True Valor (29 page)

The weight against her legs pressed heavy and she heard his breathing turn harsh as he strained. Then she heard the awful sound of metal giving. “Pull it, Rich,” he gasped.

“I’ve got it. Watch your footing!”

Not knowing what they were doing was worse than knowing. She forced her eyes open. It sounded like an explosion around her as the mangled display was pulled over the edge of the cockpit and dropped away, triggering a small avalanche of rocks, dirt, and debris.

“Let’s get her legs free.”

“What about . . .” His partner didn’t finish the sentence.

“Gracie, look at me.”

There was nothing gentle about Bruce’s order. Her eyes left the tangled metal and angled to see his face.

“I don’t want you to move when your legs come free. Do you understand? I want you to stay absolutely still.”

She didn’t understand why he was worried, but she forced herself to nod.

“I’m going to cut your bootlaces and the top of the your boots so I can slip your feet free.” He quirked a grin at her. “I hope you’re wearing clean socks.”

He leaned down before his unexpected comment registered and she could try to return the smile.

His hand slid down her left leg and she felt the tug as he started to work. Laces snapped and she felt the heavy leather rip. His fingers wrapped around the back of her ankle and pulled her foot free. Her knee struck something sharp and she gasped at the pain. Her leg had been stationary so long the small movement felt like a dagger.

She’d broken her leg? Nausea curled inside. She had to be able to fly again. Her shoulder was hurt, her legs . . . Her career was over if the injuries were serious enough. And that was assuming they would ever let her fly again after crashing.

She had to fly again. It was her life.

How long had she been on the ground? She could taste the blood in her mouth and the headache was pounding with her heartbeat. She had been on the wrong side of the pass when she went down. It would have taken them time to reach her. She shivered as the wind picked up and swirling debris was driven against her face.

Get me out of here, Bruce.

She heard gunshots in the distance. The sound spooked her.

Bruce ignored them.

She struggled to move her hand to touch his shoulder. “How long—”

He didn’t look up. “Relax, Gracie. We’re not leaving without you.” He started working on her right boot. “Rich, tell Dasher to send down the basket.”

When he leaned back, her feet finally free, he was breathing hard. “Now it gets tricky. Hold on, Gracie.” He disappeared from her line of sight.

The plane shifted. She screamed. Bruce grabbed the back of her flight suit at the neck as she slid. “Freeze!”

The wreckage settled again. With painful slowness he reached across to her good shoulder and brought her toward him. “Rich, get the cable and come around behind me.” Now it was Bruce who sounded spooked.

Wind whipped up as a Pave Hawk circled lower. Seen from below, it looked like a big black deadly bird. A steel cable was lowering. The gunfire was getting closer.
Hurry, guys. Please hurry.

“This is going to hurt like crazy, but there’s no other way to get you out. The vest will protect your shoulder from the worst of the shocks. You’ll feel the pressure as it inflates,” Bruce said, slipping something gray around her.

She closed her eyes as his shirt brushed across her face.

“I don’t want you to try to help me. Just stay relaxed and limp. I’m going to be lifting you out from behind.”

The fear at that idea was intense.

He leaned around to see her face, and his eyes burned with intensity as he studied her. “I won’t hurt your shoulder. Trust me.”

She believed he would try but everything hurt.

The vest inflated, the pressure tightened to the point of pain. His hands slid behind her back. “On three.” She cried out at the movement, unable to prevent it, every bone and muscle in her body coiling away from the pain.

For a moment she swung in the air with only the strength of his arms keeping her from tumbling. Then his partner grasped her legs and she was lowered down. The relief to be lying down was enormous.

Bruce knelt beside her, rapidly securing straps. He looked dangerous kneeling there, very much the soldier he was. Blood from his hand dripped on her face; he grimaced and wiped it away. “Sorry.”

“’s okay.”

He locked the cable onto the stretcher. “Take her up, Rich. I’m going to destroy what’s left of this plane.”

Rich leaned over and attached Bruce’s cable instead. “I’ve already got the charges planted. Get out of here.”

