Chapter 10: Life changes in a heartbeat

Vella La Cava

0530

USMC blankets were not big enough. Or maybe it was just that they were not meant to cover two people at once. No matter how Tori shifted, some part of her was sticking out, either a toe or a shoulder. The sun was a hint of pale rose glowing on the horizon and the breeze off the ocean was cool. She drew her legs up and nestled against the warmth of John's body.

"Stop wiggling."

His voice was rough with sleep but she could hear his smile in the words. He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed until she stopped.

"Sorry." She cradled her head on his arm, wishing time would stand still, that the sun wouldn't come up, that she could stay here with him in this warm cocoon and pretend the war didn't exist. They lay, entwined, as the sun inevitably rose, splashing the sky with gilded lavender.

John looked at his watch, groaned and sat up, pulling the blanket with him and throwing a lot of cool air on her fantasy. She protested, pulling the blanket back. He scrubbed a hand over his face, looked at her and grinned.

"What?" She wasn't sure if she should be indignant.

"You." His voice softened. "The first day I saw you, I never dreamed I'd be waking up with you." His grin grew broader as he studied her rumpled dress. "Well, yeah, I did dream about waking up with you but there were a lot less clothes involved."

"You're as impossible this morning as you were last night!" She tried to act offended but failed as his admiring look took in her skirt, which was kilted up nearly to her hips. Two buttons on her bodice had come open as she slept. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what he would do if she unbuttoned it the rest of the way and invited him back down next to her. But she couldn't. Not yet.

"Come on," he said, rising and holding his hands out. "I'll get you back to your quarters before someone misses you." He pulled her easily upright. "Wait. Let me." He re-buttoned her dress, shaking his head. "I can't believe I keep putting your clothes back on," he muttered. She saw the glint in his eye and gave his waist an affectionate squeeze.

They gathered the blankets and their shoes and drove, unspeaking, through the soft, cool light back to the hospital. When John pulled up at the back door to the nurses' quarters, Tori leaned across the seat and squeezed his hand as it rested on the gear shift.

"Thank you."

"You keep saying that. For what?" He took his hand off the shifter and cupped her face. She felt the strength of his fingers echo in her bones.

"For being you."

"I'll see you later, sweetheart." He kissed her. The sun broke through the low dawn clouds, a stray shaft brushing him with gold. She drank it in, that thousand-watt smile, the rough shadow of stubble over the hard planes of his face, the tousled dark hair.

"See you later."

She grabbed her shoes and ran for the door.

XXX

Tori stepped into the cool dimness of the corridor and turned the corner to her room.

"How was your first time on the beach?"

She jumped. Dee laughed and leaned against the wall outside her door, a mug of coffee in one hand.

"What are you doing up so early?" Tori returned, going evasive.

"I just kicked Casey out of here." She yawned leisurely and waved at Tori's dress. "You've got sand all over your skirt."

"I've got sand everywhere."

"Amateur. You'll get the hang of it after a few times."

"No! It wasn't like that."

"Really?" Dee's eyebrows illustrated her doubt. "Here." She handed Tori the coffee. "You look like you need this more than I do. I got to sleep in a bed last night." She grinned broadly. "Okay, I got to spend the night in a bed."

Tori took the coffee gratefully. She and John hadn't slept much. They'd stayed up, watching the stars slide across the vault of the heavens and talking – about strawberries and fireflies and going home to things that would never be the same again - until they both fell asleep. She inhaled the steam wafting off the mug and took a blissful sip.

"Want to tell me about it?" Dee's expression was cheerfully nosy.

"There's nothing to tell," Tori protested. "We didn't . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"Mmmm?"

"We didn't do anything . . . almost . . . anything."

"Mmmm? Define almost."

"I told him about Grier. Finally."

"Good for you, Tor. How'd that go?"

Tori paused.

"He was wonderful. I mean, I know it wasn't what he expected when we went out there. But he listened. And when I was done telling him every miserable, sorry, angry detail of my soul he wasn't like some guys would have been, you know, okay, whatever, now will you please take your panties off so we can get on with this? He said we'd have another night together. I think he was grinding his teeth when he said it but he didn't push me for anything."

