Page 9 of Lethal Pursuit

“Nope.”

Neither did she. Nothing but dust and rock as far as the eye could see, right up to the base of the mountains. Releasing some of the tension in her shoulders, she drove on in silence. The lead vehiclestarted to pick up speed. The needle on the speedometer edged past forty miles per hour.

She’d just reached a hand out to turn the music back on when a huge fireball exploded beneath the lead truck, forty yards in front of them. A wall of flame shot into the air as the vehicle blasted off the ground.

“Fuck!” She instinctively wrenched the wheel hard to the left to avoid driving into the fire.

“Contact, front!” someone called over the radio. Jackson already had his weapon in his hands.

No shit,contact.Her heart slammed once against her chest wall, then training took over. Swerving away hard with a squeal of tires, she hit the accelerator and raced past the burning Humvee. She screeched to a halt at a safe distance away as some of the others tore past her, their boots thudding against the hot pavement.

Jackson was already reaching for the door handle with a gruff, “Stay here.” He grabbed his ruck from the back and took off, missing the angry stare she shot him.

Uh, no, she wouldnotstay here.

Dawson was still manning the .50 cal, searching for further threats as Maya exited the vehicle and brought her M4 up. There were no targets, nobody coming at them. Where the hell were those cowardly fuckers? Soldiers had already formed a defensive perimeter around the convoy, all facing outward from the burning Humvee. All except Jackson. He was running right for it.

Heart pounding, Maya fell back toward him, making sure she covered his six. The stench of burning metal filled the air, along with shouts and cries from the wounded. She knew that was why Jackson was racing there. As a PJ he was trained to save lives, even at the expense of his own. That sacrifice wasn’t happening, though. Not on her watch.

Maya whirled and ran flat out toward the burning vehicle.

* * *

THEHUMVEE WASlying partially on its right side, completely engulfed in flames. Two men jumped out and ran away from it, but Jacksoncouldn’t tell if anyone was still trapped inside. The intense heat of the fire hit him long before he reached the truck. Thick, toxic black smoke boiled into the air. Combined with the sound and shock wave from the explosion, any insurgent in the area looking for a target definitely had one now. The wreckage was now a beacon, calling militants to them from miles around.

As he ran, men converged on the burning wreck with fire extinguishers. Someone was at the back of the truck, trying to pull a passenger out. Head bent, an arm thrown in front of his face to shield it from the heat, Jackson raced up and grabbed the arms reaching out through the rear passenger window. The man shrieked as Jackson hauled him out and slung him over his shoulder, rushing him a safe distance away.

He kneeled, set him on the ground and took an initial sweep of the damage. A few shrapnel wounds to the legs, some light scorching over his lower body. Nothing life-threatening. The man’s eyes were dazed but alert. “Anyone else still in the truck?” Jackson demanded.

“N-no. Just me...” He was shaking all over from the overload of shock and adrenaline.

Jackson shrugged out of his ruck as someone dropped onto one knee beside him. He glanced up into Maya’s grave face. “Anyone else?” she asked.

“Negative,” he answered. Damn, he’d told her to stay in the truck. There could still be more IEDs planted along this stretch. Why had he ever thought she might follow his command?

He dug some bandages out of his ruck and when he glanced up, Maya had her weapon slung across her back, her hands already clamped down over one of the more serious shrapnel wounds on the man’s right thigh. “Gloves are on the top of my kit,” he told her. “Put some on.”

She didn’t argue, waiting only until he began cutting the material away before she did as he said. More soldiers came over to help, but Jackson waved them all back. Maya held the pressure dressings in place over the worst of the wounds while he did a more thorough exam. The sight of the blood didn’t seem to faze her. “Did you lose consciousness?” he asked the patient, watching his pupils, gauging his cognitive function.

The man shook his head, telling Jackson his C-spine was probably okay. The guy wasn’t going to walk out of here though. Jackson glanced over his shoulder to speak to one of the other soldiers. The nearest hospital was at least an hour’s drive away, and this guy was losing a lot of blood. “Go call for a medevac and get me a backboard and cervical collar.” The soldier rushed off.

His patient was panting through his teeth, shuddering, trying to lift his head to see the damage. “My legs. How’re my legs?”

“Can you still feel them?”

“Fuck yeah, they’re on fucking fire.”

“Consider that a good thing.”

“Lie back,” Maya told him firmly. He did. She looked up at Jackson, her sea-green eyes steady, attentive. “What else can I do?”

“You’re doing exactly what I need you to right now,” he answered, tying off another bandage then pulling out a sphygmomanometer and stethoscope. “Keep pressure right there so I can get a baseline.” The patient’s BP was high, which was to be expected, considering his elevated heart rate and pain level.

Someone finally came back with the C-collar and backboard. He secured the soldier’s neck carefully in case there was any spinal trauma, and Maya helped him roll the man onto the backboard. “Any other casualties?” he asked the soldier who’d brought him the supplies.

“Two. One minor, the other one...” He glanced down at the wounded man, who was pretty much out of it now, so he kept talking. “Not so much. Another PJ is with him.”

“Munro,” Jackson told him.

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