“But he has a Category A…” he paused again, before continuing slowly. “He has a severe injury to his right thigh with multiple debrided shrapnel wounds. They’re taking him into surgery now—they’ll decide then if the leg is viable. If not, it will be a trans-femoral amputation…” he paused again, “an above-the-knee amputation.”
There was a long silence and all the light in my world poured into a deep, dark hole.
“I’m sorry, Caroline … I thought you’d want to know.”
I held my hand over my mouth, as if I could press back the fear that was threatening to choke me.
“Can I see him?”
He sighed. “At the moment the answer is no. You’re not … look, I’ll try and get you access, Caroline, but you’d have to get yourself here and I don’t know how easy that will be. I’ll see what I can find out … but it’s a long shot. I can’t promise anything.”
“I see.”
Breathe. Breathe.
“Thank you, David. Will you let me know … if the situation changes.”
“Yes, of course. I…”
Whatever he wanted to say died as he tried to speak, and the words remained unspoken.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said, quietly. “Goodbye, Caroline.”
The phone line went dead and I stared at the receiver.
Oh, God, no.
No. NO! They were not going to stop me seeing Sebastian. I didn’t care if I’d have to fight the whole damn US Army. My love needed me, and no force of hell on earth could stop me being with him.
And that thought galvanized me into action: now was not the time to go to pieces. I whipped out my phone and scrolled through to find the emergency Satcomms number that Sebastian had given me. Emergencies only he’d said—this sure as hell qualified.
The man at reception looked like he wanted to say something about my liberal use of the hotel’s telephone, but my ferocious expression stopped him.
I dialed quickly, and it was answered on the second ring.
“Grant.”
Oh!
“Captain Grant, this is Lee Venzi. I need a favor: I’m in Kabul but I have to get back to Leatherneck. Can you help me get papers, transport, anything?”
“Miss Venzi?” He sounded surprised and annoyed. “How did you get this number? Look, now isn’t a good time.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s urgent, Captain.”
For only the second time since I’d known him, he swore.
“I’ve just lost three of my men, and a further two are Cat A wounded, and…”
I screamed at him.
“I know that!”
“How the hell do you know that?” he barked back.
“It doesn’t matter—I just do.”
“The fuck it doesn’t! If someone is leaking our movements and…”
I took a deep breath: losing it now was not helping.
“No!” I managed to say, in a more measured tone. “No, it wasn’t anything like that: I have a medic friend at Bastion’s field hospital; I got the information from him.”
“I didn’t take you for a ghoul, Lee,” he said grimly.
“Fuck you, Grant!” I snarled. “I have a friend who is just being operated on and I don’t know if he’s going to get through alive so just fucking get me there!”
There was a short pause.
“You’re talking about Hunter, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, trying not to let my throat close up.
“Okay, Miss Venzi,” he said, in a more even tone. “I’ll see if I can pull some strings to get you there. But don’t call this number—and don’t ask me again.”
“I won’t,” I barked into the phone.
“Where are you staying?”
I gave him the hotel’s address and hung up.
I thought he’d try to help me, but he had other men to worry about—other casualties. I chewed on a nail, wondering who else I could call on.
Inspiration struck. There was one more number I could try: Ches Peters—Sebastian’s best friend. A man whom I was pretty certain despised me.
I did the math to work out the time difference—it was about seven o’clock in the evening in San Diego. He had two young kids, so I hoped he’d be home.
The phone rang three times before it was answered.
A child’s voice trilled down the line.
“Hello, Peters’ residence. This is Ben Peters speaking.”
“Hi, Ben. Can I talk to your daddy, please?”
“He’s making popcorn,” said the little boy.
“Could you get him for me? It’s important.”
There was an angry huff, a short pause where I could hear muffled voices, and then I heard Ches come on the line.