Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but me.
She heard the convoy engines fire up outside. Dust swirled past the window as the trucks started moving out. Through the window, she could see Ghost climbing into the lead vehicle, Torch beside him, the rest of the team loading up with practiced efficiency.
Rachel's jaw set.
She hadn't come here to follow orders. Hadn't come here to sit in a locked room while people died and nobody documented it.This story, these lives, deserved to be seen. Told. Even if that meant breaking the one rule that mattered most.
She moved fast, grabbing her scarf and wrapping it higher around her neck. Her camera went under her vest, secured tight against her ribs.
The last transport in the convoy was still rolling slow, picking up speed as it headed for the gate. Rachel slipped out the side door and ran, keeping low. Her boots hit dirt hard as she closed the distance.
The truck was moving faster now. She had maybe three seconds.
Rachel jumped, fingers catching the metal edge of the tailgate. Her boots scraped against the bumper before finding purchase. She hauled herself up and over, dropping into the bed behind a stack of crates, med kits and spare ammo.
She wedged herself into the shadows between the supplies, heart slamming against her ribs. The vehicle bounced over rough ground, each jolt pushing her deeper into cover.
No one had seen her. No one had stopped her.
Rachel pulled her camera out and checked it by feel in the darkness. Batteries good. Memory card clear. Ready.
If Ghost found her, there would be hell to pay. She knew that. Could still feel his hand on her jaw, could still hear his voice:Careful, Rachel.
But she'd made her choice.
She wasn't done watching and she sure ashell wasn't done with him.
14
Rachel moved low along the walls. Her boots hit the dirt without sound, her breath tight in her throat.
She wasn’t supposed to be here, not this far past the wire, not deep in the blast zone. Not with a camera strapped across her shoulder and nothing but a scarf for protection, but she’d made her choice the second she stepped onto that transport. Orders be damned.
The air thickened with smoke and the scorched bite of burning rubber. In the distance, gunfire crackled, sporadic now, not the sharp rhythm of a full firefight, but close enough that her ears stayed tuned for every snap.
The ground was littered with wreckage, twisted steel, shattered glass, and bulletcasings that glinted in the haze like broken promises. The lead truck still burned, fire chewing through the metal as black smoke clawed toward the sky.
Then she saw them. Bodies of not just soldiers, but also civilians.
A woman slumped against a concrete barrier, her shawl soaked in blood. A boy, maybe ten, knelt beside her, rocking slowly, clutching her unmoving hand. Farther down the road, a teenager leaned against a crushed tire, blood trailing from a deep gash down her arm, eyes glassy and unfocused.
Rachel’s pulse kicked.
She moved on instinct. Raised her camera, hands shaking only slightly. One click. The boy’s shaking shoulders. Another. The girl’s empty stare. The world needed to see this to understand the cost.
Then she heard it. A sound, soft, broken. A groan just beyond the downed truck.
She lowered the camera fast and moved toward it, boots crunching over gravel. A body shifted near the debris, an American uniform, one arm stretched awkwardly, blood pooling beneath him.
Rachel dropped to her knees. Her scarf slid from her mouth, but she didn’t stop to fix it. “Hey, hey, stay with me,” she said, voice low and urgent.
The soldier blinked, barely. Sweat streaked his dirt-covered face. His abdomen was soaked in deep red, the fabric clinging to shredded flesh.
She tossed her camera aside, yanked her shirt hem, and tore hard. The cotton ripped with a sharp sound that barely registered over her heartbeat. She pressed the cloth into the wound with both hands. “Come on,” she whispered. “Not today. You’re not going anywhere.”
His lips moved, a sound half-formed and lost before it reached her. She leaned in, adjusting her grip, her whole body vibrating from the adrenaline spiking through her.
“Direct pressure,” she muttered, remembering the lesson Frost had drilled into her after that last mission. “Keep them conscious. Keep them here.”
