Captive Of Fate. Lindsay McKenna

      Alanna moaned, partially aware of a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently awake. She rolled over on her back, sleepily opening her eyes. Matt Breckenridge’s concerned face came into view in the darkness. She frowned, almost frightened by the shadows that played across his strong, masculine face as he watched her.

      “Uh,” she groaned, slowly moving up into a sitting position, “what time is it?”

      “Twenty-one hundred, or 9 p.m. to you civilians,” he said with a half-smile. He rested back on his haunches, frowning. “You all right? You look pale as hell.”

      Alanna sleepily rubbed her eyes, pulling the blanket around her for warmth. The room seemed damper and colder as she looked around. A small kerosene lantern sat in the corner, giving off a weak semblance of light to the room and an odor that made her wrinkle her nose. “Yes—I’m fine. Just terribly tired.”

      “So it’s true what they say about Senator Thornton, then. He works his people likes slaves.”

      It was a statement. Not a question. Groggy and too weary to throw up her usual barriers of defense, she said, “I already put in seventy hours this week. Usually it’s only sixty.”

      He shook his head slowly. “No wonder you’re underweight. Don’t you have anyone who takes care of you?”

      A knot formed in her throat, and she closed her eyes for a moment. “I can take care of myself.”

      “Well, you need someone to help you expend all that energy you have,” he answered gruffly, getting to his feet.

      Alanna yawned, still wrapped in the euphoric embrace of awakening. The Colonel seemed infinitely more gentle now, and she felt herself relaxing for the first time since they had met. His booted feet sounded hollowly against the floor boards as he stopped and squatted back down in front of her. “Here’s dinner,” he said, handing her a Marine Corps issue mess kit. “When I got back, you were sleeping like there was no tomorrow. I decided that you needed sleep more than food. It’s cold but palatable.”

      She took the lightweight metal plate, staring at the heaping amount of food piled on it. “There’s so much!” she protested softly, giving him a stricken look. “I don’t want to take food from the survivors.”

      He sat down by her, pulling up one leg and wrapping his arms about it, giving her an odd, searching look. “You’re sincere, aren’t you?”

      She set the plate down on her lap. “Yes. Of course.”

      “Good. It becomes you. Maybe you’re not the typical Hill politico after all. And don’t worry, I didn’t pull this food out of the starving mouth of some refugee. Now be quiet and eat.”

      Occasionally she glanced up at him as she wolfed down the food. It consisted of refried beans, corn mush, and a small piece of fried Spam, but it tasted delicious. To her own surprise, she ate every morsel. “I guess the mountain air improves the appetite,” she offered sheepishly.

      He took the plate, setting it by his side, and met her smile. In the gloom, he looked haggard and drawn, and Alanna wondered how long it had been since he had slept. “How are things going?” she inquired.

      “Let’s put it this way, Murphy’s law hasn’t got anything on us at the moment,” he commented wryly.

      Alanna laughed gently. “The axiom about ‘if anything can go wrong it will’?”

      “Yes. And there’s an extension to that law: ‘nothing is ever so bad that it can’t get worse,’ and that’s exactly where we’re at right now.” He rubbed his forehead in consternation, staring off into the bleakness. “The fog is thickening, and the chief meteorologist in San Jose is projecting that it’s going to hang around for two more days before we get some clearing.”

      Alanna crossed her legs, resting her arms on her thighs. “But you mentioned you were trucking up the supplies earlier.”

      “The trucks can only go so far and so fast. With choppers we can zip in and out, pick up the worst injuries, and have them down here for initial medical help in no time. I’ve got ten cases that require surgery, and now they’re going to have to be carried over five miles on a stretcher to the jeeps, then bounced over these mountain roads to the hospital. Or, I can leave them up there waiting, and they might die during the night.” He glanced over at her, his eyes broadcasting his undisguised concern. “Truck or auto is no way to transport people who need emergency medical treatment. They can die of shock in a matter of hours.”

      “You sound as if you know a great deal about it.”

      He shrugged, staring back into the darkness. “I’m a paramedic.”

      “I didn’t know Marine officers practiced medicine,” she commented, looking at him in a different light. The senator had always accused Breckenridge of being a bloody warmonger after a high body count. This was the second time that Alanna saw that claim refuted. He was an engineer who built structures and a paramedic who saved lives.

      Matt shut his eyes, resting his head on his arm. “I was in a special contingent of the Marine Corps.”

      “What was that?”

      “Recons.”

      Alanna felt genuine compassion flood her breast. He seemed so drained. In the pallid light, his skin looked taut and washed out. “I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with them.”

      “Most people aren’t. It’s a special branch of the Marine Corps that is molded into a crack surveillance unit to penetrate behind enemy lines. The reconnaisance information gained can be very important when our troops have to engage the enemy. We recorded troop movements for a period of five to ten days and then helicoptered out to the safety of our own lines. In a way, Recons save the lives of many men.”

      She shivered. “It sounds awfully dangerous.”

      “It can be.”

      “Is that why you became a paramedic, then?”

      “Each member of the Recon team had to be a specialist in some field. I picked the medical end.” He raised his head, rubbing his face slowly. “At least there was some honor in trying to save a life instead of having to take one.”

      She looked at him strangely, wondering at the softness in his voice. “I don’t understand.”

      He smiled almost bashfully. “I delivered six babies while I was over in Nam. It sort of made up for the rest of it…. It gave me a clean feeling. Bringing life into the world instead of only watching it being taken.”

      “You delivered babies?”

      “Sure. Why not?”

      Alanna withheld her comment. It was a cruel one that he didn’t deserve. He met her gaze fully, assessing her silently.

      “You wonder how a trained soldier like me can revel in giving life rather than taking it, don’t you?”

      She trembled inwardly, suddenly tearing her gaze away from his weary features. How frighteningly honest he was. And how accepting he was of her less than compassionate view of him. It had to hurt him to see the way she stereotyped him because of the career he had chosen. Her brows drew downward, and she refused to answer, feeling the heat of a blush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. The moments lengthened uncomfortably between them, and she licked her lips.

      “Does—doesn’t it bother you that people are repelled by your profession?”

      “It used to when I was younger. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve been through so much in such a short period of time, it’s easy to separate what’s really important in living and what is not.”

      “You make it sound as if you went through hell.”

      He managed a patient smile. “Everyone has his or her own conception of hell, Alanna. Take yourself: you view this experience as hell. There’s no bed, no hot water, very little food. To me, this is