Taking Fire

by Radclyffe

  “Thanks for lying,” Rachel said, finally free to let the mask drop away. “I’m scared witless.”

  “Nothing to be ashamed of.” The fingers against her back became a palm, pressing a little more firmly, gliding down and up. A comforting caress. No, not a caress. Max, doing what she did so very well. Taking care of people.

  “I’m sorry,” Rachel whispered, feeling selfish for wanting the comfort, for asking more of Max when Max had already done so much. She should be stronger than this. Just like the child whose parents left her in the dark to face her fears, she had to be stronger if she wanted to be loved. God, what was next—begging Max not to leave her again? Max was just being Max and reading anything else into her actions was a mistake. She released Max’s arm. “I’m fine. You don’t need to—”

  “Maybe I need to.” Max’s voice was rough, urgent. “Maybe I want to.”

  Rachel shivered. I want to…what? Help you? Protect you? Touch you? She didn’t need that. Didn’t want that. Did she?

  “Hold up,” a low male voice ordered.

  Rachel stopped on command, feeling like a soldier of sorts.

  The SEAL leader said, “Over this ridge there’s a nomad camp. All indications are it’s deserted. There’s room enough for the bird to set down. Two minutes. We’ll make a run for it.”

  Max said, “Roger that.”

  Two minutes. Two minutes and it would all be over. A million thoughts crowded into Rachel’s head. Was this it? Was she about to die? Had anything she’d ever done really mattered? She’d arrived in this place so far from home filled with purpose and passion, determined to make a difference in a way that really counted, not, as her father wished, in the marble halls of government where greed and personal appetite distorted the higher purpose of the office, but here on the front lines where people put their beliefs into action. She’d chosen a life completely the opposite of everything she’d grown up with to prove she was capable of banishing the monsters all on her own. To prove to her parents?—to herself?—that she was not afraid. She’d committed her time and energy, and sacrificed her comfort and her personal life, in pursuit of her goals. She hadn’t anticipated she’d have to risk even more—that she’d have to put her life, not just her ideology, on the line in the most fundamental of ways. Max had shown her what true bravery was. She had become part of a new team, a new cadre determined to survive, and she would give her life for any one of them—for Max, for Amina, for Grif, for these nameless, faceless men who had risked their lives for hers.

  In her last remaining moments, she turned quickly to Max. Maybe it was a trick of her imagination, maybe somewhere high above a leaf fluttered, allowing moonlight to slip through the canopy, but Max’s face was clearly visible in the darkness. So much she wanted to say and no words that could ever say enough. “Thank you. For everything.”

  Max paused for a long time. Her eyes glinted, intense and penetrating. “You’re welcome.”

  Rachel smiled. Max understood.

  “Get ready,” the SEAL in front of her said.

  Rachel couldn’t imagine running through this inky soup, but she would if it meant getting out of here. If they told her to fly, she’d figure out a way to do it.

  “I’m going back with Grif,” Max said.

  Rachel gripped her arm. “Just make sure you get on the helicopter. Please.”

  “I’ll be there.” Max’s hand glided over her back before her fingers skimmed down Rachel’s arm to her hand. Max squeezed her fingers. “Stick with Hernandez, no matter what.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t look back. Just go.”

  Hernandez gripped her upper arm firmly. “Let’s go.”

  Rachel was tugged forward and Max disappeared. Her feet caught up with her body, pedaling forward faster and faster, and then she was running, crashing through underbrush, gasping for breath, her arms in front of her face to ward off the branches slapping at her. Closer and closer she raced toward the angry buzz of thousands of bees—a rogue hive that turned out to be helicopter rotors whirring madly. Mercifully, the jungle finally released its stranglehold and she burst into a clearing, the moonlight so intense she blinked furiously to clear the tears welling in her eyes. There in the center of a clearing ringed with decaying huts and tiny overgrown plots marked out by low stone walls sat a helicopter. Just ahead of her Amina give a sharp cry of joy and lurched forward to keep up with the SEAL whose arm encircled her waist. Rachel slowed and jerked around, searching the towering wall of vegetation behind her. Where were the others? Where was Max?