Dee laughed.

"That sounds exactly like Hutch. I think working between Micklin and Greg has given him the patience of a saint."

Tori leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

"He probably thinks I'm some kind of emotional time bomb," she groaned. "I mean, things were going great . . . really great . . . God, Dee, his hands, you have no idea . . . then all of a sudden I'm having flashbacks and seeing Grier's face and having a meltdown. I'm a mess, an absolute mess."

"I don't think you are," Dee said, appraisingly. "And when you told him no, he listened. Tori, that's what real men do when they care more about your feelings than theirs."

Tori took a long sip of coffee.

"Thanks." She lifted the mug. "I'm going to shower. Swear to God I don't know where all this sand came from."

XXX

After dropping Tori at the hospital, Hutch figured he had a couple of hours before the Black Sheep achieved any state of consciousness. It wasn't like he was trying to avoid them but he knew they were going to be locked and loaded and gunning for details. What he and Tori had done on the beach last night wasn't any of their damn business but that wouldn't stop them. He grinned wryly. What comes around, goes around. He'd spent his share of time teasing the other boys about their nocturnal activities, either on the beach or elsewhere. He had it coming.

A thin stream of smoke near the mess tent indicated the cook was functional. Hutch pulled the jeep over and ducked in for a mug of coffee. There was a coffee pot in the mechanics' shed but it was a temperamental thing and he wasn't in the mood to finesse it this morning. He filled a steel thermos, grabbed a clean mug off the rack and got back in the jeep.

"Hey, Hutch!"

He turned to see Jim sauntering toward him. Damn. He didn't want to deal with any of the boys right now. The scent of Tori's skin lingered on his clothes and he just wanted to sit and drink his coffee and think about what the hell had happened last night. Or not happened. Well. No. He didn't want to think about that at all. Damn it. She'd been assaulted, almost raped and chose to move 6,000 miles away from her family, to the middle of a war zone, to ensure their names didn't get drug through the mud in the papers. If that didn't make a guy rethink things, he didn't know what would.

"What are you doing up this early, Gutterman?" he grumbled. "Figured you'd still be sacked out."

Jim leaned against the jeep and scratched his head.

"Naw. Parties aren't as much fun when you're by yourself. I sat back and watched everyone else get plastered." He chuckled. "What are you doin' up at this hour? It's pretty early for someone who didn't get any sleep last night."

"Who says I didn't get any sleep?" Hutch countered evenly. And here it comes, he thought.

"We all saw you leave with Tori. The way the two of you were looking at each other? Naw, you didn't go to the beach to sleep. Come on, son, tell it."

"Nothing to tell."

"Nothing to tell or you just aren't telling?" Jim studied him. Hutch just grinned. He couldn't help it. He wouldn't have told even if there'd been anything to tell but Jim didn't need to know that.

"Damn it. You're as bad as Greg. I never can get him to talk about Kate. He just grins like you."

"Good. Then you're used to it. We spent the night on the beach and that's all you need to know, son."

Jim gave up and changed the subject.

"You got time to double check the feeder chain on my starboard guns before we go up today?"

"Sure."

"Thanks. Catch ya later."

Hutch put the jeep into gear and drove through the still-sleeping camp. Jim's starboard guns were the last thing on his mind. The feeling that had taken root the day Tori threw him the football had grown into something he couldn't ignore anymore. She was funny and gorgeous and intense and for reasons he would never understand, she liked him. If her initial response last night was any indication, she liked him a lot.

But no meant no. His dad made that clear when he starting dating in high school. Greg made it clear during a conduct lecture in the early days of the squadron. Forcing a girl to do anything against her will was unacceptable. He wanted Tori like he wanted his next breath but he wouldn't push it. He wanted her to want him with a matching desire, not just a lukewarm acquiessence or, worse yet, giving her permission but failing to be an equal participant. He could still feel the beat of her heart against his fingers as he re-buttoned her dress, her trust fluttering in his hands like a wounded bird.

