Free A Perfect Hero by Caroline Anderson

second carriage, only two were badly hurt; the others were quickly freed by the firemen and taken away after assessment, or were not trapped and were attended to by the houseman and the anaesthetist. Apart from minor crush injuries and a few fractures, most of the people were cut, bruised and simply terrified, and who could blame them?
    Suppressing a shudder of horror, Clare went with Michael to examine the two trapped in the rear of the carriage. One, an elderly woman, was pinned to the floor by the crumpled rear wall of the carriage. She had serious chest injuries and was unlikely to survive. She was mercifully unconscious. The other, a man in his late twenties, was trapped by the foot and was clearly in great pain.
    He gripped Clare’s hand and hung on like grim death.
    ‘Get me out of here,’ he moaned, ‘please, I can’t stand it—get me out!’
    Michael made a quick and thorough assessment of his injuries, and knelt by the man’s head.
    ‘Hello there. Can you tell me your name?’
    ‘Alan,’ he whispered harshly. ‘Alan Beedale.’
    ‘OK, Alan, I’m Michael. I’m an orthopaedic surgeon—I specialise in bones. Alan, I’ve had a look at your foot, and from what I can see it’s very badly damaged.’
    ‘Am I going to lose it?’ he asked jerkily.
    Michael nodded. ‘I think that’s quite likely. I’ll talkto the firemen and see if they can get you out in one piece, but I think even if they can, your foot won’t heal now. The damage is too extensive. I’ll get the anaesthetist to come and check you over, because either way, we’ll knock you out before we move you. OK?’
    The man nodded weakly, and Clare wiped away the sweat that was beading on his brow.
    ‘Don’t worry, Alan, they’ll soon have you out of here,’ she murmured comfortingly.
    The anaesthetist appeared at her side. ‘Hello, old son. Could I just have a listen to your chest?’ After a few seconds he nodded. ‘Fine. When did you eat?’
    ‘Lunch—twelve o’clock today—just a roll.’
    ‘That’s fine. Right, we’ll soon have you more comfortable. Can you get me a vein, Staff?’ He drew up the anaesthetic into a syringe, swabbed the vein Clare had exposed and within seconds the man was unconscious. ‘Right, keep an eye on his blood-pressure for me, will you? I’ll get an airway in.’
    Then Michael was back with the fireman.
    ‘No way, mate,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘The whole weight of the third carriage is resting on his foot. We won’t get him out without heavy lifting gear, and that could take hours. Her, too.’ He tipped his head towards the elderly woman. ‘Looks like she’s a gonner anyway.’
    Michael nodded. ‘OK. I rather thought it was a nonstarter. Thanks anyway. Right, Peter—can I begin?’
    ‘Are you going to take his foot off?’ Clare asked quietly.
    ‘No choice.’
    ‘Oh, God, how awful! He’s so young—his whole life ahead of him, ruined—oh, Michael, isn’t there any way you can avoid it?’
    ‘You heard what the fireman said, Clare. It’ll be hours before the lifting gear can shift that carriage, and by that time the circulation will have been cut off for so long he’ll lose his foot anyway, and probably half his leg with it.’
    ‘But he’ll be crippled!’ she whispered.
    ‘That’s the way the cookie crumbles. Are you going to help me, or just get in the way?’ Michael snapped.
    She drew in a sharp breath. ‘Sorry. Of course I’ll help.’
    He quickly covered the area with sterile paper sheets, cut away the man’s trousers to expose the leg, and opened the surgical pack. The other nurse swabbed the area as thoroughly as possible given the limited access, and then swabbed Clare’s and Michael’s hands prior to them putting on their gloves.
    ‘OK, chaps. Is he all right, Peter?’
    ‘Fine,’ the anaesthetist said. ‘Help yourself.’
    ‘I’m going to do a guillotine amputation—access is bloody difficult. They can sort him out in Theatre when they get him