“You think he’s gonna make it, Doc?”
Moyer heard an unexpected concern in Rich’s voice.
“If we can get him to a hospital. He’s going to need surgery.” Jose looked at Moyer. “It’s going to be close.”
Moyer nodded and moved forward to the cockpit. “I’ve got two injured men. We need to move it, Lieutenant.”
“Understood. We’ll move at best possible speed—”
A bright light in the hills lit the sky.
“What was that?” the pilot asked.
The only thing Moyer could remember being in that area was a mansion.
“Maybe someone did our job for us.”
“Boss?” Pete stood behind Moyer. “J. J. wants to see you.”
Moyer moved to the back again. “How you doing, son?”
“Good to go, Boss. Always good to go.”
“You’re not going to ask me to deliver some kind of final message are you? Cause it’s not your time.”
“I have a favor to ask . . .”
THE V-22 OSPREY LOWERED its rear ramp and made a slow pass over the marijuana field. J. J. stood near the opening, Rich to one side, Moyer to the other. The three wore safety straps. J. J. held a Willie Pete grenade retrieved from Zinsser’s vest.
He pulled the safety pin.
He took a deep breath and balanced on his one good leg.
The green indicator light lit, indicating they were over the target area.
J. J. tossed the phosphorus grenade out the back. A few moments later a blinding light lit the sky. As the Osprey flew toward the U.S./Mexico border, J. J. saw the fire begin to spread across the field.
CHAPTER 43
HOT. HE WAS HOT.
And dry. His eyeballs felt cracked and shrunken. Pain ran up his side and filled his body, but it had lost its edge.
He heard noise: the humming and drumming of powerful engines. Vibrations rose from the hard surface beneath his back. Opening his eyes, he saw dim lights overhead. Darkness framed the periphery of his vision. He couldn’t focus.
“Water.”
A large black face appeared in his vision. “Sorry, pal. Can’t do it. Gut wound.”
“Shaq?”
“Thought you died and were seeing angels, didn’t you? Understandable. I hate to be the one to tell you, but you’re still alive.”
“Team?”
Rich smiled. “We’re all here and headed home.”
“J. J. . . .”
“Doing fine. Don’t worry about him. You focus on staying alive.”
Zinsser nodded, then tried to rise. Scorching pain pushed him back.
“Stay put, man. Doc is working on you. We have a gift . . .”
Darkness filled Zinsser’s eyes. The sound of engines faded. A moment later Zinsser was in Somalia.
“DOC?” MOYER SAID.
Jose put two fingers on Zinsser’s throat. “He’s still with us, but I’m not sure he’ll last much longer if I don’t get this done. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“How can we he help?” Moyer studied Zinsser. He looked one step above a corpse.
“In this bag is a blood collection system—plastic bag with clear tubing. Pull it out.”
Moyer took hold of the bag, thankful someone thought to bring a more complete med kit than Jose could carry in the field. He found the empty, plastic IV bag.
“Okay, Rich. On your back.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. I’m going to draw off about 450ccs of blood.”
Moyer understood the dangers of what Jose was doing. “Walking Blood Bank” transfusions carried inherent risk. Jose wouldn’t be attempting this if he didn’t think Zinsser was close to death. Rich’s blood type matched Zinsser’s.
“They teach us not to trust dog tags or a soldier’s opinion,” Jose said before he tested Rich’s and Zinsser’s blood. It was a match. He inserted a large needle into Rich’s arm.
“Ow. Did you have to get a running start with that thing, Doc?”
“Stop being a baby and be still.”
“I’m just saying . . .”
“We’ll put you in for a Purple Heart, big guy,” Moyer said.
“Really? Cool.”
Blood flowed through the catheter and along the tubing. It seemed to Moyer to be taking a long time.
“Hold this.”
Moyer took the bag from Jose, who moved to Zinsser and cut away the man’s sleeve. Pulling a container of povidone iodine from the kit, he cleaned Zinsser’s arm. Once the bag was full of Rich’s blood, Jose changed needles and inserted it in Zinsser’s arm. Data didn’t flinch.
