No Turning Back (34 page)

Oh God, no... She gasped and sat up so fast Ben glanced over at her. She met his eyes. “Taliban are coming at them.” Damn, how had they'd reacted so fast?

Ben was up and looking at the screen in a heartbeat. “How many?”

She zoomed out further, revealing another twelve men. “Eighteen so far.”

Luke came over, took in the situation with a single glance. “Call in close air support,” he instructed her.

“We've got to extract them,” Ben argued.

“We won't get there in time; they need an air strike to clear them off the mountain.”

Sam's gaze darted between them and settled on Luke. He wanted Tehrazzi. Her chest iced up. He wouldn't leave the rest of the team there, would he?

Ben got in his face. “The team gets first priority.”

A tense standoff ensued where they stared each other down. Then Luke relented. “Get them moving,” he snapped.

Sam frantically zoomed out and increased the resolution, searching for a possible escape route to send them on. The terrain was rough, the only flat spot was the LZ chosen to set down the chopper, otherwise everything was steep and rocky, hard enough to navigate without carrying hostages. Then she remembered something.

“There are trucks,” she announced, bringing their heads around, “two of them at the bottom of the gulley a few hundred meters below their position.” She pulled it up and let them see, then got on the radio and patched through to Rhys to bring him up to speed. “They're like the ones you passed before,” she told him.

“Roger that.”

She eyed the fighters coming in. Calm. She had to stay calm. “You've got ten minutes, tops, before they come within range.”

On the screen, Rhys broke cover and took off down the mountain, sliding his way down the steep incline toward the waiting vehicles. Ben hovered over her shoulder, tracking his brother's progress with unblinking eyes. The tension in him was palpable. Rhys finally hit the bottom of the trail. “How'm I doing?” he asked her, breathing fast.

“You're good. Six minutes left. Can you see the trucks?”

“Affirmative.” He ran straight for them, tried the door of one, and it must have been locked because he smashed the driver side window with the butt of his rifle, then wrenched it open, and within seconds had it running. “Where to?”

She directed him to what looked like the best route up to the others, guided him over the whine of the engine coming through the radio.

“Two minutes,” the pilot called out. “Get ready.”

Ben readied his weapon, threw a hand out to steady her when the helo banked sharply, giving her a bird's eye view of the desolate landscape hundreds of feet below the open door of the aircraft.

The soldiers were almost to the ridge now.
Come on, Rhys, drive!
The old Toyota lurched and ground its way up the incline as he followed her instructions to a fork in the trail. She hesitated. Sending him right was less steep, with fewer impediments. But the left was the most direct route to the others.

“Which way, Sam?” he demanded, voice tense.

“Left.”

She held her breath as he made the turn, muscles strung tight as wires across her bones.

“Coming up on position,” the pilot announced.

They banked hard to the right and decreased altitude.

“How long until air support gets here?” Luke asked.

She glanced at the time display. “Three minutes.” The truck continued its steep ascent up the trail, the enemy almost within range—

The truck exploded into a ball of fire.

Sam cried out. She gripped the laptop in white-knuckled hands as horror swamped her. Rhys was trapped in the flaming interior of the truck.

“What was that?” Ben demanded, grabbing the laptop. The instant he saw the burning wreckage of the truck, he tore the headset from her numb hand. “Rhys? Rhys, answer me... Fuck!” His eyes cut to her, and the awful rage burning there chilled her blood. “What did you do?”

She couldn't speak.
God, Rhys...
An aching knot seized her throat.

Her mind whirled for an explanation. Couldn't be an IED. Not up here. Hadn't been an RPG or a Stinger. That left—

“A-a mine... ” She shrank from the accusation in those green eyes and the knowledge she'd just watched Rhys die. “I'm sorry— oh, God!” She covered her mouth with her hands, reeling with shock.

“We're going in hot,” Luke shouted over his shoulder, manning the door with his M4.

A thousand words of denial, of apology crowded her throat, but she couldn't get a single one out. Rhys was burning in that truck because she'd sent him over a goddamn mine.

Face tight as a mask, Ben threw her one last scathing look and whipped around to man the other door with one of the crew members. Sam dropped the headset and covered her face with her hands, as if that could block out what she'd just seen. She couldn't bear to look at the screen again. A whimper crawled up her spasming throat. She wanted to wake up and find out this was only a nightmare. It couldn't really be happening.

