The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga (40 page)

Cooper poured himself another cup and offered more to Sparky.

"Are you insane?" growled the medic.
 
"This man has a severe a leg injury.
 
The last thing he needs is alcohol—"

“You're wrong there, Doc.
 
The
first
thing that man needs is alcohol."
 
He ignored the medic’s protests and handed Sparky the cup.
 
The sniper raised his cup in salute to the angry medic and drained the bourbon in one gulp.

"You guys are crazy," said the medic.

“You got that right,” mumbled Swede.

Cooper stood and stretched, the delicious feeling spreading down his back as his tired and sore muscles began to unkink.
 
He felt a few more pops than he remembered should be there and sighed with the effort.
 
"Well, we're something,
 
all right.
 
But the only thing
I
am is dead tired.
 
Let me know when you’re ready to check me out."

The medic looked Cooper up and down.
 
"Got any complaints?"

Jax hooted from his own cot.
 
"Yeah, I could use a burger or six."

The medic turned and looked at Jax, a blank expression on his face.

Jax eyed the tray of sandwiches dubiously.
 
“Are there more where those came from?"
 

The medic looked at the tray of food.
 
"How should I know?
 
I'm not here to feed you guys.
 
Move your leg for me, please.”
 
The Medic mumbled to himself as Sparky winced, trying to flex his injured thigh.
 
“Nice job bringing in Dr. Boatner by the way" the medic said.
 
He poked the wound with a gloved finger.

“Ow!”

“Good, pain is good.”

“Poke me again.
 
I’ll share the goodness…” said Sparky through clenched teeth.

“Easy there, killer,” chuckled Swede.

“What?
 
It fucking hurt!”

“Awww,” said Swede.
 
“Want him to kiss it and make it better?”
 
He laughed.
 
“Not like we all haven’t been shot before, man.
 
Suck it up, puss.”
 
Swede flopped down on his cot with a sigh.

“When I get me some crutches, I’m gonna kick your ass…”

The team laughed at the sniper’s expense.
 
Sparky laid back against the cot, rested his arms under his head, and let an easy smile cross his lips as he closed his eyes.
 

It had to hurt like hell, Cooper figured, but like Swede had said, they’d all been shot before.
 
Cooper well knew what that tearing, burning sensation felt like deep down inside your leg where you can’t reach it.
 
A finger of pain crackled up his leg from his repaired knee.
 
He knew about that kind of pain all too well.
 
It’d only been a few months back when he’d taken a round to the knee that nearly ended his career.

When the medic was done cleaning Sparky's wound and bandaging it as best he could, he stood.
 
"You seem to be able to walk on this," he said.
 
"That's good.
 
That’s about all I can do here.
 
We'll get some bloodwork done on you.
 
Then, I'll see about getting you into the operating room.
 
They need to examine you further and probably do an x-ray to make sure there's no bullet fragments left inside.”
 
He put his tools in a plastic bag with a red biohazard symbol on the front and placed the bag inside his case.
 
“I’ll let them know to come get you for an x-ray after you get a chance to eat."
 

He did a cursory exam of the rest of the team before closing his case and heading for the airlock.
 
"Well gentlemen, welcome back.
 
Enjoy your rest.
 
Get lots of sleep, drink plenty of fluids.”
 
He shot a look at Cooper.
 
“The non-alcoholic kind, please.
 
You’re gonna need a nice dose of vitamins, antibiotics, and anti-inflammatories.
 
Alcohol will only inhibit the abilities of the medications to help you heal."

Cooper shrugged.
 
"Hey Doc," he said as the blue bio-suit disappeared into the airlock.
 

The medic stuck his hooded head back through the hatch.
 
"Yeah?"

“How’s Mike doing?"
 

“Who?”

"The guy they took in here on a stretcher?"

"Oh, him.
 
I don't know," said the medic.
 
"They took him down to crit-care.
 
I can tell you, though," he said as he began to shut the hatch, “if he has any chance at all, it’s with the people down there."

The hatch closed tight and the locks clicked as they engaged.
 
Cooper sank down onto his cot and sighed.
 
"Well, I guess there’s nothing left for us to do but get some shut-eye.”

The moans and groans of his team as they settled into their cots faded into the background.
 
Cooper felt himself already starting to drift off into sleep.
 

“Time for your debriefing, boys,”
the intercom buzzed, rudely jerking him back to consciousness.

Cooper opened his dry eyes and stared at the ceiling.
 
“Of course it is.”

C
HAPTER
20

C
APTAIN
A
LSTON
SHOUTED
INTO
the darkness: “Everyone hang on!"
 

"We're going down!"
 
called out Sergeant Garza to Chad's left.

No shit,
Chad thought.
 
His teeth were clenched so tight, he was afraid they’d shatter.
 
At least Garza had woken up.

The Osprey bucked and rolled.
 
Chad held onto his seat with white knuckles.
 
In the darkness, he could only make out the faint silhouettes of the closest of the Rangers.

More holes appeared in the fuselage on the far side.
 
Someone groaned in pain.

"He's hit!
 
Tommy's hit!” a voice said in the darkness over the roar of the dying plane.
 
