except for some quiet motor hum and a cardio monitor. His chest was constrained by body wrapping and a huge bulge of bandage over his left arm. He slowly rocked his head back and forth to clear his vision and shake off cobwebs. His mouth was incredibly dry. Someone, a nurse, walked to his bedside.
She said, “Hello hero, how are you feeling?”
Peter stammered, “I don’t know...ah...Where am I?”
“You’re in the ICU unit at Delnor Hospital. It’s in St. Charles.”
Peter asked weakly, “When...how, did I get here?”
The nurse said, “You came here by helicopter five days ago after losing a lot of blood. You’ve been in the O.R. twice and under sedation and antibiotics since then. You’ve been in this bed recovering for about twenty hours.”
Peter was confused, “Twenty hours? ...I, ah...can I have a drink?”
She left for a couple minutes and returned with a squeeze bottle and some crushed ice, “You might try some ice chips to begin, the water is cold and might make you sick if you don’t take your time.” She elevated the bed for him and helped spoon some ice into his mouth.
Spilling ice chips from his mouth, he said, “Uh, thanks. Can you tell me what happened? ...I mean, what about my men?” He was starting to have some recollection, but the details were not clear.”
“Well...I don’t know about your men, you were the only one I have seen in here. How many others were with you?”
Peter replied, still groggy, “I...I don’t remember...my team on Little Bird One, Striker Two...a lot of men—ambush!” He remembered.
Her eyes deflected momentarily before she told him to rest and not worry about anything. People had been by to see him and could probably tell him what he wanted to know. She either did not know what had happened or wouldn’t say. He closed his eyes for a moment, and he let the sedatives push him into deep sleep again.
When he awoke again, night had fallen outside and the nurses had changed. The drowsiness passed a little faster this time and he was cognizant after several minutes. A woman in a business suit was talking to the nurses when he started to stir and she came over to his bedside, “Well, hello sir, I’m Dr. Nancy O’Connor, one of the surgeons attending to your wounds yesterday. Do you recall your injuries?”
He struggled to sit up a little higher and the doctor helped him adjust his pillow and the bed angle. She also handed him the squeeze bottle of water without his requesting it, then he said, “Ah...hello doctor, I, ah...remember being wounded and lying on the street. Lots of gunfire all around.”
Then Dr. O’Connor took over, “You had two gunshot wounds and several superficial cuts and scrapes, some from bullet fragments and others from pavement around you.”
She continued, “When you arrived at the hospital, you were in shock and vital signs were poor due to loss of blood. First, we got you stabilized and cross-matched for blood. Your most serious wound was to your upper arm and chest where a bullet passed through several muscles and the bones. It cut an artery, which would have killed you if not for a tourniquet. In the OR, we fixed the artery and pinned the bone, then sewed the muscle tissue back together. We found the bullet in your chest and removed it. You’ve had lung damage. Then we went to work on the other wounds, which shouldn’t cause any permanent problems for you if we can keep infection under control. The damaged areas were highly contaminated as you can imagine.”
Peter said, “Wait ...wait, please...I’ve been wounded before” She had seen the scars. “Go back to the arm. You said the other wounds were not life threatening. What about my arm?”
”It’s too early to tell. It was without full circulation for a long time, at least thirty minutes. If the tissue doesn’t recover or if it becomes gangrenous, the arm will need to come off. I’m sorry, but I think you want the truth.”
”Yeah, the truth. Ah, what are my chances of keeping it?”
“Mr. Shields, I wish I could be encouraging, the next twenty four hours will tell. Now let’s have a look.”
She carefully pulled back the side of his blanket and it was the first time Peter realized his arm was in a cast from shoulder to wrist. His fingers were black and swollen. The sight terrified him. He could face mortal danger, but to be lying in bed with others in control of his welfare scared him. He was helpless to defend himself or even tend to his basic needs. He’d been in this circumstance before, and it was always the same. He knew that his body could take a lot and beat long odds, but would it be enough this time?
His focus changed, “Do you know about the rest of my team?”
O’Connor responded in a softer tone, “Not all of them, the FBI will be back later this evening and may know more. How many are in your team?”
