Okay.. so I lied. This isn't the final chapter after all! I tried to wrap it up in this one but it's become obvious that there's a lot more stuff to tie up yet and we're gonna have to have just one more chapter... Mmmmm, post-op Sheppy :)
You will see the POV has changed to Carson for this chappy – I think poor old Sheppy's been through enough and he deserves a bit of a snooze... and who better to describe all the medical goings-on than our favourite Scot?
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far – hope you're enjoying how the story is developing. One last chappy to go now – I promise!
Please do review and let me know your thoughts – it might make me write faster... grin
Dr Carson Beckett hung onto the console for dear life as the puddle jumper banked sharply, barely clearing the treetops as it surged forward. In between his growing concern for his patient – and his fear of dying in an explosion of fiery wreckage - he was immensely thankful that he wasn't the one having to fly the infernal craft.
It had taken some seriously fancy flying to even get the puddle jumper here – the planet's surface was heavily forested, the jungle growing close to the gate, and there was barely enough clearance around the stargate to fit a jumper through. They'd had to enter the stargate infuriatingly slowly and begin braking as soon as they exited – and even then they had lurched to a stop mere inches from the thick tree trunks, leaving Carson, in the co-pilot's seat, green-faced and dizzy with relief. Their air force pilot – Carson made a mental note to find out the man's name, you should always know the name of a man you owe your life to – had then manoeuvred them carefully straight upwards, navigating the overhanging canopy with skill, branches scraping the outer hull as they ascended, the creaking and cracking noises making Carson shudder.
It had been a slow, tense process and the occupants of the small craft had found themselves increasingly on edge as the jumper had scraped through the canopy, twisting and swerving to avoid larger obstacles, all of them acutely aware of the passing of time and the urgency of their mission. Ronon's terse radio message telling them to hurry had increased the tension exponentially, the air thick with a mounting sense of impatience with the necessarily slow rate of their ascent. Carson had watched the deliberate passage of the tangled jungle foliage through the viewscreen of the jumper, biting down on a rising frustration even as he planned his treatment options based on the information Rodney and Teyla had brought back through the gate.
Sheppard's team members had insisted on accompanying the rescue party back through the gate and even now sat with the triage team in the back of the jumper, their skin and clothing still scratched and sticky with sap, the tension evident on their faces.
The canopy shot past beneath them as the pilot pushed the craft to its limits.
Carson could see the trees begin to thin out far head, a break in the canopy a sharp, visible line, as they rapidly approached the river Ronon had directed them to. The HUD flashed up on the viewscreen as the pilot tracked Ronon's radio signal, adjusting their course to take the most direct line to their missing expedition members.
The scene as they cleared the treetops and began to descend into the river valley was like something out of a movie, Carson thought. A Western movie.. probably one with "Last Stand" somewhere in the title.
Ronon had chosen his location well, taking up a defensive position near a rocky outcropping situated on a wide bend in the river where the banks widened out enough to allow enough space – barely - for a jumper to land. As they descended rapidly, Carson could see that the tall warrior stood astride a crumpled form on the riverbank, a gun in each hand as he tried desperately to keep at bay a pack of five large predators who now had the two members of SGA1 surrounded.
The situation looked pretty desperate; Teyla and Rodney had filled the team in on the ferocity of the beast they had encountered and its resilience, describing how it had survived all their attempts to kill it, refusing to relinquish it's prey until Sheppard had blown its brains out at close range. On the ground below them, Ronon was twisting around, trying his best to keep all the creatures in view, his arms outstretched as he targeted the stalking animals, but his shots only served to delay the inevitable, causing one hungry predator to squeal and drop back even as two more crept closer whilst his back was turned. He didn't take his attention from the beasts for even a second as the jumper hovered overhead.
The animals hesitated at the unfamiliar noise of the puddle jumper, cringing and snarling at this new threat. Carson rose from his seat and made his way to the rear section of the jumper as their pilot skilfully guided them downwards, squeezing the little craft into a space barely large enough to hold it. Their small strike force of marines were already forming up at the rear hatch as they landed. The major in command hit the door control as soon as they felt the bottom of the jumper hit the ground and the marines poured out onto the riverbank, weapons raised and immediately laying down a heavy spray of cover fire.
