Evans stammered, backing away. It’s compromised. I have to clamp the main artery. I have to amputate. Up in the gallery. Sterling picked up the intercom phone. A smug look on his face. Dr. Evans, terminate the procedure and proceed to amputation. Don’t lose the patient. Evans looked defeated. He reached for the bone saw. No.
Sarah barked. She stepped into the sterile field, violating protocol. She plunged her hand directly into the bloody wound. Nurse, get back, Evans shouted. I have the bleeder, Sarah yelled. I can feel it. It’s a tear in the lateral circumflex. Evans, listen to me. I’m acting as a manual clamp. You don’t need to amputate.
You need to stitch around my fingers. I can’t operate blindly around your hand. Yes, you can. Sarah stared into his eyes, her mask inches from his. I did this in a ditch in Mar with a headlamp and no anesthesia. You are in a sterile O. So the vessel. Trust me. Evans hesitated. He looked up at the gallery. Sterling was shouting into the intercom, but Sarah ignored it.
She looked only at Evans. Do it, doctor. Save the marine. Something in Evans changed. The fear evaporated, replaced by focus. He picked up the needle driver. “Don’t move your fingers,” Evans whispered. “I’m a statue,” Sarah said. For 10 agonizing minutes, they worked in perfect sink. Sarah held the pulsing artery shut with her fingertips while Evans sutured around her glove.
It was a dance of absolute precision. Okay. Evans breathed, releasing clamp now. Sarah slowly pulled her hand back. The bleeding had stopped. The vessel held. The monitor steadied. Beep beep. Beep. Evans slumped against the wall, sweat soaking his cap. We got it. The leg is viable. Sarah looked up at the gallery. Dr.
Sterling had put down the phone. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked furious. He turned and stormed out of the observation deck. “Close him up, Doc,” Sarah said, her voice trembling with exhaustion. “You did good. Recovery room 4 was quiet. The rhythmic hiss of the ventilator was the only sound. Colonel Graves was still groggy from the anesthesia, but he was waking up. Sarah sat by his bed.
She had changed out of her blood soaked scrubs. She was exhausted, but her mind was racing. The surgery was a victory, but the war was escalating. Sterling wouldn’t take this lying down and Robert Emmes was in the building. Water. Graves rasped. Sarah held a straw to his lips slowly. You still have the tube in your throat.
Graves blinked, focusing. He looked down at the sheet covering his legs. He saw the outline of two feet. He let out a long, shuddering breath. You did it. Evans did it, Sarah corrected. But I helped. Graves reached out and squeezed her hand. His grip was weak, but the intent was strong. We need to talk about Emmes.
I’m going to find him, Sarah said. He’s in the admin wing. I saw him head up to the executive suite on the sixth floor. Sarah, be careful. Graves warned. A man who sells out a convoy for cash. He won’t hesitate to hurt a nurse. I’m not a nurse today, Sarah said, standing up. Today I’m 27ths. She walked out of the room.
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