Slowly the blood passed through the tubing and into Zinsser’s arm.
“What are his chances, Doc?” Pete asked.
“This will help keep blood volume up and aid in carrying oxygen through his body. Assuming he doesn’t react to the blood, then he stands a chance—a slim chance, but a chance. What he really needs is a surgeon. I think the bleeding has stopped.” Jose shook his head. “The guy didn’t make a sound when he was hit; he just kept driving our sorry heinies to the extraction area.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t like we had time to talk about it.” Rich sat up, still holding a cotton ball over the small hole Jose had left in his arm. A second later he looked at Moyer. “You were right to keep him, Boss.”
Moyer wondered.
THE OSPREY SET DOWN at Martindale Army Airfield, an inactive airport near Fort Sam Houston. Ambulances were waiting for them, as was a minibus. Jose and the waiting medics moved J. J., Zinsser, and the lone surviving hostage from the aircraft to the ambulances. Moyer knew they’d be in good hands at San Antonio Military Medical Center. He wanted to ride with his injured men but knew he would only be in the way. Stowing their gear on the Osprey, Moyer led what was left of his team into the bus and took the first seat he saw. Fatigue washed over him like a high tide and for several moments he thought he would drown in it.
Every muscle ached. Every joint protested. Technically his mission was over, but personally it wouldn’t end until he knew J. J. and Zinsser would be all right.
The bus pulled away, and the team rode in silence, each lost in his thoughts. Moyer longed for the sweet release of sleep, but his mind would not allow it. Events played over and over in his head. He heard the unending gunfire, felt the sting of plaster as it struck his face. He replayed every communication, reran every scenario. What could he have done better? Two of his men were wounded. That came with the work they did. Each man knew the current mission could be their last, but they never believed it. Moyer had lost a man on a recent mission, and now there was a chance he’d lose another. The thought of it made him ill.
Voices rang in his head; J. J.’s scream echoed inside his skull; the sight of Zinsser lying facedown in the marijuana field played in his mind. Is this what Zinsser experienced? He didn’t know, but if it was, he’d be more sympathetic with the man.
THE SAN ANTONIO MILITARY Medical Center was a multistory, modern affair, and Moyer was relieved at the pilot’s choice. Thousands of medics had trained here, including Jose. They waited in the lobby of the ER, three men dressed in black, dirty from running through fields and enduring a firefight.
A tall, thin, bespectacled physician who looked too young to be a doctor approached Moyer. “Who’s going to be first?”
“First?” Moyer said. “I’m sorry, Captain, what do you mean by ‘first’?”
“I have orders to examine you and your men.”
“We’re fine.” Moyer waved his hand. “Any news on my injured men?”
“They’re in good hands. I don’t want to belabor the point . . .”
Moyer saw the doctor’s eyes looking for rank insignia. Neither Moyer nor any of his men wore one. “Sergeant Major Eric Moyer, sir.” He introduced Rich and Pete.
“Captain Reynolds, Sergeant Major. Shall we start with you?”
“I said we’re fine—”
“And I said I have orders to examine you and your men. M
y orders are your orders, Sergeant Major. If you cooperate, we can be done in no time.”
Moyer frowned. “You go first, Rich.”
“Why me?”
“Because you have that gaping wound Doc gave you.”
“Gaping wound?” Captain Reynolds’s eyes widened.
“Relax, Doc. I had some time on my hands so I gave a little blood.”
Reynolds shook his head. “You special ops types are all the same.”
CHAPTER 44
MOYER WAS THE LAST to be examined. When he exited the exam room he saw two familiar faces walking into the ER waiting area. Outside the sun bathed the Texas sky in light. Colonel Mac escorted Tess Rand through the doors, his hand on her elbow. He looked rock solid; she looked ready to collapse.
Moyer greeted them. Tess was in no mood for pleasantries. “Have you heard anything?”
“Last word I had was J. J. and Zinsser are in surgery. How did you get here?”
