Radclyffe - Firestorm

Immersed in this calm, focused energy was where she loved to be, sure of herself, in control, battle ready. Battle worthy.

She intersected the red trail fifty yards from her destination and sprinted north, covering the uneven, uphill terrain in long quick strides. As soon as she skirted a craggy outcropping, she saw them. Ray Kingston slumped by the side of the trail with his back propped against a broad pine. Jac knelt with her hand on his wrist and her eyes tracking Mallory’s approach. Ray’s face was bloody. Jac appeared unhurt, her expression steady and calm. Mallory held Jac’s gaze, and her stomach settled for the first time since Benny had radioed they had injured. She couldn’t think about that now, or what it might mean.

“What have we got?” Mallory asked. Jac, like every firefighter, had basic EMT skills, and as the first responder, her assessment was critical.

“He was alert and oriented times three when I reached him approximately ten minutes ago,” Jac said. “By his account, he took a header. His memory for exactly what happened is vague. There’s a full-thickness ten-centimeter laceration on his forehead. Moving all fours, he walked down here with help.”

Mallory crouched in front of Ray and flicked her penlight into his eyes. Both pupils equal and reactive. “Hey, Kingston. Did you knock yourself out?”

Ray frowned. “I don’t think so, but I don’t exactly remember.”

“Good enough.” She palpated his carotid, noting a strong, rapid pulse. She pulled the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope from her kit and tossed it to Jac. “Check his BP, will you.”

“Sure thing,” Jac said, wrapping the cuff around his upper arm.

While Jac worked, Mallory slid her hand around the back of Ray’s neck, running her fingertips over each spinous process in his cervical spine, searching for tenderness or irregularities. No evidence of damage.

Jac said, “One ten over eighty.”

“Good.” Mallory took her stethoscope from Jac and moved the diaphragm quickly over his chest. Heart sounds sharp and clear. Moving air through both lungs. After slinging the stethoscope around her neck, she ran her hands up and down both his arms, then both legs. “Give me your right hand.”

Ray grasped her hand and she said, “Squeeze.” When he did, she repeated the process with his left hand, then had him lift first his left leg and then his right while she pressed down on them. Good strength in all four extremities.

Leaning back on her heels, she said, “It looks like the head trauma is the worst of it, Ray. I’m going to have the helicopter drop a Stokes. I don’t want you walking out.”

“Oh, frak no,” Ray protested. “No way am I getting lifted out of here. I’ll never live it down.” He glanced at Jac, his expression pleading. “Come on, buddy. Tell her I’m okay.”

Mallory stiffened, waiting for a challenge.

“Have a heart, will ya,” Jac said, sounding pained. “You don’t really want me to buck the boss on the very first day, do you?”

“I’ll never be able to show my face around here again.”

Jac clapped him on the shoulder. “Sure you will. Go along with the program, and I’ll let everybody know you would have beat my ass back to base if you hadn’t had to follow me off trail to make sure I didn’t get lost.”

Ray studied Jac, a furrow forming between his brows. “Thanks, I owe you.”

“Nah.”

Mallory moved a few feet away and radioed for the litter. While she directed Benny to drop the long line down into the clearest part of the trail, she regarded the steep side of the ravine and mentally extrapolated where Jac had been running along the crest when she’d left her. Considering where they were now, Jac would’ve had no reason to deviate from the yellow trail.

“Russo,” Mallory called. “You want to handle getting the Stokes down? Let’s see what kind of retrieval skills you’ve got.”

“Sure thing, Boss.” Jac sprinted to the clearing and craned her neck to watch the slow descent of the lightweight metal stretcher from the belly of the helicopter. When the lower edge of the stretcher was just above her head, she caught it and guided it to the ground, released the winch hook, gave it two sharp tugs, and stepped back so the line could be reeled up and away. Once the heavy metal hook was above her head and there was no danger of it swinging around and catching her, she lifted the stretcher and carried it back to where Mallory crouched beside Ray.

“Nice work,” Mallory said. Jac had been efficient and careful. Full marks. “All right, Ray, let’s get you in here.”

Grumbling, he started to rise, and almost instantly moaned, “Oh frak.” Groaning, he lurched away and vomited.

“Okay,” Mallory said briskly, grasping him around the waist as Jac steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get you horizontal again.”

They got him stretched out on his back in the Stokes, strapped in with a cervical collar around his neck, within seconds. Mallory glanced at Jac. “Ready?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jac replied and signaled for the long line. The winch played out, the hook swung into view, and she connected it to the O-ring on the basket. Two sharp tugs and the Stokes started to ascend, Ray gently swaying as the helicopter pulled him in.

Mallory stood, the tension draining from her back and shoulders, the exhilaration of accomplishment flooding through her chest. She’d never worked with Jac before, but they’d read each other well and functioned naturally as a team. There’d been none of the push-pull that often accompanied working with a new partner. Silently, she gathered her gear and started rapidly back up the trail to base. Jac wasn’t her partner, she swiftly reminded herself. Jac was a rookie, and she’d just failed the first leg of boot camp.

*

Jac jogged beside Mallory in silence, the drone of the helicopter slowly fading as it outdistanced them on the trip back to camp. She tried not to think about what came next for her. Ray still needed attention, and his welfare was a lot more important than her performance rating. Ordinarily, she didn’t mind silence, most of the time she preferred it. The casual chatter around a TV set waiting for the next call or friendly ribbing over cards, whiling away sleepless hours in the middle of the night, was one thing—that kind of aimless conversation made it easy to avoid revealing personal information. The guys she’d worked with last summer, even most of the troops she’d been stationed with, didn’t associate her name with her father. Some of her commanding officers had known of her family connections, but they were too short-staffed and too harried to care about anything other than what she could do with an IED. The anonymity was a relief after growing up in the spotlight.

Right at the moment, though, she would have given a lot to know what was on Mallory James’s mind. The woman never even broke a sweat, all-out running with a pack on her back. Her smooth, unlined face was as calm and unreadable as a carved statue. Her focus was almost eerie, and Jac had the sudden, suicidal inclination to say something provocative just to see that cool façade crack a little bit. A smile. Hell, even a frown. Something to get inside, underneath that icy exterior. Never mind provoking James was probably a really bad idea. Delving into another woman’s personal space really wasn’t her thing. She could hardly ask anyone to respect her privacy when she didn’t respect theirs, so she’d developed a hands-off attitude over the years. She accepted what was given, and never asked for more. She let it be known she wanted the same in return. She’d done really well with that approach until Annabel Clinton. Annabel had not only gotten her to break her own rules, she’d completely snowed her.