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Atlanta pulled Brophy along with him to the waiting truck ahead, hidden behind the building in the dark.
“Go! Fucking go!” Jessup yelled to them.
“Not leaving you behind,” Corona yelled out, and simultaneously Jessup fell forward, taking a second bullet to the back of his shoulder. He landed on the ground, and Corona and Freeman shot at the other men, terrorists that had been holding Brophy as a prisoner to try and use him to create chemical bombs for terrorist attacks.
Corona lifted Jessup up off the ground.
“Leave me. Save yourselves.”
“Fuck that. We’re a team. I’d never leave you.” Corona grunted as he lifted the heavy Texan up and over his shoulder. Behind him, Freeman continued to fire at the last few guards. They got to the building and rounded the corner. Atlanta was there with a very battered and unconscious Brophy slumped in the backseat.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Atlanta said once they were in the truck.
The sound of a few more shots echoed around them. Corona and Freeman fired back, taking out one more guy. It was too fucking close. There weren’t supposed to be that many men guarding the place.
What the fuck went wrong? Corona wondered.
Freeman was applying pressure to Jessup’s wounds as Atlanta sped to safety.
“What are we doing, Commander? How fucking bad is he?” Atlanta asked from the front seat.
“Status, Freeman?” Corona yelled out.
“Change of plans. He’s got multiple gunshot wounds. I can’t tell how bad they are. His breathing is shallow, his vitals weak. I don’t fucking know, Commander,” Freeman said to Corona.
“Fuck,” Corona yelled out, then pulled out the satellite phone. He hit some buttons, and a deep voice came on after the first ring.
“Plan B. One of my men is down and needs immediate medical attention.”
He looked at Freeman, who appeared grim and angry. He knew they were going to be pissed off about this and blame him for taking on this assignment. They were all getting tired of this.
He received the coordinates and was promised that a chopper would be waiting to pick them up immediately.
Corona closed up the phone, putting it inside his jacket.
He gave Atlanta instructions, and Atlanta stepped on the gas and sped through the villages. Corona hoped no other enemy soldiers got in their way.
“Corona. It’s too dangerous. They’ll shoot us down. Stick to plan A,” Jessup said and then coughed. He looked like hell.
Corona shook his head. “I’m not leaving you. We’re a team, we’re brothers, and we always have one another’s backs. We’ll get through this.”
“Fuck, I think we got local company,” Atlanta said from the front of the truck.
Corona and Freeman looked back and saw the set of headlights and the lights above the military jeep. Men with black masks and turban-covered heads aimed their assault weapons as they sped up, getting closer to them.
“Freeman.”
“I’m on it.” He moved toward the back of the truck and pulled out the missile launcher. He broke the window, aligned the launcher, and looked through the scope.
He pulled the trigger. The smoke came into the truck, but then the sound of the explosion and the sight of the military truck flipping into the air signified that Freeman had hit his target.
“To think that we almost didn’t bring that thing,” Atlanta said, then took a quick right and sped through the desert and what they knew was miles and miles of nothing.
“Corona.”
Corona looked down at Jessup.
“If I don’t make it…”
