“Jesus,” muttered Kieran, the youngest. “Does he know what’s happening?”
“He’s under sedation,” Michael hedged. What he didn’t want to tell them was that after explaining the situation to his semi-conscious father, Michael felt a chill come over him, and a moment later, Jack had stared over his shoulder and murmured, “So you’ve come to watch over me then, have you?” Michael had looked behind him, to find nothing but a wall of blinking, beeping monitors. It was eerie as hell.
“Who is going to do it?” Shane asked.
“Jimmy Yim. He’s the best cardiac man there is.”
“But you’ll be with him, right?”
“Yeah, I’m assisting.”
“How the hell did this happen?” That from Sean. There was no simple answer to that. They knew, just as Michael did, of the history of heart disease among the men in their family. At sixty-five, Jack Callaghan had made it farther than most of his male ancestors before him. It was more of a rhetorical question, anyway, so Michael didn’t bother to answer.
“Don’t you let him die, Mick,” Jake, their leader by unspoken agreement, commanded.
There were always risks with surgery, especially in emergency situations like this. He wasn’t about to spout a bunch of statistics to his brothers, though. Chances were, they already knew. A quick glance at Ian’s tablet screen confirmed that he’d been researching heart attack treatment options.
Michael nodded soberly. “It’ll be a couple of hours.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Jake said firmly, just as he’d expected. They’d been in this situation too many times to expect anything less.
Michael turned on his heel and went to scrub in. He prayed that the next time he saw his brothers, he’d have good news.
He returned to Operating Room 3 to find his father already prepped. Cardiothoracic specialist and his personal friend, Dr. James Yim, acknowledged his presence with a nod. The bright hazel eyes of the anesthesiologist met his. He couldn’t see her smile, but the crinkles at the corners over the surgical mask were plain enough.
“Hey Mick.” She was the only one that called him that besides his brothers.
“Hey Tish. Thought you were supposed to be on vacation.”
She shrugged those tiny shoulders. If the woman topped a hundred pounds, he’d eat his scrubs. But she was the best. There was no one else he’d rather have controlling things at the head of the table, keeping watch over his father. His cautious optimism rose substantially.
“I was there when Jimmy got the call, thought you could use an extra set of hands.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. Sure enough, the swath of skin exposed between the surgeon’s cap and mask was turning pink. Those two had been circling around each other for years, but it looked like they finally decided to stop fighting Fate.
“Appreciate it.”
Michael took his father’s hand in his. “You hear that, Dad? You’ve got the best of the best. The Dream Team of open heart surgery. Everything is going to be just fine.”
––––––––
June 1970
Near Kompong Speu, Cambodia
“Everything is going to be just fine.”
Jack heard the words, floating to him on a wave of white hot pain, but he couldn’t see who had spoken them. It was dark, too dark to simply be nighttime.
“What happened? Where am I?”
A telling pause. “Your team was ambushed two days ago. You are in a mobile medical unit. You sustained injuries to your head and chest.”
Hazy memories began to surface. New intel had come through, a small cell of unfriendlies mucking up the works for a bunch of Army boys. It wasn’t supposed to be anything major, just a blip on the big picture radar, but they’d stumbled upon a veritable rat’s nest of bumblefuck. Trees and mud had come alive, eyes filled with hatred and hands sporting automatic weapons as the South Vietnamese and Cambodian Armies engaged in a battle to recapture the capital.
Vastly outnumbered, they’d run for cover... Fitz had been only a few steps ahead, Brian at his six. Fitz had looked over his shoulder, reached his arm out and yelled something, and then they were airborne...
Pain exploded at the back of his head. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, or at least tried to. The bandages around his head were wrapped too tightly to allow much. His eyes weren’t working, but his ears were functioning just fine. And it was too fucking quiet. No moans, no curses, no medics working urgently.
“Where’s the rest of my team?” Jack asked. Silence was the only answer, but his heart ached with knowledge. Fitz. Bri. Tommy. G-man...
“I’m the only one?”
A heavy, rough hand landed on his shoulder. “O’Connell’s in surgery. You two are some lucky sons of bitches. We’ll take the bandages off tomorrow. For now, you need to eat.”