He'd never felt this way about a girl before. Earning that trust was worth every bit of discomfort she'd caused him last night. He sighed. No amount of denial on his part was going to stop the 214's brutally efficient grapevine from having a heyday with this. He'd spent the night with Tori on the beach and that was all that mattered. The Black Sheep loved a happy ending, even if it only existed in their imagination.

XXX

That afternoon

The Black Sheep were over the Slot on a late day patrol when a partial squadron of Japanese fighters struck La Cava. It was too much of a coincidence to be anything but a carefully orchestrated plan and Hutch knew it supported Greg's theory the raiders were launching from a nearby base where spotters could keep tabs on the unit's comings and goings.

Only this time, Greg was ready. He'd sent Casey up to lead the patrol and held two planes back. He and Bobby Boyle waited.

Wary of the base's amped up gun placements, the raiders made a single sweep across the camp in a hot lead rain of destruction. As the Zeroes started to climb with no sign of circling back, Greg scrambled out of the foxhole and raced toward the line, Bobby right behind him.

Hutch knew this was the opportunity Greg had been waiting for and had both planes cranked over before the pilots got to the cockpits. Cylinders coughed and caught with an explosive roar of horsepower.

Greg vaulted into his bird and pulled on his flight harness.

"Hang on, your canopy's off the track!" Hutch shouted, cursing yet another miniscule detail that cost the pursuers precious time.

He sprinted back to the mechanics' shed and rummaged through the miscellany of tools on the workbench. Grabbing a short crowbar, he dashed back. Squinting to avoid the dust storm kicked up by the prop, he leaped onto the wing of the plane. Greg adjusted his headgear as Hutch jammed the pry bar under the canopy runner and with a fast, practiced motion popped it back into the track. He leaped to the ground, pulled the chocks and flashed a thumbs up.

"Good hunting!"

Greg swung the fighter off the line and powered down the airstrip, Bobby right behind him. Hutch watched as both birds lifted into the sky. With any luck, the two of them could get a fix on the raiders' secret base and put an end to this before the 214 went belly up. The raiders may have only sent a partial squadron this time but their attack had been calculated to strike where it would hurt the most. He glanced around at the burning remnants of what had been a jeep. Beyond it, the stack of 50-gallon drums that held part of the squadron's engine oil had been reduced to a smoking ruin.

Lost in thought, he jogged toward the mechanics' shed where Corporal Richardson was wrestling with a fire extinguisher as big as he was. Around him, ground personnel were already assessing the damage and starting salvage operations. The 214 wasn't going to stay in business much longer at this rate. Every time the raiders hit, they took a little bigger bite. Hutch knew half the requisitions Micklin and Greg sent to Espritos didn't make it past Colonel Lard's desk. How could they keep the unit combat ready when they couldn't even get the minimal parts they requested for maintenance, let alone replacing things that had been completely destroyed?

None of the men said it out loud but they all knew it was just a matter of time until the Japanese quit screwing around with the base and went after the hospital. It had happened before, in other areas. They wanted this island back and they wanted it badly. In spite of the red crosses painted on the hospital's roof, the Japanese wouldn't hesitate to call a strike on the compound. There weren't any gun placements there and no hope of defense against an air assault.

Caught up in his thoughts, Hutch didn't hear the rogue plane until it was too late. The roar of the Zero's engine jerked him back to reality and he bolted for the nearest foxhole as the Japanese pilot took aim at the now-unsuspecting men focused on clean-up detail. Dirt and small stones stung his skin as the blazing guns kicked up a ground storm of debris.

He was 20 feet from safety when either by luck or intention, the Japanese pilot managed to line up a shot that hit something besides dirt. The 20 mm rounds struck a stack of jerry cans and half-empty fuel drums piled near the mechanics' shed. Sparks flew as the ammo chewed into metal and in less than a second, fuel vapor ignited and one of the cans exploded. The resulting chain reaction tore the drums apart, blasting shards of jagged metal outward in a vicious web.

Even as the explosion echoed in his ears, Hutch knew he was in trouble. He could feel the heat of the flames licking his skin and launched himself through the air in a desperate, futile attempt to reach cover.