  Gunfire erupted. Lightning streaked from the helicopters and the air resounded with automatic weapons fire. Rachel cried out.

  “Come on!” Hernandez jerked her toward the Black Hawk, and her feet nearly left the ground.

  “What about the others?” she shouted.

  “Just keep moving. And keep your head down!”

  “We can’t just leave them.” Her words were lost in the vortex of swirling sand and pulsating air.

  Up ahead, someone inside the helicopter reached down and lifted Amina up as if she were a child. When Rachel was a few feet away, hands grasped her by the waist and arms and she was airborne, her feet flying from the ground and landing on the metal floor of the helicopter with a bone-jarring thud. Once she regained her balance, she stared at the figures crowded into a small space almost as claustrophobic as the foxhole had been.

  “Are you injured?” A female voice, the face partially obscured by a helmet. Kind brown eyes. Not indigo, not Max.

  “I…” Rachel spun toward the open door. The ground below was swallowed in the night.

  A hand on her arm. Her face was clearer now. Young, intense. “I’m Corpsman Delgado. Are you injured?”

  “No,” Rachel shouted above the din, straining to see through the murk and dust. “I’m…fine.”

  “Good. Over here.”

  Delgado led her to a place against the side of the helicopter’s belly and she slid down, her legs turned to jelly. Someone placed a blanket over her. Amina crowded close and gripped her hand.

  “We made it,” Amina said, tears streaking her cheeks and triumph shining in her eyes. “It’s all over.”

  Rachel eased her arm around Amina’s waist and leaned into her. “Yes. It’s all over.”

  She hoped Amina believed the lie. A series of pings rattled against the metal shell and someone shouted, “We’re taking fire.”

  The Black Hawk vibrated as the motor revved. Delgado hooked a safety strap to a line above their heads, her body swaying as the helicopter rocked from side to side. They were taking off.

  “No,” Rachel cried, throwing the blanket aside. “Max!” She tried to get to her knees and nearly fell.

  “Stay down,” a soldier yelled and blocked her way.

  “Where are the others?” Where was Max? Max would never have left her. She couldn’t leave her. With a scream trapped in her throat, she braced herself on her arms and started to crawl across the floor toward the open door.

  The soldier held her back. “Here they come.”

  A SEAL vaulted out of the blackness into the helicopter, knelt at the edge of the opening, and leaned out. The end of the litter appeared and he grabbed it. Another SEAL piled in and did the same. The litter and Grif were hoisted aboard. The Black Hawk rose. Rachel stared at the opening, an opaque black abyss, and waited, time suspended. Minutes became hours became a lifetime, and her heart stuttered to a standstill.

  An arm, two, reached out of the dark and the SEALs each gripped a wrist. They pulled and Max’s body flew inside. She landed on her back and lay still.

  Rachel waited, frozen. Max turned, met her eyes, and grinned.

  “About time,” Rachel mouthed as her heart started beating again.

  “Told you I’d be right behind you,” Max yelled.

  “Yes, you did,” Rachel murmured.

  Max pushed herself up and bent over Grif. Rachel slumped back beside Amina. The Black Hawk ascended into the nigh
t. She didn’t know where she was going, and it didn’t seem to matter. She had no idea what she would do when she arrived. She wasn’t even sure she knew who she would be when she did.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The helicopter climbed straight up, and the ping of bullets against the metal body faded. Making a wide arc, it banked sharply, turned 180 degrees, and picked up speed. Wind rushed through the cabin and Rachel pulled the blanket tighter. SEALs with machine guns leaned out either side of the helicopter. Delgado knelt with Max over Grif’s litter, switching IV bags and pushing drugs into the line. The dark beyond the dim cabin lights was impenetrable. Rachel couldn’t see where the helicopter was headed, not that she really cared as long as it was far away from the Juba jungle. All that really mattered was that Max was safely aboard. They were all safe now—they had to be. She couldn’t even let herself think they wouldn’t reach their destination after all of this. There must be some fairness in life. An image of the starving Somalis straggling into the aid camp flashed into her mind, and she knew fairness had nothing to do with it. Men perpetrated great crimes and great acts of selfless bravery, and sometimes the reasons for both were incomprehensible. She’d been lucky Max and Grif had reached her. Maybe life was far more random than she’d ever wanted to believe.

