Ian nodded. “Good.”
“Tell the medics to keep him alive long enough for me to reach that base.”
Ian almost smiled. “Safe flight, Alistair.”
EVAC SITE – DELTA
Dante’s pulse was barely there. Ford felt it slipping through his fingers, fading like the last thread holding Dante to the world. Not again. Not another brother. Not this brother.
“Dante,” Ford dropped to his knees beside him, “hey, focus. Stay with me.”
Nothing.
Friend was already working on the airway, leaning over Dante’s face. “Shallow breaths. Shit. Too shallow.”
Ford tore open a med pack with shaking hands. Not fear. Something worse—rage that made his vision pulse at the edges. He grabbed gauze, tore it with his teeth, hands slick with sweat and dust. Dante’s skin burned beneath his palms.
Friend shook his head. “Throw me the syringe marked Ertapenem IM.” He popped the cap, jabbed it into Dante’s forearm and depressed the plunger. “Antibiotic in.”
Ford leaned down until his forehead touched Dante’s. “Don’t you dare,” his voice cracked. “Don’t quit on me. Don’t quit on Shannon.”
Dante’s chest hitched once, then stilled again. Ford’s stomach dropped like someone kicked out the floor beneath him. Friend began to help him breathe, squeezing a large silicone bag connected to a mask. His chest rose unevenly.
Sean’s voice cut through the haze. “Black Hawk inbound! Sixty seconds!”
Ford pressed two fingers to Dante’s throat again. Nothing. “No.” He inhaled deeply.Wait…there.A thread. A ghost of a beat. “Come on, goddammit. You’re Dante Olivetti. You don’t die in the dirt.”
Friend handed off the bag to Callow and dug his knuckles into Dante’s sternum. Hard. Dante’s body jerked. A wet gasp escaped his cracked lips.
Ford nearly collapsed with relief. “That’s it,” he whispered fiercely. “Right there. Keep fighting.”
The earth vibrated under him. Rotor wash hit like a sandstorm, exploding in every direction.
Friend threw himself over Dante’s body to shield him. Ford leaned in, taking the brunt of the grit across his back, feeling it rip into him.
The Black Hawk settled overhead. Ford’s chest tightened painfully as the medics sprinted in with the stretcher, ducking beneath the rotor blades. Together with Rocket and Callow, they lifted him. He was dead weight—too hot, too limp.
Ford instinctively cupped the back of Dante’s skull in both palms, steadying it as they carried him across the sand. “Easy, brother. We’ve got you. Don’t you slip away from us now.” His eyes burned. He ignored it.
The rotor wash grew stronger, sand whipping into his eyes as they ran. The medic shouted, “Ramp’s clear! Let’s go!”
Ford didn’t slow. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink.
Friend’s voice roared, “HOLD THE LINE! MOVE!”
They reached the Black Hawk. Ford climbed aboard with one hand still on Dante’s face. He looked down at him on the stretcher, ashen, hot and dry, barely alive.
“You hear me, Dante?” Ford murmured fiercely. “You hold on until Shannon gets you to that hospital.” He swallowed. “You are not dying on my watch.”
The medics pulled Dante toward the center bench, hooking up monitors, bagging oxygen, bolting equipment down as the bird prepared to lift. Ford stayed right beside him. His hands were shaking, his rage was simmering, and his heart was breaking.
The Black Hawk throttled up for takeoff. A second flew overwatch. Once in the air, both headed toward FOB Azzouagh in northern Niger.
FORTY-FIVE
FOB AZZOUAGH FIELD HOSPITAL
The Black Hawk bucked in the crosswinds, the rotors fighting the hot updraft like a living thing. Shannon kept one hand on the cyclic, the other steady on the collective, jaw tight beneath her mic.
