Masters at Arms (18 page)

No telling how much of it was buried in his
chest or which organs had been damaged. A number of small pieces of
shrapnel were embedded in his skin, as well. Pressing the
walkie-talkie button on his shoulder device, Adam shouted, “Wilson!
Check the ETA for the 9 Line. Doc’s in bad shape.” Adam didn’t know
if Doc had even gotten off the request before he’d collapsed.

He took a bandage from the bag and cut it to
the center, then pressed it on the skin against the wound around
the metal, sealing the wound as best he could without shifting the
metal protruding from his side. He hoped.

The walkie-talkie squawked. “Three to four
mikes,” Wilson reported.

“Doc! Stay with me!” He hoped the man had
those three or four minutes. Blood trickled from the corpsman’s
mouth. The steel projectile must have punctured his lungs. Adam
felt so fucking helpless.

To his surprise, Doc gave them a thumbs-up
sign. He’d thought the man had been unconscious. Then Adam heard
the Blackhawk approaching.
Thank you, Jesus
.

Small-arms fire reached a fever pitch around
them. His other units must have located the insurgent holdout. He
hoped there were no more casualties. This had been the worst battle
his units had fought this entire deployment.

Another clusterfuck
. He’d almost
gotten them all home safely this time.

Wilson arrived a few moments later leading
the medevac team. Adam backed away from Doc’s side as the medical
team threw the litter and supplies down, unloading the instruments
they’d need to save Doc’s life. Please, God, don’t let me lose
D’Alessio.

His mind flashed to Kandahar. Another
D’Alessio. Fucking Christ, he needed to check and see if there was
a connection. He’d gotten so used to calling this one Doc, he
hadn’t thought about the two men having the same surname. Maybe his
mind hadn’t wanted him to process the name and be reminded of one
of the two men he’d lost in that ambush.

Shit. Was Doc related to Gino D’Alessio?

Adam watched helplessly as they listened for
lung sounds in Doc’s chest. “Pneumothorax, maybe even hemo-pneumo.
Let’s just load and go!”

As the medivac team prepared Doc for
transport, Adam motioned for Wilson and Grant to help him load
Miller’s body. They carried the litters down the stairs, Doc’s
going down first. Four other grunts brought Orlando’s litter from
the staging area. The kid lay unconscious. Thank God for small
favors. At least he hoped he was just unconscious.

At the chopper, Adam watched helplessly as
two of his men were loaded, to be taken to the Combat Support
Hospital. He surrendered Miller’s body to them, as well, for
transport to the Marine morgue at the same location. Another
angel.

God, don’t let me lose any more of my
troops.

While You’re at it, get the rest of my units
the fuck out of Fallujah in one piece.

* * *

“Orlando?”

Marc’s throat was raw. His chest burned as if
a fire-breathing dragon had taken up residence there. The nurse
looked down at him with a puzzled look on her face.

“What, sweetie?”

“How’s Orlando?”

“I don’t think we have a patient here by that
name, but I’ll check when I get back to the desk. Maybe he’s
already been taken to Ramstein.” She put the blood-pressure cuff
around his arm and inflated it. When he opened his mouth to ask
another question, she admonished, “Don’t talk.” After she recorded
the information in the chart, she said, “You’ll probably be heading
to Germany yourself in a few days. We’re just waiting for your lung
to re-expand fully before we fly you out.”

Pneumothorax. That explained why his chest
hurt so badly. He didn’t remember anything other than trying to
stabilize Orlando. The nurse stuck a thermometer under his tongue.
Marc closed his eyes. Keeping them open required more energy than
he could muster. Why was he so damned tired?

“Your master sergeant came by to visit
earlier. I told him you’d probably be up to having visitors
tomorrow.”

Marc didn’t even know where “here” was. Must
be the CSH in Fallujah, if Montague was here. His eyelids grew so
heavy he didn’t try to open them again, even after she pulled the
thermometer out of his mouth.

“Temperatures up a little.” The nurse patted
his forearm. “That’s right, sweetie. You just get some sleep and
let your body heal. A hemo-pneumothorax isn’t anything to mess
with.”

Hemo, too? Blood in the lungs. Shit.

