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It was the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration that was responsible for these types of forecasts, but it was not an exact science. She could only hope for her peoples’ sake they weren’t accurate.
“Okay, we keep working on getting communications up and running to our embassy and especially to Haiti’s government?—”
“Sir, we have Prime Minister Gregory Laguerre on a satellite uplink,” one of the aides said, and Ellie let her breath go, relief easing the tension in her spine. The screen flickered and pixelated until it stabilized, and Ellie recognized the prime minister. It looked like he was under the shelter of a tent, the white sides billowing out with the wind. Dim emergency lighting didn’t reach into the shadows.
“Prime Minister,” the president said. “It’s good to see you survived. How does the rest of your government fare?”
“All have perished, I’m afraid, when the palace collapsed. It’s so very tragic. We’re still reeling from this disaster.” That was bad news. The prime minister was solely in charge, and they all knew he was a lying, murdering bastard. Ellie forced her expression to remain passive.
“Let me offer the US’s condolences and pledge to offer you aid. May we have permission for our Fourth Fleet to anchor off your coast with our hospital ship the USNS Comfort ready to accept casualties? We would also like to send in the Marines to stabilize the volatile situation at our embassy.”
The prime minister’s expression went cagey, and Ellie felt as if a lead weight was suddenly sitting on her stomach. “That is an unfortunate situation, but your Marine has caused this unrest.” His eyes narrowed, and he looked intently at the screen. “Can I have your assurances that he will be brought to justice?”
The president looked at her, and Ellie chose her words carefully. Trying to conquer the dread that sly look generated, she kept her voice calm and smooth. “You can be assured that we will investigate these allegations completely and thoroughly to make sure we have all the information available to us,” she said firmly. They would need to build their case and gather information from witnesses, namely Corporal Cassidy, the first lady, Madeline Towson, and Emmanuel Benard. Right now, they had to be diplomatic to get to the embassy, and then hopefully track down the whereabouts of Ambassador Towson’s daughter. “Now about that permission?”
A phone rang in the background, and the screen got dicey again, pixelated, righted itself, then went black. A horrible sense of foreboding washed through her, and she stared at the empty screen. “Prime Minister?” She looked at the aide with an awful sinking sensation, and said, “Get him back immediately.” She looked at the president. There was a grim set to his profile as he too stared at the screen, then he turned and met her gaze, his eyes like ice, the muscle in his jaw twitching.
Their hands were tied until they got Laguerre’s okay, and she thought with a chill down her spine, maybe that’s exactly what he wanted.
* * *
Something sharp and staccato intruded on the heaviness that was weighing down Twister’s mind, pushing back the gray tatters of consciousness. Twister sighed and stirred, then gasped for breath, the air filled with grit. He coughed, slipping back to that gray place.
“Twister!” someone shouted frantically, but it seemed like it was far away, and he couldn’t move. Was he paralyzed?
He opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times and realizing he wasn’t blind, it was just so dark. He sensed the rubble around him, remembering getting hit on the head, then falling as he was buried alive.
The wind whistled through breaches in the unyielding stone all around him, and the sound of rocks being displaced, scraping, the hollow tock sound, and the grunts and harsh breathing of men fiercely exerting themselves.
“Twister!” the voice came again. He was able to identify it.
“Tex,” he said, but his voice was smothered, his chest, hips, and legs pressed so hard into the concrete of the embassy’s sidewalk, he could barely draw breath to speak. There was a roaring in his ears, and his scalp throbbed at a spot on the back of his head.
“Shane! We’re getting you out. Hang on, brother!” Easy’s agonized voice was followed by more grunts as some of the pressure lifted from him. In that moment, excruciating pain stabbed into his shoulder, his arm feeling ripped from the socket. He screamed from the agony, then it all came at him as if his pain receptors all turned on at once. A terrible pain in his side, agony racking him in sharp blades, the skin of his face prickling with a burning, stinging sensation that hurt like hell.
“Goddammit! Move faster,” Tex shouted. “Bondo, Brawler, Easy, get this off him. It’s too heavy for one guy to lift.” More grunting
His bruised ribs burned up his side, his shoulder sending out waves of anguish, and he dug deep to endure the pain, clenching his jaw as his teammates worked at digging him out of the rubble.
Finally, pressure released against his back, and he was able to take the first deep breath in a while, then quickly, the rest of the debris was lifted off him.
“Twister?” Tex said as hands grasped him and gently turned him over. The jolt of pain to his shoulder made him grit his teeth. His eyes watered, then fluttered open, and Bondo, Easy, Brawler, and Tex stared down at him, their faces sweaty and dirty, every male eye full of concern and fear for his safety. He took a deep breath, and regardless of the pain, was struck hard by his connection to these men, his brothers who had literally moved earth to save him.
He could see Dagger and Flash standing, and beyond them the contingency of Marines watching their backs and the gates.
A line of people was going back into the mostly intact embassy, and Twister realized that they’d just been through a major earthquake and there was no longer access to the airport.
“Make way,” a new voice said. He bent over Twister and immediately took his vitals. “Looks like you went mano a mano with a building and kicked its ass, Petty Officer.” He smiled and Twister grinned until he felt the pain in his scraped cheeks.
“Some doc humor, Doc?”
“A little,” he responded. “I need a backboard and a neck brace,” he ordered to someone Twister couldn’t see. “Where does it hurt?”
“Ribs and shoulder on the left side, back of my head.” The doc flashed a light in his eyes to check for brain trauma and nodded. “Looks good, except for a little ole’ concussion.”
Suddenly, Twister got dizzy, and he slipped back to that gray place.
“Shane? Shane, can you hear me?”
