Blood, Sand and Tears Part IX

[Silktie]

- * -

I loved you, so I drew these tides of men into my hands
and wrote my will across the sky in stars
To gain you Freedom, the seven-pillared worthy house,
that your eyes might be shining for me
when I came.
- T.E. Lawrence


Friday 8 July, late night
Tripoli

The bullet smacked into the wall behind Robert’s head. Ruth instinctively ducked, but Robert and the SAS Captain reacted immediately. Robert vaulted onto the truck, and the other man grabbed Ruth and heaved her up towards him as Benson laid down covering fire. Robert grabbed her arms and yanked her onto the back, before shoving her down next to Harry. “Keep him as still as you can,” he instructed as Simmons flung the blanket at her before jumping on. They took up station either side of the vehicle.
“Let’s go!” Robert yelled at Benson. “And we’re not stopping for anything,” he added ominously. The young man nodded, hopped behind the wheel, and gunned the engine. They shot down the street.

Ruth propped herself against the cab and gathered the unconscious Harry in her arms, cradling him to her. She covered him with the blanket and used her legs, spread out either side of him, to pin it down. Pressing her cheek against the top of his head, she murmured, “Hold on. We’re almost there. Just for a little while longer. Please, Harry.”
Fearing that moving him had used up the last of his reserves, she pressed her hand over his heart and closed her eyes to concentrate. It was still beating, although she could barely feel it. She kept her hand on his chest to reassure her that he was still there, still with her, all during the wild drive through the city.

Initially they met little resistance. Twice army vehicles passed them, hurrying in the other direction, towards the area where the bombs had fallen. They paid the speeding truck no attention. However, when the third one passed they were not so lucky. It made a u-turn and set off in pursuit, gaining on them steadily. Robert swore and settled down on one knee next to Ruth, brought up his gun in a smooth arc, and took aim. He let off a short burst, causing the pursuing vehicle to swerve wildly. It kept on coming. The SAS Captain fished in his bag and brought out a hand grenade. Ruth’s eyes widened at the sight of it, but a bullet pinging off the roof of the cab just above her head caused her to squeeze her eyes shut and duck down. Simmons pulled the safety pin and waited for the other vehicle to close the gap a bit more, then simply slid his arm over the side and dropped it on the road. Their pursuers never even saw it, and it detonated right under them. Ruth looked back to see smoke pouring from the crippled vehicle as soldiers hastily abandoned it and ran to safety.

They reached the outskirts of the city without further incident and roared through deserted streets at high speed. Benson was an excellent driver; he had in fact been chosen to come along because of his background of driving rally cars. He slewed the truck around another corner, and as it straightened up and jumped forward, Ruth heard Robert mutter, “Christ.”
She glanced over her shoulder, and her heart sank. Their way was barred by a roadblock, and a thick red and white pole was slung across the road. Despite this their driver never lifted his foot off the pedal, and they continued to speed towards it. The two men in the back with her took aim across the roof of the cab, and opened fire as soon as they were in range. The astonished soldiers manning the roadblock were caught completely unawares, and scrambled for cover. By the time they were ready to shoot back, the vehicle was right on top of them, and Benson swung the wheel hard to the right. The truck mounted the pavement and caught the end of the pole, causing it to cart-wheel away. They swerved momentarily out of control as the young man fought the steering wheel, before he managed to bring them back onto the road. Robert and Simmons had been thrown from their feet and were sprawled against the tail-end. The Libyan soldiers scrambled towards one of their vehicles and set off in pursuit, but the rescuers had a healthy lead and Benson was determined not to lose it. He pushed the truck to its limit. Ruth belatedly realised that a bullet had shattered the back window of the cab, and she and Harry were covered in glass. She didn’t attempt to remove the shards in the dark, for fear of cutting him. Instead she kept them both as still as was possible under the circumstances.

A few miles outside the city, Benson swung the truck onto a faint track and raced across the desert. Stones rattled and pinged against the undercarriage, but the ride was surprisingly smooth. From time to time they would hit patches of deeper sand, and would fish-tail precariously as Benson kept up the speed relentlessly. Soon the low ridge of hills rose up in front of them, and the track began to zigzag up it. Ruth and Harry would have been flung from side to side, had it not been for the bulk of the two men wedged either side of them, helping to keep their movement down to a minimum. Ruth looked back to see their pursuers turn onto the track they had taken, but lost sight of them when the truck crested the hill and plunged down the other side. Benson didn’t bother to stick to the meandering track any longer, but pointed the nose straight down and went for it. Down in the valley the waiting helicopter glinted invitingly in the moonlight, and it started up as soon as their lights appeared over the hill. The dust swirled around them as they hurtled through the thick sand, forcing Ruth to cover Harry’s face with the blanket to spare him from the worst. It created an unwelcome image, and for a moment she imagined seeing him like that because he was dead. She clutched him to her even harder, as though she could transfer some of her own life-force to him.

