Page 29 of Defending What is Mine

Chapter Fourteen

Jack:Present—January

Private Jones heaves for breath as he stares up at the moonless sky. “I thought I was going to die under there. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. Man, if you hadn’t found me when you did…”

“Don’t worry about that now. You’re going to be alright. Lay back and let me get some light on that leg so we can see what’s what.”

He groans as he struggles to move, flinching at another burst of gunfire punctuated by a mortar blast. “Name is Jones. Private First Class.”

“I know, Jonesy,” I say as I ease him into a comfortable position, distracted by the explosions lighting up in the distance. “Try not to worry about that. We need to deal with your leg.”

“Who are you?” he asks as I cut open his blood-stained pants. Agony distorts his face as I peel back the ruined fabric. The wound is bad and the danger of him bleeding out looms over us.

I give him my name, angling the light at my face, then ask about his first aid kit.

His movements weak, Jones pats at his chest and waist and then turns back to scan the pile I pulled him from. “Sorry, Captain, your guess is as good as mine.”

“Shit.” I aim the flashlight at the smoldering Humvee. Considering the state of everything else, I highly doubt the kit inside is still inside. However, partially buried in the sand in front of it is an M4. It may be a little worse for wear, but if it’ll still function, I think Jones might be able to cover me while I scuttle back to the other vehicle. “Hold tight. I’ll be right back.”

With my belly flat against the ground, and as little of the flashlight beam exposed as I need to see, I crawl toward the rifle. When I reach it, I pull it out of the sand, shake it clean and rip on the charging handle to function test it. This fine desert sand has been the death knell for many a soldier’s M4. Thankfully, this one hasn’t succumbed. At least not yet.

Rifle in hand, I crawl back to Jones. “This is not the time for bullshit so, I’m gonna level with you. Your leg doesn’t look good. I need the kit from inside that other vehicle.” As I explain, I wave the light at the other Humvee and a second later another burst of gunfire follows it, throwing sand into the air as the bullets impact. I shake my head. “If I’m going to have a snowball’s chance in Hell of making it there and back, I need you to cover me. Can you do that?”

“Where?” Jones scans the darkness. “I don’t see anybody or anything to aim at.”

“You know that. And I know that. But they don’t.”

He nods. “Hooah! Yes, sir. Hell, it’s my ass you’re trying to save. If you’re willing to risk getting yours shot off to do it, I’ll cover you.”

“Good man.” I hand him the rifle and slap him on the shoulder. “Hopefully—for both of us—if I don’t use the flashlight, it’ll be too dark for them to see me and I can slip over and back without issue.”

Jones scoots himself back against a heap of rubble, his damaged leg dragging in the dirt, then maneuvers onto his belly and aims the rifle into the darkness. “Ready when you are, Captain Wilde.”

“Here goes nothing,” I say as I kill the light and run like hell while Jones fires off a few rounds for effect. I reach the Humvee and do a quick body check. No searing pain, gold star for step one. I pull open the back door and climb inside, reaching under the seats until I find the kit. “Gotcha!” I say triumphantly. “Alright, Wilde. Now you just have to make it back.” Preferably, in one piece. “Jonesy? Get ready. I’m coming back to you.” I shut out the light, take two deep breaths, and sprint back across the no man’s land separating the vehicles.

As I slide to a stop, I realize Jones never fired. Crawling over to him, I call his name again. “Jones? Hey? Jones, you still with me, brother?”

Silence.

When I reach him, his head slumps over the rifle, eyes closed, mouth agape. Shit. Frantically, I check for a pulse. It’s there, but it’s weak. God damnit! Where the fuck is the cavalry? Carefully as I’m able, I flip him over to clean his wound. He lets out a quiet groan when I lay him back. “It’s alright. We’re going to get you out of this. Just think about that family of yours. You hearing me, Private Jones? Stay with me. That’s an order.”

Another quiet groan.

“That’s it. Hang in there.” I’m desperate. Losing him would mean failing. “You’ve got a son, right? Tell me about him?” Wildes don’t fail. “How old is he now? Six months?” I sit back and look him over. Tourniquet? Check. Wound? Cleaned and dressed. “What’s his name? Come on, Jonesy…a proud daddy is always ready to whip out a picture and ramble on about his family.”

Think, Jack. What else does he need? What else can you do? Think, damnit!

It’s suddenly quiet. Eerily quiet. No sound of mortars exploding in the distance. No sound of bullets whizzing by or ricocheting past my head. Only quiet. In every direction. Usually, that means the enemy is either on the move, or preparing for something.

The only thing to break the silence is the sound of Jones’ breathing becoming erratic. It’s fast and uneven, but shallow. A warning he’s about to go into shock. I pull his limp body into my arms. “Hey soldier, what do you think you’re doing?” I whisper in his ear. “You haven’t been relieved of duty. Now, stay with me.”

I’m not sure why exactly, but something about the quiet makes me more uncomfortable than being shot at. Then, from somewhere in the darkness, I hear a whistle. It’s quiet at first but the more I listen, the louder it gets. What the hell? Is it help? Could it be a medivac helo? Coming in hot to pull us out of this shitstorm?

It’s only when it’s too late, that I realize. That’s not help coming. It’s Hell…

My eardrums feel like they’ve burst. The flash of light is so bright it hurts—not just my eyes, but my entire body. Like staring directly at the sun on a clear day…times a thousand. The heat burns, searing pain lancing across my skin.

Darkness begins creeping back in around the edges.

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