Searing pain lanced through him as razor-edged metal shards sliced into his body and he stumbled, throwing his hands up to protect his head as he fell. Skin peeled off his arms as he slid across the ground but that pain was nothing compared to the agony that erupted in his upper thigh. Holy God, it felt like a fencepost had been driven into it. He rolled, this body twisting in a futile attempt to relieve the pain, as he slid toward the now worthless protection of the foxhole.

He heard screaming, a raw, animal sound that both surrounded him and came from a distance at the same time. Micklin yelled his name. Hutch tried to call back but couldn't form the words. Someone was still screaming. He could hear it in his head. He staggered to his knees but the pain was brutal, dragging him down in a suffocating red mist. The world around him fell away in a slow motion rush of people yelling and running, Micklin falling into the dirt next to him, calling his name over and over. The pain ripped at him until he thought he'd come apart with it. Then everything went mercifully black.

XXX

On duty at the hospital, Tori heard the Zeroes. Not a full squadron, she thought, maybe only half a dozen planes but their quiet slyness was almost more ominous than if it had been a full blown attack. She froze in the process of afternoon rounds, listening to the symphony of the airborne assault and ground fire from the base. Sound carried easily on the still air.

She, Dee and two other nurses grabbed their bags before Delmonte barked the order and were out the door as the all-clear signal sounded. Medics followed in ambulances behind them. It was a drill they'd rehearsed too many times.

A pall of smoke hung over the base and the all too familiar scene of destruction greeted the nurses as Dee slowed the jeep between the tents and buildings, searching for wounded personnel. The boys who were bleeding from minor injuries waved them off, intent on putting out fires and preventing further damage. Tori saw there were no planes on the line. She hoped Greg's plan to chase the raiders to their hidden base worked this time. She squinted through the haze, searching for John's familiar tall form. Dee was still driving slowly, steering around the wreckage left by the raid. They were nearly at the line. Where was he? She should be able to see -

"Over here! I need help over here!"

She saw Sergeant Micklin, desperation etched in every line of his body as he knelt by a figure sprawled on the ground. Tori froze, an unseen fist slamming into her gut. She couldn't see the face but recognized the shock of dark hair. Then she was out of the jeep and running with Dee behind her. Both of them fell to their knees in the dirt. Tori took one horrified look at John's body and her breath caught in her throat like jagged glass. He lay face up, one arm dangling over the edge of the foxhole. His eyes were closed. Micklin's hand was pressed against his thigh, blood pumping over his fingers and trickling onto the dusty ground.

No one spoke. Tori forced her mind into the cool, detached place where she could analyze the situation. She breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. If John were dead, blood wouldn't still be pumping out of the wound. Needing confirmation, she slid two fingers under his jaw, relieved to feel a pulse. It was rapid and thready but it was confirmation of life. His upper leg was little more than mangled flesh, embedded metal shards protruding obscenely, the scarlet torrent pulsing with each heartbeat.

Without a word, Dee yanked a field dressing from her bag and slapped it into Tori's hand. She tore her eyes from John's still face to fix the thick dressing over the worst of his leg, working cautiously around the embedded shrapnel. Micklin's hand joined hers and they both kept pressure on the dressing as the ambulance driver and another medic lifted John onto a stretcher.

"Go, we've got the rest of this," one of the other nurses called and Tori and Dee climbed into the back of the vehicle. An orderly slammed the door and it lurched out of the base.

The three miles to the hospital were a nightmare. The metallic scent of blood filled the hot, confined space. Dee monitored John's vitals and put hasty bandages on the worst of the injuries to his arm and torso. Tori used both hands to press down on the dressing over his ruined leg as if she could keep his life from pumping out by sheer force of will. Every beat of his heart echoed against her hands, one more second defying death. His eyes opened and a faint smile played over his features as his gaze flicked from Tori to Dee and back.

"What did I do to deserve both of you?" he asked, his voice faint.

"You lived," Tori said grimly. "Don't stop now."

He reached for her and she gripped his hand fiercely, blood smeared and sticky on their entwined fingers.

"You look like a pin cushion. You've got more holes in you than Carters has pills."

He mumbled something unintelligible, voice fading.

