Chapter 8: The Ambush at the Bridge

The "routine" supply run turned into a nightmare at the crossing of the Pech River. A pressure-plate IED threw the rear truck—Thorne's truck—into a tailspin.

"Contact! Contact!" Jax screamed, opening fire into the treeline.

James slammed the Humvee into reverse, positioning us to overwatch the downed vehicle. "Ramírez! Get on the horn! Call for QRF!"

I keyed the mic, my voice steady despite the adrenaline. "Lion 6 to All Stations, we are in the black at Grid 45-92! Requesting immediate air support!"

As I talked, I saw movement. Thorne was stumbling out of his truck, blood pouring from a gash on his head. He was dazed, standing right in the kill zone.

"Cover me!" I yelled to James.

I didn't wait for permission. I bailed out of the Humvee, my medic bag swinging. I ran through the hail of dust and lead, sliding into the dirt next to Thorne. I grabbed him by the vest and dragged his heavy frame behind the wheel of his wrecked truck.

"I've got you, you idiot!" I roared over the gunfire.

Thorne looked at me, his eyes wide with shock. He saw my face—no makeup, no mask, just the white patches and the sweat and the fury. I started packing his head wound with gauze, my hands moving with the precision of a machine.