Tactical Strike (17 page)

But alive. He was still alive. “How b-bad is it?”

“Bad.”

Bad didn’t mean dead. Candace pulled off his snow-covered knit
cap and replaced it with her own to trap any residual heat, her stomach drawing
tight when she saw the blood-stained bandages wrapped around his head. Digging
deep for strength, she took his face between her hands. “Can you h-hear me?
L-look at me.” Her heart was pounding so hard she felt nauseated.

No response. His breathing was weird, all shallow and raspy, so
slow it scared her.

“Move back, ma’am.” The first soldier pulled her away abruptly,
taking her place to help the medic as he opened Dover’s jacket and flight suit,
exposing his chest and abdomen.

Candace obeyed but stayed as close as possible, just outside
the small circle of light cast by the pen light held in the soldier’s mouth. Was
Dover bleeding somewhere else? She couldn’t see past the others as they
worked.

“Get me a chest tube,” the medic ordered.

“His BP’s critical. You sure you want to—”

“At this rate the collapsed lung will kill him long before the
head injury or hypothermia.”

Candace crept forward, battling the sense of helplessness. She
wanted to do something. Make it better. Instead she curled her nerveless fingers
into fists and prayed, never taking her eyes off what they were doing. She was
only vaguely aware that someone else had joined her. Looking up, she expected to
see one of her crew, but the sight of Ryan’s concerned face almost broke what
was left of her control.

As though he understood how close to the end of her tether she
was, he didn’t say anything. Instead he draped an arm across her shoulders,
almost like he was trying to anchor her, or maybe shield her from more pain.
Reaching out, she found his hand and gripped it tight, not caring that she
couldn’t really feel it. The fact that he’d come to her, was beside her right
now, was enough.

The medic incised a small hole between two of Dover’s ribs and
shoved a tube through it. Dover didn’t so much as twitch. Candace bit down on
the inside of her cheek, fighting the dizzying swirl of nausea, exhaustion,
hope. The hope was the worst part. Logically she knew Dover’s chances were
almost nil. Her heart refused to accept that. Through burning eyes she tracked
the shallow rise and fall of his chest as they got the lung reinflated. Then the
medic took his own pen light and pulled up each of Dover’s eyelids, checking for
pupillary reflexes.

“Breathe, Ace,” Ryan said softly, squeezing her hand.

She pulled in a shaky breath, afraid to look away from Dover
for even a moment in case he stopped breathing. If he was going to die out here,
then at least he would do it with a friend beside him. Once the medic finished
and instructed them to do whatever they could to keep him still and prevent him
from freezing to death, Candace let go of Ryan. Shuffling forward, she grasped
Dover’s limp hand. He was probably even colder than she was, but she hoped he
could feel her presence on some level.

The medic rocked back onto his heels, met her teary gaze.
“There’s nothing else I can do for him right now.”

She nodded, afraid to speak lest it crumble the last of her
resolve and leave her sobbing like a child in front of everyone. Staring down
into Dover’s slack face, she pushed all the fear and grief away, locking it
inside her. He would expect her to take his place, ensure the crew was looked
after. It was so hard to separate the officer and the woman right now though.
Knowing he wouldn’t have blamed her for the fall didn’t help any.

Blinking fast to stop the tears brimming in her eyes, she
kneeled at Dover’s shoulder, grateful that Ryan didn’t try to touch her or offer
words of comfort. This was tough enough. One touch from him, and she’d shatter
like glass.

She had to hold on, she reminded herself harshly. For Dover,
for her crew. For the fucking reputation she’d established and her family
expected of her. Things she didn’t give a fuck about right at the moment but no
doubt would later on if she did anything to embarrass herself here.

“Do you need anything?” Ryan asked quietly. “More water?”

Mutely, she shook her head, mentally cursing the way her vision
blurred under the haze of tears. This was the toughest thing she’d ever faced.
Did she have the strength to get through it?

You
don’t
have
a
choice
.

“If you need me, I’m here,” he continued, softly enough that
only she could hear.

