When Heroes Flew: The Shangri-La Raiders by H. W. "Buzz" Bernard

Author:H. W. "Buzz" Bernard [Bernard, H. W. "Buzz"]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn River Publishing
Published: 2021-07-12T16:00:00+00:00

14

Hand on my .45, I followed Forrest to the door.

“Hong,” he said.

I relaxed my grip on the pistol and stepped outside. Hong and Forrest stood in conversation— Chinese, so I couldn’t understand any of it. I looked up toward the main road. A two-wheeled wooden cart, drawn by an emaciated-looking ox, stood at the head of the path leading down to the missionaries’ house.

An escort of armed guerrillas and three of my aircrew accompanied the cart. I sprinted toward them, slipping and sliding on the rain-soaked path.

Cowboy raised an arm in greeting.

“Good to see you, Boss,” he said when I reached him. “Any problems?”

“No. But the person we were hoping might be a nurse isn’t. She’s a missionary’s daughter who has some first aid training. How’s Billy Bob doing?”

“He’s still in pain. We’ve got him in the cart. I gave him some more morphine and tried to make him comfortable, but it was a rough trip.”

Hong and Forrest moved up the path toward us. Martha and Liz peeked out through the doorway.

“See any Japs?” I asked Cowboy.

“No. If we had, they would have encountered a hell of a lot of firepower.”

I noticed Dead Eye with his shotgun, and eight guerrillas toting rifles.

Forrest arrived and I introduced Cowboy, Swede, and Dead Eye to him, though I used their proper names and rank. I pointed out Billy Bob—Sergeant Baker—in the cart and told Forrest I thought the kid needed serious medical attention.

“Let’s get him in the house,” he said, “and we’ll take a look at him.”

We got Billy Bob, moaning and groaning, into the house. Hong and his men departed. The rest of my crew came in out of the rain, happy to be warm and able to dry off. We eased Billy Bob onto a couch, and Liz went to work examining his ankle. Forrest looked over her shoulder.

“Let’s get this boot off him,” Liz said.

Trying to be as gentle as possible, we slid off Billy Bob’s boot. Even though we used all care, he still yelped in pain a couple of times.

Liz turned to her father. “Can you heat up some water, Daddy, and bring me some clean rags?”

He nodded. Liz turned to me.

“I’ll clean up his ankle, but there’s not much else I can do. It’s broken badly, so I wouldn’t want to even attempt to set it. It would help to ice it to keep down the inflammation, but we don’t have any ice. We should elevate the ankle so it’s above his heart. And keep giving him morphine. But he needs a doctor. The ankle needs surgery. It’s not just a simple fracture.”

Damn. Frustrated, frightened, I drew a deep breath. “Where’s the nearest doctor?”

“In Chuchow.”

“Where’s that?”

“About fifty miles southeast of here.”

I rolled my eyes. “How do we get there?”

“On foot. Probably three days.”

“Can we get another ox-drawn cart?”

Forrest entered the conversation. “Probably not. The farmers around here need their oxen. They wouldn’t be happy about having to part with one for the better part of a week.”

I drew another deep breath and expelled a long sigh.

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