Page 57 of Cry Havoc (Tom Reece #1)

Saigon, Vietnam

“YOU ARE LUCKY TO be alive, son.”

Tom heard the voice before he could see the speaker. He could tell it was a man, but his vision was blurry.

Tom blinked his eyes in response, and also in an unsuccessful attempt to clear his vision.

“Good.”

He attempted to move his hands and feet but was hit with another wave of blinding pain.

Ella! Where’s Ella?

“Try not to move. Before I go into details, just know you are going to survive. You are not paralyzed, and all your limbs are intact.”

Tom tried to talk but was prevented by the breathing tube.

His eyes darted around the room unable to focus.

Ella!

“We will get that tube out later today. Until then just try and relax. Your head is strapped to the table. We needed you immobilized. Normally we would want you in Okinawa or Germany for this, but we couldn’t risk moving you, so we did the surgeries here.”

Tom was vaguely aware that he had a tube inserted in his nostrils.

“You have been here for three days. Can you wiggle your toes?”

Tom did, but almost passed out from the searing wave of pain that shot through his body.

“Good.”

Though his vision was still blurry, he saw what appeared to be movement. The doctor was taking notes on a clipboard.

Tell me about Ella!

“How about your fingers?”

Another blast of burning neuropathic agony radiated through him.

“Good. Now, can you feel this,” the doctor said, running a pinwheel over his chest.

Once again, his body convulsed from the pain.

“These are all good signs, Petty Officer Reece.”

Tom attempted to talk again.

“Just breathe, son. A bullet hit the base of your skull. It traced a path of least resistance and hit the back of cervical one. That’s part of your spinal column.

It shattered an arch but it’s one you don’t need to function.

It lodged at the base of your brain stem and penetrated the lining of the dura around the base of your skull near your upper spinal cord.

The shock to the spinal cord resulted in a temporary paralysis.

It’s what we refer to as an ‘all or none injury.’ If you have movement at this stage, usually everything comes back.

So that’s the good news. We did the surgery here because if that bullet shifted even two millimeters closer to the spine it would have killed you—paralysis and death from asphyxiation.

But don’t worry. You’ll be fine. I’ll be back in later today.

I just wanted to be here when you woke up.

Your vision will be back soon. I have two nurses and a physician’s assistant here.

They are going to take good care of you.

We will get that breathing tube out soon, and I’ll answer all your questions.

You will be here for about eight weeks as you recover.

You are on some pretty potent painkillers.

You may experience some memory loss and confusion, but that should be temporary.

You are a lucky man, Petty Officer Reece. Someone on high is protecting you.”

Tom saw a blurry figure step forward, and though it was hard to tell, it appeared that it was a woman. She injected something into his IV tube.

Ella?

Dr. Brenner returned just after the throat and nasal tubes were removed.

Tom blinked his eyes and returned to the land of the living. An IV remained in his arm.

“Good to see you are still with us, and if I dare say, improving.”

The doctor was dressed in blue scrubs and appeared to be in his late thirties, of average height and build, with short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair.

“This is Nurse Maxwell. She runs this floor and will be taking care of you.”

Tom shifted his eyes toward the other figure in the room, wincing again as a bolt of nerve pain shot down his spine.

His first thought was that Nurse Maxwell should be in Hollywood, not Saigon.

Radiant and captivating, her dark brown eyes also exuded a calm confidence.

The silver lieutenant bars on her khaki uniform gleamed under the overhead light.

“I must be dreaming,” Tom muttered, his throat hoarse and sore.

“Just take it easy,” Dr. Brenner said. “It’s going to hurt to talk for a day or two, but you are going to be fine. How’s your vision?”

“It’s back,” Tom managed.

“That’s a good sign.”

“And your memory?”

Tom paused for a moment to collect himself.

He remembered walking into the Cercle Sportif.

He was with a woman. She was waving to an older man at a table.

Tom saw a waiter raise a Makarov pistol from under a white napkin and place it against the old man’s head.

He remembered drawing his Browning and pushing the woman to the ground.

He remembered death, more shooting, the chaos.

He remembered rising to his feet and walking toward the table where the old man had fallen. He remembered one last scream.

Ella.

“What happened?” Tom asked.

“Somebody shot you.”

“I was with a woman. What happened to her?”

“You were brought in alone. I don’t have any other information. I’m sorry.”

Tom shut his eyes trying to remember.

“What caliber bullet hit me?”

“I saved it for you. It looks like a full metal jacket nine millimeter. Maybe a little smaller than a nine mil,” Dr. Brenner said, holding the disfigured bullet between a pair of large stainless surgical tweezers for Tom to view. “It held together for the most part.”

“A nine-by-eighteen Mak,” Tom said.