It took less than five minutes to descend, and the truck juddered as it slammed into the dry wadi at the bottom of the hill, before re-establishing its grip and roaring towards the helicopter. When they skidded to a halt next to it, the co-pilot jumped out with a stretcher, and helped load Harry onto it. He was swiftly transferred to the aircraft. Everyone else piled in and the pilot lifted off immediately. The pursuing vehicle crested the hill as he turned the nose towards the ocean.
“Make haste,” Robert instructed, and this time they flew straight across the city. It was lit up by the orange glow of fires in several places – a result of the NATO bombs. As she held Harry’s hand, Ruth hoped fervently that no innocent civilians had been killed. At one stage the helicopter swerved sharply and she saw the stripy lights of tracer bullets pass by on their right, but was only vaguely aware that they were taking anti-aircraft fire. Her sole focus was on Harry.

When they reached the Liverpool, the ship’s surgeon was waiting on deck with a gurney. Harry was transferred to it and rushed to the small but state-of-the-art operating theatre. They had barely got him inside when the surgeon’s assistant exclaimed: “His heart stopped!”
Ruth’s only thought was to get to Harry, but she was forcibly dragged out of the way by Robert.
“Let them do their jobs,” he said as he held her struggling form tightly.
They watched helplessly as the assistant started CPR whilst the paddles charged, and then the surgeon called: “Clear!”
The others stepped away and he shocked Harry; his whole body jumped as the current ran through it. All eyes moved to the heart monitor, but the line stayed stubbornly flat. He repeated the action, with the same result. A third time, and once again nothing happened. Ruth dropped her head in anguish and a feeling of overwhelming desolation swept over her.

And then she heard it: a faint beep.

She looked up to see the green line on the heart monitor blip weakly.
“He’s back,” the surgeon said, glancing at the two figures huddled in the corner. He turned to his assistant, suddenly all brisk efficiency. “Prep him for surgery immediately, and get some blood into him.”
Ruth sagged against Robert as the emotional toll of the last two days caught up with her, and he had to hold her up.
“You have to leave now,” the surgeon instructed.
“Come on,” Robert said softly, and guided Ruth towards the door.
She took a few steps before turning back. “Just give me one moment with him,” she pleaded, and the surgeon nodded.
Ruth walked to the head of the operating table and looked down on the features she loved so deeply. She caressed his cheeks and leant down to press a lingering kiss to his forehead.
“Please fight,” she whispered, her voice catching on the words, before she turned away quickly and rushed from the room.

* * *

Two hours later

Ruth was seated in the small examination room next to the operating theatre, waiting. Robert had been there until a few minutes earlier, but had been called away on urgent business. So she was alone, with nothing to distract her from her fears and anxieties. By this time she knew the wording on all the posters against the wall by heart, and had counted all the visible rivets numerous times. There was a surprisingly large number, and she deduced that warships, one of the most technologically advanced inventions on the planet, were apparently held together by one of the simplest. She reminded herself to share the thought with Harry, who enjoyed her interest in all things idiosyncratic. He was sure to be amused by it.
Harry...
Her fears flooded back, and she breathed deeply in an effort to keep them at bay. What was taking so long? Was it a good or a bad sign?

As she glanced at her watch again, there was a timid knock at the open door, and she looked up to see Benson hovering there. He was cleaned up and his fatigues were impeccable, and his freckles and prickly red hair made him look absurdly young. Ruth, on the other hand, was still covered in the dust and grime from the operation; unwilling to abandon her post for a shower lest anything should happen to Harry in the few minutes she was gone. She found a grateful smile for him – she was convinced that no-one could have got them to the helicopter faster than he had.
Benson cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Ma’am.”
“It’s fine,” Ruth encouraged him, “I can do with the distraction.”
He nodded sagely, and it saddened her that such a young man should understand what it felt like to wait for word about a mortally wounded friend. But then he was a soldier, and unfortunately not too young to be acquainted with the vagaries and consequences of war. He came closer and held out his hand to her, palm up. On it lay the ring she had given Khadija.
“We found it in the helicopter. Your... er, Mr Pearce must have dropped it. I noticed it in his hand when we loaded him in earlier.”
She reached out and picked it up carefully. “Thanks,” she said softly.

He saw tears gather in her eyes as she turned it over between her fingers. Only then did he notice that there was blood on it, and cursed himself for not cleaning it first.
“Can I get you anything? Tea, or water maybe?” he offered, trying to make up for the oversight.
“Some water would be nice,” she said, more out of a desire to appease him than thirst. Benson nodded gratefully and bounded from the room.

