An Arrogant Black Belt Threatens a Rookie Nurse in a Rural ER — Unaware She Was a Navy SEAL Officer
Chapter 9
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Vera leaned in. "Reese," she said—it was the first time Vera had ever used her first name. "What is happening?""A friend of mine got shot at a training range that wasn't supposed to have anyone shooting at him, Vera.""And you're—""I'm an ER nurse with eight months of seniority at Holloway County General. That's what I am tonight. That's what we're going to keep saying I am for as long as we can keep saying it."Vera was quiet for a beat. Then Vera said, "Right." And Vera went back to setting the second IV.Outside the window of Trauma 2, headlights moved in the parking lot. Reese could see them past the rain: a black SUV with no markings rolled in slow, stopped, killed its engine; then another; then a third. The third one was a county sheriff's cruiser; the first two were not.Hannigan saw it, too. Hannigan moved to the window and watched."Ma'am," he said, "that is not Marsh.""I know. Marsh isn't due for 19 more minutes.""I know."The SUVs sat in the rain with their lights off. Nobody got out. Reese pressed her lips into a line and turned back to Vega.She had four problems now: the first was a corpsman who needed a vascular surgeon; the second was a stab wound patient in Bay 1 whom Kessler was about to kill; the third was at least one shooter who had hit Vega from the wrong side of the firing line; the fourth was a brown-belt, arrogant doctor who had called every authority in three counties before checking what kind of mistake he was making.Four problems. She had handled four problems before.Phelps came through the doors of the ER at minute 37: younger than his voice on the radio, wet to the bone, carrying a vascular tray under one arm because the sheriff had let him grab one from his bag before they ran from the cruiser to the door. He saw Reese standing at the head of Vega's bed, and he opened his mouth to argue with the rookie nurse in scrubs, and he saw her face and his mouth closed. Phelps had been an Army medic before med school; Phelps recognized the face. He did not know her, but he recognized the kind of face she was wearing."Tell me what we've got," he said."Junctional, common femoral, packed and held with combat gauze for three minutes. Junctional tourniquet seated at the inguinal crease. Two units of O-neg in. TXA on board from the field. He needs a vascular clamp and primary repair. I can hold the field while you work. I have the surgical experience to second assist if you need it."Phelps blinked. "You can second assist?""I can do the procedure if you can't get clean access, but I would prefer you do it because your license is intact and mine is complicated."Phelps stared at her for one full second. Then Phelps said, "Scrub in, Donovan."She scrubbed in. They worked.Twenty-six minutes later, the femoral artery was clamped, debrided, repaired with a 5-0 Prolene running suture, and the junctional tourniquet had come off. Vega's blood pressure was holding at 110 over 70; he would need transfer to a Level 1 trauma center, but he would not die in Holloway County General.