Dawn of Valor (2 page)

His mouth stretched into what was supposed to be a returned smile but pulled into a line of agony. His brown eyes were dark with panic. The drugs weren’t halting the massive pain he endured. “Look, Miss McKenzie, forget about me,” he managed to say. “You’d better hop that chopper yourself. The North Koreans—they’ll torture you—”

“Hush,” Rachel whispered, efficiently tucking the blankets beneath the thin mattress of the cot. Any moment now, the last two orderlies would carry Larry to the safety of the helo waiting on the landing pad just outside the MASH unit. “Wounded first.” She managed a brave smile, although her stomach was a hard knot of fear. “And I’m not wounded, young man. You are.” Quickly her experienced hands adjusted the IV, getting ready to carry it above Larry’s head when the orderlies took the cot. Rachel noted that her hand was shaking, and she wondered if the private saw her obvious fear.

Just as the two enlisted men slipped inside the wooden door of the huge rectangular tent, an explosion rocked the area. Rachel bit back a cry, shielding Constant by leaning across the cot. Dirt and rock pelted the tent savagely, making the structure shake and groan.

“Get him out of here!” Rachel croaked. A quick look confirmed that shrapnel had made several rips in the fabric above their heads.

“But—” Larry cried, protesting as the orderlies lifted his cot.

“But nothing,” Rachel said tartly, walking quickly beside him, holding the IV high. “You’re going home, soldier, where you belong. Now stop your chatter. That’s an order.” Her cool efficiency affected the men dramatically. They steadied the cot, making each movement count, and the private shut his eyes and surrendered to her order.

The lantern light within the tent faded into the gray, brackish dawn as they wove their way between the empty tents. Rachel tried to stabilize her breathing, her heart banging away in her chest as they assaulted the rocky path leading upward to the landing pad. Her MASH unit was the farthest forward in Korea, always the first to take casualties from the constantly shifting front. They had saved hundreds of young men barely out of their teens from dying because of their proximity to enemy lines. Larry Constant was yet another living testament to the importance of the unit being so close to the fighting, in spite of the risk. Despite the valiant effort of Republic of Korea troops, known as ROKs, to halt the surge of North Koreans, the line had broken, and the enemy was now funneling through the break like an out-of-control juggernaut. Rachel knew that her MASH unit stood in their path, unarmed and undefended. It was up to the nurses and doctors to evacuate their patients to safety.

More mortars landed, spreading eerie yellow and orange tentacles of flames outward. Rachel winced, instinctively moving closer to her patient to protect him. The gunfire was oppressive. Her mind raced. Ten other nurses had made it safely aboard the helos that were now bearing their patients back to MASH units far removed from the front.

Wind from the whirling blades of the helo that sat on the smooth dirt landing pad buffeted them as they climbed onto the flat surface. Rachel saw the pilot frantically waving his arm out the window, the gesture sharp and obvious. Not wanting to be a stationary target, he urged them to hurry. The orderlies quickly attached the cot to the specially designed runner on the side of the helo that would carry the patient outside the aircraft.

Rachel realized with a sinking feeling that the helo was already packed with personnel and patients.

“Two more,” the pilot yelled out the window above the roar. “I can only take two more people.”

Once Larry was strapped in, Rachel grabbed both orderlies. “John, Pete, get on board.”

“But, Miss McKenzie, what about you?” Pete asked, his young face covered with grime and sweat.

“There’s one more chopper coming. I’ll get on board with the doctors.”

Another mortar went off, this time within thirty yards of the landing pad. The enemy was close enough to try to destroy the aircraft. Giving Pete a shove, Rachel watched the orderlies reluctantly climb on board.

“Get out of here!” she shrieked at the pilot. “Lift off, lift off!”

Rachel ducked low, running from beneath the rotor blades that whipped faster and faster. Dust kicked up in huge, rolling clouds, making her eyes water. Her shoulder-length black hair swirled around her face, and she pulled strands of it away from her eyes. The helo was loaded to its maximum weight, floundering off the pad and fighting to gain altitude. She hurried back down the rocky path toward the tents. Now all she had to do was find the three doctors so they could wait by the pad for the last helicopter to arrive.

Dr. Steve Hall found Rachel first as she ran between the recovery and surgery tent. He was a colonel and head surgeon of the MASH unit, a man of fifty-five, tall and robust. Gripping her arm, he frowned.