* * *

Another two hours later

Ruth jerked awake, momentarily disoriented, but reality soon came flooding back. Robert was sitting opposite her quietly and gave her a crooked smile.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” she demanded, mortified that she had fallen asleep while Harry was fighting for his life next door.
“You’re exhausted, Ruth. You need rest. Staying awake until you collapse is not going to do Harry any good.”
She didn’t respond, and her eyes moved to the door, and then to her watch.
“Four hours… What’s taking so long?”
“I don’t know. But as long as they’re working on him, it means he’s still alive.”
“Yes.” She turned to him. “I haven’t thanked you yet for all you’ve done. You could be court-martialled or kicked out of the Navy for it.”
Robert shrugged. “It was worth it. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if-“
He stopped talking as he noticed the surgeon standing in the door.

They stared at him in fearful silence. Ruth noted how tired he looked, but his face gave nothing else away. He was a man that was used to conveying bad news to loved ones, she thought as she studied his long, stubbled face.
At last he spoke. “He’s alive,” he stated flatly, and Ruth felt weak with relief.
“However,” he continued, and she stopped breathing. “His heart stopped twice on the table. He is extremely weak, and we have induced a coma in an effort to give his body a chance to recover. I managed to repair all the internal damage – the bullet ricocheted around off his ribs, damaging blood vessels and some of his organs. His lung was nicked and had partially collapsed, and as the blood gathered in his organ cavity it was gradually pressed down even more, so that’s why he struggled to breathe.”
Ruth was shocked into silence, so Robert asked, “What are his chances?”
The surgeon looked him straight in the eye. “It’s not good, but he’s alive for now. That’s better than nothing. We’ll keep him in the coma for a few days and see how his vital signs react.”
He hesitated and glanced at Ruth, before continuing. “Frankly, due to the extent of his injuries, I’m amazed that he survived until you could retrieve him. It’s a good sign – he obviously has a will to live. That’s invaluable in circumstances like these.”
Turning to Ruth, he said gently, “You can see him if you want.”
She nodded gratefully and followed him as he turned on his heel, squeezing Robert’s shoulder as she walked past.

The surgeon led her to the recovery room where Harry was the only occupant, and left her alone with him. She seated herself in the chair next to his bed and surveyed him critically. He was connected to a bewildering array of machines, and he was as pale as the crisp white sheet he lay on. When she took his hand, his skin felt clammy and cold. His face was streaked with dirt and his short hair was in disarray. She sat quietly, caressing his hand, and watched his chest rise and fall. It comforted her even though she knew the machines were doing it for him.
“You’re all right now,” she told him, infusing her voice with confidence she did not feel. “They’ve repaired all the damage, so you’ll be fine.”
The surgeon’s assistant entered and regretfully asked her to leave, assuring her that she could come back in a few hours time. After a lingering kiss on Harry’s cheek, Ruth extracted a promise from the assistant to call her as soon as there was any change to his condition, and left for a well-deserved shower. She didn’t bother to dry her hair before collapsing on her bed and falling asleep immediately.

* * *

One week later

The first thing he became aware of was the voice. Its pitch and timbre soothed him, and gently called him towards it through the darkness surrounding him. A woman’s voice, his sluggish brain recognised after listening to it for a while. She was reading to him with a pleasing cadence, and he loved it.
He adored her voice, he decided, and after listening to it for a few seconds more the realisation came to him: he loved her.

Ruth.

He fought harder to break free from the darkness, to join her in the light.

* * *

Ruth held Harry’s hand as she read Seven Pillars of Wisdom to him, her thumb unconsciously stroking the back of his hand. She had done this every day for hours on end, and the surgeon let her be. Harry had determinedly clung onto life, and after four days they had decided to bring him out of the induced coma. Three more days had passed in which his vital signs grew gradually stronger, and the surgeon now seemed confident of a total recovery. All that was left was for him to wake up.

“’Arabs of means rode none but she-camels,’” she read, “’since they went smoother under the saddle than males, and were better tempered and less noisy: also, they were patient and would endure to march long after they were worn out, indeed until they tottered with exhaustion and fell in their tracks and died: whereas the coarser males grew angry, flung themselves down when tired, and from sheer rage would die there unnecessarily-‘”
A scratchy, croaking voice interrupted. “...Calling me... a camel?”
Ruth’s head snapped up, to find two bleary brown eyes regarding her solemnly.
“Oh, Harry,” she said softly, too overcome to say any more. He squeezed her hand weakly.
“Hi,” he rasped through a dry throat, and she reached for the glass of water on the table and helped him to take a few sips.
“Better?” she asked, and he nodded.
Moments later his face clouded and he grabbed her hand more forcefully. “Ruth... the bombs?”
“Shh, stay calm,” she remonstrated, caressing his unshaven cheek. “We got them all. England is safe.”