"Damn you, John Hutchinson." Tori was choked with fear and anger. "You told me the worst thing that was going to happen today was a bunch of hung-over pilots. You better not have lied." She took a deep breath and backed away from the edge of hysteria. He squeezed her hand but didn't speak. She could feel him slipping away.

The ambulance careened to a halt in front of the hospital. The medics unloaded the stretcher and Tori stumbled out with it, never letting go of John's hand.

They carried him into the nearest exam room and transferred him to the table. She could feel his pulse, erratic under her fingers. His eyes were closed again.

"John? John! Stay with me! You're going to be all right. You hear me?"

Dee re-appeared and handed Tori a pair of scissors.

"Get his pants off. I've got to start an IV line."

Tori reluctantly let go of his hand and moved to the foot of the table to begin cutting off his fatigues. Blood dripped slowly onto the floor in a steady patter, crimson against gray tile. Tori gave up with the scissors, gripped both sides of the torn cloth and ripped the pant leg from ankle to groin.

"How bad is it?" John's voice was so low Tori had to lean close to hear him. He fumbled for her hand and she gripped his. "You're sure in a big hurry to get my pants off."

"It's just a scratch, Marine," she said. "You've gotten hurt worse in the Sheep Pen."

She was rewarded with a slight smile but his eyes stayed closed. She saw his throat work as he tried to speak but the words didn't make it past his lips, as if he couldn't summon the energy.

"Damnit, John, if you die on me I'll kill you," she threatened and felt his fingers squeeze tight on hers.

Doc Reese bolted into the room, rolling up his sleeves.

"What have we got?"

"Severe shrapnel trauma to the upper thigh. Superficial wounds to the arm and chest." Tori was surprised how calm her voice was. She stepped aside as Reese moved in. He gave John a cursory exam without touching him, then cranked on the tap and began scrubbing his hands.

"Blood pressure's dropping, pulse is erratic. He's going into shock," Dee said, pulling the ends of a stethoscope from her ears.

"Prep him for surgery." Reese eyed the red stain soaking through the pressure bandage. "Sweet bleeding Jesus, what is that?" He stared at the shard of metal protruding from John's upper thigh.

"I think it's part of a fuel drum, sir," Tori said. Her voice sounded mechanical and flat.

Reese swore.

"Start him on two units whole blood and pray it doesn't all pump back out."

Tori flinched as if someone had struck her.

"We're out of blood," she said. "We used the last of it on those boys from the Intrepid yesterday. There hasn't been time to resupply."

Reese's head snapped around.

"Get Boyington and Casey up here on the double! They're our regular O-negative donors!"

"Casey's up with the afternoon patrol and Greg's out chasing the raiders who did this!" Dee answered. "They might not be back for hours."

"Damnit! This boy doesn't have hours. Who else have we got who can donate?"

Tori looked up, shoved hair out of her eyes with her forearm. She hadn't let go of John's hand even though he'd lost consciousness again. His fingers were unresisting against hers.

"I'm O-negative." She could feel his blood soaking through the packing, warm under her fingers as his life ebbed away.

"Ryan, you do the draw! Halvorson! Morgan! I need you to assist in surgery. Bring that unit in as soon as you've drawn it. I can't do anything until we get his pressure back up and stabilize his heart rhythm. Let's go, people!"

Two orderlies appeared and on a three-count, lifted John onto a gurney. Tori gave his hand a final squeeze, knowing he couldn't feel it, then let him go. She yanked the sleeve of her jumpsuit up, popping the buttons off the cuff in the process, and found a tourniquet. She had her arm tied off even as Dee whipped a syringe and tubing from a drawer and hung a collection bottle on a pole.

"Sit," she told Tori. "Make a fist."

Tori sank into a chair and jerked the end of the tourniquet tight with her teeth. Having something to do kept her mind off the image of John's still form as the orderlies wheeled him from the room. Dee swabbed the inside of her elbow with iodine and without hesitation, slid the 18-gauge needle into her vein.

"Think you could have found a bigger needle?" Tori said, wincing through clenched teeth. "Why not just shove a garden hose in there and be done with it?"

