“Ground Zero, quit fucking around with Black Hawk One and get off the comms,” Adam ordered his sister.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, teddy bear daddio. I was just leaving. See you soon, soldier boy.”
“Love you,” Chase said.
“Ditto,” she replied.
“Texas Tink, hand over the stick now.”
“Roger that.” Relieved Adam had more common sense than the rest of them combined, Cody loosened his death grip on the cyclic. “Soldier boy, you have control.”
“I have control,” Chase replied, taking over without a hitch. “Skies are clear. Radar shows no contacts. Request permission to maintain current heading.”
“Air space is secure. You’re cleared to approach,” Adam said.
“Copy that.” Chase adjusted his heading as Cody wiped his sweaty palms on the rough fabric of his tactical pants. “Black Hawk One is headed for home.”
If Grant ever wanted to reflect on his life choices, now was the time. Insisting he be allowed to sit so he didn’t arrive home looking like a complete invalid? A mistake. One he’d been regretting for the last thirty minutes.
God damn, he’d known better. Day two post-wipe-out recovery? Always the worst. His natural pain-killing adrenaline spike? Gone. Inflammatory response and muscle stiffness? At its peak. Mental capacity beyond obsessing about his next round of little red pills? Non-existent.
The level of exhaustion accompanying the healing process? Soul deep.
Fuck, even the trip from the floor to the seat next to his litter had been an embarrassing ordeal with Zander doing most of the heavy lifting. Overnight, he’d turned into a two-hundred-pound paperweight with the structural integrity of a crusty sock. Not his best look.
But worth it.
Even with his one functioning eye still on the blurry side of focused, he could tell Jay’s color looked better. His breathing easier. Had Jamie just checked his vitals? Yes. Did he still appear worried? Yes. His patient hadn’t regained consciousness—but if anyone needed to unplug for an extended period, it was Jay.
Not surprising his body had elected to take advantage of a forced shutdown of his supercomputer. In the past six months, he’d rarely slept, his online search for Rebecca keeping him awake. Tied to his seat. Eyes on his screens. Fingers on his keys.
He needed time to rest and reset.
Unfortunately, time was a luxury they didn’t have a lot of. And now that the JTT had the key to Dominion, it was full speed ahead on saving the world, exposing the Imperium Council, and putting Johnson in a pine box.
Parked next to Jay, Rebecca slept peacefully—the needle in her arm supplying the medical sedation she needed for transport, doing its thing and keeping her under.
One glance at the two of them lying side by side, both black-haired with their heads angled toward the other, and it didn’t take a genius IQ to figure out they belonged together. Her body rhythms synced with his; her chest rose and fell with each full breath he took.
Slow. Steady. Alive. On the mend.
In contrast, Madelyn struggled for air. Her breaths were shallow, rapid, shaky. Each attempt to fill her lungs punched her in the chest, and Grant felt the ache inside his own. He knew how much fighting for oxygen hurt. Understood the cost of every molecule inhaled. Had wrestled with the temptation to let the end come easy.
Her life in the balance, she was choosing her hard with every beat of her heart, and if he could take her place, he would. Sure, she’d signed on for this mission without knowing the stakes, but she flew for the JTF2—where they went—the firefight followed.
No one had needed to underscore the risks involved. She’d known. And she’d stepped up to the plate, no hesitation, no questions, no doubts as to the validity of their mission. Just like the rest of them.
A true battle-tested warrior in a pint-sized package. Without a doubt, she made the world a better place, and man or woman, there were so few like her left, humanity couldn’t afford to lose another.
Fuck. She looked so small and vulnerable lying by the door, Grant wanted to force his air into her lungs, his blood into her veins, his warmth into her skin. Anything. He’d give her anything she needed and everything he had to keep her alive and to aid in her recovery.
“How’s she doing?” he asked as soon as Jamie finished listening to her lungs.
“Not good,” he replied, draping his stethoscope around his neck. “She’s experiencing a slow accumulation of blood in the pleural cavity. Until we get her into the medical unit, I can’t determine if it’s the bleeding that’s reducing lung expansion or if there’s structural damage from the bullet or possibly fractured ribs.”
“Are you sure we’re equipped to handle this?” Grant had no doubts as to Jamie’s abilities as an emergency surgeon, but their operating room was new. What if they didn’t have everything needed to secure a positive outcome for Madelyn?
“We have what we need. As soon as we land, she’ll go straight to the OR for insertion of a chest tube in advance of X-rays. Once she’s stabilized and we know what we’re dealing with, I’ll proceed with a full thoracotomy to remove the bullet and any bone fragments. After that, I’ll address any damage to surrounding organs, control any active bleeding, and ensure her lungs re-expand fully. Eve and Zander will assist.”
