Big Jake’s frown deepened. “I can’t force you to come with us. But you realize the risk you’re taking?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“And I’m staying with her,” Buck said.
“You can’t,” Big Jake said. “You’re part of the team. We leave no man behind.”
“Give me the radio. I’ll be a one-man recon element scouting out Koku’s location.” Buck talked fast, the idea coming to him as he spoke. “When you get the nurse to a safe location, you can come back. Hopefully by then, I’ll have Koku’s exact coordinates. We can complete our mission.”
For a long moment, Big Jake stared at Buck. Finally, he said, “I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it, but it makes sense for me to go with this woman and check out her son’s story. If it pans out, we’ll get a lot farther a lot faster than we have in the past week.” Buck nodded toward the sound of the approaching helicopter. “You need to hurry. They won’t wait long.”
Big Jake nodded to T-Mac. “Give him your ground-to-air radio and go.”
T-Mac unclipped the radio from his belt and handed it over to Buck. “Don’t do anything to get yourself killed.” T-Mac spun and ran toward the sound of the helicopter.
Big Jake stuck out his hand. “What T-Mac said.”
Buck clasped the man’s hand and was pulled into a bear hug.
Then Big Jake was gone, running after T-Mac.
Buck watched as the last two men of his team disappeared around the side of the hill. Moments later, the thumping sound of the rotor blades intensified and then faded into the distance.
For all intents and purposes, Buck was stranded in South Sudan, without his team to provide backup. Whatever happened from here on, he’d be on his own until he called for extraction. His lifeline was the radio in his hand.
“Please,” the woman said. “My son needs you.”
Angela slipped her backpack of supplies over one shoulder and said in a calm, quiet voice, “Show me the way.”
Buck grabbed his gear bag from the back of the van. Keeping a close watch on his surroundings, he followed.
* * *
ANGELA COULDN’T BELIEVE Buck had actually remained behind with her. She hadn’t expected him to. Hell, she hadn’t really thought through her own plan. All she knew was that she couldn’t let some poor injured boy lie in pain because she was in a hurry to get out of the country.
Fatima skirted the village, keeping to the deepest shadows that a night sky full of stars couldn’t penetrate. Once they were past the jumble of huts and tin shacks, she led them another half mile to what appeared to be a huge junk pile of tin and scraps of worm-eaten lumber.
When she pushed aside a sheet of corrugated roofing metal, she waved for Angela to enter.
The small cave-like structure’s interior was pitch-black. Angela hesitated at the entrance, trying to remember whether or not she’d brought a flashlight in the backpack she’d hastily loaded.
A soft click sounded and a beam of light cut through the darkness.
She smiled. Trust Buck to have a flashlight handy. He’d always been good about being prepared. He must have been a Boy Scout in a past life.
He stepped around her and shined the light into the structure.
A young boy, around ten years old, lay on a pile of rags, his face caked with dried blood, one of his arms bent at an odd angle.
The shack was small and rickety. Angela didn’t know how she’d manage to work on the boy in the cramped space. When she bent to enter, a hand shot out to stop her.
“We’ll have to move him out into the open,” Buck said. “This hut doesn’t look like it’ll stand up to a strong wind.”
“I’m smaller. Let me move him,” Angela said.
“No way.” Buck handed her the flashlight. “Just give me some light to work in.”
Angela held the beam steady as Buck hunched over and ducked into the shack.
The boy moaned but didn’t fight when Buck gently laid his injured arm over his chest. Then he lifted him into his arms and maneuvered the child and his own big body through the narrow entrance and out into the balmy night air.
Fatima spread her scarf on the ground. “Place him here.”
Buck eased the boy to the ground, careful not to jolt his arm or cause him more pain.
His mother hovered close by, looking over her shoulder, fear evident in the whites of her eyes. “You will fix this?” She pointed to the boy’s bent arm.
“I’ll have to reset the bone. It’s going to hurt. What is your name?” Angela asked the boy.
When the boy didn’t answer right away, Fatima twisted her hands together. “He is Mustafa.”
Using the flashlight, Angela shined the beam into the boy’s eyes, testing his pupils’ response. No indications of concussion, despite the blood on his head and face. She checked his vital signs. His pulse was strong, his blood pressure right for his size and age. “Mustafa,” she said, her tone low, calm and gentle. “What I’m about to do will hurt, but then your arm will feel better. Do you understand?”
The boy nodded, probably in too much pain to do more.
Over the light’s beam, Angela caught Buck’s attention. “You’ll have to hold his upper arm while I apply traction.”
He nodded, sat behind the boy and leaned over to grip the child’s skinny arm. “Ready.”
Angela slowly straightened the arm.
The boy bared his teeth in silence, his body tensing.
Once she had it straight, Angela pulled gently but firmly until the bone jutting at an odd angle beneath the skin moved back in line with the other end.
Mustafa’s back arched and his jaw clenched to keep him from crying out.
Angela hated to cause another human so much pain, but she knew it was necessary and that he’d feel better once they were done.
The boy squirmed and squeezed his eyes closed, perspiration shining on his forehead. Then he went limp.
“I believe he passed out,” Buck whispered.
“Good, then maybe he won’t be in as much pain.” She continued to apply strong downward pressure, easing the bone back into place. Once she had the bone where she wanted it, she held the arm steady. “I need something for a splint.”
“Do you have him?” Buck asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Go.”
Buck released the boy’s shoulder and took the flashlight. A few moments later, he came back with two flat, straight sticks about the length of the boy’s forearm. He laid them on the ground beside Angela and dug in her backpack for roller gauze and scissors.
While Angela held the arm and spoke to the boy in a soft monotone voice, Buck placed the two flat sticks on either side of the boy’s arm and wrapped the roller gauze around and around until he was certain it would be sufficient to keep the arm immobile. When he finished, he cut the gauze and secured the end.
“Well done,” Angela said. “You look like you’ve done this before.”
He shrugged. “Like I said, I’m the team medic. We’ve had a few bumps, bruises and broken bones.”
Angela nodded. She would bet he’d seen a lot more than that, including