He lay back, mollified, and murmured proudly, “You did it.”
But when he looked back at her there was regret in his eyes. “I have to tell you something.”
“What?” she asked, concerned by his downcast expression.
“Your ring. The Libyan woman gave it to me, and I had it in my hand, but I passed out, and I must have dropped it. I’m sorry, Ruth.”
She smiled radiantly at him, and he frowned, confused, until she lifted her other hand and showed it to him.
“You didn’t lose it, Harry. You kept hold of it right until the end.”
“Oh.” He relaxed in relief, and then looked at her with such intensity that she squirmed slightly.
“I have to tell you something else,” he said firmly. He tried to sit up, but the movement made him wince in pain, and she gently pressed him down again.
“It can wait, Harry. You need-“
“No, it can’t,” he objected hotly. “You’re not stopping me from saying it this time.”
She realised then what it was about, and her heart began to thump loudly in her chest as she watched him silently.
He smiled, and laid his hand against her cheek and neck, feeling her rapid pulse under his fingers.
“I love you, Ruth. So much.”
He didn’t have the strength to say more, but she could read everything in his gaze. He had fought to stay alive for her. Their eyes held, sparkling with emotion, and he pulled her to him before she could respond and kissed her. He didn’t let go, and breathed in her answering confession as she formed the words without detaching her mouth from his.

She should tell him everything that had happened: the fury of the Foreign Secretary when she found out what Harry had done, and how Towers had stage-managed the political fall-out and ensured that neither he nor Robert would get in trouble. She should tell him how committed Robert had been to rescue him and all that his friend had risked, and how much they owed to Khadija and the other women that had helped her, as well as the SAS Captain and young Benson.

But it could all wait. When they stopped kissing and he closed his eyes in exhaustion, she sat back, staying with him, watching him sleep. His chest rose and fell steadily, and she rejoiced in it. Never again would she take his presence in her life for granted. She reached for his hand and held it gently, careful not to wake him.
“You rest now, Harry,” she told him, and picked up the book to continue reading. Her eye caught the passage about the camels again and she smirked to herself.
“My very own she-camel,” she murmured, and she could have sworn she saw his mouth twitch in amusement before he breathed deeply and his hand relaxed in hers.

As she sat there tracing his sleeping features lovingly, she was reminded of Winston Churchill’s observation about T.E. Lawrence:
‘The world looks with some awe upon a man who appears unconcernedly indifferent to home, money, comfort, rank, or even power and fame. The world feels not without a certain apprehension, that here is someone outside its jurisdiction; someone before whom its allurements may be spread in vain; someone strangely enfranchised, untamed, untrammelled by convention, moving independent of the ordinary currents of human convention.’

She thought it somewhat applicable to the man in front of her, and knew, unequivocally, that not only her world, but the world in general, was a better place for having Harry Pearce still in it.

Fin


Thank you so much for reading folks, and for the encouraging feedback.

[pookster]

Wonderful finish to this roller coaster of a ride. Terrific action with the truck ride and lovely sentiment at the end. Amazing writing all through. Well done. And I can't wait to see what you come up with next. Thanks for sharing.

[cateau1]

Thank you Silktie, brilliant. I would never have forgiven you if you'd let him die...

[Naivety]

Terrific, Silktie. I don't normally 'do' fan fiction, but this story has been wonderful. So well crafted and written. I've looked forward to each chapter eagerly. Thanks very much.

[HarryFan]

Thank you for a wonderful story! I can't wait to read what you write during and after Series 10...for those of us who are "across the pond", stories like this will make the wait for the DVD set seem shorter!!

[nimax1]

This story just kept getting better and better and the end did not disappoint. The sentiment about Harry is very much who he is. He and Ruth are an amazing heroic pair and you have captured them beautifully. I look forward to more of your terrific stories.

[Sparky]

Loved this story from beginning to end! I think it's your best yet, which is saying something! My heart was in my mouth a couple of times but I'm very glad Harry survived

[0074]

Great conclusion to the story, Silktie. You managed to draw it out just like they do on screen. Well done, and thank you

[Ceridwyn2]

Wow. Loved the story. So much attention to detail and I love how it all came together. Thank you.

[A Cousin]

*sniff* Another great one Silktie. Just what fanfic ought to be. For a moment I thought you were going to kill off Harry. Glad you didn't.

And I see your working knowledge of hand grenades has come in "hand"-y!

(Wanders off to start reading Seven Pillars of Wisdom...)