  She couldn’t tell time in the dark, the engine roar made conversation impossible, and before long she dozed. She snapped awake, adrenaline pouring through her, when the helicopter angled, nose down, and dropped. Now she caught glimpses of light through the portals, pockets of illumination in the inky night that grew brighter with each passing second. She had once thought there was nothing more beautiful than the Manhattan skyline at night, but she knew better now. Wherever they were headed, those scattered constellations of flickering lights were without a doubt the most glorious sight she’d ever witnessed.

  “Amina, look!” Rachel grasped Amina’s arm and pointed. “We’re almost—”

  “Hey!” Delgado shouted.

  Rachel looked over as Max slumped forward. Delgado grabbed her around the waist and lowered her to the floor. Rachel’s heart plummeted.

  “What is it? What happened?” she shouted, but no one answered. No one even heard her.

  Delgado opened Max’s jacket, looked inside, and began cutting away parts of the sleeves. She tore the wrapper off one of the bandages Rachel had seen Max use time and time again on Grif’s leg and pressed it to Max’s right upper arm. Max was hurt.

  Rachel pushed aside the blanket, ducked the restraining arm of the soldier kneeling close by, and scrambled forward a few feet next to Delgado. Max lay motionless, her eyes closed. Max was never still, never unaware. Rachel wanted to shake her and tell her to wake up and explain what the hell she was doing.

  Rachel tugged Delgado’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Delgado spared her a brief glance and then went back to what she was doing. “…a round…arm. Lost a…blood…idn’t bother…tell anybo…”

  The words were muffled but Rachel heard them clearly enough. Max had been shot. The words marched across her brain like cues on a teleprompter, but she was having trouble making sense of it all. Max couldn’t be shot. Max was a doctor, and she was out there to take care of everyone. She wasn’t supposed to get hurt. She wasn’t supposed to—

  This was wrong. So wrong.

  “Max?” Rachel gripped Max’s leg just above her knee. Max’s fatigues were stiff with dirt and other things, but Rachel didn’t care. She needed to touch her. “Max.”

  Max’s eyes fluttered open and roved blankly until they settled on Rachel’s face.

  “Hey,” she said, her expression hazy.

  “Hey, yourself,” Rachel said, anxiety and fear sharpening her tone.

  Max’s grin widened. “Uh-oh. Pissed again. How come?”

  The ball of panic crushing the air from Rachel’s lungs started to melt. She reached across Max’s body and found her hand. The fingers that twined through hers were too cold, but still strong. Still Max. “I thought we talked about this. You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

  “Didn’t, much.” Max turned her head, frowned at Delgado. “What did you give me?”

  Delgado grinned. “Just a little something to keep you down. I know you. You’d be trying to get up before we had a chance to take care of you or driving me bat-shit telling me what to do.”

  Max’s brows came down even harder. “Damn it. S’nothing. I ought to know—”

  “Don’t be such a hard-ass.” Rachel said sharply. “Let someone take care of you.”

  Max squinted at Rachel. “You want a shot?”

  Delgado’s shoulders shook, but she didn’t say a word.

  “You’re an idiot.” Rachel shook her head. Under less terrifying circumstances this playful side of Max would be intriguing. As it was, all she cared about was Max, awake and talking. She was as dizzy as if she’d just downed a bottle of champagne. “And did I mention hardheaded?”

  Max’s smile flashed. “Bet you like it just the same.”

  “Ask me some other time and I’ll tell you what I like.” Rachel stroked the top of Max’s hand with her thumb. “Crazy hero is not top of my list.”

  Max started to say something, but her eyes clouded and lost focus.

  “Max?” Rachel turned to Delgado. “Is she all right?”

  “Drugs kicking in. You need to go back and sit down.” Delgado wrapped Max’s arm with a bandage and injected medication into the IV line taped above the hand Rachel held. “We’ll be home in just a couple minutes.”

