sitting up to take stock of the situation. “Stay down!” He returned fire. Got another raze on his shoulder, hurt like hell, but again, didn’t cut through the LockOut. The bullet hit the inside of the boat, inches from Beth’s back, making Sam’s heart leap into his throat and lodge there.

A small chunk of wood flew off, hitting him just above his eye. Blood trickled down his face, blinding him to the left. Shit. He wiped his face on his shoulder, then fired into a group of four men clustered on a jut of land just ahead. The soldiers went down like bowling pins.

A four-course meal for the giant croc that had slipped into the water a few feet away on their arrival and now turned back in a lash of tail and jaws to collect.

Sam saw Thadiwe immediately. The tango towered over his soldiers by a good eight inches and stood, legs spread, arms akimbo, as his men aimed their weapons at the approaching boat.

Sam shifted the submachine gun, centering the sight between Thadiwe’s close-set eyes. “Here’s that facial reconstruction you wanted so badly, asshole.”

Thadiwe’s head exploded like a watermelon.

Excellent. Saved Sam a return trip.

The soldiers leaped into action as another croc whipped its head around as the man’s body crashed into the tall reeds, half in, half out of the muddy water. The white spume flung up by the croc’s frenzy turned crimson as he dragged the tango deeper int

o the water.

The soldiers tried to make up for their inattention by firing off a barrage of bullets willy-nilly. Their enthusiasm was admirable, but their aim sucked, even at this close range. Most of the bullets missed their target by several feet. Sam happened to glance in Desi’s direction as a bullet sliced through the man’s upper thigh. The injury was deep, and bled. A lot. The other man faltered for a moment, then attacked the water with his oars like a man possessed as the soldiers gauged the target better and started narrowing the gap between hits and misses.

ELIZABETH SMELLED THE FAMILIAR metallic scent of blood over the fruity/muddy smell of the river. Sam. She lifted her head just enough to see that it was Desi who’d taken a hit. He was rowing like a madman. The oars sliced through the water, sending up sprays and droplets that sparkled in the sunlight. On either side of the river, men in uniform were running as they fired their weapons. The noise was horrendous. The soldiers shouting, animals screaming, the thrash of the narrow boat moving rapidly through the choppy water. And birds. Flying about wildly, their cries adding to the cacophony.

None of that mattered to Beth right then. Desi’s wound was life-threatening. He was losing too much blood, way too fast. She grabbed the smallest of Sam’s packs, which rested between her feet.

“Stay down, for God’s sake.”

“Desi’s been hit. What do you have in here that I can use—Ah. Thank God.” Sam’s kit contained a new device she’d only read about. A “Wound Bullet.” An ingenious closure device.

Hauling the pack with her, Elizabeth scooted on her butt toward Desi. The boat rocked, and all of them yelled out at the same time. She felt for the distal pulse at Desi’s ankle. Weak. But he reacted at her touch, which was good. His skin was warm. Also good.

While she knew it must hurt like blue blazes, it was an uncomplicated wound. No major arterial or bone damage. But his leg looked like minced meat. She’d never used a Wound Bullet, but she’d read the articles in JAMA.

“Beth, get your ass back here and stay down.”

“In a minute.” She wasn’t about to take cover while Desi was losing blood just two feet away from her.

“Now, God damn it!”

Staying as low as she could, Elizabeth quickly swabbed the wound as she tried to remember everything she’d read about the mechanism she was about to use. The closure device consisted of a metal shaft within a cylinder through which standard sutures were threaded. “Okay. Let’s see how this thing works.”

She understood the basic principle. Brilliant, really. By turning the internal shaft with the use of a simple tool, Elizabeth inserted it into the wound and applied tension to the surrounding tissue. She maintained the pressure by periodically tightening the sutures. Because the tension was evenly distributed, approximation smoothly followed the natural con tour of Desi’s leg. The gaping, bloody wound slowly closed. Wow. Sam had some very cool toys. Blocking out the noise, she pretended that bullets weren’t flying around them. Finding a pressure dressing, she covered the incision as best she could; his leg was wet, and she had nothing to dry it with.

“He’ll live,” Sam yelled, sounding seriously pissed. “Get your head down. Now.”

Okay. Okay. She got her head down.

“Rapids coming up,” he said, almost redundantly since the little boat was slewing and bouncing and boomeranging off rocks and the water was frothing, splashing around them. “Hold on,” he added also unnecessarily as Elizabeth rose independently of the boat, then landed on her butt with a thunk that jarred her teeth.

---