Pop-pop-pop. Pop-pop-pop-pop.

She jerked when the big 50 cals started firing from the open doors, and grabbed onto the seat as the helo tilted hard to the right. Ben and Luke fired from the open doorways at the enemy on the ground closing in on the team's position, probably drawn by the burning truck. Closing her eyes, Sam had an awful image of Rhys burning alive in the twisted wreck. She fought down the surge of nausea.

“Incoming!”

Her eyes flew open at the co-pilot's shout, and the next thing she knew, Ben had knocked her to the deck, pinning her with his body. The Pave Hawk rose and banked tight, then plunged nose-first toward the ridge top, still hurtling forward at top speed. A scream locked in her throat. The pilot swerved again, and only Ben's weight kept her from slamming into the bulkhead.

Lifting her head, she made out the streak of a missile as it shot past and slammed into the ground with an explosion so big it shook the chopper and everyone in it. Heat seeking missile. Had to be. One of the Stingers the CIA hadn't gotten back. When the pilot righted them and regained altitude, Ben lifted off her and went right back to his post at the door, firing at the approaching Taliban troops.

Grabbing the radio, Sam dove for her computer, praying Rhys had somehow gotten free. His radio was still working. She could hear the fire crackling and popping in the background.

Oh God, please be okay...

A glowing figure showed up on the screen, running to the burning truck, reaching it as Rhys fell out and hit the ground with his jacket on fire. Sam bit the inside of her cheek to keep from sobbing. Rhys was on
fire,
burning before her eyes.

Whoever it was next to the truck dove at him, swatting at the flames on his back and throwing armfuls of dirt and snow to smother them. Agonizing seconds passed before the flames were extinguished.

“Rhys?” Sam said hoarsely above the din of the big fifty caliber gun Ben was firing, hoping he could hear her despite his injuries. “Rhys, answer me!” Nothing.

Whoever was helping him turned him over, and Sam was stunned to hear Neveah's voice, telling him to lie still.

Then his deep voice made her jump. “I'm hit,” he said clearly.

Sam gripped her earpiece. “Rhys!” He was still alive. She caught Ben's grim stare.

“Jesus, oh Jesus,” Nev was saying. “Rhys. Rhys, stay with me... No!”

Oh my God, he's dead, Sam thought, stricken. She was so deep in shock she barely noticed when someone dropped down next to them on screen, and Davis’ voice came over the radio. “We need an emergency Medevac,” he said.

Sam gazed around the chopper. They had limited medical supplies on board. Nev was a surgeon, but she might not have the equipment they needed. And even if she and Ben could stabilize Rhys... They might not get him to the hospital in time.

Bile rose in her throat.

“Chopper will be here any minute,” Davis was saying.

Sam's throat was too tight to answer.

“He's still b-breathing,” Nev answered, and Sam sagged, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Pulse thready. How long?”

“Too long,” Davis muttered.

“How
long
?”

“Once we're on board... it's a twenty minute flight to the nearest hospital.”

Pain welled up in Sam's heart. Almost half an hour. Rhys'd be dead by then.

Staring down at the three glowing figures on the screen, she wanted to scream at the horrific irony of their situation. Nev was a trauma surgeon, but there was nothing she could do for Rhys out here. For now, all Sam could do was silently join in Neveah's fervent prayer for Rhys.

“Stay with me... Stay with me... ”

Alone, numb, Sam sat on the vibrating floor of the helo and bit her lip until her teeth punctured through. Coppery blood filled her mouth. She couldn't help any of them anymore. She'd had one job— to get Rhys and the others out safely. Her choice had doomed Rhys, and maybe her cousin if they couldn't fight off the attackers.

She raised haunted eyes to Ben, his profile lit up by the muzzle flash of the machine gun he was firing. Every feature was stamped with resolve. Her heart broke as she realized he was fighting to go in and save his brother. He would never accept that his twin was going to die before they got him out.

The Pave Hawk made a fast descent, and as the ground rushed up to meet him, Ben leapt from the helo and dropped the last few meters. He hit the ground hard and rolled, his left thigh screaming with the impact, but he barely felt it. Nothing mattered but Rhys. His sole purpose was to get to his brother, lying prostrate on that frozen escarpment, his life's blood flowing into the barren Afghan soil beneath him.

