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Buck nodded. “Zorro, Blitz’s arm might be busted.”
“You assess it and get him patched up,” Zorro called.
“I’ll be right back, buddy. Sit tight.”
He turned to the cockpit. Their main pilot was reclining back, his head to the side, and his eyes open and staring. Buck gritted his teeth, and he put his fingers to the co-pilot’s neck. His pulse was so faint, then suddenly it was just gone. He turned away, looking for their last teammate, Dakota “Bear” Locklear. He was a few feet away. Flint, their tough, fearless military working dog stood over him, his dark eyes slightly off. The moment Buck got close, Flint growled low in his throat, his muzzle curling away from his teeth.
“Easy boy,” Buck said, using his horse whisperer voice. The K9 was most likely disoriented, and his only instinct was to protect Bear. Buck took a step closer, and Flint lunged, his jaws snapping. Keeping his attention on Flint, and his distance, Buck crouched down and murmured. “Bear, you okay man?”
Bear stirred, and Flint barked and snapped again. Bear gave a soft, barely heard order and the pure black Belgian Malinois dropped to the ground and whined softly, licking the hand that clutched at his dark fur. Bear gave another firm command, and Buck leaned in to support his shoulders as he rose.
Bear turned to the dog and sent his hands over him, checking him for wounds, his eyes laser-focused. Pushing to his knees, he gave Flint another command, and the dog stood, his tail wagging.
Buck went back to Blitz, and carefully wrapped his arm and set it into a sling. It was eerie that he hadn’t heard a word from Zorro. Leaving Blitz to Bear, he rounded the destroyed end of the chopper, while his teammates had automatically formed a perimeter.
Zorro was still kneeling next to Joker, his face pinched, his full attention on their LT. Buck’s stomach dropped away, his heart pounding, his mind going back to that night when they’d heard about Adrian “Rock” Lane and his terrible car crash. The shock, the pain, the gut-wrenching randomness all hit like cinder blocks to their chests. That accident had resulted in a medical discharge from the SEALs, and they’d lost their leader and brother.
The storm was overhead now. The sky rumbled and crackled. The first flurry of fat raindrops hurled down on them as Zorro worked feverishly.
Without Rock, they had been rudderless, and resentful when they were assigned a new guy to the team to take over leadership. It had been easy to circle the wagons and reserve judgment until they checked out Lieutenant Elias “Joker” Jackman, part of Navy royalty, son of an admiral, and as-yet untested within the team dynamic. But as he stood there in the rain watching Zorro fight for Joker’s life, Buck realized their reactions had all been about protection. After all they had been through with Rock, they didn’t want to invest in another guy and…
Buck gritted his teeth and clamped down on his emotions—respect, loyalty, and affection. Their LT had been through hell with them. Now they would do what was necessary to get him out of here and to the medical attention he needed.
The rain came harder. Lightning shattered the black of the sky, and the clouds ripped open, drenching them. Mute and aching, Buck stood there as water sluiced down his face.
Buck squeezed his eyes closed as fear surged through him in a flood tide and bile rose in the back of his throat. Bloody gauze, plasma, discarded packaging, and Zorro’s feverish movements, the facts filtering away in his brain while his attention was riveted on Joker’s still body.
They couldn’t stay there. As he followed the plume of smoke rising in the sky, the water against the tail rotor metal sizzled and spit. Their enemies had shot them down—waited for the right moment, and attacked. They would be coming for them in a relentless pursuit that had only one purpose.
Their complete annihilation.
His eyes met Zorro’s and in them was the whole story. His expression was set in grim lines, the high cheekbones looking as sharp as blades, his iron jaw, a strong nose, brows lowered over dark eyes. Joker was in trouble.
His adrenaline surged, heart pounding. He was one of the best medics Buck had ever met, and his confidence, calm, and focus went a long way to alleviating Buck’s tension. Treating someone who was fighting for his life was a heavy load to carry. It was clear that their LT’s life was in Zorro’s hands. He would make the right decisions.
Fuck, LT! Don’t die! he demanded. Buck shoved the thought away with an effort that had him squinting against the pain. They were battered and bruised, but they were never out of the fight. He looked down at the bloodstains on his gloves. He checked his weapons system, magazine, and optics. He composed himself and straightened.
Around them, the jungle was like a blanket of rolling green, the air thin and the foliage so dense he could barely see a few feet beyond.
The thunder rolled. Lightning brightened the sky with slim cascades of delicate blasts. Beyond them stretched miles of wilderness. No mercy. No justice. One of the worst environments on the planet: physically punishing, insect-infested, limited line of sight, no roads, and it was a communications nightmare. With the thick vegetation and uneven terrain, radio signals were limited. But as the team's comms expert, he knew how to boost a signal. The main problem was that the enemy knew they would try that, and as sophisticated opponents, they would have the equipment to block them. He looked up at the soaring trees. He would have to climb.
He keyed his comm. “I need to get to high ground to get a radio call out. Professor, cover me. Gator, get a stretcher together for LT. We’re getting him out of here.”
“The plan?” Blitz said.
“I’ll know more when I get through to TOC.”
He pulled off his ruck and got his climbing spikes and belt. His side protested with each and every movement, an exquisitely debilitating agony, but he gritted his teeth and dug deep. The rain pelted him, thunder rumbling and lightning crashing, but with each methodical step, he made it to the top of the canopy. He keyed his comm and said, “Buck to TOC.”
Static hissed and spit for several seconds, then he heard, “Go for TOC.” A ball of tension melted in his gut.
“TOC, chopper shot down. Dead and injured. LT in bad shape. Need immediate extraction.” After consulting his GPS, he gave the coordinates.
“Negative, Buck. Coordinates are compromised. Move across the border where DEA assets can assist.” Buck memorized the coordinates. “Enemy moving to your position. Bug out.”
“Good copy, TOC. Moving to friendly coordinates. Buck out.”
He swiftly climbed down the tree, removed and stowed his gear. Gator, D-Day, Professor, and Bear were all standing with Zorro. Joker was already on the stretcher. Buck walked over and told them the information he’d gleaned from TOC. “We gotta move,” he said.
