Free Lethal Pursuit by Kaylea Cross Page B

girl wasn’t running a fever, though the mother reported there had been one for a few days after the injury.
    Irrigating the wound and cleaning it out didn’t go quite as smoothly, but once Jackson got the local freezing injected, the girl stopped squalling and watched in amazement as he sutured the gash closed and bandaged up her hand with a sterile dressing. After a shot of antibiotic just to be safe, the girl and her mother left.
    He saw a dozen or so patients after that, some having walked miles from other nearby villages when they’d heard about the opportunity to get free medical care. Or maybe just to see the big, bad American soldiers up close. Winning hearts and minds from the locals wasn’t easy this late in the war, though he hoped to change some minds among the villagers today. He treated a barrage of minor cuts and scrapes, handed out vitamins and antihistamines, put an old man’s arm in a sling to take the strain off his damaged rotator cuff.
    He was alone in the tent reorganizing his supplies when urgent, raised voices came from outside. Jackson glanced up at the sound of shuffling feet coming closer, and the SF soldier stuck his head in.
    “Got a sick little guy here for you. He’s in pretty bad shape.”
    Jackson stood, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves from his pocket. “Bring him in.”
    An old man entered the tent, carrying a boy around seven or eight. The boy was listless and pale, lying in the man’s arms like a limp doll.
    “Put him down,” Jackson instructed, helping settle the boy on the cot. His face was gray but for the bright red fever spots on his smooth cheeks. “How long has he been sick?”
    The soldier translated. “Four days. He had severe stomach pain and he’s been vomiting a lot. Then this morning, when the family woke up, he was like this.”
    Already putting the symptoms together, Jackson grabbed a tongue depressor and his scope. The boy stared up at him with dark, fever-glazed eyes. After a bit of coaxing, Jackson managed to get him to open his mouth. His tongue had a grayish tint and there was a film on it. Not good.
    When he palpated the boy’s abdomen, it was rigid, but he didn’t flinch or give any indication that it hurt. Jackson was certain he already knew what the problem was. Finding the point halfway between the boy’s right hip bone and his belly button, he pressed his fingers deep, watching for any signs of pain. The boy shifted but remained quiet. Then, with a silent apology, Jackson yanked his hand away.
    The boy blanched and came up off the cot with a shocked gasp, grimacing as a strangled sound of pain came from his throat. One hand automatically came up to shield the spot Jackson had just touched, and his breathing was fast and choppy.
    All dead giveaways confirming what he’d feared.
    Jackson tossed his stethoscope aside and strode for the flap. “Don’t let him move,” he said tersely to the SF sergeant.
    Exiting the tent, he immediately looked for Maya and found her a hundred yards or so away, manning her post and supervising her airmen. “Lieutenant,” he called.
    She glanced over and raised her brows in question.
    “Got a situation here.”
    She strode over fast, giving him a terse jerk of her stubborn chin when she neared. “What’s up?”
    “I’ve got a young boy in there with a ruptured appendix. Peritonitis has already set in and he needs immediate surgery.”
    Her alert gaze sharpened even more on his face, and there was no trace of awkwardness from what had passed between them last night. “What do you need?”
    He freaking loved that she offered assistance without hesitation or questioning him. And he was grateful, because the kid needed them to act now. “I need an emergency medevac to get him to a base hospital ASAP, or he’s not going to make it.”
    * * *
    The moment he said it, Maya immediately got on her radio to request an emergency medevac. After giving her the nine line to pass on to the dispatcher, Jackson rushed back