A quick glance up the lane toward the lighted command post gave no indication that anyone had heard the brief tumult. In truth, the argument over the game would not have sounded very different from the shouts of panic. The stallion recoiled at the pungent smell of blood and shit that now filled the guard shack, but Gil stroked his neck and calmed him. He stripped the shepherd’s robe and stepped out, pulling the door closed and going next door.
Without knocking, he opened the door and stepped inside, pointing the 1911 at Khan and Badira sitting beside the bed. The instant he saw the rag stuffed into Sandra’s mouth, her fevered eyes blazing with fear, he knew he’d fucked up — he’d forgotten to clear the corner. He hadn’t so much forgotten as deemed it unnecessary… which was a mistake.
He felt the cold burn of the blade pierce his rib cage from behind and whipped around to grab the wrist of his teenage assailant, viciously twisting the arm to force the young man toward the floor, snap-kicking him in the throat with the toe of his boot. The teen went unconscious, and Gil stomped his neck, separating the brainstem.
Khan got quickly up from his chair, more to get out of Gil’s way than anything else, but Gil alerted to the swiftness of movement and spun to deliver the doctor a powerful Muay Thai kick to the liver. Khan went down in a heap, crumpling against the wall and covering his head.
“Don’t kill him!” Badira shouted. “He wasn’t going to hurt you. He’s a doctor!”
Gil holstered the pistol and shoved her aside, taking the rag from Sandra’s mouth and jerking back her blankets to find her wrists hastily bound with a boot lace.
“Oh, thank God!” Sandra gasped. “I can’t believe you’re real!”
“I’m Master Chief Gil Shannon. I don’t know if you remember me.”
Tears spilled from her sunken eyes. “You’re from Montana. Your wife raises horses.”
He brushed the hair from her eyes and took the radio from his harness, pointing up at the sky. “John’s up there in a Spectre. He’s waiting to hear from you. Remember your authentication code?”
She nodded, choking back the tears with no little effort. She was still a soldier, and it was time to ruck up.
“This mission is unauthorized,” Gil said, giving her the radio. “In all likelihood, I’ve been disavowed by now, so they may not respond to a distress call from me. You have to do this like I’m not here — like you’re a downed pilot in enemy territory. Understand?”
She nodded. “Help me sit up.”
He helped her sit up against the wall, then went to check the street.
She drew a breath and depressed the button on the radio: “Mayday! Mayday! This is Track Star broadcasting on the emergency band. Repeat! This is Track Star broadcasting on the emergency band. Authentication: Alpha-One-Bravo-Lima-Charlie-Five. Repeat! Alpha-One-Bravo-Lima-Charlie-Five. Does anyone copy? Over!”
The response was immediate. “Roger that, Track Star. This is Big Ten reading you five-by-five on the emergency band. What is your location? Over.”
She looked to Gil for the information as he came back in from the street.
“They already know,” he said, “but we need to make it sound good. Tell them you’re in Bazarak Village… directly beneath the infrared strobe.”
Sandra repeated what he said, looking somewhat dubious. “Will that be enough for them to—?”
“It’s been scripted. Don’t worry, they already know their part.”
Big Ten came back with their response: “Track Star, be advised we are in your vicinity and able to respond. What is your condition? Over.”
“Tell them you’re being aided by indigenous forces. They’re moving you to a suitable extraction zone. Ask them to stand by.”
She depressed the button. “Big Ten, be advised… indigenous forces are moving me to a suitable extraction zone. Will advise further. Please stand by!”
There was a longer pause this time, then a different voice came over the radio: “Track Star, be advised… Big Ten will remain on station as long as it takes.”
Sandra recognized the tone and timbre of her husband’s voice immediately. She covered her mouth, and her face contorted with raw emotion.
Gil kicked the leg of the bed. “Soldier up and answer him.”
She fought to regain her composure but couldn’t. She shook her head and tried to give him the radio.
He kicked the bed again, harder this time. “I said soldier up, Brux.”
She swallowed hard, depressing the button to reply in a choking voice: “Roger that, Big Ten… Will advise.”
“Good job.” Gil disappeared from the room and returned with the heavy cloak, throwing it at Badira. “You speak English, right? Get her bundled up and ready to ride a goddamn horse.”
“Gil, I can’t—”
“Relax,” he said, digging into a pouch on his harness. “I’m driving. All you gotta do is hold on to me.” He produced a bottle of clear liquid and a syringe. “First, we’re going to inject that wound of yours with enough Novocain that you can use the leg if you have to.”
She sat up with her legs over the edge of the bed a minute later, wincing as he administered the first injection.
Khan inched forward across the floor, saying something to Badira.
Gil looked at Badira. “What the fuck does he want?”
Badira’s eyes were fearless above the veil. “He says you should let him do that. He knows where the nerves are. It will be more effective that way.”
Gil looked at Sandra. “You trust this haji doc?”
She gave Khan a weary smile. “He’s the only reason I’m still alive.”
Gil gave the Novocain and the syringe to Khan, then went to check the street again. “It’ll be getting light in an hour. We need to roll.”
Sandra saw for the first time that he had a knife sticking from his back. “My god. There’s a knife in your back!”
“I’ve noticed,” he said grimly, still watching up the lane through a crack in the door. “It’ll have to stay where it is for now. If I pull it out, the lung cavity’s gonna fill up with blood, and I’ll strangle.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
He looked at her. “Fuck yeah, it hurts!”
She snorted a laugh and covered her mouth with the three remaining fingers on her left hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, speaking through the gap where the ring finger was supposed to be. Then she laughed again, feeling lightheaded, almost giddy with relief at the total absence of pain in her leg now.
Badira was busy talking back and forth with Khan.
“What the fuck are they jabbering about?” Gil grated. “Christ, tell ’em to shut the fuck up.”
Badira looked over from where she sat beside Sandra on the edge of the bed. “Khan says he can remove the knife… that he can make a breathing… a breathing valve if you need one. Is that the right word… valve?”
“Yeah.” Gil took a moment to think the offer over. It was a risk, but he decided the check valve would be better than riding into a possible firefight with a blade in his lung. “Okay, yeah. Let’s do it.”
Khan finished with the injections, and Badira started to get Sandra bundled into the robe.
“Are you really here by yourself?” Sandra said, still only half believing he was real.
“Not exactly.” He sat down backward on a chair, and Khan tore open his jacket to get a look at the knife wound. “I’ve got a horse in the next room.”