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She wanted to believe she had. It was all so…distressing. She could only hope he had some grand scheme in mind that would make all this okay in the end. But, for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine what that could possibly be.
* * *
Iceman woke up with a start.He was on his back, smushed up against a body behind him. He had no idea who it was, but the person wasn’t moving. He could see his breath and although he was well-insulated in his gear, the exposed skin on his face felt stiff. He heard a noise just outside the twisted chopper door, and without thinking, he grabbed his sidearm and pointed it in that direction.
A figure materialized and he held up his hands immediately, “Whoa, whoa, Iceman, it’s me, Preacher.”
“What the hell happened?” They had been cooling their heels while the search for their women continued. Once he’d gotten the coordinates from Kodiak, they had boarded this Air Force HH-60W “Whiskey,” also known asJolly Green II, a state-of-the-art combat search-and-rescue helo. In tribute to its Vietnam War-era predecessor, the new helicopter was dubbed theJolly Green IIafter the legendary HH-3EJolly Green Giantcombat search-and-rescue helicopter famous for plucking downed pilots from lush Vietnam War jungles. The charcoal gray chopper was currently intact, listing a bit to the side.
“They fucking shot us down. Trasker must have sent men to wait for us to find the women and they took us out.” He climbed into the chopper and extended his hand. His jaw was rock-hard, and his eyes a glacial gray. “I made it over there to the top of the ridge to get a bead on where we are,” Preacher said. “They’re coming for us. Ten, twelve maybe, black ops clothing, semiautomatics. Mercs.” Iceman reached up gauging his level of injury, but when Preach pulled, he didn’t feel any major pain or burning. He rose to his feet, swaying. “The pilots?”
“Both dead, Iceman. Goddammit. Fucking heroes.”
“The team?” Iceman at least didn’t have to worry about Griff and Adrian. They had remained behind at the base.
“All unconscious but breathing when I left. It was more important to access the danger than to wake them?—"
“You did the right thing.” Iceman turned around and saw it was Volk who he’d landed against. The man’s eyes were closed, but after a few seconds popped open. He groaned softly, then swallowed hard.
Iceman crouched down, his back protesting slightly. “Where does it hurt?”
Volk was very pale beneath his dark coloring, his mouth bracketed with grooves of pain. “My groin and hips.” He breathed hard through his clenched teeth. “I think I broke my fucking pelvis.”
“Fuck,” Preacher said. “Iceman we can’t move him, not without a board, and it would be better if we waited for rescue.”
Iceman understood. They all had medical training, and the pelvis was a particularly dangerous area and included hip bones, sacrum, and coccyx. It was a butterfly-shaped bone and helped to support and protect the organs, nerves, and other tissues in the lower abdomen. If it was unstable and they moved Volk, they could do more damage…even cause internal bleeding, if he wasn’t already.
“Go, Preach, before we’re overrun. Set up a perimeter, maybe it will give us a few minutes to shake out the cobwebs. I’ll take care of Volk.” Iceman tucked one of their backpacks beneath his head. “I’m going to see what we have here. Okay?”
“In other words, it’s going to hurt like a bitch?”
“Yeah. I can give you morphine.”
“I’m not one for drugs, but in this case…okay.”
Iceman found the med kit and administered an injection, then he knelt down and tested Volk’s hips. Volk cried out, but bit it off, breathing hard through clenched teeth. “Okay, there was a give in your bones. Man, I’m sorry.”
Volk’s eyes had gone glassy. “Fuck.” He closed them, releasing a hard breath. Iceman knew it was hard to come back from a pelvic break, not impossible, though. He had to wonder if Volk’s Shadowguard career was over.
Preacher had been gone for about five minutes when GQ sat up toward the tail of the chopper. He rubbed his head but otherwise looked okay. “G,” Iceman said. “You mobile?”
“Yes, boss.”
He found a vein in Volk’s upper arm to insert a PICC line, or peripherally inserted central catheter, and IV line that was durable enough to last for days if he needed it. “Get out there and help Preach with a perimeter. We’re going to have company.”
“How many?”
“Ten to twelve mercs.”
GQ rose to his feet. “Copy that.” He had a slash down his cheek, blood running, but he took up his M4 and moved out of the chopper door.
“How are you feeling?” he asked Volk.
“Like I’ve been in a helicopter crash and busted the most favorite part of my body.”
“I’ve got you, Volk.”
Volk closed his eyes. “If I…don’t make it. You get them back,” he said fiercely, his words slurred. “Get her back for me, Iceman, please. Tell her?—”
