Free I Own the Dawn: The Night Stalkers by M. L. Buchman Page B

Staring at the empty space where Beale would be landing her helicopter.
    This time, the chief medic was meeting the helicopter at night.
    Kee’s vision tunneled as she too turned to watch the north sky, seeking the green of cockpit glow against the unmoving stars. No running lights to attract attention, of course; Major Beale’s bird, Vengeance , would be hard to spot.
    Someone hurt. On her chopper. Hurt, and she hadn’t been there. Hurt because she hadn’t been there. She tasted blood where she bit her lower lip.
    Please not… who? How do you pray for one of your crewmates to be safe when that would cost another? When it should have been her?
    Again, she felt the heavy thud internally before she heard the rotor beat against the air. Coming in hard and fast.
    Kee didn’t cover her face or turn from the pounding dust kicked up by the rotor wash. The chopper flared hard, dumping speed right at the margins of safety, but the last six inches were as gentle as could be.
    Mac was aboard before the wheels were fully down.
    Someone flicked on the cargo bay’s white lights and the chopper’s interior glared in red, the red of blood. It was all over her seat, Big John’s flight suit was mottled with it, the deck awash. And the body stretched out in the middle of the bay was coated with it.
    Bandages were everywhere. Two IVs were clipped to the ceiling, their tubes snaking down to the crewman lying on the deck.
    “We can’t move him, yet. Smith, give me the red case, open to the second level.”
    Kee grabbed it, set it beside him as he knelt in the bay.
    Without looking, he reached back and grabbed a massive pair of shears. In moments, the flight suit was cut away. Large rounds had punched right through the crewman’s body armor, leaving his torso a pattern of bloody holes.
    “Light. I need light.” Someone pointed a hand flood down.
    Kee barely recognized him. He was a gunner on one of the Chinooks. Jeff somebody. She didn’t even know his name and he was dying. Dying in her place.
    Her stomach started to heave.
    “You can be sick later. Blue case, get me four clamps.” Mackenzie had his hand out. She found it and slapped them into his hand one by one.
    No one spoke other than Mac. “John, pressure here. Smith, another IV, it’s labeled saline. Check his tag for blood type.” It had to be wiped clean of blood to be read, and Kee’d gone sprinting for the hospital’s small blood fridge.
    Other soldiers came and went. Jeremy arrived and Kee was moved aside, slowly but inexorably pushed back until she stood outside the chopper.
    Outside looking in.
    Her guts now heaved uncontrollably. She puked until she thought to see her stomach come up and splat out on the sand before her.
    When she was done and drained and there was no more in her, a movement attracted her vision. Someone dangled a cloth near her face.
    “I don’t get sick.” Despite the evidence inches in front of her. The words burned in her throat.
    She spat again and took the cloth. Wiped at her mouth and hands and knees where she’d squatted in her own bile.
    When she looked up, the helicopter was empty. The interior light still on, but no body, no medics or nurses, just a sheen of red.
    Kee didn’t need to look to her right to know her benefactor. Didn’t need to look to see the accusation in Archie’s eyes. She should have been there. She belonged on that bloody floor, not Jeff of no last name.
    Archie stood beside her in silence until her breathing settled. She could feel him, though she couldn’t see. Only the glitter of bright light off wet blood.
    Finally, a mere whisper she barely heard in the silence of the night.
    “I know it’s wrong, but I am glad it wasn’t you.”
    When at last she looked over, she was alone.
    She climbed to her feet and went to find buckets, water, and a scrub brush.

Chapter 10
    Emily Beale found Sergeant Kee Smith sitting on the lip of the chopper’s cargo door, her feet hanging out but not touching the ground. Her