When he awoke again, the room was dark. Marc
knew he wasn’t alone, but didn’t know who sat in the corner until
he heard him speak.

“’Bout time you woke up.” Master Sergeant
Montague moved his chair closer to Marc’s bed.

Marc smiled. “Getting lazy in my old age,
sir.” His voice sounded raspy and weak.

Montague grunted. “Don’t tell me about old.”
Marc looked at his top sergeant and thought he did look older than
the last time he’d seen him. Dark circles under the man’s eyes told
of sleepless nights. Worry. Or worse.

Miller. Oh,
Dio
, they’d lost Miller.
But what about Orlando? The others? Had anyone else died? Is that
why the master sergeant had come to visit him personally? Marc
couldn’t form the words to ask.

“How you feeling?”

Marc shrugged. His chest didn’t burn as much
as it had earlier.

“You’ve been out of it a couple days. Quite a
fever. They said they’ll keep you here until they know there’s no
more infection.”

Marc nodded. Even that small exertion made
him tired. He tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t quite fill
his lungs. He closed his eyes and took several shallow breaths,
fighting the panic over feeling smothered all the time. Why didn’t
the Top tell him about Orlando? Had the kid made it?

Christ, he had to know. “How’s Orlando?” he
whispered.

Montague ran a hand through his hair. Marc’s
heart hammered against his chest, reigniting the fire. Oh,
Dio
, no! He took several more shallow breaths, trying to
regulate his heartbeat and relieve the stress on his heart and
lungs. Was he ready to hear the words he’d been dreading since he’d
come to?

“I should have said something sooner. I’m
sorry. They couldn’t reattach the foot.”

The breath Marc had held whooshed out,
releasing some of the burning from his chest. “He’s alive?”

Montague’s eyes opened wider in surprise.
“Oh, hell, yeah, Doc. Shit. I thought you knew that much.”

As best he could, Marc breathed a sigh of
relief.

“You did great work. You always do. Grant
told me you shielded Orlando and took the brunt of the mortar
attack yourself.”

Marc looked away. If someone had told him a
year ago he’d have been prepared to lay down his life for another,
he’d have said they were crazy. But for the first time in his life,
with this small band of Marines, he felt a part of something so
much bigger than himself. A noble cause. A desire to think of his
buddies before himself.

The master sergeant looked away and rubbed
the back of his neck. “I don’t know why I didn’t make the
connection sooner. You’re Gino D’Alessio’s brother.”

“Yeah.” Marc had been wanting to ask Montague
about him since before they deployed, but there never had been an
opportunity.

Fire burned the backs of Marc’s eyes. He
closed the lids before he embarrassed himself. He’d always wanted
to know the details about how Gino had died. Now, he needed to know
how he’d lived and fought. Had he wanted to serve?

He opened his eyes and stared at Montague a
long moment. “Sir, was Gino a good Marine?”

Montague looked down at the floor, unable to
maintain eye contact. His voice was a harsh whisper. “Damned fine
Marine. One of the best men who’s ever served under me.” He looked
up at Marc. The pain in his face took Marc’s breath away again.
“I’m sorry I got him killed.”

Marc didn’t understand. It was an ambush. Bad
intel. How could that be the master sergeant’s fault?

“I trusted the wrong people.” His Top looked
down at his hands. “We’d worked with these Afghan soldiers for
months. They swore we had friendlies in the village. I led my men
into a fucking ambush. Called for air support. No helos available.
Called for Hotel Echo…” he said, referring to high-explosive
artillery shells. “Nothing. I should have made sure those things
were in place before we went in. I shouldn’t have trusted
anyone.”

Would Gino have been alive if there had been
backup? Maybe. But the master sergeant wasn’t to blame for the lack
of it. Marc knew enough about the insanity that takes place in a
war zone to know those things just happened sometimes. You can’t
predict and plan for everything. You couldn’t know who to trust.
The enemy and the US-backed foreign military all looked alike.
Infiltrators were common.

“I don’t blame you, sir.”

