“Oh, you’re awake,” she whispered.
Jacob squinted, trying to see her face in the low light. He could make out that she was middle aged, her hair was pulled back, and she wore a dark sweater. He tried to sit up for a better look, but the weight of his own body prevented it.
The woman placed a hand on his chest and eased him back onto the cot. “Come on now, hun, you need to rest. Just let me get this bandaged for you,” she whispered.
“Where am I?’
She pushed a gauze dressing around the wound. Holding it in place, she attached a long piece of tape. “You’re in the loft of the shop. You got a little dizzy down there, and your friends brought you up here.”
“Where are they?”
“They’re here; don’t worry, they didn’t leave you,” she whispered, pulling a blanket over his lap.
A loud rumble from overhead shook and vibrated the corrugated roofing above their heads. Jacob jumped and tried to sit up. Again, the nurse gracefully lowered him to his back. “It’s okay; just relax.”
“What was that?” Jacob asked; the shock obvious in his voice.
“I was told it’s the Air Force dropping their bombs in town,” the nurse answered.
“Bombing? But... I thought they were evacuating everyone.”
Rumbling explosions in the distance shook the building, the air cracking with impacts.
The clanking of footsteps came up the stairs, followed by the smiling face of Stephens, who overheard the last bits of the conversation. “They’re CAS missions,” Stephens said, moving to Jacob’s side. “How you feeling?”
“CAS?” Jacobs asked.
“Close air support.”
Not understanding, Jacob looked blankly at him as aircraft flew low overhead, on another pass.
“They’re blowing the hell out of the things trying to get close to our people!” Stephens said over the very distant rumblings of explosions, a remote and deadly fireworks display ripping apart the night air. “Those are Warthogs, most likely. I’d say they’re pulling out all the stops tonight. About damn time too.”
Jacob shook his head. “Why didn’t you just say that to start with?”
“That is what I said; not my fault you don’t understand shit.”
The crack, crack, crack of gunfire echoed from somewhere outside the building—far away at first but quickly moving closer. Stephens stepped back and ran to the loft window overlooking the factory floor. Jacob pushed himself to a seated position, this time ignoring the nurse’s advice. The gunfire grew louder and was joined by the ping and squeal of rounds slapping against the building’s metal skin. Stephens turned and walked hurriedly for the stairs leading to the factory floor as hidden faces in the loft began to cry out and speak in hushed tones.
Jacob sat upright and slipped his pants on halfway before he searched the floor at his feet in the dim candlelight. He found his boots and quickly slipped them on. Giving the laces a quick yank, he wrapped them around his ankles and knotted them. He looked around and saw his shirt and jacket in a bundle at the end of the cot. He got to his feet and felt the pull at his side, his hand instinctively dropping. He pulled his pants up the rest of the way over the bandage and winced at the discomfort.
The nurse, watching him with frustration, moved and grabbed his shirt and jacket. “I had to stitch you up. Sorry, I only had a local anesthetic and not much for the pain; it will be wearing off soon,” she said hurriedly as she helped Jacob into his jacket. “You’ll need to have that cleaned again and the stitches out in a week or so.”
Jacob nodded and searched the jacket pockets and the empty holster on his waist. “Where are my guns?” he gasped.
The woman moved along the wall just behind the cot to a tall metal cabinet. She quickly returned, carrying the black tactical vest and police carbine. Jacob noticed at once that his P89 was now fastened into a holster on the chest of the vest. “This is yours. The soldiers said you would gladly trade the other rifle and shotgun for the medicine we used on you,” she said, placing the rifle on the bed and handing Jacob the vest.
The vest was open at the sides, but he’d never worn one before. He stuck his head through the center, nearly getting lost in the heavy armor. The nurse stepped in and pulled the Velcro side apart and snugged the vest down over him, then lashed the Velcro waist straps.
“You aren’t too familiar with this, are you?” she said, helping him to adjust the straps.
“No, guess I never had much reason to put one on before tonight.”
She curled her brow, throwing Jacob a puzzled look. “Well, this is correct. Unfortunately, I have spent enough time in the ER to know how an officer’s gear goes on and off.”
Jacob nodded a thank you as he looked over the snaps and attachments at the front of the vest. He tried pulling them until he felt the pressure against his wound. The heavy plates in the chest and back caused the other straps to cut into his shoulders. He lifted himself to his feet and shrugged hard, trying to adjust the weight before he took an uneven step toward the stairs.
“Officer, your gun!” the nurse called after him. She moved toward him, holding the rifle.
Jacob turned to look at her, and then recalled seeing an embroidered badge patch on the front of the tactical vest. Suddenly, he realized that the entire time she had assumed he was a police officer. “I’m not a—oh, right. Thanks.”
He paused then reached out for the rifle. Never