For a moment all was confusion and Beckett's senses were overwhelmed by the roar of gunfire, the howls and squeals of wounded animals, and the heavy smell of cordite in the air. He waited anxiously in the jumper, looking on helplessly as the marines quickly formed a defensive perimeter around Ronon and the injured Colonel, using controlled bursts of automatic fire to keep the predators pinned down away from the jumper. Making the most of the short reprieve, Ronon bent and grabbed hold of the limp form at his feet and, with a sudden heave, threw Sheppard roughly over his shoulder before making a run for the jumper, the marines falling in behind him in a practised move, covering their retreat.
The rear compartment of the jumper was pure chaos, Carson's team crowding around Ronon and Sheppard, the strike force piling in through the open hatchway even as the exhausted Satedan crouched and slid Sheppard from his shoulders into the waiting arms of the triage team. The sound of gunfire was loud in the cramped space as the marines fired around the edges of the closing rear hatch, the major shouting over the din for the pilot to get them airborne, soldiers stepping around and over Beckett's team as they carefully laid Sheppard down on the floor of the jumper so they could start to assess their patient.
Carson's face was a tight frown of concentration as he quickly ran through the basics: airways, breathing and circulation. The Colonel stirred restlessly as Beckett pressed his fingers firmly to his neck, searching for a carotid pulse. It was there but it was weak and rapid, fluttering under his fingers. Sheppard's skin was hot and flushed under his touch, the Colonel's hair damp and sticky with sweat. Carson's mind raced ahead of him, already planning treatment options as he rapidly diagnosed shock, blood loss, probable infection and fever and, of course, massive trauma…
He let his team deal with the basics, setting up IV lines - fluids and type-specific - whilst he assessed his patient's injuries, moving carefully down Sheppard's limp body, taking note of the bandage wrapped around the upper right arm, pulling up the Colonel's ripped t-shirt to examine the shallow gash across his ribs. He knelt cautiously beside Sheppard in the cramped confines of the jumper and began to gently peel away the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around his thigh, grimacing as he pulled away the sodden mass and got his first look at the damage beneath.
"Oh my god..." He couldn't help the whispered exhalation at the sight of the deep, ragged wounds in Sheppard's thigh muscle.
"I cleaned it up as best I could. Used fresh water from the river..." Ronon's deep voice was low and weary. Carson glanced up to find the Satedan slumped on the bench near the door into the forward section of the jumper, Rodney and Teyla gathered around him, all of their faces showing the same fearful tension as they watched the medics work on their team leader. Ronon looked physically exhausted, the scrapes and stains on his skin and clothes a testament to his arduous flight through the jungle. Carson made a mental note to make sure that Ronon received a thorough check-up on their return to Atlantis.
"You did fine, son." It was clear to all of them that Sheppard wouldn't be alive right now were it not for the actions of the former runner. He had risked his own life to help his injured CO, literally carrying the man to safety under desperate circumstances. He had played his part admirably – now it was Carson's turn to complete the job.
He rummaged in his medical pack for a pair of scissors and turned back to his patient. Given their situation, Ronon had done a good job of cleaning up the wounds but Sheppard had continued to bleed during their last, frantic flight to safety and the whole thigh area was blood-soaked and crusted, the ragged edges of the Colonel's torn BDUs sticking damply to his leg. The flesh around the wounds looked puffy and inflamed and Carson suspected infection was already setting in. He really needed to properly clean and inspect the wounds as soon as possible.
Crawling awkwardly along the floor of the jumper, Carson took hold of the hem of Sheppard's BDUs and quickly ran his scissors up through the pants leg, the sharp blades slicing rapidly through the fabric up as far as the thigh. Carson was vaguely aware of a muttered expletive from Rodney as they all saw that the entire length of Sheppard's leg was stained and smeared with blood, a pattern of glistening rivulets where overflow from the soaked bandages had seeped from the absorbent padding and trickled downwards.
Sheppard stirred restlessly when Carson began to delicately cut through the torn fabric around the wounds, carefully peeling away the sodden, stiff material, and he was surprised to see the Colonel's eyelids fluttering. Sheppard had been barely conscious when Ronon had carried him into the jumper, his eyes closed, reacting only slightly to external stimuli and, quite frankly, given the extent of the blood loss involved, Carson was amazed he was conscious at all.. but Sheppard actually seemed to be waking up. He turned back to his delicate task, pulling the material back to expose the sluggishly bleeding wounds. The Colonel groaned softly and Carson had to pull his hands away as Sheppard's leg jerked.