Another nod, this time while biting down hard to stifle the
choked sound rising in her throat. She wanted to turn to him so badly it made
her muscles cramp. She wanted the strength and safety of his arms around her,
holding everything else at bay until she could find control again. But she
couldn’t. The rigidity lessened slightly when Ryan got up and crossed to the
other side of the cave to give her some privacy. After a few minutes some of the
crew surrounded her, lending their silent support. Some laid a hand on Dover,
others simply sat watching him struggle to breathe.

Candace comforted herself that at least Dover would pass from
this world into whatever came next with his crew surrounding him.

Chapter Twelve

Candace jerked awake in the darkness sometime later,
unsure at first what had woken her from the light doze she’d somehow slipped
into. A distant part of her brain noticed the faint light coming from her right
and realized it had to be early morning. Through the disorienting layers of
cobwebs in her brain it took a few moments for her to remember where she was and
understand why she was so freaking cold. The moment she surfaced to full
consciousness, everything tumbled down on her like an avalanche. The accident
and firefight. The climb.

Dover
.

Rolling onto her side, she winced at the sharp increase in pain
in her head and half sat up, realizing she was still holding his hand. Squinting
at the glowing display on her watch, made that much harder because of the
shivers wracking her, she realized she’d only been asleep just under an hour.
She’d been beside him now for almost five. Her muscles spasmed continually in a
futile effort to generate warmth. Her hands and feet felt like lumps of
concrete. She couldn’t hear any breathing sounds coming from him.

An eerie certainty washed over her.

Cold as she was, it couldn’t touch the sudden core of ice that
had formed around her heart and in the pit of her stomach. Even without seeing
Dover’s face or having anyone confirm it for her, she instinctively knew he was
gone.

As she struggled to her knees amidst the blinding headache, two
of her crew members lying beside her woke. She could feel their silent tension
as she laid a trembling hand over Dover’s chest, already dreading what she’d
find.

“Is he...?” one of them managed, teeth chattering audibly.

The muscles in her own jaw quivered, partly from the
temperature and partly because she felt like she was going to throw up. All
night she’d suffered from low-grade nausea and a headache. In the face of this,
both were back with attitude.

The medic, Gonzalez, saved her from saying the words aloud by
choosing that moment to hunker down beside Dover with a stethoscope. She guessed
he couldn’t simply check for a carotid pulse because his fingers were likely as
frozen as hers.

Gonzales eased the instrument beneath the inadequate layers of
Dover’s uniform, listened for a few moments. Removing it from beneath the
fabric, Gonzales sat back on his heels and regarded her with a solemn
expression.

“H-he’s g-gone,” she said in a dull voice.

The medic nodded, though she didn’t really need confirmation.
She’d known it the moment she woke up in this hellish place.

Candace stared silently at Dover’s still, gray face. For some
reason, the crushing grief she’d been bracing for didn’t come. Rather, she only
felt numb and empty. As though the pain was too much to deal with and her
nervous system was shutting down to protect her from fracturing at the
seams.

A sort of mental fog enveloped her. As the moments ticked past,
she became aware of her unwounded crew members gathering around her, watching
her expectantly. Then Gonzales came back, carrying something. He crouched next
to Dover and gave her an assessing look. She immediately dropped her gaze to
what he held in his hands. Understanding dawned.

A body bag.

The sudden rise of tears threatened, along with a horrible
twisting sensation in her gut that intensified the queasiness. She sucked in a
breath and swallowed, holding it at bay despite the pounding in her skull.
Gonzales wasn’t being an insensitive asshole. Dover was gone. The stretcher he
lay on could be put to better use for another patient now, along with the Mylar
blanket. Even his clothes would provide another layer that might help someone
stave off hypothermia a while longer.

Raising her head, Candace met the medic’s eyes. “I’ll d-do it.”
Her voice was so hoarse and raspy it didn’t even sound like her.

“I can do it. It’s my job.”

“No, it’s m-mine.” Holding out a hand, she waited for him to
give her the body bag.

“You’ll need help then.”

“My c-crew will help me. G-go help an-another p-patient.” She
didn’t need him to babysit her. She would handle this.

