Chapter 3: The Edge of the Abyss

Three days later, we were in the high ridges of the Pech. A sudden burst of fire caught the tail end of the formation. PFC Shepard let out a choked cry as he tumbled over the crumbling lip of a ravine.

"Man down! Shepard’s over the side!"

"Doc! Where’s the medic?" SSG Miller roared.

I didn't wait. I was the RTO, but I was also the only medic on this patrol. I dropped my ruck and scrambled toward the edge.

Shepard was caught on a narrow shelf of loose shale ten feet down. Below him was a five-hundred-foot drop. He was clutching his thigh, blood pumping between his fingers.

"I've got him!" I yelled.

I threw myself onto my stomach, my upper body hanging over the sheer cliff. The stones bit into my chest, grinding against the deep purple bruise Thorne had given me with a heavy crate the day before. I reached down, my fingers clawing for the strap of Shepard’s vest.

A pair of hands suddenly grabbed the back of my belt, anchoring me. It was James. His grip was like iron. "I have you, Coraline," he grunted. "Get the tourniquet on him. Now."

With James holding me, I reached further, my fingers slick with Shepard’s blood. I looped the tourniquet over his leg, my muscles screaming. I cranked the windlass until the bleeding stopped, my face inches from Shepard’s pale eyes.

"I’ve got you," I whispered.