“Why weren’t you on that last helo, Rachel?”

They both stood, panting hard, having used the past few hours to remove all their patients from the approaching enemy. “It was full. I’ll be flying out with you guys.”

Hall nodded grimly. “Stay with me. We need to round up Bob and Joe.”

Tiredness swept through Rachel. She was stumbling every few steps now, the toes of her heavy black GI boots digging into the freshly churned South Korean soil. The grayness of dawn lay on the horizon like a warning. Following Colonel Hall, weaving between the now empty battle-scarred tents, new emotions that had been held at bay began to filter through Rachel.

Fear had never entered her mind in her concern for the safety of her patients, who were more like hurt and defenseless children in her eyes. Fierce and protective mothering instincts had made her and the rest of the nurses work tirelessly to evacuate their fifty patients. Thinking back, Rachel realized the enormity of what they had done and suddenly felt more weary than she ever had in her life.

The mortar attacks stepped up, the sharp bark of rifle fire testing the limits of her coolness. Throughout the evacuation Rachel had maintained her composure for the good of the younger nurses. Her patients, who had already faced the war and been severely wounded, were even more frightened. The only gunfire Rachel had been around was when her father had taken her hunting in the Catskill Mountains of New York State. The sound always hurt her ears. And she really didn’t believe in killing anything.

So what was she doing here in Korea at a forward MASH unit? Blinking back tears caused by the dust in her eyes, Rachel trotted beside Hall, who was quickening his stride in an effort to locate the surgeons. She wanted to press her hands against her ears. The heavy helmet on her head was creating an ache at the base of her neck.

There was no time to ponder or answer her own question. They found Lt. Joe Pensky and Capt. Bob Short at the administration tent, destroying the last of sensitive material, preventing it from falling into enemy hands.

“Leave it,” Hall ordered, making a curt gesture for them to follow him. “That last chopper said it will be here in ten minutes. Let’s get up to that pad.
Now.
”

Bob Short stared at Rachel after throwing the last of the files into a fifty-gallon drum they had used to destroy the documents. Flames licked above the rim, highlighting their sweaty, dirty faces.

“I thought you’d already left, Rachel.”

“The last chopper was at its weight limit.”

Short cursed, something he didn’t do often. “Dammit, Rachel—”

“Stow it, Bob,” Hall growled.

Rachel fell in alongside Hall as he trotted out of the tent and down a well-worn path between several tents. The past two months of her twenty-three years of life had been spent in Korea. She had come to love the peasant families who lived nearby. And more than anything, she loved her job as a surgery nurse. Emotion welled up in Rachel, and she fought back the tears and memories.

A mortar exploded fifty yards away. Rocks and dirt spewed through the dawn, pelting them. Hall lengthened his stride. Rachel stretched her long legs more fully. In an effort to control her panic, she recalled a strong childhood memory. When she was nine years old, she’d shot up like a bean sprout, taller than any girl in her class. She’d been thin and gangly, standing out like a sore thumb among her classmates. The girls called her a freak. The boys were afraid of her. Now, her five feet seven inches of height gave her longer than average legs for a woman, and she was able to keep up with the three men as they sprinted for the pad.

“I hear it!” Dr. Pensky yelled, jabbing a finger toward the gray and red sky. “The chopper! It’s coming!”

Rachel struggled to stay at Hall’s heels as they climbed the hill to the pad. Yes! She could hear the thick chop, chop, chop of the rotors beating against the heavy humid morning air. Jerking a look over her shoulder, she could see the North Korean infantry coming quickly behind their T-34 tanks. The clanking of the steel-treaded monsters dominated the air, sending a chill up her spine.

The group came to a halt, gasping for breath. The doctors hovered protectively around Rachel, shielding her from possible shrapnel or bullets. The warmth she felt toward the three men was like that of a sister for her big brothers. Rachel lifted her square chin skyward. There, in the distance, was their rescue helicopter. It was coming in low, in a twisting, turning pattern in order to present a tough target.

“Five more minutes and we’ll be out of this hell,” Pensky gasped, casting a wary glance toward the empty MASH unit.

“In ten minutes, the enemy’s gonna be here,” Short huffed.

“Come on, come on,” Joe muttered to the approaching helicopter.

All eyes trained on the U.S. Army aircraft. Rachel was still gasping for breath from the long, tortuous run. Suddenly, from behind them, the T-34 tanks started blasting away, their muzzles lifted skyward. The whistle of the shells shrieked across the hilly countryside. Rachel felt the concussions, automatically cringing, covering her head with her hands.

