Time passed in the tunnel-vision focus on his mission, the familiar sounds of radio calls and orders mixing with the pop of gunfire in the distance.
Support troops full-out. Flare. Lift and shift.
"Cease fire!" the radio crackled. "Cease fire! Cease fire!"
The tunnel vision broadened. Adrenaline and dread splashed like light exploding into his vision. Both training and instincts already predicted the next words that would bark over the radio.
"Friendly fire."
Quiet echoed through the waves, that cavern of silence during the realization of a no-going-back moment.
Drew shot to his feet and took over the radio controls. "Alpha, stat-rep to my locale ASAP."
"Will-co." Will comply.
He waited for the status report while platoon sergeants ran out to take accountability of their men. Then for the information to trickle back up the chain—company to battalion, to brigade and finally to the regiment.
"One down. Medic on the way."
Drew's thumb slid off the button. "Shit." One breath later, he ordered, "Expect me in five."
Hauling ass out of the tent and into the pitch dark toward the closest Humvee, he shouted the order to enter the field. With each slamming yard during the mile toward the glow of too many headlights and flashlights, he told himself the injury would be no more than a bullet to the leg. As if he could command it so.
The Humvee jerked to a halt. The minute his feet hit the ground, he heard it. A moan. Gurgle. The unmistakable sound of blood in the lungs.
Not a simple shot to the leg.
He knew he spoke and others answered, was certain he said the right things because training always overrode in a crisis. The very reason they trained so hard. Just as intellectually he knew how the hell this happened. Training accidents occurred because training hard also kept them from losing more in battle.
And none of that meant shit to him as he stared down at the body of one of his men on a litter having his blood-soaked uniform cut away from a sucking chest wound. His men were closer to him than his own goddamned family.
The medic finished stabilizing the private for transfer to the Battle Aid Station, two clicks behind them. A physician's assistant there would either treat him...or make the decision for more intense treatment.
Drew stared down at the bloody mess of the concert T-shirt from a boy who had barely lived half as many years as he had. As they loaded the private into the Cracker Box Army ambulance, the scent hit him. The smell of blood and war that a man never forgot. The smell of mortality.
Chapter 14
The smell of freedom. It was so close Yasmine could almost sense it even in her dank, stuffy closet. Soon she would be out of Rubistan and away from Ammar.
So why wasn't she turning cartwheels in excitement? Or sleeping away the hours with blissful dreams?
Shuffling restlessly on her cot, she kicked the sleeping bag free, the quilted fabric too hot. Of course, no cover proved too chilly. One more reason she couldn't drift off. The erratic schedules of these military people had her sleeping patterns all flipped, leaving her cranky, restless, with too many lonely hours to remember one kiss that should not have changed so much.
The true reason for her insomnia.
Barren walls stared back at her, their monotony broken only by the hooks holding her drying underwear, daisy scarf and spare dress. Soon she would have a closet of clothes again. She would be leaving shortly, they assured her. Only a couple more days for the impending sandstorm to pass and apparently red tape would be snipped cleanly with the State Department. She would be away from Ammar's constant threat. Except she would also be away from Drew.
Drew. Rolling to her tummy, she punched her pillow, smoothed it, hugged it to her. She'd never met anyone like him. Someone so strong who did not use strength to overpower those around him into submission. He took the time to be gentle.
She'd been out with boys at the university and sometimes on trips with her mother away from Rubistan. She'd even flirted a bit on her graduation cruise, coming close a time or two to going further than a few kisses, curious as to what would make her mother leave her country and first family. What would cause other women to risk being publicly ostracized? Or worse.
But she had always stopped short because her practical nature held her back from risking all for something that was simply...nice.
Kissing Drew Cullen was way beyond nice.
He'd stirred more feeling with that one simple encounter than all of those boys combined. Could it simply be his experience, his age?
Maybe.