Page 95 of Savage Reckoning

“Yes. Of course. But first…” I climb onto the bed alongside him and stretch out, “can we just be together?”

The staff at the Rothwell are known for their discretion, but I think we’re stretching even their tact and diplomacy. I’ve barely left Gabe’s side for the last week, and each morning the camp bed which they set up in his room for me remains undisturbed. I prefer to share the hospital mattress.

The top consultant Ethan had flown in from Edinburgh is guardedly optimistic. “It’ll be a delicate operation, but we can replace the knee, and with intensive physiotherapy, he should recover most of the use of it. It won’t come cheap, and the treatment will take time. Much depends on the patient himself and how determined he is to get better.”

He has my absolute assurance. “I don’t think that will be an issue, Mr Monroe.”

Gabriel’s other injuries are slowly improving. The surgeons here at the Rothwell managed to save his eye and reconstruct the socket. We don’t yet know how much damage there has been to his eyesight, but the early signs are good. His ribs are healing, and his jaw has been wired together again. His complaints about the liquid diet are beginning to grate on me, but it should only be a few more days.

The procession of visitors filing past the bedside is endless. Casey was first, accompanied by Jed. If it hadn’t been for him and his drone pilot friend ready to drop everything and help us out, things would have worked out very differently. He waves away my attempts to thank him.

Young Freddie, too, doesn’t seem to appreciate the role he played, him and his fitness tracker. Gabe laughs when I tell him, then regrets it because his ribs aren’t quite up to that sort of punishment yet.

The men have all trooped in to wish him well, usually several at a time. And they’re not particularly quiet. The ward sister has taken to issuing warnings not to disturb the other patients, giving rise to suggestions that Gabe might be better being cared for at Caraksay, now the worst is over. She points this out to us as Jack and Aaron are leaving one day, having disrupted the normal mealtime which caused an elderly lady with a dodgy bladder to have a little accident, because the staff were too busy eyeing the male talent assembled around Gabe’s bedside.

“Great idea,” Jack concurs. “I’ll sort out the chopper.”

Gabe shakes his head. “I’ll be staying here, until I’m ready to be discharged properly. Then I’ll head home.”

“Home?”

“The States,” Gabe clarifies. “There’s stuff I need to—”

Jack scowls. “Well, yes, eventually. Maybe. But that’s a way off yet. What about your leg? That’ll take months to fix.”

“We have doctors in the US, too.”

“But your quack is here,” Jack insists. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on. I just don’t want to rock the boat, that’s all. I owe you, all of you…”

“Do you fuck. What boat?”

“You came after me, risked your lives. You didn’t have to.”

Aaron dismisses the sentiment with a wave. “Don’t get soppy, thinking we’re fond of you or some shit like that. We’d have done the same for any one of us.”

Gabe falls silent, so I answer for him, despite his warning glower. “But that’s just it, he seems to think he’s not one of you. Us.”

Aaron lets out an obscenity. “Fuck that. I mean, he’s right. He’s a fucking Yank, to start with. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re a team. A unit. You have a chain of command,” Gabe starts to explain.

“And?” Jack wants to know. “All of that’s true whether you’re here or not.”

“Ethan doesn’t think so.”

Aaron swears again. “For fuck’s sake. What has my brother said?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m going back to the States, and that’s it.”

“Fuck that. Tell us what this is about.”

Gabe sighs. “You should ask him…”

“We’re asking you, dickhead.”

He sighs. “Okay. Here it is. Your boss thinks I disturb the equilibrium. I create tension, especially between you two. There isn’t room for a third commander here.”

---