FORWARD OPERATING BASE – ICU TENT
The makeshift OR door flapped open with a burst of cool night air as Roe stepped out, scrubs soaked through, gloves stripped, jaw hard with exhaustion.
Shannon shot to her feet so fast, her chair skidded. Ford was right behind her.
Roe held up a hand. It was a command that quieted everyone. “He’s alive.”
Shannon exhaled like her ribs had finally unlocked. Ford closed his eyes, head tipping back once in relief.
“But listen,” Roe stepped closer, “his condition is grave. I stopped the major bleeds. We drained a liter of infected fluid. His kidneys are failing, and his blood pressure is barely holding. This place can only keep him stable for a short window.”
Shannon swallowed hard. “How long?”
“Maybe six hours,” Roe said. “Maybe two.”
The room stilled.
“We have to get him out of here. Germany has the specialists he needs. The sooner, the better,” Roe said.
Shannon nodded. Her legs trembled, but she stood tall.
Roe assessed her. “You held up. Your dad will be proud.”
Shannon blinked hard before straightening. “What do you need?”
Roe’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but the closest thing he ever gave. “I need you to stay steady. For him.”
The med tent had been transformed. Extra monitors were hauled in. Fresh IV lines were started. Blood-warming units hummed beneath blankets.
They wheeled Dante in, tubes and lines everywhere, chest rising only because the vent commanded it. Shannon followed, one hand on the rail, steady as steel.
Roe placed a hand on her shoulder. “You can sit with him. He’ll hear you.”
Ford stood outside the tent, arms crossed, pacing small circles like a caged beast.
Shannon didn’t break in front of Dante. Hours passed. The monitors hummed, his vitals flickering in fragile waves. She sat at his bedside, fingers wrapped around his hand, whisperingsteady, quiet things. They were things only he was meant to hear.
Ford eventually returned with water, protein packs, and electrolyte pouches. “You need to drink.”
She ignored the cup. “I’m not sleeping. I won’t miss a second.”
Ford didn’t argue. “Please drink. I don’t want your kidneys failing.”
The tent went quiet again, everyone waiting for the next alarm to sound. Dante lay motionless beneath blankets and tubes. Shannon didn’t move from her seat, but she did drink. She held his hand like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
Ford stood just outside the tent flap, headset pressed to one ear as he argued in low, clipped tones. “…No, I don’t care if the jet is wheels-up already. It won’t be able to land. We need flight clearance all the way for a C-130J Super Hercules to take off from the FOB to Ramstein AFB and a quick transport to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. And I want their trauma team on standby.”
He listened. “Then make it happen.” He ripped the headset off with a growl and scrubbed both hands over his face. He looked wrecked.
Inside the tent, Roe emerged from checking Dante’s drains and central lines. He stripped off his gloves, expression unreadable but intense. “He’s holding. Barely. His pressure’s riding a tight line. Vaso drips are keeping it up for now. Kidneys are still non-responsive. Infection’s spreading, but the surgery bought him time.”
Shannon lifted her head. “What’s the window?”
Roe hesitated, which was answer enough. “Three hours before he destabilizes again. Maybe less. Every minute we stay here, we gamble.”
Ford stepped in. “Status evac bird?”
A technical sergeant answered from the comms desk, “Inbound from Agadez. It’s twenty minutes out.”
