HE WAS caught for the next few hours. At mid morning the roads were declared open. A no go area was declared around the complex of buildings called the Council Compound-a series of bungalows surrounding a palm filled conclave used for island gatherings. Here the insurgents had holed up. There was no clear idea how many were there, or who was insurgent and who was hostage, but a cursory sweep had now been made of the entire island. The insurgents were either laying down their arms and declaring this had been a mistake, or they were with their comrades in the compound.

It had surely been a mistake, Ben thought grimly as more injured made their way to the hospital.

Where was Lily? He couldn’t leave the hospital.

At midday a plane landed on the island’s small airstrip, bringing Ben’s colleagues-people like Sam, who relished trauma surgery. Ben’s role was hands on if necessary but it was mostly organisational, getting on the ground first, assessing what was needed, doing hands-on treatment in the first few hours but then handing over to those more qualified in various specialties. These guys were good and their arrival meant he could often stand aside.

Not today. There was too much to be done. There was a sports oval beside the island’s hospital. The hospital was tiny, totally inadequate to cope with the influx of wounded. Four hours after the arrival of his team and equipment Ben had a massive field hospital erected as an annexe. Operating theatres, a triage centre, ward beds… They’d erected this hospital before and his team knew their stuff.

As well as the hospital itself there was the need to organise supplies. Was there enough plasma? Were there enough body bags?