Bruce shared a look with his partner, then looked down at her. “Close your eyes. We’re going up.”

He looked up and touched his radio. “Raise us, Dasher.” Before she could get ready for it, the stretcher was lifting from the ground. The sky circled above her as the stretcher spun.

Bruce covered her face as they approached the helicopter, protecting her from the intense wind. He was dangling from a cable beside the stretcher being hoisted to a chopper with gunfire going on below them. He did this for a living. The assumptions she’d had about PJs had changed. It took something more than bravery to do this job.

“Grab her.”

She felt hands grasp the stretcher at her feet and it stopped spinning. Metal scraped against metal as she was pulled inside.

The relief was overwhelming.
Thank You, Lord. Thank You.

Her stretcher was lifted a foot and clamps locked it down. Striker swung in beside her and rapidly unlocked the cable. “Get Rich out of there.” The cable was swung out and lowered again. “What do we have?”

“A reinforced squad of rebels trying to work down the pass. They won’t get past.”

“I never thought they would.”

Watching a guy smile in face paint was interesting, as was watching him while lying flat on her back.

The soldier beside her winked at her then looked at Striker. “What took you so long?”

“She was sitting on a live sidewinder.”

Her eyes flew to Bruce’s at that comment.

“I figured you didn’t need to know.”

She swallowed hard just thinking about what could have happened. No wonder he had been so insistent she not try to move.

He ripped open a package from his bag. He drenched a sterile bandage in water and carefully wiped away the worst of the blood on her face. “How’s the headache?”

“Horrible.”

“Any double vision?”

“Hard to tell. You did a good job with the face paint.”

“Feeling better I see.”

She winced when he touched her nose. It felt broken. “Is Thunder okay?”

“Peter?”

“Down in Iraq,” she whispered.

“The Twenty-seventh went after him.” Striker looked forward to Dasher. “Did you hear anything?”

“A broken arm. He’s fine.”

She supposed it was relative. In their business, being alive was the yardstick by which success or failure was judged.

Rich was pulled aboard.

“Dasher, get us out of here,” Rich yelled forward. “I rigged them for four minutes.”

The chopper tipped nose down and headed east. It was nothing like flying a plane; she was glad the stretcher was latched down.

“Wiggle your toes, Gracie.”

She did, despite the hurt.

“Good. Any numbness?”

“No.”

“How about your ribs?”

“Sore. It’s just my shoulder.”

“Twenty minutes and we’ll have a doctor looking at it.”

She had to know if she would fly again. It was her whole life. “How bad?”

“You’re alive,” Bruce replied softly.

She closed her eyes. He was right. She was alive. “I owe you two dinner.”

For the first time his hand shook as he brushed her cheek. “And your dog tags.” He tucked a survival blanket around her, designed to trap in the warmth. “Close your eyes and rest.”

She accepted his advice and sank back into the darkness, letting herself relax.

Thirty-Three

* * *

NAPLES, ITALY

The hospital corridor was too narrow and too short, making it hard to pace, and the overhead lights had an annoying flicker in them. Bruce found his boots echoing in the corridor matched his headache. The other PJs had stepped downstairs to try and find out what they could about the strikes now going on within Iraq. The retaliation for a shot-down pilot had been swift.

Jesus, please.
There weren’t words for the prayer, only emotions. He wiped at the blood on his hands, finding them shaking as he tried to focus. He’d held it together for the last hour, but it was hitting him now. Someone had shot down her plane. The reality kept bumping into the disbelief that it happened. He was grateful he had the moment to himself because he was ready to admit he never again wanted to deal with such a night. The image of her in the cockpit, the unseeing gaze— Ecuador had been nothing compared to this.

One of the swinging doors at the end of the corridor burst open. Bruce turned, braced for another reporter having gotten past the security. “Wolf! Wolf, she’s going to be okay.” He stepped in front of the SEAL and nearly got trampled. “Easy.”

“Where—”

Bruce stopped the man and squeezed his shoulder tight. “Surgery.”

