dehydrated.' He pulled the thermometer from the ear, noting a temperature of 101 degrees. The first thing he had to do was to bring the fever under control as fast as possible. Since the boy was semiconscious and unable to take aspirin, the only alternative was alcohol baths. He pulled a bottle of alcohol from his kit along with some sterile cloths in sealed packets. As he opened up a couple, he gave instructions that the mother should dampen the cloths and gently bathe her son. The Reverend Borden translated the directions, and the woman eagerly began the treatment.
Since the little patient could not take fluids by mouth to treat the dehydration, James set up an IV to administer a saline solution. In order not to over rehydrate the boy and send him into shock, the SEAL decided to give him no more than 1.5 cubic centimeters of the solution over the next twenty-four hours.
Reverend Borden watched the proceedings. 'Is there anything I can do to help?'
James inserted the needle into the boy's arm. 'I could use a hand from the Lord, Reverend.'
'I'll organize a prayer vigil right now,' Borden said. He went outside to gather his flock.
Milly Mills looked down at the sick youngster, not liking what he saw. 'What's his chances, James?'
James spoke in a low tone of voice. 'Slim to none, Milly.'
.
OA, SOUTHWEST
2300 HOURS LOCAL
SENIOR Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins had taken his SAW gunner Joe Miskoski along with Gutsy 01-son's Delta Fire Team out to scour the savannah in that part of the OA. The mission was to search out any targets of opportunity. They left base camp early that morning just as the first light of dawn had glimmered over the eastern horizon. Each member of the patrol carried a couple of days' rations and plenty of ammunition.
Now, after hours of steady humping, they had settled down for the night. It was a cold camp with no fire or flashlights. If anyone really needed to look for something, he had to turn to his night vision goggles. All heating of MREs would be done via the FRHs. Gutsy organized the night's watch, setting up a two-hour-on and four-hour-off guard rotation that would take them to 0500 hours the next morning.
Senior Chief Dawkins hated to admit it, but there were times when he felt his advanced age of thirty-seven. Twinges from long-ago parachute jumps, muscles that had been pulled in training, and an old shrapnel wound in his left side bothered him with increasing frequency. It all made him wonder how much longer he would be able to go until the ability to lead men in the field faded away in a combination of age and growing physical disability. The thought of such a thing happening troubled him deeply. There were times in the middle of the night when he was in that twilight between wakefulness and slumber that the possibility of becoming a staff weenie brought him to full consciousness. The worst part of it was having to part company from the greatest guys in the world.
As he sat in the darkness, leaning against his rucksack, he studied the men around him there in the Gran Chaco. He knew Joe Miskoski and Gutsy Olson well from previous missions. Petty Officer Second Class Andy Malachenko and Petty Officer Guy Deveraux, while new acquaintances, were becoming more familiar to him.
Andy had been born in the Soviet Union, coming to America with his parents in 1994. The family settled into the Russian emigre community in Brighton Beach, New York, where he quickly learned English and adapted to his new country. The naturally rugged kid joined the Navy for adventure and travel and was attracted to the machismo of the SEALs. Guy Deveraux's French-Canadian great-grandparents came to the U. S. in the 1920s. He was born and raised in rural Maine, spending his boyhood fishing and hunting in the woods of the Pine Tree State. He always had a fascination for the sea from the rare glimpses he got of it when his family visited the coast. He enlisted in the Navy but found out he wasn't fond of shipboard life. The SEALs offered a rather challenging alternative, and he opted to take a chance.
Dawkins was more than just a little proud and approving of his Second Assault Section. The men in both fire teams had meshed into a damned fine outfit, and if the group were destined to be his last combat command, he would go out in a flash of glory.
.
VILLAGE OF CARIDAD
14 DECEMBER
0230 HOURS LOCAL
JAMES Bradley got up off the floor of the but and walked over to examine his little patient in the lantern light. The boy's parents slept on cots on the far side of the dwelling. Both were exhausted from worry over their only child, and James had to gently demand that the woman get some rest after long periods of giving her son alcohol baths.
The boy fussed a little in his sleep when James inserted the ear thermometer. The temperature had dropped to ninety-nine degrees, but it was still much too high for a youngster. The hospital corpsman checked the physical appearance of the child, noting that he had shown no response to the saline solution. It would be better to catheterize him to make an accurate observation of his urine output, but James did not have a catheter in his medical kit. A noise from the door caught his attention, and James turned to see the entire Charlie Fire Team tiptoeing into the hut.
'How's the little feller doing?' Milly asked.
'So-so,' James replied.
Pech Pecheur, a Cajun from Louisiana, peered down at the sleeping youngster. 'He don't look too good, James.'
'I have to tell you,' James said, 'I'm not too confident of a recovery. God only knows how long he's really been sick before anybody around here took note of it.'
Wes Ferguson from Wichita, Kansas, had participated in Reverend Borden's prayer vigil. Although not outwardly religious, this private individual attended chapel regularly back in Coronado. 'He's in God's hands, James. Just do your best to help things along.'
The quartet of tough SEALs stood in silence, gazing down at the little boy who clung to life by that proverbial thread.
.
OA, SOUTHWEST SECTION
0500 HOURS LOCAL
the small bivouac, then walked over to Senior Chief Buford Dawkins and nudged him. Dawkins sat up immediately, wide-awake and ready to go. Guy continued on to the other SEALs, roughly shaking them awake.
'Drop your cocks and grab your socks,' he growled at the group. He was a little cranky from having to listen to them peacefully sleep while he stood the last two hours of watch.
Chow that morning was granola energy bars and water from the canteens. Dawkins got on the AN/PRC-126 and raised Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan. The contact was expected, and Frank Gomez informed the senior chief that his orders for the day were to continue his patrol's mission until midafternoon before turning back.
Dawkins got to his feet as he shoved the handset back into its carrier. 'All right, people. Off and on.'
.
VILLAGE OF CARIDAD
0730 HOURS LOCAL
HOSPITAL Corpsman James Bradley learned that his small patient's name was Joselito and that he had been born and raised in the poorest slum of La Paz, Bolivia. The boy was now awake and fussing softly, showing a healthy displeasure about everything that was going on. The mother and father watched anxiously as James took his temperature one more time. The smile on the SEAL's face after reading the digital readout showed it was normal.
By the time Reverend Borden came in for his morning visit, James had determined that Joselito was recovering nicely from the dehydration. Spittle had formed around his mouth, and his tongue was bright pink and moist. James poured a little water from his canteen into a plastic cup given him by the boy's mother. Joselito took a couple of small gulps and easily swallowed them. The liquid did not come back up. Then he demonstrated one of the most solid evidences of being rehydrated; he suddenly peed a beautiful stream of clear liquid. It wasn't much, but it meant he was well on his way back to normal.
James glanced up at Borden. 'Tell the parents that Joselito will be fine by tomorrow.'
When Borden gave them the good news, the mother rushed forward and grabbed James's hand. She kissed him, weeping and exclaiming her unending gratitude in Spanish. The father embraced him, crying uncontrollably as
