Chapter 26
I was hanging over somebody shoulder as he dogtrotted. My hand bumped against his ass, which was oddly shaped until I recognized it as canteens and ordinance. He wore desert camouflage and smelled of Brut aftershave. I grunted, he spoke, old South with a definite twang.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Jadewyn James," I managed and he stopped, hauled me around and set me down. A crowd of other grunts surrounded me, all young and armed to the teeth.
"Holy Christ," he breathed. "You're AMERICAN? Northern New England?"
"Boston, actually." I looked at my arm; it was in an inflatable cast and didn't hurt too bad.
"Field dressing. I gave you morphine. How the hell did you wind up here?"
"Long story. Where is 'here'?"
"Downtown Khedive. We're taking you to our base HQ."
"Good. I could use the rest." I closed my eyes and didn't open them until he dropped me on a cot under a tent.
*****
"Wake up, Yankee boy," I opened one eye on an older man's face, he wore major‘s pips on his shoulder and I wasn't too happy to see MPs standing behind him. "Your name is Jadewyn James?" I nodded slowly. "You're wanted by the FBI, and a few other agencies. They almost shit a brick when we made inquiries over you. How did you get over here anyway? You didn't come through customs or any airport, you sure as shit didn't hitch a ride on a military transport or cargo ship."
"I fell out of a plane," I answered, which while technically true, was probably not believable either way. "What are you going to do with me?" I looked from one to the other and didn't care for the glances they shared.
"You'll be put on a military hospital plane and sent to Germany, where they'll treat you.
You're not in very good health, the doc says your W BC's are shot to hell, you're anemic, your arm's broken, and you‘re suffering from burns and some kind of radiation exposure. Where the hell have you been?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I sighed. "Can I get something to eat? I'm hungrier than a bear with a sore tooth."
"We'll bring you something. You don't get car sick or a irsick do you? Flight out of here is in…" He looked at his wristwatch. "0600. Twenty minutes."
"Is it day or nighttime?"
He gave me a funny look. "Evening. You've been asleep for 12 hours."
"If you had a day like I just did, you'd have slept through it, too," I grumbled. "I hope you bring me something besides MREs. I've had enough of those."
"Oh, yeah? Where?" The major returned. I pulled the sheets and blanket up to my chin.
"My dad was a SWAT sniper." I was silent, remembering his last moments, and wondering where and how Murphy and the dudes were.
"In Boston?"
"Yeah. Out of the 4-7. Can you phone them, tell them I'm okay?"
He hesitated. "You're dead, James. They buried you next to your dad. They assume Sgt.
Murphy is too."
I was silent, remembering. "I'm in a lot of trouble," I whispered. I needed my bodyguard and my honor squad, but was distracted by the tray brought in by a Corpsman in mufti. I smelled hot food and sank my teeth into lasagna, garlic cheese toast and salad, followed by Ice-Tea and cannelloni.
"You eat like a Marine," he commented and no sooner had I scraped the plate when two more MPs came in with a stretcher and handcuffs.
I protested and they only locked my good hand to the rails of the gurney as the cast interfered with the other. The infirmary was a Quonset hut set up on concrete blocks near the runway. Brilliant lights marked the strip and illuminated a huge C47 cargo/hospital plane. The bustling of armed personnel loading and unloading was loud. Humvees darted underneath like ticks on a dog. They transported me inside the plane set up as an ED, doctors and nurses took over, but the MPs remained with me. They were taking x-rays of my arm as we took off. One of the doctors stuck me with a needle and my recollections became muted and far away.
"He's out," I heard one say. "We can remove the brace, reduce the fracture. There are some bone fragments that need to come out; both the ulna and radius are separated. He may need some plates to hold everything together. Looks like someone twisted the arm until it snapped.
His levels are below normal range, his UA and CBCs suck. Where has this kid been and why is he here? He's too young to be enlisted and he's not a dependent. And what's with the MP escort?"
"He's going to Ramstein for pickup; the NSA and FBI are waiting on ground for them.
That's all we were told. Cast his arm, give him what necessary medical aid to keep them stable and deliver him." Their voices faded.