Pride flares inside me, hot and fierce. Smart girl.
“We need to move.” I tear at the blankets. “Get these things off me.”
“You have hypothermia.” Bronco doesn’t stop his work on my feet. “Your core temp hit ninety-two when we pulled you. You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m going.” I rip the IV tape from my arm.
“Boyd, stop.” Hutch points a finger. “Or we’ll sedate you.”
“Don’t give me orders. Not today.” I swing my legs over the side of the stretcher. The pain in my feet proves blinding. I grit my teeth, forcing a groan back down my throat. “I lost her.” I look Hutch in the eye. “I promised I would keep her safe, and I let them take her. I’m not sitting in this bird while she’s in that hole with Mercer.”
Hutch stares at me, seeing the guilt and the rage. He knows better than to argue with a man who possesses nothing left to lose.
“About what I expected you to say.” He nods once. “Bronco, give him his gear. Which means you’re coming with us. But it also means you get your ass back under the blankets. You want to join the party, you warm up your body first. I need you thinking clearly, not delirious with shock.”
“I’m not delirious.”
“Says the man who pointed a weapon in my face,” Bronco grunts, letting go of my feet. “If you lose those toes, don’t come crying to me. You got one hell of a way of saying hello.” He reaches under the bench and pulls out a duffel bag.
I dress awkwardly on the stretcher. Combat pants. Thermal shirt. Kevlar vest. All dry. All warm.
Every movement hurts. My muscles run stiff, filled with lactic acid, but pain is good. It sharpens the mind.
When I lace my boots, my fingers fumble numb.
“Let me,” a voice cuts through the cabin noise.
I look up.
Silas Jensen. Rook.
He unfolds from the shadows of the cockpit at his full height, the weight of him filling the tight cabin space. He drops to one knee in front of me, his hands quick and efficient, tying the laces. Up close, the storm-grey eyes catch the red cabin light, steady and reading.
“They have a perimeter.” His voice is a gravel baritone, slow with the drawl he never bothers to mask. “Twelve hostiles outside. Heavy weapons. Snipers in the towers.”
“Inside?”
“Unknown. But Mercer is there. And his personal guard.”
“We breach.” I grab my gear. “Hard and fast.”
“That’s the plan.” Hutch secures his tablet. “Wraith is on the strut. He’ll clear the towers on approach. Bronco puts us down in the courtyard. We go in through the main doors.”
“No.”
They all look at me.
“It’s a fatal funnel.” I strap a rig on. “They’ll wait for a frontal assault. They’ll kill her before we get through the entrance.”
“You have a better idea?” Bronco hands me an MK18 rifle. Short barrel. Suppressed.
I check the chamber. I check the optic.
“We don’t go through the door. We go through the roof.”
I look at Hutch.
“The mine has a ventilation system via old shafts. They come up in the processing plant. We rappel down the main intake. We drop right on top of them.”