Gonzales hesitated, staring into her eyes, assessing her for
another long moment. Finally he rose and left them.

In the heavy silence that followed, she assumed the leadership
role expected of her. “S-someone say a p-prayer.” Because damned if she could
think of one. Her brain felt hazy, her body sluggish.

One of the crew cleared his throat and began, while the others
bowed their heads in respect.

When it was over, she exhaled a shaky breath and spoke to the
others. “Help m-me g-get his c-clothes off.” No point in delaying the
inevitable. Dover wouldn’t want them all sitting around gawking at his body
anyway.

To her relief, the men didn’t argue or even hesitate. Together
they removed Dover’s jacket, flight suit, thermal layers and the matching
T-shirt she wore showing a Spooky raining fire down from the sky, a maniacally
leering skeleton at the controls.
Giving
the
enemy
the
opportunity
to
die
for
their
country
, it read. It was Dover’s favorite. She
remembered the day he’d given it to her. It had always been their lucky shirt,
their superstitious talisman against harm.

Looking at him now, lying so cold and still, a wave of panic
pushed past the icy numbness. For one horrible moment, Candace thought she’d
lose it. Curl into a ball and scream, cry, yell until all the fear and
helplessness drained out of her.

Only a stern mental slap across the face saved her from that
humiliation. Grief and hysteria had no place here. They wouldn’t bring them help
faster or make the temperature rise, and they wouldn’t bring Dover back. She and
her crew had others to worry about now.

Under normal circumstances they’d leave his clothes on, but
these were the furthest things from normal. Out of respect they left his
underwear on, removing everything else, including his socks. When it was done
and they’d drawn the bottom edges of the bag up to his waist, she handed the
pile of his clothes to one of the others. “T-take them to a m-medic.” Maybe one
of them would give the clothes to Gillespie.

The airman got up and carried them over without a word.

Candace remained kneeling next to Dover, who was half swallowed
by the waterproof bag, and tried not to think about him freezing solid in it
over the next few hours. Tried not to imagine him thawing later and beginning to
decompose before his remains could be handled properly back at Bagram. Or what
Dover’s wife and son would go through when they found out he was dead. Then next
week, spending their first Thanksgiving truly alone, knowing he was never coming
back.

Fuck
. She closed her eyes for a
moment.

Taking his already stiff hand in hers, Candace considered
removing the wedding band glinting dimly on his left hand and keeping it with
her. In the end she left it in its rightful place, deciding it was the surest
way to make sure the ring made it back stateside safely. And she sensed that
Dover wouldn’t want to be parted from it until the very last possible
moment.

She’d just closed her clumsy, numb fingers around the zipper
tab at Dover’s waist when someone crouched on the other side of him and closed a
hand around hers in a firm hold. Taken off guard, she looked up to find Ryan
staring at her. He held her gaze long enough for her to truly register his
presence, understand that he was there to help her and wasn’t going away no
matter what she said or did. Gonzales must have gone to get him. The gesture
touched her.

Gazing into those steady brown eyes, Candace saw the depth of
understanding there. Ryan knew how badly this hurt. He’d lost his buddy Tyler
not too long ago, had seen him at the morgue in Bagram. Somehow, his
understanding helped ease the pain a little.

She lowered her eyes to where she held the zipper. The shakes
threatened to dislodge her grip, uncoordinated as it was, but she managed to
pull the tab upward. Inch by inch the bag zipped up, swallowing Dover in a black
cocoon. At his throat she hesitated a moment, some part of her unable to cover
his face, knowing it was the last time she would see him. That doing up these
last few inches would mean acknowledging he was truly dead.

Ryan’s hand came to rest on top of her right thigh. A light yet
solid touch to steady her, remind her she wasn’t alone.

Just
get
it
over
with
.

With a quick tug, Candace covered Dover’s face and it was
done.

Easing back on her heels, she released the breath she’d
unconsciously been holding. “Okay,” she said softly, turning her face from the
sight. She didn’t want to watch them carry Dover away in the bag and place him
in the corner. Her stomach pitched, the throb in her temples suddenly increasing
to a crushing pressure in her skull.

