Page 11 of Green Ravens

Sawyer grunted and strained not to curse Oakley out while he manipulated one extremity after the other. When Oakley got to his neck, he didn’t think he could take it anymore.

“I don’t think anything is broken, Sawyer. Lucky for you because I’m not a good medic and we have no supplies. No communications gear, scopes, rucks, nothing.”

Oakley muttered in a grim tone as if he were talking to himself and trying to figure out what to do.

“It’s too dark to be sure, but I think you’ve got second- and third-degree burns on the right side of your face and neck. Yourchest and legs are fine, and your pants and jacket aren’t burned all the way through.”

His entire body ached everywhere, and his face burned so badly he wondered if he had any skin left.

Fucking great.

Sawyer wasn’t shallow. He wasn’t obsessed with his appearance and never minded war wounds. But he didn’t particularly want to look like Two-Face fromBatmaneither.

A rumble started from deep within the ground he was lying on before the sound intensified to a deafening roar that sent crippling fear through his aching body.

A second before jets raced across the sky, Oakley fell over top of him, his mouth near his ear.

“Airstrike,” he gritted as the F18s unleashed payloads of targeted explosions where they’d once been. “We’re good. We’re good.”

He didn’t know how far away they were from the enclave they’d fought in, but it was far enough away that they weren’t in the blast radius.

Each explosion vibrated within his chest, followed by a haunting silence.

“Radio,” Sawyer managed.

Radio our goddamn position, Oakley, get us the fuck outta here.

“We’re too exposed here, chief,” Oakley said, sounding out of breath. “We’re gonna have to hump it to the rendezvous point and radio from there. I need you to get on your fuckin’ feet. We can’t stay here.”

No, no, no.

Oakley began yanking at Sawyer’s jacket until he had his shoulder exposed.

“I’ve got a tight kit I keep on my legs. There’s not much in it, but I have two injectors. This’ll have to be enough to get you moving, Chief.”

Sawyer felt the sharp sting of a needle in his upper arm seconds before a soothing wave of warmth filled his upper body. The relentless thrum of pain faded to a gentle pulsing.

It wasn’t enough milligrams to put him to sleep, but it was enough to dull the cacophony of anxiety and suffering.

He thought Oakley would yank him upright, but instead, he cradled his head in his arms and gave him a moment to savor the blissful detachment.

Sawyer didn’t know how much time had gone by, but the fearful noises of the jungle weren’t the kind of lullaby one could sleep to.

“Can you move?” Oakley asked, still holding him.

The narcotic coursing through his system gave him a false sense of numbness, so he wasn’t sure.

Sawyer gave his legs a quick test to see if they had feeling, then twisted his upper body from side to side to check for broken ribs.

It appeared he’d walked away with only burns and perhaps a concussion, but at least he’d walked away at all.

Sawyer tried not to let the demise of his crew cripple him. Not yet, anyway.

If he and Oakley had survived, maybe there were others.

Chief Aiken Oakley

Oakley allowed Sawyer’s pain reliever to work another ten minutes, then he was hefting his heavy ass up and onto his boots. They weren’t on fucking vacation. They couldn’t lie on the ground all night.

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