“What’s that?” the doctor asked.

“Soviet caliber for their Makarov pistols.”

“As you may recall, I told you it stopped just after entering the dura.”

“I remember,” Tom said. “What’s the dura?”

“It’s the outermost meningeal layer that protects the brain and spinal cord.”

“That doesn’t sound great.”

“We slit the muscle to remove the bone fragments and cut into the dura to get the bullet. We can’t sew the dura completely. It’s like closing a water balloon that’s filled to capacity. It will leak for a while, but unlike a water balloon, it will eventually seal itself up.”

“How many of these have you done?”

“Procedures like this? For someone who lived? Exactly, one. You.”

“First time for everything, I guess. How long did you say I’ll be here?”

“I am not one hundred percent sure. At least eight weeks. Your spinal cord looked intact when I did the surgery, but there are a lot of unknowns with something like this. Every case is different. The swelling around the spinal cord will go down over the next two weeks. You have movement in your fingers and toes, so you should be able to start walking around then. For a while you will have a splitting headache every time you stand up, but that too will dissipate over time. We are going to keep you on a high dose of steroids, anti-inflammatory methylprednisolone. It will disrupt your sleep and maybe make you a little paranoid.”

“Just what I need.”

“First ten days you need to be in bed, head flat and secured. Then seven to ten days working on just sitting up before standing with support. After that, it’s learning to walk again with the use of parallel bars.

And then, it’s two weeks of gradual mobilization and rehabilitation.

Nurse Maxwell will be here to assist you, and I’ll check in daily. ”

“Doc, has anyone been here to visit. A woman?”

“No, but there’s a man outside who has been here every day, waiting to see you.”

Serrano remained standing where Tom could see him with his head strapped to the bed.

When the door closed Tom shut his eyes and asked the question.

“Is she dead?”

“Ella? No.”

Tom let out an audible sigh.

“Was she shot?”

“No.”

“Her father.”

“Dead.”

“The assassins?”

“Both dead.”

“But there was a third. Somebody shot me.”

“Yes. We have not located him. No leads other than he was not dressed as a waiter, as were the other two, and witnesses say he was white with short black hair.”

“White?”

“As you can imagine, it was a chaotic scene.”

“The bullet they pulled out of me was a nine millimeter, probably a nine-by-eighteen Mak. We can start there.”

“The two dead assassins had Makarovs. Not as much ass behind the Maks as there is from a nine-by-nineteen Parabellum, especially out of that short barrel at distance.”

“He was a good shot.”

“Or a lucky one.”

“Let’s pretend it wasn’t luck. Let’s say it was skill. That means training. Who in Vietnam has that ability?”

“That’s a good question.”

“Have you seen Ella?”

“I have, briefly. She’s in mourning. She has now lost both parents. She blames us.”

“Us?”

“The United States.”

“Is that why she hasn’t been here?”

“Give her time, Tom. She’s dealing with her father’s memorial and funeral, and also stepping up to take over the company.”

“Nick, tell me it wasn’t the CIA.”

“That killed Gaston?”

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t us, Tom.”

“I wish I believed you.”

“You heard the doc. Some of the drugs you’re on are going to make you paranoid. We had no reason to kill him. We wanted to turn him, to use him, remember?”

“Maybe he wouldn’t turn.”

“And so we killed him?”

“Yeah.”

“Tom, I’m telling you it wasn’t us.”

Tom closed his eyes. Something was not adding up.

“Why didn’t they finish me off?”

“Maybe they thought you were dead.”

“That would mean I was a target along with Gaston.”

“Or maybe you just got in the way.”

“That’s a lot of maybes. They could have killed me. They could have killed Ella, but they didn’t.”

“As I said, it looks like Gaston was the only target.”

“Where’re my pistol and blades?”

“I’ve got them. They won’t do you any good here right now in your current state. I’m going to post someone outside your door. They will work in shifts, but there will be somebody here while you recover.”

“How about my cigarettes?”

“No chance.”

“Nick, there is something else going on here. I can feel it.”

“You just rest up. You have a good doc and team here. I’ve talked with them every day. We will get you on the road to recovery and then get you stateside. I’ll be back to check on you. Stay strong. Keep fighting.”

Serrano left the room holding the door open as Nurse Maxwell entered.

“This will help you sleep,” she said, injecting something into his IV. “Rest up.”

Tom closed his eyes feeling the drug take effect, replaying the assassination over and over in his head: Gaston’s head exploding, the screams, his eye finding the front sight of his Hi-Power, the recoil, his turn to the second assassin.

As he drifted off to sleep, Tom could not shake the feeling that there was more to the assassination, and there was no way he was leaving Vietnam until he knew what it was.