Free Commando by Lindsay McKenna Page B

village looking for Shah. He hadn’t found her. Rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, Jake suddenly felt weary as never before. The fires had died down—but five of the huts had burned completely to the ground. Smoke hung heavily over the area, mingling with the humid mist that stole silently in and around the trees as dawn continued to push back the night.

    The place was eerie, with the mixture of fog and smoke hanging at rooftop level, Jake decided as he tiredly tramped through the village looking for Shah. Perhaps he’d missed her. The darkness had hampered relief efforts, and the hysteria of the Indians hadn’t helped, either. Jake couldn’t blame them for their reaction, though. At least ten Indians had been wounded at the hands of Hernandez’s men.

    Shah was nowhere to be found. Jake stood outside her hut, tears stinging his eyes. He tried to attribute them to the stringy smoke that hung in the air like a thick blanket. Glumly he headed back to the mission, where he knew he could be of some help. His steps were heavy, and he felt a bone-tiredness that reached clear to his soul. Jake didn’t try to fool himself; he realized it was depression and grief over Shah being missing. Had she been kidnapped? Why hadn’t he paid more attention to the men running for those dugout canoes? he chastised himself. But he knew the answer: he’d been pinned down by gunfire. He couldn’t possibly have watched the canoes, much less identified who occupied each one.

    At the top of the knoll, Indians were racing madly around the mission buildings. The cries of women and sobs of children rent the air. Thick fog blanketed the knoll as Jake slowly made his way through the crowd of relatives waiting to hear about wounded family members.

    Bright light from bulbs strung in Christmas-tree fashion around the perimeter of the hospital wing momentarily blinded Jake. He raised a hand to protect his eyes while they adjusted to the change.

    “Jake!”

    He froze. He pulled his hand away from his eyes. There, not more than ten feet away, working with Pai Jose, was Shah! Realizing his mouth was hanging open, he snapped it shut. Never had Shah looked so lovely, despite her haggard appearance. Her hair hung loose about her body like a raven cloak. Her face was smudged with charcoal, and her white nightgown was splattered with mud and blood. At first Jake thought she’d been wounded, but then he realized she was helping Pai Jose dress the injuries of the Indian lying on the surgery table.

    He took a step forward, but then halted, relief surging through him. Euphoria rose in him, and all he could do was stand there helpless beneath her golden gaze. Her huge eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, he noted.

    “We need help,” Shah pleaded, her voice cracking. “Do you know first aid?” She tried to deny the feelings racing through her, tried to ignore her overwhelming relief at seeing that Jake Randolph was safe. When he’d left her on the floor of the hut, Shah had feared for his life. And when she hadn’t seen him throughout the past three hours, she’d feared him dead. The look of astonishment and joy mirrored in his eyes now shook Shah.

    “I can help,” he told her as he closed the distance between them. “Just tell me what you want done.”

    Shah reached into a box filled with sterile surgical gloves. “Go scrub over at the sink. Pai Jose can use your help. I’ll go help some of the others who are hurt less. Hurry, please!”

    Jake nodded to the old priest, whose hair was as white as the surgical gown that covered his clothing. For a moment Jake thought that Pai Jose’s silvery hair, glowing in the light, might be a halo around the old man’s head. The priest worked quickly over the man who lay on the table before him.

    Jake’s hands shook beneath the thin stream of water coming weakly out of the faucet. The soap smelled clean and good amid the stench of sweaty bodies, the lurid smell of blood and the odor of