Page 4 of S.O.S. Mizzay

A quick internal investigation that afternoon—while Cobble was in surgery and Missy had hunkered in the waiting room, nervous as hell—uncovered no definitive answers regarding the assault on the UN office. It was quickly decided that a vagabond crew of rebels must have been responsible for the hit; looting for valuables during the chaos of a government in flux. It was written up that the rogue group, when faced with the presence of unexpected, armed soldiers, had, en masse, killed everyone.

The whole incident had been put to bed.

That explanation didn’t fly with Missy.

With the odd disarray she’d seen in that office?No.It seemed to her—at some point prior to papers being purposely strewn about willy-nilly—that a thorough, methodical search had been done of several drawers and files in the place. To her, it appeared that the breachers had been looking for something specific, and had then attempted to cover it up. The question was, what exactly had they been after, and did they get it?

The answer lay in bed with Cobble.

She looked over at him from the uncomfortable chair she’d pulled up near his bed. Tubes, wires, and monitors were dwarfed by his big body, but were hopefully keeping him alive.

The doctors had deemed Cobble’s emergency surgery a success, which was a miracle in itself; the hospital being in as much of a turmoil as the rest of the beleaguered region. But still worrisome for Missy? Cobble wasn’t awake yet, and it was now three hours post-surgery. Was that normal?

What choice, however, did Missy have but to trust the staff here who didn’t seem at all worried?None.Because this was the only hospital currently operating in Abyei that offered surgery.It was also a brand-new facility, considered state of the art for the area. So too, its staff was primarily made up of a fresh-faced docket of Doctors Without Borders, which gave Missy a modicum of comfort.

In the nine hours since bringing Cobble in—pre, and post-surgery—Missy had gotten to know most of the doctors and nurses who were part of Cobble’s “medical team”, and despite all the emergencies they were experiencing with the widespread unrest hereabouts, they were extremely professional. They kept a close eye on Cobble while remaining friendly, upbeat, and candid with Missy.

So here she was. Hunkering in Cobble’s room waiting for him to open his eyes. His gorgeous brown eyes. To see them focused on her again would be…a miracle.

She’d had the presence of mind, amidst her grief, to contact headquarters again after their less-than-satisfactory report, this time to find out who should be notified as Cobble’s next of kin.

She’d been told that the person listed as his emergency liaison was a family member. But that’s all the help they’d given her. Then HQ, being what it was—always inundated with work—had rattled off the number for one Charles Smalley, informing Missy that she, as Cobble’s platoon leader, should be the one to do the notifying.

Missy had pondered over that, and decided she really didn’t want to make that call until Cobble woke up. But as more time went by without him stirring, the doctors had finally informed her that due to his head injury, it might be hours or days before he awoke.Seriously? There was no grand consensus on the actual timeline? Where did that leave her?

Missy stared at her phone. Should she, or should she not call Mr. Smalley? The seven-hour time difference meant that it was three AM in Boston, Massachusetts, so maybe she should wait? Nobody liked to get the kind of disclosure she’d been taskedto deliver in the middle of the night. And was the man a close enough relative, anyway, that he’d want the news right away so he could rush to South Sudan to grace Cobble’s bedside?

Missy sighed, and tried to see it from Cobble’s point of view. If he eventually woke up, maybe having a loved one on site would make him feel better. And if he…passed away, it might be Mr. Smalley’s last opportunity to say goodbye.

Trying not to overthink the situation any longer, Missy grabbed up her phone and punched in the number.

“Smalley here.” A gruff voice answered on the first ring. It didn’t seem like the man had been asleep.

“Good evening, sir,” she began respectfully. “This is Second Lieutenant Millicent Andriopolos of the Army CST in South Sudan.”

“Sawyer?” The man snapped out the word immediately, clearly grasping the gravity of the call.

Missy was so used to calling her teammate Cobble, hearing his real name was momentarily confusing.

Sawyer, Missy reminded herself. That was Cobble’s civilian tag.Sawyer Blue.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, sir. He’s just come through surgery for a GSW to the chest which resulted in a collapsed lung. But the doctors say his prognosis is good.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Smalley demanded brusquely.

Huh.This guy was astute.

She wouldn’t keep him waiting.

“Sawyer still hasn’t woken up,” she told him without sugar-coating. “It’s been three hours post-op, and that’s longer than anyone anticipated.” She clarified by adding more before the man could ask additional questions. “The doctors say it might be because he also suffered a graze to the temple. A nasty wound, but the bullet passed by without penetrating his skull. And no,there’s no brain swelling, but a concussion is likely. The doctors believe that’s the reason he’s still unresponsive.”

“I’ll be on the next plane out,” Smalley barked. “Which hospital?”

Missy gave him the name and address of the facility, then sought to reassure him. “I won’t be leaving Sawyer’s side until you get here. I still have questions about what happened that only he can answer.”

“You’re his platoon leader?” Smalley asked.

“I am. And I was the one who sent his six-man squad into that building.”

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