Shadows And Light

* * *

“Susan, isn’t this great?” Dr. Karen David stood just outside the emergency-room entrance to the Camp Reed Naval Hospital. A pleased smile came to her triangular-shaped face.

Susan Evans smiled over at her surgeon friend. “I think I’d rather be back in the air-conditioned comfort of the Oak Knoll Hospital, Karen. How you could trade San Francisco’s beauty for this desert is beyond me.”

Karen mustered a winsome smile. “Look around you.” She waved her arm in the air. “There’s more action here. I was getting bored at Oak Knoll. That was regular surgery. I’m a trained trauma surgeon and I wanted to be busy doing that. Reed’s a major training base, and unfortunately, there are a lot more accidents and trauma situations here as a result.” She gave Susan a mischievous look. “Besides, we’re good at what we do. Why, these fine marines are going to be saved by the best trauma pair they’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Specifically,” Susan said with a laugh, “you. You’re the surgeon.”

Karen gave her a happy look. “Yes, but you’re my right-hand surgical nurse, Susan. Without you, I’d fumble a lot.”

That was probably true, Susan conceded as she stood outside the swinging door that led into the trauma unit adjacent to the emergency-room area. They were both trauma trained, and Susan conceded that they hadn’t really had reason to put their badly needed skills to work—until now. Karen was a brilliant surgeon who got caught up in the intensity of saving a person’s life. Susan was calm, cool and collected in comparison, slapping each instrument firmly into Karen’s gloved hand to make sure that rhythm between doctor and surgical nurse never got interrupted. One wrong motion could mean a life lost. Yes, they were a good team, and that was the main reason Susan had followed Karen out into the field.

Smoothing her nurse’s uniform, Susan looked down at her sensible white shoes. The summer heat here was scorching compared to San Francisco’s temperate weather, and she wished she’d put her collar-length hair up on her head. The back of her neck felt sweaty.

She watched Karen’s face become wreathed in smiles and followed her friend out toward the helicopter-landing area. The asphalt was painted with a huge white circle around a red cross, where the medevacs would unload injured marines whisked out of the surrounding training areas for immediate care. She turned on her heel to study the swinging doors of the ER area and hesitated. Was this what she really wanted? Frowning, Susan turned away and followed Karen as she eagerly explored her new world.

Karen always wanted to be in the middle of the action, Susan knew. And although she didn’t feel the same—out of loyalty and after a lot of nagging from Karen—she’d ended up coming along. Susan didn’t get high on the intense emergency-room atmosphere that Karen loved. Her friend often referred to herself as a “trauma junky,” addicted to the challenge of the life-and-death scenarios. Susan, on the other hand, was too sensitive to the pain the injured were feeling, the cries, the nauseating smells. Shoving her hands in the pockets of her skirt, she shook her head. Surgery performed under the bright lights of a stainless-steel operating room that reeked of antiseptic was far different from the crazy mayhem they’d soon be caught up in.

“This is wonderful!” Karen said as she stood in the center of the landing apron’s red cross.

The unrelenting Southern California sun bore down on them out of the light blue sky. With a slight smile, Susan murmured, “You do like to be in the thick of things.”

With a chuckle, Karen patted her shoulder. “Come on! This place will grow on you. Just look at it as a fantastic challenge.” Karen held up her long, thin hands with their competent, large-knuckled fingers. “These hands will get to save more lives by me being out here, Susan. Isn’t that worth coming for? They need trauma-ready surgeons like me in the field.”

“You’re right,” Susan admitted, smiling in spite of herself. She applauded Karen’s confidence. She wished more women would glory in their own unique assets as Karen did. She stared at her friend’s hands. No one was better or faster in an operating room. With another small smile, she said, “Come on, `Doc,’ let’s go check out the heart of this place, and then ICU.”

With a laugh, Karen allowed her hands to drop back to her sides. She touched her blond, pixie-style hair. “Am I crazy?”

“No,” Susan said, matching her longer stride to Karen’s short, eager one, “just excited about the possibilities. We will save more lives by being here,” she conceded.