Dee snorted, her fingers moving deftly as she secured the needle.

"Didn't think you'd mind. The faster I can get it out of you, the faster we can get it into him. Thank God you have good veins." She grinned. "Vampires would love you."

Tori knew the joke was meant to help her relax and she appreciated it. She loosened the tourniquet. She looked at the crimson liquid flowing into the collection bottle, then back at her friend. Dee's face was a study in calm concentration.

"Squeeze," Dee ordered and gripped Tori's hand. She complied, knowing the motion would fill the bottle faster.

"He's going to be all right, you know. It's a long way from his heart and Reese is the best."

"I know." Tori's voice was barely audible. Silence wrapped the room. Suddenly, exhaustion and emotion threatened to swamp her. Hot tears burned behind her eyelids and she felt like she might dissolve into nothingness. Dee's unflappable friendship anchored her in hope. They sat, neither speaking, as the level in the bottle rose.

"He means more to you than just a good time on the beach, doesn't he?"

Tori didn't say anything for a long time.

"Yes." It was as simple as that. There was no doubt in her heart what John meant to her, but the realization was so new her mind edged around it cautiously, hesitant to give it full disclosure.

"Thought so. Keep squeezing my hand."

Neither of them spoke again. When the bottle was full, Dee pulled the needle out and slapped a gauze patch over the site. Tori automatically pressed her fingers over it.

"Don't go anywhere." Dee collected the bottle and left. Tori heard her footsteps, then the creak of the door into the operating room, a few barked orders, then silence as the door swung shut. She closed her eyes. He was in God's hands. God and Doc Reese.

Dee came back into the room. She filled a pitcher of water and set it and a glass next to Tori.

"Drink. I may have taken a little more blood than I normally would. I didn't think you'd mind but if you try to stand up right now you're going to fall over." She turned and began cleaning up the exam room. The remnants of John's blood soaked clothes lay on the floor. Ragged and torn, like he had been. So much blood. Tori stood to help and the room tilted alarmingly. Dee grabbed her elbow and glaring, lowered her back into the chair. "Sit down. Drink. That's an order. I'll get you something to eat in a minute."

"I can – " Tori began.

"You can not," Dee said firmly. "You're going to sit there and not do a damned thing." She glanced toward the closed door of the OR. "Except pray."

XXX

Three hours later

The orderlies transferred him from the gurney to the bed with smooth efficiency. Laura checked his pulse and arranged a sheet over his legs and torso.

"Doc pulled a lot of shrapnel out of that leg and reconstructed it as well as he could," she said. "One of the pieces went clear to the bone. He may walk with a limp for the rest of his life but he's going to be all right." She reached out and squeezed Tori's arm. "You okay?"

Tori looked at John, the hard angles of his face relaxed in unconsciousness. He looked impossibly young in spite of the dark stubble that covered his jaw. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll stay with him for a while," she said. "You and Dee look exhausted. Your shifts ended hours ago."

"So did yours," Laura said.

"I haven't been doing anything but sitting here since he went into surgery. Dee has me under hack. She let me stand up long enough to scrub off and change my clothes, then made me sit down again. She won't leave me alone."

"I may have drawn a little more blood from her than I should have," Dee said to Laura. "If she passes out, tell Delmonte she's got malaria or something."

"That's okay, he needed it more than I did." Tori drug a chair to the edge of the bed and slouched into it, not taking her eyes off him.

"He came through the surgery really well, all things considered," Laura said. "BP's a little high but Doc's not worried. His heart rate's good. He's out of it on morphine right now but if you want to stay – " she smiled, "I'm sure that will make you both feel better when he wakes up."

"I'll stay." There was no hesitation even though emotional exhaustion threatened, again, to swamp her like a ship in high seas. But she couldn't walk out and leave him even though she knew he'd have round the clock medical attention. Never mind that she could barely take care of herself right now. She wanted to be with him, needed the assurance of watching him breathe. Of watching him live.

"Doc Reese will be in to check on him through the night but he doesn't expect any complications. Ellen and Doreen are coming on at 2000. They'll keep a close eye on him. Are you sure you don't want to go back to your room? You look a little peely-wally," Laura queried.