”I...I don’t know, maybe twelve, or ten ...I don’t remember for sure.”
O’Connor answered, “Look Colonel, there was one other soldier on the helicopter that came in with you. He was shot in the neck and both feet.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “we didn’t get him in time. I’m sorry.”
Peter turned his head away and eventually closed his eyes; he let the sedatives work. He remembered the young Ranger down on the street next to him.
A few hours later he was lying in drug-induced dullness as more details of the ambush came back in memory. Most of the details were clarifying in his mind when he heard voices coming nearer. Since he was the only patient in the ICU, he expected company.
He was overwhelmed to see his two friends, Luke and Angela. Behind them, Captain John Stokes followed in clean BDUs. He struggled to be alert; his joy was genuine, “Hey! My favorite Feds! And Stokes! Welcome brothers and sister! It’s really good to see you!”
Luke said, “Look at the conquering hero! How you feeling Colonel?”
Peter said, “Hi Guys, I’m only a Major, Light Colonel was a temporary rank, but from now on, it’s just Peter, and I feel fine, under the circumstances.”
Angela leaned over the edge of the tall bed to kiss his cheek. She brought flowers, which touched him deeply. These were true friendships. Stokes came up to his bedside and took his good hand, “Brother, I consider it a privilege to have served with you; but I hope we don’t do it again anytime soon!”
Looking into Stokes’ eyes Peter said, “Thanks Ranger, you saved my ass a couple times. I won’t forget it.”
Stokes said, “As I see it sir, we worked well together and I don’t think anyone else could have beaten these guys.”
He started to feel a tear welling as he thought of the others. “Tell me about the others.”
After a little stammering, Luke said, “Sam Lee and most of the ASACs and most of the folks from Washington died in the window offices when the blast went off. Dozens are in hospitals.”
Stokes added, “Sir, in the ambush, we lost Sergeant Rodriquez and your two pilots in Little Bird One. The two EOD airmen are all right with a few dings, but we got ‘em sir. My team, the Rangers, and all the FBI agents really laid into those two assholes. They looked like shredded liver when it was over.”
Peter felt a little better, “So, it’s over. We got all the bombs?”
Luke said, “We got ‘em Peter, all nine are being guarded by police and National Guard, and will soon be under care and feeding of the DOE.”
Peter reflected, “It’s worth it then. We stopped the bastards.” Good people had died stopping these cowards. It was a familiar story played over and over for him.
Angela was standing by the window looking outside, allowing the men to talk. Peter was weary and hoped there were no more people today, especially the media. He just wanted to rest and be quiet with these friends. At one point, she stepped back slightly and her gaze was following motion outside. The men asked about his arm while Angela walked to the door of the ICU, then back to his bed. She said, “Peter, someone else has come to visit.”
He turned his head to the door just as Rachael entered the room. She was on crutches and had a few minor wounds on her
face, but otherwise, she looked fresh and beautiful, “Hi soldier, can I have the next dance?”
Angela moved over to help her balance as she leaned to hug and kiss him. He moved his right arm to embrace her, disregarding his IVs. He wanted to hold her. For the first time in decades, he was overcome with tears of relief and joy, “I...I...it’s good to see you.”
He could not talk further; his feelings for her were stronger than he’d allowed himself to realize when he feared she was lost. Tears ran from his eyes.
Epilogue
After eight weeks of recovery, Peter’s left arm was out of the cast. Each week thereafter, he had more feeling and motor skills in the arm. He started rehabilitation to regain strength and motion. His left bicep was disfigured, but with time and weight training, he would regain most of his strength and physical abilities. He was particularly thankful to Nancy O’Connor who never brought up the possibility of amputation again. Peter’s attitude was good and his recovery showed the effect of good friends, especially Rachael who was with him every day, while recovering from her own wounds. Peter had not had a female friend since high school. As he recovered, he began wishing their relationship would go to the next level. Maybe it was already there and he was too dense to realize it. She returned to Washington after a few weeks, but they spoke every day. Her parents had visited the hospital and her mother stayed with