“Beach?” Coach shouted over comms.
“Stunned but he’s moving,” came Leo Machado’s voice. “He’s up.”
“Crown, where’s our exfil?”
“Drones show another ridge thirty meters east. A helo’s five out, but this isn’t a full evac zone.”
“Make it one,” Coach snapped.
Cary and Felipe dropped a pop flare. The team began moving, dragging Lobo across broken terrain, heat shimmering now from scattered fires. Callen held point. Return fire had scattered the hostiles, but they weren’t local militia. This was trained resistance. They were planned, funded and organized. The kind Krueger hinted at.
Bravo Team crouched low under the spinning blades of the Black Hawk, rotor wash pelting grit into open wounds. Beach leaned against the ramp, blood in his ear, eyes unfocused.
Lobo lay strapped down, Sabra working a breathing valve and Friend pumping fluids.
Sean stood at the edge of the ramp, eyes on the dark horizon. Not a word. Just war in his jaw. They were in it now. And this was just the start.
CHASE NEW ORLEANS RECOVERY SUITE – 0815 HOURS
Shannon blinked against the morning light. Her body was stiff, her head thick. But she knew the time had come even before Mack stepped in. She was going to stand and take her first steps in over a month.
He smiled gently, chart tucked under his arm. “You ready to earn your wings, Lieutenant?”
She didn’t smile back, just nodded. She wasn’t afraid of pain. She was afraid of breaking in front of him.
Dante appeared in the doorway a second later, fresh from his second catnap, clean-shaven, sweatshirt loose on his frame. His eyes met hers and stayed.
She didn’t need to ask him to stay. He already was.
Hale followed with Hunt, wheeling in a walker with padded grips. “This is going to suck,” Hunt warned gently. “But you’ve got us. And if we time this right, the meds will hit mid-transfer.”
Mack checked her IV line. “Pain scale?”
“Six,” she muttered.
“Good,” Hunt said. “Let’s keep it under eight.”
They adjusted the bed slowly, back lifting first. Her body protested immediately, twinges in her hip, her thigh, and deep in the pit of her pelvis. She swallowed down a groan.
“Take your time.” Hale kneeled beside the bed. “You control this.”
“I’m good.” But her hands gripped the sheets.
Mack offered her a strap. “You’ll use this to help pull forward.”
She nodded then breathed once. And tried.
Every inch upward was like sandpaper dragging over nerve endings. Sweat broke across her brow. Her lips parted.
“Shan,” Dante said softly. “Look at me. I’m right here.”
Her jaw clenched as she swung her legs over the side. The movement torched her hip. Her right foot found the ground. Her left trembled, and she nearly crumpled.
But Dante stepped in, one arm braced behind her back, the other under her arm. “Lean on me.”
She did. The walker came into reach. She clutched it, breathing hard, swaying.
Her teeth were gritted, but she didn’t cry. Not in front of Mack. Not in front of her dad. Not even in front of Sam. But Dante? She didn’t have to hide it.