It had to be one of the Marines—Chad didn’t know a Tommy.

The plane suddenly lurched down, pulling Chad up out of his seat so that he felt weightless for a gut-wrenching moment.
 
The engines whined and Chad was pressed into his seat and found himself looking up as the aircraft rolled.
 
The sound of the engines screaming as they tried to claw their way back into the sky was terrifying—it sounded like a wounded animal struggling to regain its feet in the face of a predator.
 
It seemed as if the fuselage was trying to shake itself apart.
 
Chad gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, praying that when the end came it would be swift and painless.
 

"Brace for impact!" hollered Alston.

Chad had enough time to open his eyes in surprise at the command before the entire world descended into chaos and pain.
 
He felt the airframe shudder as they hit…something. He was thrown forward in his seat when the plane tried stopping on a dime and spun.
 

The next thing Chad knew, he was slammed back and lifted up out of his seat.
 
He imagined the plane was trying to skip across the ground.
 
He could hear trees snapping and branches scraping the side of the fuselage as they crashed.

The actual crash seemed to last forever—just when Chad thought that his teeth would come flying out of his head from the vibration, there was one last tremendous jolt and he was jerked painfully to the left in his harness.
 
The straps cut into his arms and shoulders.
 
Then, something heavy on his right crushed the air from his lungs.
 
He felt a sharp pain in his ribs with the impact.
 
He cried out in agony and only then did the sounds of those around him penetrate the noise of the landing.
 
He heard moans, cries for help, and multiple grunts of pain.
 
Over it all, he heard 13 raise her voice.

"14!
 
Can you hear me!" she called in the darkness, cutting through the surrounding chaos like a knife.

Chad suddenly became aware of the sensation that he was hanging from the straps.
 
No wonder his shoulders hurt.
 
He tried to move his hips and discovered that his butt was completely free of the seat.
 
Wherever they had landed, the plane was on its right side.

"Smoke, we got smoke!" said Garza’s voice somewhere to the right.
 
He
 
coughed.

"Rangers, sound off!" said Alston.
 
He heard some rustling and suddenly the
 
man was by Chad’s side.
 
"Mr. Huntley, are you okay?"

Chad coughed and spoke through clenched teeth.
 
God, his ribs hurt.
 
"Yeah, I think so… Something hit me hard in the side, my ribs hurt…"

“Mr. Huntley!” called out Sgt. Garza.
 
“I’m coming—hang in there.”

Chad frowned, feeling the blood rush to his head as he hung by his seat straps.
 
I don’t have much of a choice, do I?

"Deuce!”

“Hooah!
 
That was one hell of a ride!"

“Glad you enjoyed your flight Deuce,” replied Alston with more than a little sarcasm in his voice.
 
“Go check on the Marines and find us a way out of this thing.”

"Pilot’s dead!" called out a voice from farther forward in the plane.
 
"Sir, I lost two of my Marines.”
 

"Roger that, Gunny.
 
We need to get out of this thing, most riki tic.”

“Marines!” bellowed what sounded like a drill instructor.
 
“Clear a hole, we are leaving the aircraft!”
 
The speaker Alston called ‘Gunny’ forced his way toward the rear of the vehicle, jostling and shoving people and supplies aside, yelling the entire way.
 
“If you are capable of standing I want your ass against the ramp!
 
I will not be dying in this tin can today!”

Chad heard more rustling and curses as the Marines and Rangers began to claw their way through the wreckage.
 
Whoever the hell that man was, he was a great motivator.
 
He continued to roar and bellow, working his way toward the rear of the plane.
 
Gear and weapons were strewn everywhere, making it difficult for—

Chad blinked.
 
Wait a second… I can see—there’s light!

He wrenched his neck painfully to the left, looking forward, as Alston fumbled at his harness.

“Hold still, sir, this isn’t easy—“

"Oh shit," Chad said.
 
"Fire.”

“What?” asked Alston.

“Fire!” yelled Chad.
 
“I see fire!
 
Up by the cockpit!”

“Might have a fuel leak back here—something stinks and it ain’t me!” reported Deuce from the other end of the downed aircraft.

“This time,” muttered Garza.

“Stow it, you two.
 
Get that damn ramp open, now!” roared Alston.
 
Strong hands gripped Chad’s shoulders.
 
“Sir, I’m going to need you to push off of me as hard as you can.
 
We need to create some slack in the harness so I can use my knife to cut you free.”

Chad raised his stiff arms and pushed down on Alston's shoulders, barely moving his chest back an inch.
 
Alston pulled out his combat knife and sliced through the webbing of the harness.
 
Chad's shoulders were suddenly free and he fell to the floor—which used to be the wall—in a heap.
 
He cried out in pain.
 
“God damn, that hurts!"

"Garza, get up here and check on him!
 
Deuce, how's that hatch?"

"You and you—get your asses over here," called out Deuce from the far end of the aircraft.
 

“When I say three, push.
 
All together now, one…two…three!”
 
Chad could hear a group of men straining and cursing in the darkness of the rear of the aircraft.

"All right, you stay here with Sgt. Garza.
 
I need to go help them get the hatch open,” said Alston.
 
He stood and disappeared into the gloom.