Holiday Op

Chapter One

"Good Lord! Please don't make me get in one of those flying coffins so close to Christmas! I'd really rather not take the helicopter runs this week-or ever.” Prue leaned forward as if her chief nurse, Colonel Fisher, would agree to her plea-merely by the subordinate officer's body language-even though she was on the medical/surgical unit's telephone. Somehow she felt the gesture would help through the phone lines.

Come on, lady, those helos don't make me feel very safe. I mean, one ‘Jesus’ bolt holding on the blades. Blades? Does that tell you something? “Ma'am, the Air Force regulation says the fire truck has to be at the helipad every time a chopper lands. That reg… well, it doesn't make me feel very safe."

"I'm well aware of Air Force regs. As a matter of fact, I have a few years on you in that department, Captain, and I certainly wouldn't want you not to feel safe. My goodness. No. I mean, I'm sure you joined the military in wartime to sit on a fluffy chair eating bonbons."

Wow. Suddenly it dawned on Prue that the colonel's voice wasn't at all very motherly. Made her homesick for Connecticut. Ah, Connecticut. Where Christmas was made. Holiday cards always had Currier and Ives pictures of New England. Not, New Mexico-even in December. No wonder she didn't care if she spent Christmas on duty.

No family around.

No snow.

No man.

And she wasn't about to count the horny paratrooper who trailed after her around the base the last few months. Slick she'd called him since he thought he was so cool, jumping out of airplanes to save the injured. Well, she sure didn't want him jumping after her… or her bones! Those PJ, no matter how hot and hunky, were a breed of their own as were the fighter pilots. They should all be forced to have a ‘beware of your heart’ emblem on their sleeves.

The colonel cleared her throat. Whoa boy. That always came before the woman spewed out a direct order. So, in her usual rebellious military nature, Prudence hurriedly said, “I know, ma'am! Here's a thought. I can cover the OB unit while Lieutenant Foster takes the chopper run. She loves flying. Doesn't even vomit! Wait! Oh, you'll love this. I'll do an extra shift on Christmas for you! What a deal! Like an early Christmas present, ma'am."

"I'm Jewish, Captain Hamlin, and you will take the chopper run calls for the entire week. All seven days. Merry Christmas."

"You gonna get some sleep or just sit there waiting for the phone to ring, Prue?"

Prue looked at her roommate, Captain Annie Hallstead, and shut her eyes. “You know if I fall into a deep sleep I'll never hear the phone ring and even if you do and tell me it's for me, you also know I'll be very confused upon waking up and probably say I'll be right at the hospital ASAP-and then fall back to sleep.” She leaned back and let her head fall against the couch. “I'm doomed. If I get called, I'll be tired and still have to take the run and then go to duty tomorrow. Colonel sure as hell won't give me the time off.” She looked at her friend. “Did you know she was Jewish?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Yes, I knew that and what does it have to do with anything? Go get some sleep, girl, or your ass will be grass with the lady tomorrow when you fall asleep mid medication pour."

"Nothing as far as the Jewish part goes except I'd already bought her a Christmas present."

Annie looked at her and they started to laugh, which soon could be classified as hysterically, bordering on cackling, since they were talking about Colonel Queen of the Witches. When they calmed down, Prue said, “I'm goin’ for a walk."

Waving her hand toward the door, Annie said, “No, you're not. Liar. You're going to the commissary to buy something sweet. I'm guessing chocolate."

"You're guessing right."

Annie shook her head. “Get me a six pack of Coors. Not the light crap either.” She flopped onto the recliner, grabbed the remote from the nearby table and started clicking away.

Prue went into her room, stuck on her socks and sneakers, grabbed a twenty from her wallet and decided a nice early evening jog would be just the thing to get her to fall asleep later-and not be listening for the phone. Phone. Rats. Had to take it with her at all times. She stuck her hand into her uniform pocket and pulled out her cell. Sure as heck didn't want to miss a call saying she had to fly with a patient to the nearby Army hospital trauma center-on the flying coffin-lest she end up in Leavenworth.

Whose ridiculous idea was it for her to join the Air Force anyway? If she didn't border on getting seasick on a raft in a swimming pool, she'd have joined the Navy. If she looked better in khaki, she'd have joined the Army. And if she-hell, she didn't have the guts to be a Marine.

So her form of escape was the Air Force.

Once outside, the cool air conditioning of the bachelor officer's quarters made the New Mexico heat seem all the hotter. And this was the Christmas holiday season? Bah humbug. She yearned to be back in her mother's saltbox house, circa 1776, sitting by the fire stringing popcorn and cranberries for their tree and watching it snow. Ah.

Who was she kidding?

The last time she made decorations for the tree she'd been thirteen, her parents were still married, and her brother had been home from college for the first holiday season.

Despite the heat, she started to jog faster-trying to chase away the memories of running away from home, her past life, her parents. That's what had gotten her into the military.

A few tumbleweeds crossed her path, giving her a chuckle until the usual dust devil spun around like a dirty demon causing her to cough and crave a glass of water. Damn the dust storms around here. When she got back to her quarters there'd be a pile of dirt on her windowsills even though the windows were shut tight. Damn it. More work cleaning to pass the next inspection. The fools cited her for having trash in her trashcan on inspection day! She had to bite her tongue in order not to say, “Where should I put it? The fridge?"

Could this place be any less Christmassy?

Despite the elements, the base was a safe place for a single twenty-three year old to be running when it was already dark. She decided to take the long way and run past the bowling alley, the chapel, and the movie theater to see the planes land and take off since that headed away from the dust devil.

With all the activity in the Gulf, the pilots and crews practiced non-stop, including night sorties, deployed like clockwork, and came home-changed airmen.

She'd seen way too many of them at the hospital.

The thought had her stop. She looked at the last jet take off and said a silent prayer that whomever the jockey was flying the F-18 would come home unscathed tonight and every other night. Having grown up with the nearest base hundreds of miles away, she remembered how shocked she was that in the military planes crashed during routine missions.

That'd been the hardest part of her job. Covering the ER after a crash. With a shudder despite the heat, she plowed forward and made it to the door of the commissary with record speed-and sweat. Whoever said sweat evaporated because of the dry heat probably never lived in New Mexico. Sure it did in some fashion, but whenever she went for her daily jog, after she stopped, her Yankee blood cooled itself with the grossness of soaked clothing.

Now, combined with the dust, she was certainly a sight for sore eyes as her mother used to say. But this time it was true. Cold, damp, and dirty. Hopefully she wouldn't run into the Witch Colonel or one of her patients, which could cause her to lose a lot of credibility where her nursing skills were concerned with these looks.

And right now, the dampness was pretty damn uncomfortable when the automatic door opened and a wave of cold struck her. But what was worse-make that who was worse-stood behind her, his reflection clearly visible in the glass doors.

"Crap!"