Page 30 of Trapped with the Covert Ops Soldier

Sheriff Johnson just looked at her.

“Fine. He’s part of a covert ops group.”

The Sheriff’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit.”

“You want to find out if it was a military sniper shooting at me? Ask Smitty to help you, because he is one.”

“Your unit was being protected by a bunch of spooks?” He sucked back a huge mouthful of coffee. “What the fuck were you doing that you needed that kind of protection?”

“I already told you.”

“That can’t be all.”

“We were sent into high-risk areas. Highly trained trauma docs, nurses, and medical personnel don’t come cheap or thick on the ground. We were considered high grade assets and protected accordingly.”

The Sheriff stared a hole in the table for several more seconds, then looked at her. “Are you sure, absolutely sure you can trust your Smitty?”

“Yes.”

The Sheriff nodded, then said, “Because when I called up the who-ha in charge of you medical people, Smitty was the only name the bastard would give me.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“No?” He seemed stymied by her acceptance. “Want to tell me why?”

Oh boy, this was probably result in some bad language, maybe even some yelling. “Because Smitty and I were the only two out of my unit to survive an IED.”

The Sheriff stared at her like she’d spoken a different language. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.” She didn’t add anything else, because she really didn’t want to think about it.

He pointed a finger at her. “If you think that’s going to satisfy me, think again missy.”

“Sheriff, you’re a difficult man.”

“Story of my life. Talk Abby.”

“Fine.” Smitty said she should talk to someone, maybe this would do her some good.

She took a breath and dove in. “We were in a convoy of trucks, moving our hospital when the lead truck hit an IED. The explosion was large enough to obliterate it and damage the next two trucks. Whoever planted the explosive was waiting for it and hit the rest of us with gunfire and grenades. I was knocked out for a while, but when I came to, I was still strapped in my seat, but the truck was a mess.” She could see it all as if it were happening all over again. “There were people and parts everywhere. I could smell smoke, blood, and burning fuel. Someone was screaming.” For a moment her throat locked and she fought with herself to suck in some air. It took two long seconds for her to figure out how to breathe again so she could continue.

“It was the screaming that got me moving. I got out of my seatbelt and started checking bodies to find the live ones. Most of them were dead. I got to the guy who was screaming. He’d lost most of his left leg.” She shrugged. “It just wasn’t there. I used my belt as a tourniquet to stop the bleeding, but it was really bad. I searched for medical supplies in the wreckage. I figured if I could get an IV into him, push some fluids, keep him from going into shock, maybe, justmaybeI could save him. I was a few feet away from him when I heard the voices and the shots. A couple of insurgents had arrived and shot my patient. I was hidden from view by smoke and debris, but there was a dead Marine at my feet. He was new, it had been his first mission with us. He was staring at me, right at me, and his mouth was open like he was about to say something important.” She shook herself. She had to finish, had to get through the whole horrible sequence of events. “I took his weapon and killed the insurgents.”

She stopped talking. She stopped everything and waited for the Sheriff to castigate her for her actions, for breaking her oath.

She’d done harm that day, so much harm.

He never said a word.

So, she kept going. “Anyway, I was puking my guts up when Smitty found me. He’d been in a different truck. He was beat-up. bruised, and bloody, but he was mobile and had his weapon. We tried to call out on the radio, but it was busted. A few minutes later more insurgents arrived and the two of us were forced to defend our pitiful wrecked convoy and our dead. He kept watch while I searched for more survivors, and I even found a couple, but an hour passed, then two and they both died. Night was falling when a rescue helicopter found us and got us out of there.”

“How long ago was this?”

“About a month before I came home.”

“A month?” The Sheriff’s mouth hung open. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.” She’d done it. She’d told someone. Smitty was right she felt lighter somehow, like a cold, heavy weight that had previously sat in the middle of her gut had disappeared.

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