Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

The confusion in Connor’s eyes began to clear. Despite his weakness, he attempted to lift his arm. Dr. Cooper held it down, surprised at the energy needed to do this. “Colonel MacMillen, I’m Dr. Gerry Cooper. You’re in a hospital. I’m a surgeon and I’m going to take care of you. Try not to move and try to stay calm, okay? Good. You’ve been shot, once in the arm and once in the leg. Understand?”

Connor nodded.

“Your wounds require immediate attention. You’re in Nemacolin’s hospital and we’re taking you to the operating room. Do you understand?”

Connor nodded again, smiled, and then grimaced in pain. He faded into unconsciousness again.

“He’s out again,” said Dr. Cooper. “Let’s move faster,” he urged.

Mark Harmon met the group at a hallway corridor and bullied his way to Dr. Cooper’s side. “He alive, Coop?”

“Yeah, he’s alive—now, move the hell outta the way, Mark.”

“Sorry,” he said, backing off. He settled in the midst of the group following the stretchers. After several steps, he noticed he was surrounded by a group of weapon-toting strangers. “Hello,” he said amicably to a woman on his left. “My name’s Mark Harmon. This is my place.”

Despite her concern over Colonel MacMillen’s well-being, Colonel Starkes forced a smile.

“I’m Colonel Hannah Starkes.”

“Madam President.”

“We can talk about that later, general .”

They shook hands without breaking stride and turned their attention back to the gurneys. “These guys are the best, colonel. Coop, Marcus, and Springer are excellent doctors. Your men are in good hands. We even have electricity for emergencies.”

“Thanks, General Harmon.”

Mark smiled at the colonel’s use of his self-designated title. His thoughts returned quickly to his friend’s condition. “You’re welcome, Madam President. And, just so you know colonel, that guy up there’s my best friend. You can rest assured I’ll make sure he doesn’t die before I have a chance to kill him.”

“Kill him?”

“Yeah, for making me think he was dead all these years.”

“Oh… right.”

He spotted Keenan slipping next to him. “Major McLoy?”

“Sir?”

“All this medical attention might take awhile.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to make sure you show the president and her men to the Presidential Suites when you can.”

“Of course, sir.”

“I’m placing you in charge, major. Make sure that each of them has everything they need. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Commander Bastin filled me in on the details of your run-in with the enemy. I’ve assigned Val Jarvis and her team to assist you with the newcomers. She’ll follow all your instructions.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I want you to go now to make sure everything’s ready for the president and her men, then come back here to show them to their rooms.”

“Yes, sir.” The major took off down the hallway at a full run as the stretchers arrived at the operating rooms.

Dr. Cooper directed his team to prepare Connor MacMillen for surgery and he turned to confer briefly with Marcus and Springer. After a half minute, he walked quickly to Mark Harmon and spoke to him softly. Mark nodded and immediately ushered non-medical personnel into a waiting room. Satisfied that the situation was under control, Dr. Cooper discussed Connor’s condition with the charge nurse at the operatory door. Satisfied that proper preparations were in place, he motioned for Scott to follow and entered the red door to the scrub room. Dr. Cooper wondered if they’d save either man—the blood loss was substantial.

“Damn,” he whispered. He didn’t know anyone who had survived such trauma. But he’d heard some stories about the legendary Connor Mac over the past few years from Mark Harmon—perhaps some of it was true.

“Scott?”

“Yeah, doc?”

“Are these two men gonna die? Are they tough enough to live?”

Scott smiled. He was at the sink, scrubbing vigorously at his hands. He was calm. “Well doc, they’re here now. That’s all they needed. They won’t die, doc. You’d have to fuck up for that to happen.”

Dr. Cooper rubbed the harsh soap across his wrists as water pulsed from the faucet. He pushed the pedal and rinsed with warm water. “So you say.”

“Oh, it’s a fact,” said Scott. “Those two are the toughest men I’ve ever known. GT—he’s one of the guys in the waiting room—might give ’em both a run for their money. Shamus too.”

“Have you done any surgery, Scott?”

“Basic stuff—in the field.”

“Good. We have a bleeder in that arm and we need to get it addressed fast. There’s probably bone fragments, too.”

“Yeah, doc, that’s what I figured.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“You got it, Coop.”

“Don’t call me that, medic.”

“Okay, Coop.”

“You bastard.”

“You fix my men, Coop. Then, not only will I call you anything you want, I’ll kiss your pinky ring while I’m doing it.”

“Okay,” said Dr. Cooper, smiling. “Follow me.”

“What the hell?” mumbled Connor, floating into consciousness. He was inside a cold white room. The lights were blindingly bright. His eyes snapped from face to face. Everyone he saw wore a surgical mask. A machine kept track of Connors vital statistics, beeping incessantly with a consistency that signaled strength. Hoses dangled and people were touching him, wiping his body and positioning him on a cold table. He didn’t like it. “Quit fuckin’ with me!” he yelled. He tried to move his arm, but it was held firm.

A tall man looked down at him. “Colonel, I’m Dr. Cooper. You’re in the Nemacolin hospital. We’re gonna operate on your gunshot wounds. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah, same as before,” he answered weakly.

“Yes, that’s right. You have a bullet wound in your left arm and one in your left leg. I need to stop the bleeding in your arm. Can I push this anesthetic into the IV to knock you out?”

Before Connor agreed, he stared back at Scott who was staring intently at Connor. The man’s intensity was so bright and focused that Connor forgot his pain briefly. “Who’re you?”

“Me?”

“Do I stutter?”

Scott laughed joyfully. “No, sir, you don’t stutter. I’m Scott. I’m part of the team that saved Amanda.”

Connor closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he forced a smile past his pain. “I’m sorry, man. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I—” He attempted to raise his right hand to shake, but Scott held it down firmly.

“You’ve have IV’s in both arms, sir.” Scott slipped his hand into Connor’s and grasped it firmly.

“A pleasure, Scott.”

“Same here, colonel.”

“Scott, we don’t have time for pleasantries.”

“Understood, Coop.”

“Dr. Cooper,” whispered Connor, “do what you need to do. I’m in good hands if this guy’s with you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, colonel. You need to calm down, sir—your heart rate’s elevated and your blood pressure’s causing increased blood loss,” said Dr. Cooper.

“Sure. Okay.” Connor waved his hand weakly, asking Scott to come closer. “We’re at Nemacolin, right?”

“Yes.”

“Mark Harmon still owns this place?”

“I dunno. Hold on.”

“Hey Coop, is there a Mark Harmon in this place?”

Dr. Cooper studied Scott with surprise. He nodded. “Yeah, this is his place.”

Scott leaned closer to Connor’s ear. “You hear that?”

“Yeah. Good.”

“Okay then, stay calm while we work on getting you fixed up…”