Karen’s smile slipped, and she became more serious. “Look,” she whispered, “you did the right thing by coming here. It will take your mind off the past—off the loss of Steve.”

Pain pulled at Susan, and her step slowed as they drew up to the double swinging doors of ER. Karen had been her best friend at Oak Knoll Naval Hospital. She had been with her when Steve had died. If not for Karen’s care, she’d have gone crazy. Here at the marine base she would be reminded daily that life was fragile and good—and saving lives was something worth burying her heart and soul in.

“Yes,” she admitted in a low tone, “it’s probably a good thing we’re both here.”

Karen gave her an understanding look and rested her arm around Susan’s shoulders for a moment. “Come on, let’s check out our new turf. We’re going on duty in an hour, and we need to be ready. Those choppers are sure to come in sooner or later.”

With a forced laugh, Susan agreed and followed her surgeon friend through the modern trauma unit, filled with gurneys and a myriad of equipment used to save lives. Outside the unit was Recovery, a twenty-bed area where marines who were coming out of anesthesia would stay until they were fully conscious. Although Susan was a surgery nurse and most of her time would be spent in the trauma unit, she would also pull duty in ICU and Recovery, as well as other wards.

The ward area was divided between enlisted and officer areas. Susan would stand duty in both wards. Each unit held twenty beds, and navy corpsmen—enlisted men and women—would be assigned to help the medical staff take care of their healing charges. As Susan walked with Karen through the various wards, her heart was moved. Many of the beds held marines and navy personnel, staying here to recover from serious injuries before being sent back into the field.

Their faces were so young, so innocent, Susan thought, as she and Karen moved quietly down the aisles of each ward. Some of them sat up in their beds, playing cards to pass the time and keep boredom at bay. Others were swathed in white bandages, asleep or under a pain medication’s domain. It was the look of some in their eyes that haunted Susan. Some held terror—unspeakable knowledge that they couldn’t give words to. Other eyes, though, held curiosity, even friendly interest, accompanied by a shy smile.

Trying to prepare herself emotionally for what lay ahead on her first day of duty, Susan headed back to ER with Karen. They were opposites, Susan had realized years ago. Karen was a hard charger who grabbed hold of life, held onto it and moved with a vitality few could match. Susan, on the other hand, was more silent, introverted—moving like a shadow through life. She had learned early to be seen and not heard—to help, work, be responsible and never complain or try to throw off the burdens given to her.

Their tour completed, Susan and Karen retired to the female hospital personnel’s quarters to change into fresh white uniforms, settle their clothes in assigned lockers and have a cup of coffee before their first duty. Susan was the first through the doors of ER when a black navy corpsman ran toward them, out of breath.

“Hey!” the corpsman called. “A training helo with ten marines just crashed fifteen miles from here! We got dead and injured on their way in. Two medevacs are bringing ’em right now! Get ready!”

Susan knew that only two doctors and four nurses were assigned to the ER unit. She gasped as the corpsman’s message sank in and quickly moved to a small side room where she grabbed two green surgical gowns, handing one to Karen. They pulled them on, and Susan searched until she found the rubber gloves. Karen and the other doctor were scrubbing at the nearby sink. Susan’s heart started pounding in dread as she heard the heavy whapping sounds of a helicopter landing outside the trauma-unit door. Its windy wake buffeted the doors leading to the landing pad, and she could make out screams and shouts mingling with the roar of the helicopter’s engine.

Karen ran over to her, her hands held up, and Susan quickly slipped on the gloves. Just as the last one snapped into place, Susan heard the doors burst open. Jerking around, she saw corpsmen pushing five gurneys into the ER. Her mouth fell open as she surveyed the marines lying on them, their clothes torn and bloody, their arms hanging lifelessly.

Choking, Susan watched in a daze as Karen and the other doctors quickly began to ascertain the extent of the five men’s injuries.

“We got another load of five comin’ in!” a navy corpsman shouted.

