The room was cold, built for briefings and bad news. Hunt Montgomery stood at the head of the small table, arms crossed, surgical scrubs beneath his fleece vest still faintly sweat-stained from the OR.
Mike Johnson leaned forward, forearms on the table. He hadn’t sat like that since Kandahar briefings. “Give it to me straight.”
Hunt didn’t soften it. “She made it through the surgery. Barely. There was a liver bleed, collapsed lung, fractured ribs and major soft tissue damage. The left hip’s dislocated but unfractured.”
“Brain?”
“No sign of trauma—that’s the good news.” A beat. “The bad news is the pain’s going to hit like a truck when she wakes. We’re already pushing max dosing without stopping her heart.”
Mike’s jaw ticked once. “You’ll keep her under?”
“We’ll try,” Hunt said. “But if she comes up too fast, she’s going to fight the vent. Hard.”
Mike looked away, jaw clenched.
“She’s strong,” Hunt added quietly.
“I know.” Mike straightened. “That’s what scares me.”
FORT NOVOSEL MAIN GATE – 1326 HOURS
The Humvee stopped just inside the checkpoint, West Point decals on the side of the duffel in the back seat. Sam Johnson stepped out before the engine stopped. His uniform was crisp. Tie tight. His shoulders were squared like he was reporting to a war he hadn’t been issued orders for.
The airman at the gate scanned his ID and saluted him through.
He didn’t acknowledge it. Didn’t slow down. A second vehicle pulled up behind him.
Ford Cox stepped out. He didn’t speak either, just clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam nodded, and they climbed in together and headed to the hospital.
HANGAR 2
Thirteen men stood in a semicircle beneath the stripped fuselage of a Black Hawk undergoing overhaul. Twelve of them were still. One space was empty and not acknowledged. It was Dante’s, and they all felt it.
Ford Cox stepped up with a tablet in one hand and a black folder in the other. His face was tired but focused like a man already six steps into the hunt.
“We’re waiting for a warrant to pull Krueger’s locker,” he said. “We’ve locked down the hangar and grounded every training bird on that line. Tower footage is already under review.”
Bravo's sniper, Halston, spoke first. “You want us to detain him?”
Ford looked up. “You’ll find him, then you’ll let me know. But he doesn’t leave the base.”
“Rules of engagement?”
Ford didn’t blink. “Whatever gets Shannon justice.”
The men nodded, and Ford closed the tablet. “One more thing: Olivetti’s with her. When she wakes up, he’s not going to leave that room. So, for now…”
“We’re one short,” said Paulsen quietly.
“Cover the gap,” Ford said. “No weak links.”
Thirteen men stood straighter.
ICU ROOM 4 – 1408 HOURS
Sam stood at the foot of Shannon’s bed like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He had fought through the front lines of grief already when their mother died. That time, Shannon was the strong one. She held him upright and told him it was okay to fall apart.
Now she was the one broken. Unmoving. Tubes in her mouth and the rest of her body. Her arm half taped to a board to keep the IV lines straight. Her vitals were steady on the monitor, but the beep still sounded too fast.