One of Beckett's team gently lifted an eyelid and shone a penlight to check for pupil responses and Sheppard twitched away from the glare, mumbling incoherently.
"Colonel?" Carson leaned over as he spoke, seeing Sheppard's eyes blink slowly open, his gaze unfocused. Sheppard frowned drowsily, his throat working as he tired to speak.
"Doc..?" It was barely a whisper, the Colonel's voice dry and cracked.
"Yes, son. You're going to be fine.. we'll be back in Atlantis in no time.." Carson looked over his shoulder as he spoke, glancing at the marine major for confirmation. The soldier nodded from his position just inside the forward compartment, raising a hand with fingers spread to indicate 5 minutes.
Carson's attention was brought quickly back to Sheppard as the Colonel let out a ragged groan, his face creasing in pain as he moved restlessly.
"Just lie still now, lad. We'll get you fixed up as good as new.."
Sheppard's hands clenched into fists, his eyes flying open as he tried to lift his head. "Ronon?.."
"Here."
Sheppard seemed to relax on hearing the Satedan's rumbling voice, giving in to the pressure of Carson's hand on his chest, his head dropping back to the floor.
"He's fine," Carson reassured him. "Everyone's fine. We're in the jumper and on our way back to Atlantis."
Sheppard didn't seem to be listening anymore, his eyes glazed and bright, his skin flushed with fever. Carson turned back to his team, issuing instructions for broad spectrum antibiotics to counteract the infection. The jumper lurched slightly, the inertial dampeners not reacting fast enough to absorb all of the motion, as the craft slowed to a hover and began its careful descent through the canopy. Sheppard cried out as the motion rocked his leg and Carson added a request for an IV push of morphine to his orders.
The journey down through the overhanging jungle was as slow and tense as the ascent had been, everyone's attention focused on Carson and his team as they worked to stabilise Sheppard. The Colonel's eyes had slid closed as the morphine provided blessed relief from the pain and Carson was able to work more quickly, clearing the matted fabric from around the wounds and swabbing the area deftly with antiseptic, cleaning away the blood to examine the injuries. The puncture wounds were deep, the edges ragged and torn where the predator's teeth had pulled and worried at the flesh. Blood still oozed slowly but in many ways the Colonel had been lucky – none of the major blood vessels were compromised. If the femoral artery or the saphenous vein had been damaged, Sheppard would not have survived; he would have bled out in mere moments.
The atmosphere in the jumper was charged, the occupants unnaturally silent as everyone focused on the drama playing out on the floor of the rear compartment. Carson was aware that Sheppard's condition must look daunting to his fearful audience; the man's skin was pale and clammy, an unnatural flush on his cheeks evidence of the fever that had set in. There seemed to be blood everywhere; soaked into the Colonel's clothes, smeared across his skin, pooling on the floor beneath his legs, glistening on the fingers of the latex gloves that covered Carson's hands as he worked to stem the bleeding.
"It looks like we're going to need to stitch most of these," Carson decided, looking to his team for agreement. He glanced out of the viewscreen at the passing jungle and considered his options.
"Pack the wounds," he ordered. "We'll wait until we get back to Atlantis. I want to get him into surgery in a sterile environment and make sure we repair as much damage as we can, check that the blood flow isn't compromised."
The jumper settled into a hover as the pilot dialled the gate address. The small clearing around the gate was barely large enough to contain the expanding event horizon as the gate activated so the jumper had to wait for the wormhole to establish before completing its descent. Beckett activated his radio as soon as they had a connection and was immediately relaying orders back to his team, updating them on the situation and ordering the OR to be prepared.
Carson was entirely focused on his patient as the jumper settled into place in the jumper bay, his team meeting them at the rear hatch with a waiting gurney. He had time to offer the briefest of reassurances to the hovering Dr Weir as his team carefully lifted Sheppard and settled him on the gurney.
"You'll let me know as soon as there's any news?" Elizabeth's face mirrored the concern evidenced by Sheppard's team as they stumbled tiredly from the jumper.
"Of course." With a last apologetic nod, Beckett turned and followed his team as they rushed the unconscious Colonel Sheppard into surgery.
TBC...