The master sergeant reached up to rub the
back of his neck again. “Your brother was one of my best.” He
glanced up at Marc. “I’m not just saying that to make you feel
better, either. He was my lead scout in the recon unit. When we
drew gunfire, he and another member of the team hunkered down
behind some boulders. They returned fire. But we were taking it
from all sides. From the village. From the caves in the cliffs
above us. Total clusterfuck.”

He paused, looking down again, deep in
thought. Then he looked back at Marc. “Clearly, you’re
brothers.”

Puzzled, Marc furrowed his brow. “I don’t
understand, sir.”

“When an incoming mortar round came at them,
your brother shielded his buddy from the blast. Just like you did
for Orlando.”

Marc could see the scene as if he were there.
Tears welled in his eyes and he turned away. Gino, the brother he’d
admired growing up, who had done everything right. Gino who loved
serving as a Marine. Gino who had even died right, saving someone
else. Images of his big brother’s body being blown apart by flying
rock and debris as he’d tried to protect someone else forced Marc
to place his arm over his eyes, hoping to block the image out. No
such luck.

Marc regretted that they’d fought over some
damned woman the last time they’d been together. He’d never again
let a woman come between him and the ones he loved.

Had Gino been with Marc on that rooftop a few
days ago, guiding him in how to honor the Reconnaissance Marine’s
Creed? Regardless, he felt a bond with his brother he’d never
imagined he would experience again after Gino had been killed.

Montague reached out to grasp Marc’s forearm
and squeezed, bringing his back to the present. Marc had to know
one more thing. “Did he succeed?”

The older man looked thrown off by his
question, then realization dawned and he smiled. “Hell, yeah. Sent
his buddy home to his wife and newborn baby. If you’d like to meet
them sometime when we get stateside, I’ll hook you up.”

Marc had to clear his throat to speak. “I’d
like that very much, sir.” How soon would he be shipped home? Would
this injury put an end to his service? “I’m not ready to go home
yet, sir. You think they’ll let me return to the unit after I
recover?”

“Above my pay grade. What’ll you do if they
send you home?”

Marc knew the chances of remaining on active
duty were slim. He thought for a moment about his options. “Guess
I’ll go back to Colorado. Not sure what I’ll do once I get
there.”

“Why not go to school and train for something
in the medical field? You’re damned good at it, you know.”

“Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

The worry lines on the man’s face relaxed a
bit. “I’m retiring after this tour. Maybe I’ll just follow you to
Colorado. My wife always loved the mountains there. Still thinking
that’s where I want to go, even without…” The master sergeant
looked down and twirled his wedding band. “Thinking I’ll move to
Denver and start a fetish club.”

Marc wasn’t sure what the appropriate
response would be, so he remained silent. Was the man serious or
joking? Then he realized he was dead serious.

“Well, maybe I’ll just join your club. I was
known as Master Marco back in the day.”

Montague laughed. “Thought you might be
like-minded. Saw you and Orlando at a fetish club in L.A. just
before we deployed.”

Oh, shit. They were lucky they weren’t
busted. Then again, if the master sergeant was there, too…. Talk
about a “Top.”

Montague grew serious again. “My wife Joni
and I talked about owning our own club. Those years between the
Gulf War and Kosovo were some of the best in our marriage. Total
power exchange.” He remained lost in the memories.

Marc had never found a woman willing to do a
power exchange with him. He realized he hadn’t even come close with
Melissa.

Could he ever open himself up to another
woman? Everyone thought the Dom in the relationship had the power,
but that was nonsense. The sub held all the power. He’d like to
find a woman he could trust completely.

The master sergeant continued, breaking into
his thoughts. “We wanted to show others how satisfying a Dom/sub
relationship could be for the right couples. Planned to live off my
pension and open our house up for weekend classes and BDSM
scening.”

“I’d like to meet her someday.”

Adam looked at him, pain filling his eyes. “I
lost her to cancer two years ago.”

Shit
. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I
didn’t know.” Maybe that explained something about why the man had
been such a hard ass in those early months after Marc had joined
the Marine unit. He sure didn’t seem like one once you got talking
with him.

Silence fell between them. Uncomfortable,
Marc blurted out, “Until I sort out my future plans, I’d be happy
to help you get the club started. I’ll need a diversion.”

“I might just take you up on that.” Montague
stood. “Now, get better so you can get home and start living
again.”