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Chapter OneDamn, if Pappy could see him now.
Knee-deep in shitty water, rifle slung over his back, surgeon's hands tugging some rough-ass rope attached to a raft, tugging a family across the river, woman gravid and fixing to go into labor, skinny child covered in shrapnel wounds, clinging to her.
"Va a estar bien. Soy un medico."
Her dark eyes flashed to him, then to the men behind him and he held out one hand. "No les haré daño."
They got her onto shore and into the little jeep, heading straight for the hospital. Tony pushed his braid back, ball cap keeping the sun out of his eyes.
The vegetation kept brushing the top of the jeep, the toucans flying and squawking as Eduardo flew through the jungle. Tony dug through his pockets, hunting a bit of candy, finding it and offering it to the kid.
The tents were well-appointed, at least for a MASH-type setup. His employers were generous, allowing him to treat the natives, so long as he treated the people that were sent to him without question, without hesitation.
Sure as shit, the compound was buzzing like a fire ant bed when they pulled in, some strangers in cammo arguing with Marco and Marco's boys, Spanish flying hot and wild. Tony hopped out, motioning to Carla to take the child, barking orders. "Necesitamos un ensanchador ahora. Carla, lleve a el alguna comida digale que su mama va a ser bien. ¿Quien es ese? ¿Marco, quien los envio?"
Come on people! Stretcher! Answers! He didn't have all fucking day, this woman was fixing to blow baby.
Marco started jabbering, Mama started screaming, and Viejo and Xavier appeared with the stretcher as thebaby's head crowned and he prepared to work right here. Shouldn't be too bad, barring the prerequisite postpartum ook in the Jeep. Hell, if the fucking loggers hadn't been burning her fucking village to the motherfucking ground, she could be doing this with a midwife and her family, not with some strange gringo making things difficult.
"Empuje, Mama. Casi hecho." Come on, honey. Push it out, I got armed company.
Xavier backed away, hiding his eyes, calling for some women to come and help 'el esqueleto'. Tony chuckled, shook his head. There were a handful of families who'd settled close by--some for supplies, some for medical help, most were families of his boys, his guards.
It didn't take too much more, a little girl plopping into his hands with a little tug and a wiggle. Two or three women came up, clucking and bitching and muttering about bad luck and women's work and bad spirits.
Viejo grinned at him, leathery face wrinkling. "Leave them. They will make it right, Esqueleto."
"Yeah. Get someone to clean out the jeep. I'm going to meet our guests."
He clapped his old nurse's back, grabbed a towel off the stretcher and headed over. "Who the hell are y'all and what're you doing disturbing my camp?"
One of the guys came forward, holding out a hand. He was tall, square with blond hair chopped short, like a high and tight. His blue eyes were cynical. "You can call me Cap. These are my boys. We're running interference for a couple of brats and one of them got hurt. We were given these co-ordinates, told there was a doctor who'd drop everything to take care of things."
Cap turned back and nodded at Marco. "Not only was there no doctor, but this guy seems to think we should just move on."
"It's his job to make sure los soldados don't find us. I'm Dr. Rumer. Where's your wounded and how many of you are armed?" He shook, nodded.
He wasn't a fucking cherry out here and he'd be damned if a bunch of mercs came and wiped his operation out.
Cap shook his head. "We're not soldados. Guns for hire. There's eight of us guarding two kids from ... Tin Can? Who are they with again?"
"Greenpeace, Cap. The guy on the box said to tell the doctor Rick sent us."
Cap nodded. "There you go. Greenpeace. Rick. That's all I've got. And frankly, I'm not too fond of these kids, so if you aren't interested in patching the bleeder up, it's no skin off my nose." Cap jerked his head. "Doc, Trip, bring the stretcher."
Two men came forward, both with automatics slung over their shoulders, a stretcher between them. The kid on it was pale as a ghost.
"Shit, kid. What did you tangle with?" He pushed his hair back, fingers finding his scissors and slitting the clothes open. "You're at the right place. Marco will find y'all a place to settle. Sorry for the confusion. Y'all bring him. Viejo! Le necesito. Ahora."
One of the guys with the stretcher, the shorter one with short brown hair and brown eyes--hell he was never going to be able to tell them apart with their cammos and their gear and their guns--gave him a nod. "I'm Doc. He fell out of a tree. He's lucky he's not dead and amazingly enough he's only got a few scratches on the outside. He must have broken something inside though. His belly's swollen and tender. Frankly, I'm not sure you can save him, but we've got our orders."
"You want us to put him somewhere?" asked the other guy carrying the stretcher--Trip, Cap had called him. Trip was nearly as tall as he was, dark blue eyes under dark hair in a not quite military short cut.
He snorted. "If I can't, it can't be done. Hospital's this way."
He started moving, going from zero to sixty in nothing. Viejo was already bustling, boiled water at the ready, IV bag hanging. The sound of the generator was a comfort, the Eagles blaring from the little boom box even more so. He'd get scrubbed and get to work, have that boy patched before he had to sing Hotel California twice.
He pushed his hair back, grinned at Viejo.
Fuck, he loved his life.