"Peely-wally?" Tori managed a laugh. "Delmonte would love that diagnosis. No. I'm fine. I'll stay."

Tori heard Laura talking to Dee as they left the ward.

"She is not fine. Be sure to tell Ellen and Dorrie they're going to have to monitor both of them," she said quietly.

The ward was quiet. Outside, late evening sounds drifted through the open window. A ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. Tori made herself as comfortable as she could in the straight back chair – which was to say not at all – and watched John as he slept. The only light came from the nurses' station at the other end of the room. The hard angles of his face looked smudged in the soft light, then she realized her vision was blurring with tears. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. He was alive and he would be all right. She lay her hand on the only bare patch of skin on his arm that wasn't stitched or bandaged. He was warm but not feverish.

She bit her lip, denying the tears that threatened again. The granite resolve that had set in while John was in surgery, refusing to acknowledge any outcome except life, was dissolving now and in its place came a sensation so sharp and dazzling it was almost painful. She could have lost him today, lost him just as she was starting to realize the beauty of what they shared - the unexpected discovery of two people who would have never met in the rhythm of normal life back in the States. They could have lived their entire lives within 60 miles of each other and never crossed one another's path. It had taken a covered-up scandal and a brutal war to find the man who could stop her heart with just a smile.

Images flitted through her mind – throwing him a football, taping his injured fingers, his arms around her as he pulled her to safety during the air raid, his arms around her as he threw her into the water, his arms around her as he drew her in for a kiss. The night on the beach seemed impossibly long ago but it had only been 24 hours. His eyes. His mouth. The security of his arms.

One thing was for sure. After this, she'd never be able to go home and marry a boy who'd found excuses to ride out the war without serving. Oh who was she kidding. She was never going to look at another boy anywhere. Somewhere between playing catch with a football and feeling the elation and terror of his body against hers, she'd fallen in love with a line mechanic from Flint.

XXX

An hour later, Greg and Bobby stepped into the hospital. Dee stood to meet them.

"Micklin told us about Hutch when we set down. How is he?" Greg asked. He and Boyle were both still in their flight suits, disheveled but with an unmistakable air of vindication.

"He was in surgery for three hours. His leg's pretty torn up but Reese says he should heal all right." She drew a long breath. "It was touch and go for a while. We almost lost him more than once."

"Micklin thought he was a gonner. Said he figured there was more blood on the outside of him than the inside."

"Can we see him?" Bobby asked. When Dee didn't respond, he added, "We promise to behave."

Dee snorted.

"That'll be the day. Follow me. But he's sedated so he won't be able to talk to you."

"That's all right," Bobby said. "We just want to see him, you know, to know he's okay."

Dee led the men down the aisle and they stopped at the foot of the bed. Hutch lay on his back, deep in drug-induced slumber. Tori was sitting in a chair near the head of the bed. She'd slumped sideways, the upper half of her body resting on the edge of the bed, her head pillowed on one arm. Her other hand rested gently on Hutch's shoulder. The dim light glinted off the tangle of red gold hair falling across her cheek.

"Oh for heaven's sake," Dee muttered softly. "She said she was just going to sit with him for a little bit. Looks like she's out."

The three of them stood in silence for a minute.

"You're sure he'll be okay?" Greg asked. "He's the best damn mechanic we've got on this rock. And I think Lieutenant Bishop would have a hard time with it if anything happened to him."

"Reese thinks so but he's not going to be running any races for a while." Dee studied Tori. "She hasn't left him since he came out of surgery, but sitting like that's gotta be uncomfortable. Would you mind . . .?"

Greg slid an arm under Tori's legs and another around her shoulders. He lifted her off the chair and gently laid her on the adjoining bed. She stirred but didn't wake. Dee untied her boots and pulled them off, then tossed a light blanket over her.

"Did you have any luck finding those bastards?" she asked as the three of them made their way toward the door. The look of grim satisfaction on Greg's face told her all she needed to know.

"They're launching from an abandoned airstrip on one of those little no-name islands about a hundred miles northeast of here, off the coast of Choiseul," he said. "But not for much longer."