Colonel Mac answered. “I know a guy who knows a guy.” He forced a smile. “I left as soon as I heard you were airborne. I picked Tess up on the way.”
“Philadelphia is on the way?”
Colonel Mac shrugged. “It all depends on how you look at it.”
Another familiar face entered the ER. Moyer shook hands with Chaplain Bartley, J. J.’s brother. “No news yet, sir.”
“What can you tell us?” Bartley asked.
“Wait a sec.” Mac walked to a nurse who had just come down the hall and then, a moment later, motioned for Moyer and the others to follow. Soon they were seated in a small conference room. “I wanted a little privacy. I’ve also arranged for coffee and food.”
“We’re fine, sir.”
“I ordered it, Moyer. You will eat the food and drink the coffee, then tell me how wonderful it was. Clear?”
“Clear, sir.”
“Okay, answer the chaplain’s question.”
Moyer took a breath. “We were under heavy fire and attempting escape to our extraction point. Jerry Zinsser worked his way around the hostiles, commandeered a van, and broke through another line of attackers as the A-10s were getting ready to make another pass.” He told the story of being pinned down in the church and the heroics of his team. “As we were speeding down the main road we took fire. A round went through the side of the van and hit J. J. in the thigh. Doc, who is still in the ER, stopped the bleeding or J. J. would have bled out before we could get on the V-22. Sometime during the escape Zinsser took a round in the gut.” He tried to soften the details. He knew Colonel Mac would want the information straight, but Moyer feared the impact on Tess.
As he was speaking, Doc walked into the room. Behind him followed cafeteria personnel with food and coffee.
“They told me I’d find you here,” Jose said.
“You look like a hundred miles of bad road, Doc,” Mac said.
“It’s good to see you too, sir.” Jose plopped into a chair and rubbed his eyes. “I’m going to sleep for a week.”
“What’s the word?” Moyer pressed.
Doc sighed and leaned back. “They’re working on J. J. now. The docs agree that the bullet passed through cleanly, but it did nick his femoral artery. Fortunately we got the bleeding stopped. The surgeons won’t know what needs to be done until they get in there, but I can tell you his leg looked good: pink and warm. I don’t think he’ll lose it.”
Tess gasped. “It was that bad?”
“I’m sorry, Tess, I’m not at my best. I lose all tact when I’m tired.” He paused. “Yes, the wound was bad, but I was more concerned about the effects of the tourniquet. Cutting off blood flow can severely damage a limb. During the flight Pete and I loosened the tourniquet to allow some blood flow. The human body is an amazing machine. Sometimes artery wounds will seal themselves. I’ve seen arteries in severed limbs retract and cut off blood flow on their own. Right now, my guess is J. J. will be chasing you around the sofa in no time.”
“Zinsser?” Mac said.
Jose shook his head. “He’s in rough shape. The bullet tore up his insides worse than I thought. He’s going to be in surgery for some time.”
“But you think he’ll live,” Mac said.
Jose shrugged.
Moyer studied the two people most impacted by the news: Tess and Chaplain Bartley. Bartley looked stoic. As a chaplain he had dealt with many tragedies. This, however, was personal. Moyer sensed he was being brave for Tess. She kept control of her emotions, but Moyer recognized fear when he saw it. Still, she showed more strength and grace than he thought possible.
Bartley straightened and took Tess’s hand. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need to pray. Would anyone object if I led us in prayer?”
Tess squeezed Bartley’s hand.
No one objected.
MINUTES BECAME HOURS. COLONEL Mac tried to send the team to one of the base’s barracks for sleep. Since he fell short of making it an order, no one budged. Moyer wouldn’t leave and he wouldn’t compel any of his team to do so. They survived the firefight. Now they fought a different kind of battle—one with nerves and the fear of losing teammates.
Lunch came and went. At two that afternoon, a man in uniform, a PFC, entered with a folder. He handed it to Colonel Mac, then stepped outside. Mac opened it. Inside were daylight photos of Frontera. “You guys made a real mess.” He paused and glanced at Tess. “Do you mind stretching your legs for a few minutes? The chaplain will be happy to keep you company.”
