The tone of the medic's voice reinforced McPherson's worst fears. Still, the Scotsman put up a good show. "That's okay, lad. Why don't you run off and tend to some of the others. I'll just rest here a bit and wait for the doc."
Glad that he had didn't have to deal with this particular wound alone, the medic asked McPherson to hold his own dressing in place before heading over to report his observations to the surgeon.
When the medic was gone, Hogg stepped forward and squatted down next to his NCO. "There you are," he exclaimed in a cheery voice, pretending as best he could that he had just happened along at that very moment.
Because of the pain, McPherson was unable to open his one good eye. The best he could manage was to tilt his head in Hogg's direction. "Is that you, Captain?"
Hogg forced himself to chuckle. "Well, I should hope so. After all, how many Irishmen do you suppose are foolish enough to be out and about in Siberia?"
"How'd the other lads make it last night, sir?" McPherson asked. "I sort of lost track of things when that tree came crashing down on me."
Hogg finally managed to gather up the nerve to reach out and lay his hand on the stricken man's shoulder. "Don't you worry about the others. They're all fine. A wee bit tired and sore, but otherwise unscratched."
McPherson did his best to sound cheerful. "I guess I more than made up for them."
For the briefest of moments, Patrick Hogg felt a pang of guilt. It had been his plan, as well as his order, that had resulted in McPherson's suffering. Despite the Scotsman's warning that the spot they were in was too close and the reason for diverting the Russians was gone as soon as the silo had been blown, Hogg had made a snap decision to execute the ambush anyway. That he himself had been less than half a meter away from the Scot during the whole time didn't help. What Hogg was experiencing was akin to what many a survivor goes through when he asks himself, "Why him, and not me?"
It took Hogg a few moments to put things in their proper perspective through the use of hard logic and a large dose of rationalization. They were soldiers, he reminded himself. They all knew what sort of odds they faced during operations like this. Last night, his NCO had paid the price many a man who follows the profession of arms must pay.
The silence that had descended upon them was broken by the appearance of the surgeon. "Looks like you're next on my list of things to do," the American doctor said as casually as he could while preparing himself to go to work under conditions that were not even marginal. Though he was exhausted after tending nonstop to the wounded cluttered about him, the American managed to give Hogg a wink before starting on McPherson. "Your captain tells me that you can do without the benefit of any sort of anesthetic."
Though it pained him to do so, the Scottish NCO forced a smile. "He's Irish. Don't believe a bloody thing he says."
Giving McPherson a comforting pat, Hogg prepared to leave. "You'll be as right as rain in no time. These Americans are pretty good."
The Scotsman choked out a weak laugh. "No offense, sir, but 1 hope they'll be a bit more tender when it comes to dressing a wound than you are."
Hogg didn't need to force his laughter. "Well, now you know why I took up arms instead of the scalpel." Then, anxious to check on his major, Hogg stood up. "Is there anything I can do for you before I leave?"
"Yes sir, one thing, sir."
"And what would that be?"
McPherson, swallowed hard as the American surgeon began to peel away the frozen dressing from his face. "Take care of yourself."
Hogg found Major Thomas Shields a few feet away, tucked up against a fallen tree that served as a windbreak. Opening his eyes when he heard the sound of crunching snow nearby, Shields smiled when he saw it was Hogg. "Well, I'm glad to see you're still in one piece."
The same could not be said for the major. With his right arm in a sling and his left ankle swollen to the point where the baggy pants leg of his uniform had to be cut to relieve the pressure, Hogg wondered how his commanding officer had managed to make it all the way to the missile silo, then into the assembly area. Still, Hogg played along with Shields just as he had with McPherson. "I don't recall you telling me," he stated blandly as he dropped onto the ground next to Shields, "that you had been injured during the jump."
Shields shrugged his one good shoulder. "I did mean to tell you, but the topic simply did not come up in our conversations."
"No," Hogg responded, fully understanding the major's point. "I guess we did have other things on our minds." He then proceeded to fill his commander in on what he had accomplished thus far that morning, on the status of each of the men, as well as passing on the gist of the conversation between himself and Hightower. "Our lads will make up the majority of one of the two teams going out after the last two missiles. The rest of our team will be American as well as a handful of legionnaires."
"The American colonel came by earlier," Shields added. "He was hoping that my condition wasn't so bad as to keep me from leading that team."
"I imagine," Hogg enjoined, "he thought better of that after seeing you."
Shields nodded but continued on with the thought that Hogg had interrupted. "I suppose he told you that he is going to lead one of the two teams himself. The other will be led by his major. I'm to stay here as ranking officer."
Hogg found this difficult to believe. "I'm sorry to say, sir, but you're in no condition to be in charge of anything."
"No choice, Patrick," Shields countered. "We're a wee bit short on officers. Everyone who can walk is going after the last of the silos. Only the medical team, the signal detachment, and of course the sick, the lame, and the lazy are being left behind."
The Irish captain look around at the fog that showed no sign of dissipating. "I can't say that I don't envy you. I'm not looking forward to going back out there, stumbling about across this god-awful landscape. I never thought I'd say this, but this place makes me homesick for the Scottish moors."
Shields gave Hogg a long, hard look. "Are you sure the tree that bonked Sergeant McPherson didn't hit you in the head as well?"
Even though the major's comment was meant to be lightheaded, the mention of his NCO's name brought a pained expression to Hogg's face. When he saw this, Shields quickly changed the subject. "While we were discussing the new mission, Colonel Hightower asked me about you."
"Uneasy about my credentials?" Hogg asked as he turned his thoughts away from the events of the night before.
"No, not at all," Shields was quick to say. "On the contrary, it's his major he is a bit unsure of. While Colonel Hightower has all the confidence in the world when it comes to him as a staff officer, he admitted that he had not had the opportunity to observe him in a leadership position."
"This is one hell of a time to conduct leadership training," Hogg snickered.
"The colonel told me this in the strictest of confidence," Shields quickly explained. "While he went on to state that he had no reason to doubt his own major's abilities in that regard, he wanted to satisfy himself that if things got a bit hairy out there and his major didn't quite measure up, there would be another officer close at hand who could take up the slack."
Hogg could not believe what he was hearing. As if things were not bad enough, a question of competency on the part of the man selected to lead them was being thrown into the mix. "Since it seems that 1 have forgotten to bring my copy of Mutiny on the Bounty to guide me in this matter, how does the colonel envision me stepping up and lending a hand without causing all sorts of mischief and chaos?"