Page 101 of Savage Warrior

“We’re trying not to bounce him about too much,” she explains. “Now, let me have a look at you, sir. Can you tell me your name?”

“Where are they taking him?”

“A and E at Northampton. Your friend is in good hands, sir. Now, can you tell me your name?”

I give my head a shake but resolve not to do that again. It hurts too much. “Rome. ?tefan Romanescu. This is Natalija. Check her first.”

The paramedic does as I ask, while her colleague is working on Tony. More ambulances are bumping over the field, along with three police cars. We’ve attracted a lot of attention.

“What about the other two?” I ask when Ethan and Magda are loaded into separate ambulances. I spot a lot of blood on Magda’s right leg. It looks bad. “How are they?”

“We’ll know more once we get them hospital,” the female paramedic tells me. It’s a standard answer, because she doesn’t want to tell me anything. “Same with you three.”

“I’m all right,” I begin.

“Apart from a broken ankle, and probably a fractured wrist as well.” She summons another pair of ambulance crew who dump a stretcher on the ground next to me.

I protest the entire time they are shoving me onto it, but no one is taking any notice. I guess they know best.

Once in the ambulance, I resign myself to the inevitable, lie back, and give in. Natalija follows me in, strapped onto a small chair on wheels. She’s crying silently, utterly terrified, so I reach out for her hand. She clings to me like a lifeline.

We set off across the field, our progress rather less sedate than Aaron’s was.

The next hour or so passes in a blur. Natalija and I are in adjacent cubicles in the Emergency Department. A kindly nurse pumps me full of pain relief and tells me she’ll be back soon. I’m drifting pleasantly when Natalija pulls the curtain aside and slips in beside me. She perches on the plastic chair next to my trolley, a dazed expression on her face.

“What did they say?” I ask her in Russian.

“I do not know. I cannot understand.”

“I’ll translate for you.”

If she’s walking about, I don’t suppose she’s that bad, though she looks like death warmed up. As for the others…

My pain-killing angel returns, so I ask her about Natalija.

“And you are?” she asks, one eyebrow raised. “Are you a relative?

“I’m her brother,” I lie. It’s close enough.

“I see. Well, this young lady has a concussion and plenty of bruises, but we’ve found nothing more to concern us. She probably hit her head in the crash. She’s been very lucky. So have you, in fact. Not many people walk away from an air crash.”

I’m beginning to appreciate that, though walking would be a stretch right now. I can only surmise that Magda’s quick thinking in losing altitude straight after the first impact is the reason we’re all still alive. It would have been a different story if we’d dropped from ten thousand feet and not had trees to break our fall.

“What about the others?” I ask.

“I’ll check. Meanwhile, we need to get you down to X-ray.” She summons a porter who was hovering outside the cubicle. “Natalija can wait for you here.”

The X-rays confirm the diagnosis. My right ankle is busted in three places and will require surgery to put it all together again. My wrist is broken, too, but that’s simpler to fix. I’m going to be on crutches for a few weeks, but otherwise I’ll be fine. Natalija, too, is to take things easy and consult a medic if she has any other symptoms such as blurred vision or headaches.

“Did you find out anything about the others?”

Her lips flatten. I brace, not expecting good news.

“One of your friends stopped breathing at the crash site, but they managed to get him back. He’s poorly but stable in Intensive Care.

“That would be Aaron. What about Ethan? And Magda?”

“The male casualty hasn’t regained consciousness yet. We’re doing tests. And scans.”

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