Page 10 of D-Day

Bailee was shouting in his ear, and he took off after Hugo, pulling his Glock, batting away the underbrush as he ran full out. The man ran as if he’d practiced this escape route, and hell, he probably had. What he hadn’t anticipated was that a Navy SEAL would be on his ass, and it was futile to try to get away.

He scanned the area for movement as he slowed and opened his senses. Off to his left the bushes moved, and he aimed and pulled off two shots. One of Oscar’s thugs crashed to the ground.

He was close, the hair on the back of his neck lifting like that of a wolf who had scented his prey. Above the treetops, monkeys swung against the wan light of the moon, their simian shapes black against the star-studded sky. Below the canopy, trapped moisture and air were like a wet vise. Sweat trailed down his temples, down his back as he stepped carefully over dead logs. Hugo came at him, and D-Day easily ducked the heavy branch he swung at his head. He holstered his Glock, the next swing wild, and he caught the branch, yanked it out of Hugo’s grasp, slammed it into his chest, and knocked the man to the ground. He threw the branch away, advanced on him, turned him over, and zip-tied his wrists.

An hour later, they had the address for the US weapons and Oscar and Hugo’s large inventory. Bailee had been very persuasive.

“The nuclear triggers were already sold. Hugo said they’re on their way to the Philippines.” She took a hard breath. “It’s not good. We’ve heard rumors that the New People’s Army wants to decimate the government and any of their allies. Specifically, they want to use them…on American assets in the country.”

Who the hell are the buyers?” D-Day asked.

“Some twin warlords…Taer and Lando Ambong.”

Outside of Manila,the Philippines.

Helen wiped the sweat off her brow, eyeing the leader of their medical group, Doctors for the World, Dr. Greg Matthews. He was a strong, firm professional, a brilliant surgeon, a keen negotiator, courageous to a fault, and intent on saving lives by any means possible. He was also her former lover. Once she met and started sleeping with Andrew “D-Day” Nolan, Buck’s very gorgeous and intriguing teammate, her interest in other men had gone to nil. Greg was still dealing with their breakup, but even though Helen knew that there was no future with Drew, she couldn’t seem to move on.

Drew had made that clear not only by his silence for the last six months but by his avoidance of her family. Where once he had been a frequent visitor, getting down and dirty with her brothers, his absence now left a hole in their family dynamic, and she had to shoulder the lion’s share of that responsibility for driving him away.

She literally couldn’t keep her hands off him—or her eyes, her mouth, or any part of her. He was like an intoxicating drug, and it didn’t matter whether he was far or close, she felt the effects of her attraction to him every moment of every day. She prayed that it would abate, but the weight of him sat on her heart and made her hurt and hurt, ache and ache. It was pure torture.

Her vision blurring, Helen swallowed hard, guilt welling up inside her. D-Day had been trying to be noble and stick to his tried-and-true SEAL laws. He was a man torn, tortured. The recognition made her chest ache even worse, the pain blinding her. She tried to put things back in perspective because going over this again wasn’t productive. And it wasn’t as if she could doanything to make it right. The damage was done, and they had crossed lines that couldn’t be uncrossed.

As if that thought opened a forbidden door in her mind, a recollection swamped her, blocking out everything else. And in living detail, she suddenly recalled that damn day he’d come into the barn where she was hiding out so that she could cry like she needed to over the deaths of her friends and colleagues. She remembered it as if it was happening all over again, how wonderful it had felt to be held by him. How hard his body was, how the scent of the outdoors, horses, and sweat had become so much a part of him. How their bodies had fused together, and how his strength and warmth wrapped around her, making her feel more protected than she had ever felt in her entire life. And she remembered how she wanted to hang on and never let go. She recalled the warmth of his breath against her temple, the weight of his arms, and the feel of all that power in her hands. The man had the most breathtaking body roped with so many delicious muscles that it should be illegal. But it was his heart, his generosity, his depth of compassion that had swamped her even more than his physicality. Beneath all that tough, steely, quiet warrior was a sweetness that beckoned her beyond her ability to refuse.

Several sharp words knocked her out of her thoughts, and restless murmurs began rumbling through the group like distant thunder. Weapons bristled, eyes hardening. Greg was negotiating with several thugs, two of whom looked like young Genghis Khans, identical twins, one in a Rolling Stones T-shirt and olive-green shorts and the other in aSave The Whalesshirt, most of the words covered by two bandoliers crisscrossing his chest, and black shorts, and Greg was losing his momentum, losing his hold on them.

They were in this country to make a difference. This beautiful, dangerous place. The Philippines was an archipelagoconsisting of just over seven thousand islands, with three main islands: Luzon, Visayas, and Mindanao. It was bounded by the South China Sea to the west, the Philippines Sea to the east, sharing maritime borders with Taiwan, Japan, Palau, and Indonesia, filled with a rich diversity of ethnicities and cultures. It was on the fringes of the Pacific Ring of Fire with frequent seismic and volcanic activity with five active volcanoes.