  Home. Maybe for them. For her, another stop in a strange land. She stayed until Max’s lids slipped closed before returning to her spot next to Amina.

  “What happened? Is she all right?” Amina asked.

  “I think so. God, she was shot and didn’t tell anyone. Why is she so damn stubborn?”

  Amina laughed. “You ought to be able to answer that. The two of you are very much alike.”

  “We most certainly are not.” Rachel glowered. “Max is…well, she takes altogether too much upon herself.”

  “I think you have some experience with that.”

  “Not like Max,” Rachel said softly, watching Delgado and one of the SEALs move Max’s lax body onto a litter. “She’s many things that I’ll never be.”

  *

  The helicopter touched down with a jolt, and the roar of the engines died away to a soft whine. The SEALs surrounded Rachel and Amina and hustled them out onto the landing field. Rows of long, low one-story rectangular buildings bordered an expanse of bare land where dozens of helicopters, armored vehicles, and other machines were lined up waiting to march into battle. After weeks in the jungle, the tarmac beneath her feet was as foreign as the bright halogen lights that captured them in a cone of illumination so glaring her eyes watered. Shielding her eyes, her first instinct was to escape into the shadows where she’d be less visible. Where she could see who was coming before they saw her.

  She turned back to the helicopter, searching for Max. A half dozen military personnel converged on the open bay of the helicopter and lifted out the two litters bearing Grif and Max and carried them off in another direction. She started after them. Two steps later a hand on her arm stopped her.

  Rachel whirled back. A woman about her age, a few inches shorter in blue BDUs and her hair tucked up in a tidy blond bun at the back of her neck, smiled at her. Marine insignia flashed on her collar.

  “Ms. Winslow, I’m Major Barbara Newton,” the blonde said. “If you’ll come with me, please.”

  “Where are they taking Max—Commander de Milles?”

  “The wounded will be transported to the base hospital. Don’t worry, they’ll be fine.”

  “How do you know that? You don’t even know what’s wrong with them.”

  “If you’ll come with me, please.” Her calm smile never changed. She had to be press corps or public relations. “I’m sure both of you would like a shower and something hot to eat.”

  �
�I’d like to go to the hospital,” Rachel said. She’d had plenty of dealings with the PR people who managed her father’s career—his life, really, public and private. She knew not to yield. “I want to see the officers who rescued us.”

  “Let’s get you settled first.”

  Amina took Rachel’s arm, pulled her aside, and murmured, “You probably won’t be able to see Max for a while anyhow. If you do what she wants now, you might get away sooner.” She raised her voice. “You’ll feel better if you have something to eat.”

  Rachel wondered if the Marine major really thought a hot shower and meal were all that was necessary to erase everything that had happened. Amina was right, though, and clearly a better natural politician than her. She wasn’t going to escape until she at least seemed to be cooperating for a while, and in the meantime, she’d get the information she needed to find Max. She smiled at Newton. “Of course, yes, thank you. I’m sorry, things have just been…hectic.”

  “I know, but it’s over now.”

  It’s over. Rachel couldn’t help but think how glibly the phrase was applied and how little it pertained. Another lie she wondered if anyone really believed.

  “Thanks,” she whispered to Amina and, still holding Amina’s arm, followed Newton’s brisk strides toward a waiting Humvee. Once she and Amina settled in the backseat and Newton got in front, the vehicle left the airfield and drove into a large complex lit by more halogen lights on poles spaced at intervals along streets laid out in rigid grids and lined by dozens upon dozens of the tan metal containers. What she wouldn’t have given for a few of those back at the camp. She stared out the thick, pitted window to avoid thinking about the failed mission and the lost lives.

  Military personnel and civilian workers moved about on foot or by transport even though it was the middle of the night. Vehicles passed them, helicopters arrived and departed. After fifteen minutes and several turns, the Humvee stopped in front of another building similar to the ones they’d passed, only much larger. Major Newton turned to face them. “This is the base HQ. We’ll get you settled in your temporary quarters, and once you’re squared away, I’ll take you to meet the base commander.”