The Last Protector(Clayton White #1)(7)

Too late, he thought as he felt himself free fall into darkness.





CHAPTER FIVE


Landstuhl Regional Medical Center


Landstuhl, Germany

Captain Clayton White sat up in bed and looked at his right arm. The nurse had removed the large bandage and swapped it with smaller white strips covering the twenty-four stitches he’d received.

That’s gonna leave a nasty scar, he thought.

In the last seventy-two hours, White had received three surgeries to remove the two—not one as he had originally thought—pieces of shrapnel embedded deep in his left leg. The Pave Hawk’s crew had saved his life. As he had feared, shrapnel had indeed scored a hit on an artery. But luckily for White, by the time they reached the SuperCobra’s crash site, the crew chief had already stopped the bleeding. The two marine aviators had been rescued, and despite being hit numerous times by small arms fire during the initial engagement and losing its communication systems, the Pave Hawk had carried them all home.

White couldn’t be prouder of his team. They had once again proven their courage and ability to take care of business amid the worst of conditions.

These Things We Do, That Others May Live.

White’s only regret was that he wouldn’t be returning to his men in Iraq for at least a month. His doctor had been unyielding about this. With a sigh, White stared moodily at the view outside his window. There wasn’t much to see. The only thing he could make out from his bed was another tan-colored wing of the hospital. At least the window was open wide enough to let in fresh air. White’s thoughts moved to his father, Maxwell, a brigadier general currently serving with JSOC in Afghanistan. No doubt his dad had heard what had happened to him. White wondered if his dad even cared.

Of course he does, he thought, chastising himself for even thinking it. His relationship with his mostly absent father was too formal to allow any intimacy between them. His mother, Carolyn, was the glue that kept the family together. That remained true to this day. Yet, for a boy who had grown up with an absentee father, White had inherited his father’s strong characteristics, values, and beliefs. White had always been a tad afraid of his dad, but he had never felt the weight of his hand. As he looked back on his boyhood as an army brat, or even his early manhood, when he’d made some bad choices, he couldn’t remember an angry or a hasty word spoken by his father that wasn’t deserved. His dad had rarely praised him, but he’d never unduly criticized him either. And deep down, White knew his father was proud of him. He’d seen a glimpse of that pride in his old man’s eyes when he had graduated from the Air Force Academy as a second lieutenant, despite the fact he had done so with a history major and a minor in French studies.

But the thing that meant more to him than anything his father had ever said to him had come the day he’d earned the maroon beret of a combat rescue officer after twenty-four months of grueling training. General Maxwell White hadn’t said a word as he’d shaken his son’s hand. But his nod had been filled with pride and fatherly love.

A confident knock on the hospital room’s door redirected White’s gaze away from the window. Expecting a nurse or a doctor, he was surprised to see Lieutenant General Alexander Hammond march into his room. General Hammond was wearing his dress blues, and his shoes were polished to a perfect shine. At six foot four inches, he was an impressive figure. Even more so with the breast of his tunic heavy with ribbons showing his military qualifications and awards, including a Combat Infantry Badge, parachutist’s wing, and a Silver Star. There was also a Purple Heart with an oak leaf cluster, which denoted a subsequent award of the same medal. The three gleaming silver stars on Hammond’s epaulets were the ultimate proof of his long and distinguished military career.

White attempted to sit straighter, but Hammond stopped him with a hand.

“Please, Clayton, at ease,” the general said, closing the door behind him.

To say that White was shocked to see Hammond was an understatement. As commanding officer of Joint Special Operations Command, Hammond was one of the busiest men in the United States. One of the most powerful too. JSOC’s main task was to execute special-operations missions worldwide. The fact that Hammond wasn’t in Washington, DC, or Fayetteville, North Carolina, was surprising enough, but Germany? Hammond couldn’t really be in Landstuhl just to see him, could he?

“It’s nice to see you,” Hammond said. “Glad you got out of this one with only a couple scratches.”

White smiled. He had known Hammond since he was a boy. His father had served under Hammond twice, excluding Maxwell’s current assignment at JSOC. Hammond’s daughter, Veronica, had been White’s best friend until he entered the Air Force Academy. At first, they had kept in touch almost every week, but after a few years their lives had taken them in different directions, and the time between phone calls had gotten longer and longer. They still talked occasionally, and he knew she was now a PhD candidate at Yale University. The last time they had spoken, a week prior to his deployment to Iraq, she’d been on her way to an archaeological site in Greece.

“But seriously, Clay, how are you feeling?” Hammond asked, standing next to White’s bed.

“I feel fine, sir,” White replied truthfully. “The doctors said I’ll be able to return to my unit in a month or so.”

“Good to hear it,” Hammond said. “What you and that crew of yours did out there to rescue those two marine aviators was outstanding.”