His right arm was wedged against a rock. No matter how hard he tried, he couldnt wrench it free. This was getting tiresome. He felt a stitch in his right side. Thats all he needed now to die from a ruptured appendix! He had wriggled enough to increase the size of the slot in which he was trapped. Were those voices he was hearing? He wasnt deaf!
When he fought his way to the surface of consciousness once again, he was being carried on a litter over the inverted battlefield. Bodies were strewn everywhere. The stretcher-bearers stumbled over the rough ground but maintained control of their human cargo as they made their way to the field hospital.
The fuse leading to the dynamite in the stern of the oil tanker burned so rapidly that Jack knew the ship would explode before he could reach the hatch to extinguish the flame. The olive green ship was almost within his reach when it blew up. He felt as if he were on a grill. His face was aflame. His body felt as if the skin had been ripped from it. He wanted to die before the pain grew worse.
His forehead felt cool. He opened his eyes slowly, painfully. A white-clad nurse sponged his face gently. As she became aware of his gaze, she stopped her ministrations and offered him a sip of water. Take it easy, she whispered. You mustnt drink too quickly. Too much, too fast will give you nasty cramps.
Jack was aware of bandages on his muscular arms and casts on both legs. Intravenous tubing carried a clear fluid into his veins. Consciousness was still transient. Dreams of a strange pasture mingled with reality and continued to haunt his sleep. He understood he was on a hospital ward, but where? And how did he get here?
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