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2
COLLINS
Ghazni, Afghanistan
Three months ago…
“Collins? Collins, can you hear me?”
Max started to roll over and stopped. Every sensory outlet on his body was having issues and flaring all at once, making him physically ill. The truck had hit a mine or something, exploding and flinging him out of the truck. He was lucky to be alive, despite the nausea rolling in him.
“Collins, can you hear me?”
“Ohhhgooooawaaaay,” he moaned, putting his hands up to his head, covering his ears that were ringing so badly, as the lights were creating spikes of pain in his head.
His legs!
His legs were on fire. He knew both limbs had been broken, because he’d seen the bone protruding from one of them. Yeah, he’d landedhardafter being launched from the truck after the explosion.
He had the bright idea to land on his feet like some supernatural cat – only to nearly pass out as both limbs snapped from the intense pressure. He remembered looking down and thinking, ‘Whoa!’ because he’d been flung so high. The truck had been mid-pitch when he was sucked outward, tossing him straight up.
… And what moron said, ‘sand was soft’?
No, hitting the packed sand, rocks, and debris was like slamming into a concrete barrier full-force with the idiotic expectation that it would give or yield on impact, and it didn’t. He’d been lying there on the hot sand and gravel, trying to get his breath and keep from passing out completely, only to feel hands grab him, dragging him from his spot. He remembered voices, would never forget this pain, and…
“Ortegaaaa?” he moaned, grabbing at someone blindly and clutching at the person. “The team… all of us. Selkirk, Ortega, Muldoon…”
“Shhh,” a voice came and blessedly shut off the light directly above his head, allowing him to crack open an eyelid. “Collins, I know your head is ringing like a bell right now, and you’ve got a heckuva shiner at your temple, but you’ll be okay. They’ve set your legs and are working on getting you something to help with the pain.”
Max started to nod and felt his stomach roll, clutching at the hand blindly.
“Sir…” he finally whispered, realizing it was Captain Logan standing there beside where he was laying. “Are my friends, my brothers, okay? Ortega was right next to me…”
“Ortega is injured,” Captain Logan began, and he heard the emotional undertone in the man’s voice, causing him to crack open his eyes again. “He’s not doing so hot, and we’ve got a chopper coming for him. He needs more care than we can give him here.”
“I think I’m gonna puke, sir…” Max whispered painfully, turning slightly to his side and feeling the entire room turn over in his head.
“Well, I wouldn’t recommend it,” Logan chuckled softly, laying a hand on his shoulder to help him stay rolled to the side. “But sometimes when you gotta blow – you’ve just gotta blow, just don’t fight it… and try not to get my boots.”
Tears stung his eyes and rolled across the bridge of his nose as he tried to center himself and get his bearings. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, and thankfully, the churning in his gut slowed down, allowing him to breathe.
“The others?”
“Muldoon passed away ten minutes ago,” Logan said softly. “He had a really bad head wound. Pendergrass is in a gurney not far from you and sleeping, Ortega is being tended to right now, and some of the others had mild injuries.”
“Muldoon… died?” Max felt his stomach lurch again in awareness and horror. The man had a wife and kid back home. He was always quiet, always easy to get along with, and never had a cross word for anyone.
“Yes,” Logan murmured – and Max cracked open an eye to look at his captain, hearing something in his tone. The other man’s eyes were glassy and looked devastated. The line of worry across his forehead was growing deeper by the moment. “I’ve got to contact his next of kin once I make sure your stubborn butt is going to make it and Ortega’s chopper gets here. So, if you’ve really knocked yourself silly – do me a favor and try not to die. I hate these calls and would prefer not to make two of them, brother.”
He nodded, and the movement had him throwing up. Everything hurt, and the more he moved, the worse the nausea was. He’d never imagined what it was like to puke slowly, but somehow he managed it, hearing Logan’s soft chuckle as he turned his head gingerly.
“Try not to strain, soldier… just let it go, and I’ve got you.”
Max wasn’t sure what he was trying to hold onto more at this moment – Logan’s hand, trying to keep from crying or trying to stay conscious as his body rebelled. Sure enough, he was vomiting again and felt Logan lean down, hugging him slightly as he held him.
“It’s gonna be okay. Go ahead and puke, have yourself a good cry while we can give you the drugs to help with that throbbing headache that I imagine you’ve got right now, and try to get some sleep. I promise someday you’ll feel better than you do right now.”
Max spat several times, grimacing, and clutched at Logan’s hand like it was the only thing that was keeping him awake and alive, his tether to keep him from slipping into the nothingness that clouded the edges of his vision.