Strong hands closed around her upper arms. “Come on.”

She didn’t resist when Ryan helped her to her feet, trusting
him to guide her through the dizziness. He took her toward the mouth of the
cave, probably so she wouldn’t see them dump Dover at the back. Again, that
curious numbness began to creep in, thick enough to block the grief but not
enough to smother the physical pain in her head. She didn’t know how much more
she could take.

* * *

Ryan stole concerned glances at her on the way toward
the cave’s mouth. Candace’s silence worried him almost as much as the glassy
look in her eyes. She’d been through way too much in the past few hours. When
Gonzales had found him outside—where he’d been waging a useless battle to
re-establish communications—to tell him the news, he’d dropped everything and
come straight back for her. He hadn’t wanted her to be alone, and not just
physically. The remnants of her crew were there, yeah, but they wouldn’t be able
to give her the kind of support she needed. Not like he would. He’d give her
whatever he could, though he knew it wasn’t nearly enough.

He brought her to a spot still sheltered by the wind but far
enough away from the wounded and medics to give them a little privacy. Not that
there was much to be had in here. “When’s the last time you ate something?” he
asked, sitting her down next to his bedroll.

“D-don’t remember.”

Something was wrong. He didn’t like the deep frown on her face,
like she was either confused or in a shitload of pain. Maybe both. “Ace, look at
me.” He purposely used her call sign to get her attention and to ensure he
didn’t announce their intimate relationship to anyone who might overhear
him.

She did, turning those deep, dark eyes on him. They were dulled
with fatigue and pain.

He cupped a hand around the back of her head, needing to
establish a physical connection. “Where do you hurt?”

“J-just a headache.”

It didn’t look like “just” a headache to him. “When’s the last
time you had water?”

His only answer was a slight shake of her head, a tight
swallow. Her color seemed a little on the grayish side too.

He frowned. “You feel sick to your stomach?”

Another tiny nod. “Few...hours. W-worse n-now.”

She was still shivering badly. If the wind would just die down
a little more he could get her outside to walk around a bit, get her circulation
going. In here there wasn’t much room to move.

Rubbing his hands up and down her arms, over her back, he kept
his voice low. “You have to eat, take a few sips of water.”

“C-can’t.” She wrapped her arms around herself and huddled into
a ball, swallowing again, as if she was close to hurling. His own stomach
lurched in sympathy.

“We’re at well over ten thousand feet here,” he reminded her
gently. “That’s already going to affect your ability to thermoregulate. You need
the calories to keep your metabolism up, and the headache’s probably because
you’re dehydrated. That was a hell of a tough climb last night.”

Candace merely watched him with exhausted eyes, the dark
shadows beneath them telling him she’d gotten little, if any, rest overnight.
Little wonder though.

He tucked her into the bedroll, pausing to smooth a hand over
her tangled hair, long since out of its usual tidy knot at the nape of her neck.
“Where’s your cap?”

She blinked, looking confused for a moment before her eyes
cleared. “D-Dover.”

When they stripped him, one of the medics would’ve taken it to
another patient.

“I’ll get you another layer to wear and some pain meds,” he
told her.

“N-no,” she argued, that frown still creasing her forehead.
“D-don’t take them aw-way from...someone who n-needs them m-more.”

You
need
them
. He bit the words back before they could
escape, because sure as hell he would have snapped them at her. Her strength in
dealing with everything to this point was admirable—even inspiring—but she was
walking a fine line between trying to be tough and becoming a liability by
acting the martyr. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

She didn’t respond, only sighed and rolled to her side in a
tucked fetal position, her whole body trembling with cold and what had to be
emotional devastation. He couldn’t stand it one second longer.

Finding Park giving another bag of IV fluid to one of the
wounded, Ryan hunkered down and waited until he was finished before speaking. “I
need you to check Captain Bradford.”

“She needs to eat something and then crash,” the other man
answered matter-of-factly, busy changing a blood-stained bandage.

“No, it’s more than that.” He knew it, even with his
comparatively limited medical training.

At the cryptic tone, Park finally looked up. “Symptoms?”

“Nausea, bad headache.”