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“What about King?”

They weren’t leaving without him. Dead or alive. And if they all died trying to get him, it wouldn’t matter.

But they were doing it now.

Saint shook his head to clear it. He wasn’t thinking straight. Dehydration, hunger. No sleep.

They all ducked as a shot split the air, followed by several short pops.

Aaron moved, checking weapons and shoving pack straps over his shoulders. Saint did the same.

They had no time.

Crashing through the undergrowth had them all out of the blind, and Saint hauled Wheeler by his vest to a scrubby, shitty tree. It barely counted as cover.

“Hold. It’s King,” Aaron called out.

Relief crashed through Saint, more than he deserved. They were still fucked.

King sprinted past them and into the blind. He hopped out moments later, slamming ammo into his pockets, holding two grenades.

“I’m going back,” King said, eyes bright, pupils pricked. “They’re sitting ducks.”

“No, you’re not. Urgent evac,” Saint barked.

King stared at him for a second too long and then took off again. “I’ll make it.”

Saint heard a chopper thudding closer.

“I got us some help,” Wheeler gasped, even as they stood still. The foam on his lips was flecked with blood. “But we’ve got to meet it. Jake’s gonna pull us out.”

Okay. Saint could work with that. He just needed to get King back.

Shots exploded around them, and King started running in a zig-zag pattern, getting farther from them with each step, running into enemy fire. If he hit the ridge, he’d be gone.

Wheeler’s knees buckled, and he went down. The wheezing stopped.

Aaron covered King, eye against the scope.

They weren’t leaving him.

“Wing him,” Saint ordered. They were leaving together.

“Sir. You can’t.” Wheeler’s hoarse voice barely registered. “Saint!”

“We’re not leaving him,” Saint roared, and Wheeler went white.

“Confirm.” Aaron’s finger floated above the trigger.

“Go.”

The shot exploded, deafening, and King fell. Saint took off running, shots exploding the leaves at his feet, silent, barely a faint ringing. The smell of blood choked him. Saint dropped to grab King’s vest and hauled him back. They were leaving.

Jake was coming. They were done.

King stared at the sky as blood rushed out of the gaping hole in his chest. The shot had gone through his vest, spreading bone and blood along the leaves. It soaked the soil.

Aaron had missed.