Chief

Amber couldn't get to sleep properly for worrying about the young Indian, so when sometime after midnight there was a tap on her door, followed by Goniff opening it and hissing her name, she was wide-awake instantly.

"Chiefy's being sick," he told her. His room was next door to the scout's and the walls weren't very thick in that part of the house.

Amber grabbed her dressing gown and followed the Cockney down from her room on the top floor to the wing where Garrison's men were housed. Diesel, also lying awake on the third floor had heard Goniff's stage whisper and joined the others.

Amber opened Chief's door and immediately smelled the vomit. Needing to see what she was dealing with, she flicked on the light-switch. Chief was leaning over the far side of the bed, still retching. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"I'll get some things to clean up," offered Diesel. He didn't mind - he'd cleaned up after his mother enough times when he'd been a kid and she'd got drunk.

"Thanks," replied Amber automatically. "Goniff, you go back to bed love. We'll manage this - you've an early start tomorrow. Thanks for letting me know." She squeezed his arm in thanks.

"If you're sure?"

"I'm sure."

She made her way into the room and sat on the bed trying to think what was causing the problem. His skin was cold and clammy and the bedding soaked with sweat. Was it the bullet wound? It hadn't looked bad enough to have deteriorated this quickly.

A movement behind her alerted the nurse to Diesel's return. He had towels, cloths, a bucket of water and an empty bowl. The floor was quickly cleaned and the room returned to rights. Chief retched again, but there was little enough left in his stomach and the bowl dealt with that. Amber wiped Chief's face with a clean cold cloth. He was still muttering apologies which she ignored.

Diesel had dealt with the detritus and returned, taking up a perch on a chair over by the window. He didn't know if he was needed, but would stay until Amber or Chief told him to leave.

"Ok Chief, let's take a look at you. What can you tell me? Does anything hurt? Is it the bullet wound?"

"Don't think it's that. Don't hurt more than it did. Head hurts though."

Amber decided to make sure and pulled the Navajo's shorts down enough to expose and peel back the dressing. Chief was right, the wound was still red and inflamed, but there was no pus and no sign of major infection.

"Diesel, you were there. Did he pick up any other injuries?"

"Got a knife slash, left forearm, when we were in Milan, but that was a week ago. Didn't seem to bother him."

Amber quickly unearthed the arm from where he'd been lying on it and checked the cut. "No, that's healing well. There has to be something else. I may be wrong but I don't think it's food poisoning. Just a gut feel though. What was he doing when he was shot?"

"Checking out an abandoned farmhouse, see if it was somewhere we could hide. It was rough country, lots of sharp rocks and spiny scrub. The Warden cut his hands up pretty bad but he was treated at the hospital in Naples."

"Ok Chief, sorry about this. We're going to have to check you over thoroughly."

Chief just groaned and was sick again.

Ten minutes later Amber found what she was looking for - a small puncture in the back of his left knee from which protruded a small black spike. The skin was red and the site swollen. Once found it was a simple matter to extract an inch long thorn. It was followed by an outpouring of yellow matter that had been building up deep in the wound.

"How didn't you know that was there?" asked Diesel finding it hard to believe the Navajo hadn't been aware of the thorn.

"Not been walkin' on it. Just thought I'd grazed it when I fell."

It was hard to make out what the young man was saying, but Amber got the gist of it. "I'm going to call the hospital, see what they suggest. Can you keep an eye on him?"

Diesel nodded.

Amber made her way downstairs to Garrison's office to make the call. He'd fallen asleep fully clothed at his desk and awoke with a start as Amber entered. "Problem?"

"Chief. He had another injury we didn't know about and it's infected. I've got the thorn out and cleaned it out as much as I can but I want to phone the base hospital and see if they want to take him in. Can I borrow your phone?"

Garrison pulled himself to his feet and rubbed a hand through his hair, pushing the phone across the desk. He listened whilst Amber made the call. Finally she replaced the phone.

"Sounds like things are pretty full on over there, the guys were flying tonight and have taken a lot of casualties. Asked if we can keep him here and they'll send over some more drugs. I'm to call back if he gets worse, but if not someone'll come over and see him in the morning."

Garrison nodded.

"And Lieutenant..."

"Yes?"

"Go to bed. You're out on your feet."

The Lieutenant smiled. "Yes nurse," he responded as he headed for his room.

An hour later a motor-cycle courier delivered the promised supplies. Amber collected them from the front door and took them up to Chief's room. Opening the bag, she stopped in disbelief.

Diesel saw the shock on the girl's face. "What is it?"

"Penicillin. It's only available in the labs. No one has it in enough quantities to treat anyone. We were told it would be weeks before we could have it."

"They must have got hold of some and think we need it. Do you know what to do with it?"

Amber nodded. "Yes, but they've sent instructions anyway. Let's just hope we have enough. Come on Chiefy, sharp scratch."