“Oh, my God!” Pensky shrieked.

A cry escaped Rachel as the helicopter was hit by a tank shell, becoming a blazing orange ball against the turgid crimson dawn. It tumbled wildly from the sky, crashing into the earth.

Hall cursed roundly. Rachel was pushed to the ground by Pensky. The next thing she heard was the sharp sting of North Korean orders being issued. Rachel’s eyes rounded. She looked up and saw her first North Korean—a lean man, barely her height, his pistol leveled at their little group. Dressed in a tan uniform edged in red piping, he gave them a triumphant look. His black eyes glittered with amusement as the rest of his platoon surrounded them.

“You are our prisoners,” he told them in halting, broken English.

Shock numbed Rachel. She shakily rose to her feet, gripping Pensky’s arm, staying hidden behind him. Several of the enemy soldiers rushed forward, separating them, roughly frisking them for weapons. One soldier shoved Rachel into the open. He reached out to frisk her.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” Rachel rasped, and smacked the man’s hand, leaping back to avoid contact.

The violence of her feelings surprised her. Rachel stood tensely and lifted her chin at a defiant angle. A plan began to form in her mind. Just as soon as possible, she would speak to the three doctors about an escape attempt. Rachel wasn’t about to turn into a whimpering little girl begging for mercy. No, all they needed was a diversion of some kind in order to distract the enemy’s attention. Then they could make a bid for freedom.

“Hey, Chase, get your butt out of bed! Hit the flight line! We’ve got a scramble,” Buddy Dawson said, shaking his friend and squadron leader.

Capt. Chase Trayhern sat bolt upright in his creaky cot.
Scramble!
He heard the thin, high wail of the siren drifting across the makeshift air base at Taegu, screaming out to all pilots on duty to hit the deck running for their aircraft. Dawson, his wingman, was already pulling on his flight boots. They slept in their tan one-piece flight suits. Chase blinked, trying to shake off badly needed sleep.

Grunting, Chase threw his legs across the cot, automatically shoving his feet into his boots and lacing them with expert ease. “What have we got?”

“Dunno.” Dawson shoved off his cot, his red hair uncombed, and peered out the tent flap. It was still dark, but dawn was crawling up the horizon like a gray slug.

This was what Chase lived for. His squadron was the last to use propeller-driven P-51s, an exceptional fighter from World War II. His commander kept telling him that soon the squadron would be pulled off the line to receive jet training stateside. Diving for their tent opening, both men emerged and jogged down the dusty path, passing rows of tents that served as home for everyone based at Taegu.

Entering the operations tent, Chase squinted, the glare of light momentarily hurting his eyes. Lt. Col. Jake Hobson was grim. As a matter of fact, Chase thought, Hob looked as if he’d been up all night, something that happened frequently around Taegu.

“What’s happening, Hob?” Chase demanded, moving over to the map of the Pusan area.

“We’ve got big problems, Chase. A MASH unit near Yongchong just got captured. The Eighth ROK division plus an Australian battalion had their line broken. We’ve got North Koreans funneling into the area like fleas on a dog.” Hob jabbed his stubby index finger at the map of the Yongchong area. “Weather’s good. I want your squadron off the ground pronto. We believe three American doctors and a nurse have been captured.”

Eyes narrowing, Chase muttered in disbelief, “A woman?”

“Yes. The ROKs are telling us she’s Lieutenant Rachel McKenzie.” Hob’s jowly face became harsh. “You know what the enemy does to our men. I don’t even want to think what they might do to her.”

“War’s for men, not women,” Chase snorted. “I’ve always said we had no business bringing women into this war. I don’t care whether they’re nurses or not.”

Dawson came forward, putting a hand on Trayhern’s broad shoulder. “Take it easy, Chase. Hob, what do you want us to do?”

“The ROK division is in total disarray. They’re trying to regroup. I want your squadron to fly in to strafe and bomb a truck convoy of North Koreans heading back north. The ROKs believe they have the American prisoners. Maybe, with some low and slow fancy flying, you can give these people a chance to escape.” Hob’s gray eyes grew dark as he held Trayhern’s hard gaze. “Create a diversion for them, Chase. Create havoc. Maybe those Americans will understand what we’re trying to do and make a break for freedom.”