“Copy,” Command replied. “Dr. Roe is inbound with two trauma nurses, equipment and blood. Evac plan in progress.”
Shannon staggered forward a step. Keating turned to block her gently. “Not yet, Falcon. He’s critical. We have to stabilize him before anyone goes near.”
Her voice cracked. “He can hear me.”
Chandler looked up, his eyes gentle for the first time all night. “He knows you’re here. Trust me. He knows. Doc, we have five more units of O-neg.”
“Then that has to be enough.”
Shannon swallowed hard and nodded, tears burning behind her eyes but refusing to fall. She wasn’t collapsing again.
For the next five hours,they used every resource to keep Dante alive. But they were meager at best.
The distant thump of rotor blades hit the base before the med tent heard it.
Chandler looked up, exhausted eyes narrowing. “That’s him.”
Ford was already on his feet. Shannon stood beside Dante’s gurney, one hand fisted in the sheet, the other braced on the tent pole to stay upright.
The tent flap snapped open as a medic shouted, “Incoming! Dr. Roe on approach!”
The third Black Hawk dipped into view through the open side of the tent with sand blasting across the ground in a blinding wave. The med flight team hit the dirt, shielding their faces.
Shannon didn’t flinch. She couldn’t take her eyes off the doorway.
A silhouette dropped from the helo before the skids even fully touched down. He was tall, fast-moving, with an enormousmedical bag slung over one shoulder, his trauma coat whipping behind him like a flag.
Dr. Alistair Roe moved like a man who didn’t believe in wasted seconds. Two trauma nurses followed on his heels, carrying coolers marked O negative and sealed kits labeled Critical Resuscitation.
Roe reached the tent in six long strides, barking, “Where is he?”
Chandler stepped aside, chest rising and falling hard. “Inside. We stabilized him, but it’s bad.”
Roe swept past, ripping his gloves from his coat pocket as he walked. “Define bad.”
“Septic, hypotensive, had two arrests,” Chandler said. “Right lung decompressed, chest tube placed. Temp spiked to 106 before blood and fluids dropped it. It’s holding at 104.”
Roe froze for half a heartbeat, then he pushed through the curtain. Dante lay flushed, waxen, his chest rising only because the vent forced it to. Hedges was still on the sat phone.
Roe didn’t bother with introductions. “Give me the rest of the status.”
Keating added details, voice hoarse. The nurse handed Roe the chart that wasn’t really a chart, just vitals taped to cardboard.
Roe took one look. “Prep for surgery. Ten minutes.”
The green surgeon blinked. “But the OR tent— We don’t have?—”
“We do now,” Roe snapped. “Move. Clear it. Boil instruments if you have to.”
Shannon swayed closer.
Roe noticed her for the first time. His tone softened by a fraction. “You must be Shannon.”
She nodded.
“I worked with your parents,” he said. “You’ve got their eyes.”
Her throat tightened as Roe stepped toward her. “But right now, I need you to step back. We cannot risk you falling apart in here.”