They got the hint, rose, and slipped from the room without a word.
“Confidential report?” Moyer said.
“Yeah, but I sent her out for another reason.” He passed the photos around. Bodies littered the church, some burned beyond recognition. “She doesn’t need to see this.”
Moyer took a look at the photos. He wasn’t thrilled at having to see them. Each man took a turn studying the images while Mac read a brief report. “The Mexican government has boots on the ground looking at your handiwork. We may have lost our place on their Christmas list. Twenty-two dead; eleven wounded. One marijuana field burned to the ground. Several dead in a local warehouse.”
He read more. “They have found some shallow graves. This is just a preliminary report, but they think the hostages are buried there.”
“Speaking of hostages . . .” Rich said.
Jose answered. “I checked on her earlier. Dehydrated, distraught, and confused, but she’s going to be fine.”
Mac nodded. “They found her husband’s body in the church basement.” Mac tilted his head. “You guys blew up Hernando Soto’s mansion? When did you have time to do that?”
“We didn’t,” Moyer said. “I saw a flash of light as we were flying out.”
“I guess that’s going to be a mystery for the Mexicans to solve.”
Someone knocked on the door. Bartley poked his head in. “J. J.’s doctor is here.”
Mac gathered up the photos and returned them to the file and resealed it. “Bring him in. Send in the PFC too.” Mac returned the folder with the words, “Keep me posted,” then sent the messenger away.
The doctor was a brick of a man, as if he had been chiseled from stone rather than born. His sharp features looked tired. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes. He found a seat and lowered himself into it, rubbed the back of his neck, then raised his head. “Man, what a day.” He sighed and looked around. He pointed at Tess. “I take it you’re the fiancée?”
“Yes. How is he?”
“The rest of you are part of his team?”
“That’s right,” Mac said.
“That makes you family enough for me. Your man is going to be fine. He’s a tough one, and I’ll admit that we almost lost him on the table. While trying to repair the artery, he started to bleed out again. We hung several units of whole blood and kept at it. We repaired the artery, did some work on the leg muscle, and set up a drain for the wound. He’s going to be off his feet for a while and most likely need a cane for a couple of months. I expect a fu
ll recovery if he’ll follow through with physical therapy.”
“He’ll follow through.” Tess and Moyer said it in unison, then laughed.
“You guys practice that?”
Tess offered her first real smile since she’d arrived. “No.”
Moyer wanted to ask if J. J. would be able to return to the team but decided to wait until Tess couldn’t answer for him.
“When can I see him?”
“He’s still a little out of it. We’ll keep him in the recovery room for another hour; then you can visit if you promise not to wear him out.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Tess said.
“Who’s the team medic?”
Jose stood. “I am.”
The doctor studied him for a moment then held out his hand. “Fine work. You not only saved his life; you saved his leg.” The doctor moved to the door, then paused. “Oh, I almost forgot. When we brought him out of the anesthesia, he started mumbling about moving the wedding up.”
Tess smiled. “Sounds good to me. Real good.”
Bartley put his arm around his future sister-in-law. His grin stretched ear to ear.
THREE HOURS LATER ANOTHER surgeon entered the conference room. Unlike J. J.’s surgeon this man looked to be in his sixties and was movie-star handsome. He glanced around the room. “Who’s here for Jerry Zinsser?”
Only Moyer, Rich, and Mac remained in the room. The others were visiting J. J. “All of us.”
The doctor shrugged. “He’s out of surgery but in critical condition. I’ve got him in surgical ICU. We’ll have to watch him for a few days. The bullet tore up his intestines. We had to do a lot of repair and clean up. My biggest fear is infection. He’s on heavy antibiotics and pain meds. You can visit him in a couple of hours. The pain meds will make him a little dopey, so go easy on him.”
“But he’ll live?” Rich asked.
“As long as something else doesn’t develop. We’ll know more tomorrow. Right now he needs rest. Lots of rest.” The doctor looked at Colonel Mac. “Are you his commanding officer?”
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