Wolf went pale. Bruce pushed him up against the wall, knowing exactly how he felt.

“I was working on a collapsed bridge outside Incirlik, trying to shore it up so relief convoys could use it, when Bear found me. You brought her to Naples. What, why—?”

“She made a mess of her shoulder. They want to stabilize the pain and send her stateside as soon as they can, possibly tonight. It’s a bit like operating on a pianist’s fingers; they don’t want to do the detailed work here.”

“The press—”

Bruce nodded. “I saw them outside. They’re swarming. Another reason to get her stateside.”

“She’s going to hate the attention.”

Bruce would have smiled; he knew a bit of what it was like after getting the deluge of mail from his own recent encounter with the press, but his heart was too heavy. “Not as much as she’s going to hate being grounded.”

“She’ll fly again?”

Bruce looked at his friend, just looked. And felt like his heart was breaking.

“Bruce—”

He shook his head.

“No. It will kill her not to fly,” Wolf whispered.

“I know.”

Bruce could only hope she remembered God still loved her and he still loved her, when she heard the news. Grief was going to hit Grace hard, and his own personal nightmare was beginning. She was going stateside tonight . . . and he was returning to Turkey.

Wolf punched the wall.

* * *

Grace gagged at the taste in her mouth and felt heat like she was baking in the desert sand. She fought through the incredible thirst and the pressure in her chest, the sensation she was fighting g-pressures that would crush her.

“Easy. It’s just a dream.”

“Wolf?”

“Right here, Gidget.”

“Where were you when I needed you?” she whispered.

“Gracie—” The pain in Wolf’s voice was incredible.

From the other side of the bed a hand reached for hers and tightened. “Honey, he’s been here,” Bruce said, coming to the defense of his friend.

She kept looking at Wolf. “Fourth grade. Carrie.”

Her cousin blinked, then laughed. “Still aggravated with me over that one, are you?”

“Same blasted shoulder.” She fought to lick her lips. “Hurts worse this time.”

“I know it does,” Wolf said gently.

Bruce rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. Grace interlaced her fingers with his. “Surgery . . . over.”

“You came through it just fine,” Bruce said.

She wiggled her toes. “All my fingers, all my toes . . .” She smiled against the old rhyme and closed her eyes. “Where am I?”

Bruce slipped her an ice chip. “Naples.”

“That’s not good.”

“Turkey didn’t have a standing hospital that had room for you.”

“Okay.”

“Or the press,” Wolf added.

“Famous, huh?”

“Your picture has already made CNN. Your friends are doing a good job talking about you—so far saying only nice things. I got to see Jill on TV tonight.”

“Really?” She attempted a smile at that news. She was fighting to stay with them. “I’m tired, guys.”

“We’ll let you sleep.” Bruce leaned over and kissed her cheek, then moved to release her hand. She held on.

“Pray for me before you go,” she whispered. She saw tears come into his eyes. “Pray Ephesians 1:17.”

His hand tightened around hers. “Jesus, I pray that Grace will know You better and better and better . . . .” He leaned over and kissed her. “I love you, Grace.”

“Ditto.” She looked over at her cousin. “No penguins.”

He laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes. “Gracie, you’re priceless.”

* * *

Bruce sat down on the bench near Wolf. Dawn was breaking. They would be transporting Grace soon, returning her to the States. Wolf was turning an envelope in his hands, letting it slip to one end and tap against his finger, turn, and slide to the other corner. “What do you have?” Bruce asked.

“Grace wrote me a ‘just in case’ letter before she deployed last year. I put it in my Bible. I wanted to be reminded that something could be worse than what happened tonight, so I opened it.” He turned the letter and offered it. “Read it.”

Because of the pain in his friend’s eyes, Bruce accepted the letter. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Bruce slipped out the page of paper and read.

Wolf ~

Grace. This is a letter that I know you are going to hate reading. It’s okay to be mad at me. I promised not to die on you and if you’re reading this, I broke my word. I’m sorry. Whatever I did or didn’t do, I messed up. I should have been more careful.