His boots pounded over the loose shale as he tore across the space that separated them, an animal scream of denial clawing its way up his throat when he saw the terrible wound in the side of his twin's skull. He fought down the panic flooding him as he flung the medical supplies to Neveah and skidded to his knees beside Rhys, taking his brother's bleeding head in his hands.

Shrapnel had ripped a ragged baseball-sized hole in Rhys’ right parietal bone, and blood was still flowing out of it despite Neveah's attempt to slow the loss. Ben had no idea how far the fragments had penetrated into his twin's brain, but they had obviously torn into his parietal lobe, and maybe gone further than that. Any brain injury was bad, but this... How was he still alive?

“Christ,” Ben cried, almost a sob. He held Rhys’ head and neck steady while Nev rummaged through the kit and pulled out the equipment to intubate him. Nothing was happening fast enough. They were losing too much time.

Nev's expression was set as she threaded the instrument into Rhys’ airway. If there was swelling in the throat she'd never be able to get the tube in, and the only thing left was a risky needle cricothyrotomy—

“I'm in,” she said finally, and Ben let out the breath he'd been holding. The two Air Force PJs came running up with a stretcher and lifted Rhys onto it.

“Warthogs inbound,” one of them shouted. Neveah pulled out the instrument and grabbed the other equipment from him. Her hands fumbled a bit.

Ben's heart slammed against his ribs, hands itching to rip her out of the way and do it himself. “You've got to hyperventilate him— ”

“I know.” She attached a bag to Rhys’ mask, began pumping.

A shriek rent the air overhead. The two A-10s roared past, and seconds later an ear-shattering explosion shook the earth. He ducked and sheltered Rhys as best he could while the concussion ripped into them. When it was safe to look, he glanced over his shoulder at the carnage behind him. The entire hillside where the enemy had been was gone, earth and smoke rising up in a huge cloud.

“Let's move him,” Nev said.

About goddamn time. Holding his brother's head steady, Ben ran to the Pave Hawk with the other crewmembers and hauled him aboard. Nev stayed at Rhys’ shoulders, continued to bag him. The helo's twin engines howled as the pilots powered up and shot them into the night sky for their race to Kabul.

Please, God, oh, please...
He prayed enough oxygen would reach his brother to reduce the pressure in his skull. How far had the bone and metal fragments penetrated his brain? How much damage had they done? All of a sudden Rhys arched up, muscles going rigid in rhythmic waves. Ben's heart almost stopped. “Shit, he's posturing. Put him out, Nev!”

“I'm trying!” she snapped, fighting to hold down Rhys’ muscular arm to get a line in. Ben immediately took over ventilating him and pinned the arm with his knee. The spasms almost threw him off.

Fuck, oh, fuck...

When Nev got the IV in, she pumped it full of meds. In seconds, Rhys went slack and fell back to the helo's deck. “Ativan and a little morphine,” she said, sitting back on her heels and wiping an arm across her glistening forehead. Her eyes met his. “How long to the hospital?”

Too fucking long.

“Pilot says fourteen minutes,” Sam said hoarsely.

He looked over his shoulder at her, pale and misty eyed as she stared at Rhys.

She crawled over, sparing a glance at Ben as though seeking permission, then took his brother's hands.

Her eyes squeezed shut and her lips moved. Praying.

Staring down at his brother, Ben closed his lids and joined her.

The remainder of the flight took forever. When they finally touched down at the American-run hospital, Ben and Davis rushed Rhys in with Nev running alongside, shouting orders at the waiting staff. The pediatrician stumbled after them. Sam clambered out of the helo on wooden legs, the rotor wash beating at her clothes and kicking up a stinging spray of sand on her skin. She was surprised she could feel it. Inside, she was completely numb. Frozen by that single accusing look Ben had aimed at her.

So much death. So much violence. She'd killed a man. She'd watched him fall and seen the blood spilling from his wounds.

Oh, but wait. That wasn't the only murder she'd committed tonight, was it?

A cry of anguish rocketed up from her chest. She smothered it so it came out a strangled whimper.