Anne Fraser - The Wife He Never Forgot

It took him a few moments to catch his breath. He was lying on his back with something heavy on top of him. He spat dust from his mouth.

‘Johnston!’

‘Over here, sir. I’m all right.’

‘Our patient?’

‘He’s okay too. But don’t think I can say the same about the other one.’

Nick became aware that the weight pinning him down was the young American who only seconds before had been standing at the door. His body had probably shielded him and the others.

‘Help me here, Johnston.’ Gently he rolled the soldier from on top of him, feeling the sticky wetness of blood. Poor sod hadn’t stood a chance.

But as he sat up he became aware that the soldier was conscious.

‘My leg,’ he groaned.

Smoke clouded their small shelter and Nick used a torch to examine the young American. Blood was spurting from his groin, soaking into the dirt floor.

‘What’s your name, soldier?’ he asked.

‘Luke.’

‘Okay, Luke. Stay still while I have a look at your leg.’

But the blood pumping from Luke’s groin told Nick everything he needed to know. Shrapnel had pierced his femoral artery and the boy—because that was all he was—was bleeding to death in front of him. His pulse was thready and his skin had taken on the damp sheen of shock.

‘Is it bad?’ the wounded soldier asked.

The lad needed to be in hospital. He probably had twenty minutes at the most.

Not long enough, then.

Damn it.

Another explosion rent the air and it sounded as if the gunfire was getting closer.

‘We need to get the hell out of here,’ Johnston said.

Nick jammed his fist into the hole in the young soldier’s leg. ‘He can’t be moved.’

‘Go!’ Luke’s voice was faint. ‘You gotta leave me. I’m not going to make it.’ Every word was coming with increasing difficulty.

He would almost certainly bleed to death before they got him back to the sangar and Nick couldn’t leave him here on his own—even if he knew there was almost no chance of saving his life. Nick made up his mind.

‘Johnston, get two men to take the other man back to the sangar. Tell them to let Captain Forsythe know I need the medevac. Now!’

‘I’ll stay with you.’

‘No. Get the hell out of here. This man and I will be fine.’

‘But, sir!’

Nick cursed. ‘That’s an order, Johnston.’

The soldier hesitated. ‘I’ll be back for you as soon as I can.’

As Nick turned his attention again to the wounded American he was only dimly aware of Johnston and another soldier taking Brad, the other casualty, from the room.

‘Get out of here,’ Luke murmured. ‘Save yourself. I don’t want someone to die because of me.’

‘I’m not going anywhere, son.’ Nick cut the soldier’s combat trousers away, struggling to see the wound for the blood. He did the same with his jacket and shirt. He needed to make sure Luke wasn’t bleeding anywhere else. Look beyond the obvious was the mantra for an A and E surgeon. It was the ignored and uninvestigated that often killed.

As he worked he noted that Luke had an eagle tattooed on his right biceps. That wasn’t unusual—for a soldier not to have a tattoo would have been noteworthy—but the soldier also had a scar that ran diagonally across his chest. This was no aftermath of surgery.

However, Nick had no time to wonder about past wounds. He inserted the venflon into a vein and, mercifully, Luke lost consciousness. Now he could get fluids into him, but he had to stop the bleeding. It was the only way to save the boy’s life. Pressure wouldn’t be enough. He would have to find the artery and clamp it—a procedure that was tricky enough in the luxury of a fully equipped theatre and with the help of experienced staff. But here? Almost no chance.

Nevertheless, he had to try. Even if he managed to stop him from bleeding to death, it was likely that Luke would lose his leg. But better a limb than his life.

The impact of the shrapnel had blown part of Luke’s trousers into the wound, obscuring Nick’s view even further. He took the clamp from his bag and took a deep breath as he tried to find the bleeder. It was almost impossible in the dim light of the house, without the blood and pieces of uniform further obscuring his view.

Working more by instinct than anything else, Nick clamped down on what he hoped was the right place. To his relief, almost immediately the blood stopped pumping from the wound.

Nick sat back on his haunches and wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

He’d stopped the bleeding, but if there was to be a hope in hell of saving Luke’s life, he needed to get him back to the hospital at the camp.

He became aware that the gunfire was more sporadic now and in the distance he could hear the powerful blades of a Chinook.

There was still a chance.

CHAPTER ONE

A year later

IT WAS HOT. Forty degrees Celsius and it was only just after six in the morning. The dust was everywhere, swirling around like dirty talcum powder coating the inside of her mouth and settling on every inch of her exposed skin.

Tiggy swigged from the water in her bottle, which was already turning tepid in the heat, brushed a damp curl from her forehead and sighed. The shower she’d had ten minutes before had been a complete waste of time.

She bent her head against a sudden dust ball. Everything was the same dun colour: the tents; her uniform; the Jeeps—there were even dust-coloured tanks parked along the high walls surrounding the compound. Tiggy didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse.

She must have been crazy to come. Although back in the UK they had been thoroughly briefed as to what to expect—down to practising what medical emergencies they might encounter in a mock-up of a building with soldiers acting the part of casualties—nothing had really prepared her for the reality of living in a war zone. And nothing had prepared her for the sheer terror she felt.

Coming in to land last night on the Hercules, the pilot had dimmed the cabin lights in case they attracted enemy fire. When his words had come over the intercom, Tiggy had almost lost it.

Enemy fire? She hadn’t signed up for that. She’d signed up to be looking after soldiers miles away from danger in a camp protected by soldiers.

She’d squeezed her eyes shut, not even able to force them open when she’d felt someone sit next to her. She had become aware of a faint scent of citrus.

‘You can open your eyes, you know.’ The laughter in his voice bugged her.

She’d opened one eye and squinted. In the dim light of the cabin all she had been able to make out had been a powerful frame in uniform and the flash of even, white teeth.

Whoever it was had been studying her frankly in return.

‘For all you know, I’m having a nap,’ she’d said through clenched teeth.

‘I’ve never seen anyone nap while holding on to their seat so tight their knuckles were white.’

‘God!’ She gave up all pretence. ‘What if they hit the plane? I’m scared to death of flying as it is.’

‘Hey, relax. It will be okay. The pilots have done it scores of times and no one has shot them down yet. They just say what they do to make all the newbies cra— Apologies, ma’am. To scare the newbies.’

She hadn’t been sure she’d entirely believed him, but she had felt a little better.

‘How much longer until we’re on the ground?’

‘Another twenty minutes or so.’

‘Twenty bloody minutes!’ she groaned.

‘Why don’t you tell me all about yourself? It’ll help distract you.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m Nick, one of the army doctors. You?’

‘Tiggy. Casualty nurse.’

‘Then we’ll be working together,’ he said with a sideways grin. ‘You with anyone? Married? Engaged?’