Page 56 of My Forbidden Commander

28

NOAH

The only reason we haven’t been overrun by what I’m sure are the Border Wolves is because of calculated shots and conserving ammo. I borrowed Sykes’s mags—he doesn’t need them right now, pale and groaning from pain—and Callahan and I tried to mimic Wilder’s tactic of making every shot count.

About an hour since an answer from Kestrel came through, filled with static and barely understandable, I hear the humming of drones coming from the direction of the base.

Liu whoops. “Hell yeah, that’s what I’m talking about!”

Callahan clicks his tongue and wipes his brow, sweating despite the cold. “Contain yourself, Specialist. It’s not over until the enemy are gone.”

“Yes, sir,” Liu replies, still grinning. “But I’m still damn happy to see them.”

“So am I, Specialist,” Callahan murmurs. “So am I.”

The high-pitched whine of the drones cuts through the ridgeline for about thirty minutes, the volleys slowing considerably. Then the muzzle flashes start creeping closer again.

“The drones are leaving,” I say, my voice flat and exhausted.

“And it’s not because they’re not out of targets,” Callahan adds bitterly. He keys the radio, but only static answers, same as it has since that first garbled reply.

Then, ten minutes after the drones have left, the radio finally crackles with something that isn’t dead air.

“Callahan, this is Kestrel.” Okafor’s voice, hard and clipped even through the static. “Drone element is bingo fuel, returning to base. Ground element is inbound but hasn’t reached your position. Hold what you have.”

“Copy,” Callahan answers, but I can see on his face he’s not liking our odds.

The drones did buy us some ground, though, and Wilder confirms it by firing a shot and not getting an answer back.

“They gave up the east push,” he says. “Repositioning. I’d wager we’ve got maybe an hour before they try again.”

Callahan crawls to check on Sykes, then looks at Liu, blood dried up to his elbows.

“Sykes can’t walk on that leg,” he says after a moment. “Not fast, not far. I want him moving now, while they’re still figuring out where to hit us next.” He looks at me. “Reyes, you and Liu get him down the mountain. I’ll hold here with Wilder, buy you distance.”

“I’m not leaving you two to⁠—”

“That wasn’t a request, Specialist.”

Fuck. Callahan’s down to just me and a sniper, and now he’s sending me away? But he outranks me, and the math is the math—Sykes needs two men to carry him.

“Yes, Sergeant,” I say, hating the words even as they leave my mouth.

Getting Sykes upright takes both of us, and Sykes bites down on sounds he doesn’t want to make the entire time. His leg is wrapped tight, but it’s already soaked through, and every time his boot brushes against a rock, he goes green.

“Sorry,” he keeps saying. “Sorry, sorry⁠—”

“Shut up and walk,” Liu tells him, not unkindly, and we start walking down.

It’s slow. Slower than feels survivable with an unknown number of Border Wolves somewhere behind us, ready to push again. Sykes’s arm is heavy across my shoulders, his weight transferring to me every time he has to take a step with his hurt leg, and every twenty minutes we stop so he can breathe through the pain before going again.

Dawn comes gray, no sun yet, just enough to see by. We’re moving on instinct, following the same ground we climbed up yesterday and hoping it leads back to where we started this patrol and not somewhere new and worse. Nobody talks except Sykes, who keeps apologizing for getting shot.

“You didn’t do this on purpose,” I tell him around the tenth apology. “Save the guilt for something you actually chose.”

“Feels the same,” he mutters.

“Well, it’s not.”