Before Susan could run across the aisle to wash her hands, Dr. Benjamin Finlay, the head surgeon, caught her by the arm. “Evans, come here.” Rapidly, Finlay ordered her to give the young, blond marine an IV and prep him for surgery. With shaking hands, Susan tried to ignore the extensive injuries to the unconscious boy. The area became frantic as another helicopter off-loaded five more wounded personnel. Everywhere Susan looked, the small area was jammed with gurneys, with doctors and nurses running frantically from one patient to another, ascertaining medical statuses.

Susan tried not to allow her stricken emotions to get the better of her. Efficiently, she fitted the marine with an IV and quickly cut back his clothes to expose a gaping chest wound. Finlay came back, barking orders to several corpsmen to get the marine into surgery.

“This is your first day,” Finlay said, gripping her by the arm. He pointed toward three gurneys in the corner. “Take those three cases. They’re the least hurt.”

“Y-yes, sir.” Numbly, Susan moved toward the gurneys. One marine, a redheaded youth in his early twenties, was holding his bleeding hand. The second marine was also struggling to sit up. He had a mild scalp wound, Susan surmised as she walked over to them. Scalp wounds always bled heavily, but were rarely fatal.

“Ma’am,” the red-haired marine begged, “take care of our skipper. He’s really hurt. Please, take care of him first.”

Susan hesitated. Both young marines, their faces grim, their eyes wide with shock, pointed to the gurney behind her, which evidently bore their commanding officer. Opening her mouth, Susan started to say something. Ordinarily, she’d be the one deciding which patient was worst. But the pleading looks in their faces stifled her chastising words.

Turning on her heel, she finished pulling on the surgical gloves. As she looked down at the marine lying on the gurney, she gave a small cry of surprise and her heart slammed into her throat, her eyes widening enormously. The officer lying on the gurney, his gray eyes narrowed with pain, his hand clutching at his bloody thigh, was Craig Taggart.

“Oh, my God,” Susan whispered, frozen in place.

Chapter Two

Craig bit back a groan as the nurse in the surgical gown turned toward him. The pain from the crash injury he’d sustained moved in unrelenting waves up through his body. He held a tourniquet above the wound, his fist bloodied and wrapped around the web belt that he’d called into service from around his waist to keep the bleeding to a minimum.

As the dark-haired nurse turned toward him, Craig sucked in a breath of air. His eyes, narrowed against the pain, went wide with shock.

“Susan…” he gasped, staring up at her widening blue eyes.

Dizziness assailed Susan. She struggled to breathe, unable to move as she stared down into Craig’s tense, sweaty features, his gray eyes burning with undefin[chable anguish. A hundred fragments struck her with the force of a land mine—fragments from the past, images of how Craig had looked four years ago and how he looked now. His face had always been lean, but the lines bracketing his mouth and crossing his brow were new and deeply etched. No longer was this the young man she’d known at Annapolis. This man, his face hewn by life experiences she couldn’t imagine, stared back at her through gray, hawklike eyes. His features were dirty and muddied, sweat streaking through camouflage coloring to make him look like an alien from another planet.

“What are you doing here?” Craig demanded with a rasp. He couldn’t control his wildly beating heart or the feeling as if his breath were being choked off in the middle of his throat. Susan was here. Susan! Sweat trickled into his eyes, and he blinked rapidly. Her lovely face, now matured and impossibly more beautiful than he could ever recall, wavered before him. He opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out. The sounds of the emergency room assailed his senses, and the smells made him nauseous. Yet Susan stood before him, clothed in green, her hands held up and encased in surgical gloves, staring down at him as if she’d seen a ghost. Well, wasn’t he? Craig asked himself harshly.

“I…” Susan’s voice died in her throat. “Craig…”

Nothing was making sense. Angrily, Craig glared up at her. He tried to twist around, tried to see where they’d taken Andy and Larry, who he knew had been badly injured in the crash.

“Where are Hayes and Shelton?” he demanded, his voice harsh, unsteady.

Susan snapped out of her shock. “Who?”

“My men! Andy and Larry!”

“Calm down,” she whispered, forcing herself to move toward Craig.