They landed in Manila a week ago and went straight to Metropolitan Medical Center where they were going to partner with Filipino doctors in a collaborative effort. Their hosts and in-country partners, led by Drs. Bayani Aquino and Jaslene Bacunawa bestowed on them the warmest welcome, a great contrast to the shifting, suspicious eyes and flat expressions of these men. There had been a short symposium, and it had been wonderful to meet so many members of the medical community who cared as much as they did and shared their work.

Dark hair tied back, very attractive with his sharp features, Taer and Lando Ambong were as handsome as they were lethal, but they left her cold, especially Taer. What was in his eyes was the true story. Calculating, suspicious, enterprising, the eyes of a killer looked back. And he seemed to like looking at her—a lot. She guessed she was an anomaly in this country, a white woman with blonde hair, and she stood out in most places.

Helen went still. His eyes met hers, and a chill of foreboding swept over her skin despite the heat. If this had been anywhere else, the whole process would feel as natural as a handshake. Reciprocity, a tradition that was universal, was anything but among these cutthroats. She took in the young leader’s countenance and decided that his offers of aid came with invisible strings attached, and he mocked them, knowing that these Americans had no clue what it would cost them.

He cast a glance at his men, then back to Greg. The tension mounted, and then Taer laughed, grinning at Greg like a long-lost brother. Greg was too shrewd to fall for that, projecting a mixture of cynicism and satisfaction that things were evening out. His main concern was getting to underserved populations.

The government of the Philippines faced some key challenges regarding their health system that impeded their ability to provide quality, accessible, and equitable care. With a global health crises and natural disasters, weak health systems performance, and gaps in the continuum of care, underserved populations continued to suffer from a high prevalence of tuberculosis—including multi-drug-resistant TB, a concentrated HIV epidemic, rising infectious disease outbreaks—including measles, dengue, and zoonotic diseases, high unmet needs for family planning, high teenage pregnancy rates, and preventable maternal and newborn deaths.

The journey here had been an adventure, with a dawn departure by van to this rendezvous point by the side of the road. The spot marked the start of a rough dirt track that couldn’t be traversed in vehicles. That’s the entrance that would lead them to the village they wanted to get to, across land that was controlled by these men—drug runners, rebels, thieves? She couldn’t be sure which, and she didn’t really care. They had their own mission, and it trumped drugs, war, and gold—old supply and demand.

Underneath the towering canopy, the air hung, and in the darkened jungle it dripped with humidity. It was so green, went on for miles and miles in such a tree-, flower- and plant-rich wall of diversity, it felt like she was in a perpetual atrium. So freaking beautiful, though, and filled with palms, ferns, and breathtaking orchids, and dozens of flowers and flowering bushes, along with hundreds of different birds, unique mammals, including a giant flying fox, a type of fruit bat.Rural, vast stretches of jungle between cities, towns, and villages.

“How long do you think we’re going to have to stand around while he negotiates everything with our…uh…hosts?” Monique Allard, a very competent RN from Minnesota Falls, Minnesota, asked, her dark, curly hair escaping its tight confines. Her name might be very French, but her charming Minnesotan accent was pure American.

“By the looks of these guys, I’d say some time. These islands are full of these types of men—ruthless, caring about nothing but their damn bottom line.”

“It never fails to annoy me that we get such animosity when we’re just here to help people. That’s it. Our mission, in two succinct words, and we get nothing but pushback. It’s not like we’re trying to change their culture or religion.”

“No, but we’re Americans, and that’s enough to put us in the suspicious column.”

Monique moved, and one of the tall, lean Asian rebels brought up his gun. She held up her hands and, in her no-nonsense voice, intoned in Filipino, a standardized version of Tagalog, “I’m just getting a drink.”

He relaxed his stance, and she grabbed two bottles of water from a cooler in the back of the van they were using to try to get to some villagers for simple medical treatments and handed one to Helen.

The Ambong twins laid down some more stipulations that Greg agreed to, and finally they were moving toward that dirt track. She was still feeling the effects of those memories of D-Day, and along with this volatile situation, left her with a feeling as if she had an overdose of adrenaline racing around inside her. She attacked the ground with her sturdy boots, unable to fully shut out her emotions regarding D-Day. A strange hollowness settled in her chest. It was a feeling she really couldn’t define. As if she had missed out on something—or lost something very rare and special. Something that was really not hers to lose.

Letting her breath go in a rush, Helen navigated the overgrown, treacherous path, her heart pounding in her chest. Realizing she was going places in her mind that she had no business going, she took a deep, uneven breath and held it, forcibly pulling herself together. What was she doing? She exhaled and kept moving.

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