Chapter 25 #2
Lucas’s hands braced her shoulders as Hunt disconnected the ventilator. “Shannon,” Hunt said firmly, all command and zero hesitation. “You’re safe. You’re going to have to breathe on your own now. I’m taking the tube out. Stay with us.”
She didn’t understand the words, but she felt Dante’s hand on her forearm, steady, grounding.
“Right here,” he whispered. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Okay,” Hunt said. “One breath in… good… and… now.” He pulled the tube in one smooth motion.
Shannon gagged hard, body wrenching as the tube slid free. Dante’s grip tightened on her arm, not restraining, just holding her to the world while Lucas suctioned and positioned an oxygen mask.
She coughed, gasped, then sucked in a raw, burning breath on her own. Her eyes flooded instantly, wet and furious and terrified.
Dante moved closer, his forehead almost brushing hers. “You’re okay. Breathe. Just breathe with me.”
She tried. The breaths were broken, wet and shallow. But she matched his cadence.
In… slow. Out… slower.
The alarms quieted.
Her chest didn’t feel less broken, but the world stopped spinning. Her hand curled toward him again. This time he didn’t stop her. She touched his wrist, barely a graze.
His voice dropped to a rasp meant only for her. “I’ve got you, Shannon. I swear it.”
She couldn’t speak, but she didn’t look away either. For the first time since the crash, she wasn’t falling anymore. He was holding her up.
COLONEL PRESCOTT’S OFFICE
Colonel Prescott stood behind the table, flanked by two JAG reps. The base chaplain was nearby, sitting awkwardly.
Mike Johnson didn’t sit. “Krueger was expelled for assaulting my daughter at the Air Force Academy. And he returned in a fresh uniform into the flight line.”
Prescott’s mouth tightened. “Mike, I wasn’t aware. His record was clean. Now it is clear the only one who knew was Lieutenant Johnson, and she didn’t share the information.”
“After the crash, I notified you personally,” Ford said. “Yet he was allowed to walk free on base until Chase personnel took him into custody.”
“There were political pressures.” Colonel Prescott began to sweat in the ice-cold room.
“No,” Ford Cox said behind him. “There were favors. And now there’s blood.”
“We’re opening a full investigation,” the JAG officer stammered.
Mike leaned in. “You’ll do more than that.”
Ford added, “Or Chase Security will.”
They didn’t raise their voices. They didn’t need to—Bravo Team was already on base. And Krueger’s countdown clock had started.
ICU ROOM 4 – 1803 HOURS
Shannon’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “Esten?”
Her face was pale, lips cracked, eyes unfocused. But she was here now. Conscious and sharp enough, she remembered everything leading up to the crash. And one name stuck in her throat.
He sat on the edge of the bed. “She didn’t make it,” he said with no embellishment. There was no soften-the-blow language. It was just truth. He’d make her go through the loss again. Each time she asked, he prayed the memory would stick.
Shannon closed her eyes. “I told her we’d make the turn. I told her…”
“You got her off the ridge. That’s more than anyone else could have done.”
She didn’t nod. Didn’t cry. Just breathed, shallow and uneven. The silence between them said more than words could.
Dante reached for her hand. She held on tightly.
Mike stood just inside the doorway for a full ten seconds before speaking.
She looked up slowly, exhausted and wrecked. “Hey, Dad.”
He crossed the room and took the chair from Dante without a word. Dante left them alone.
Mike didn’t reach for her hand. “I never should’ve let you walk into that flight line knowing he was on this base.”
“You didn’t know he’d do that.”
“I suspected he would do something, and that’s worse.”
She was quiet a long time. “He hurt me. He killed Mara.”
“I know.”
Her voice wavered. “I thought I was over it.”
“You were,” Mike said. “Until he tried to make you relive it.”
She blinked fast.
“You landed the bird,” he added quietly. “You saved lives getting it out of population.”
“I lost one.”
“She would’ve died no matter who was in the other seat, and likely a lesser pilot would have died too. You’re the reason she had a chance.” Mike leaned forward. “You’re not done, baby girl. Don’t let him take more than he already has.”
WEST HANGAR – 1855 HOURS
The interior lights were off when Bravo Team entered.
Trey Callen flicked on a tactical flashlight. The beam swept over the polished floor, sealed lockers, a row of bird components waiting for inspection. Bravo’s senior executive officer, Adina Ganz, stood beside him. Three more members of the team joined them.
“Pull diagnostics,” she said. “We need to find all the handwritten notes. The network notes were deleted.”
They moved fast. One went to the checklist log. Another started pulling wire harness records. A third hit the inspection point logs.
Ten minutes later, someone called out, “Got them.”
The team gathered at the far bench. They found a small trash can. Inside was a baggie, and inside it was a small bottle coated in chemical residue.
“The airman due to dump the trash won’t get a demerit today for missing the can.” Adina smiled.
Callen looked at it. “It’s sabotage.”
No one argued. Because it wasn’t just evidence anymore. It was intent.
“Now we need to connect this vial to the flight.”
ICU ROOM 4
The pain came in waves. Big, black, rolling ones that didn’t crest; they just kept breaking.
Shannon thrashed under it—not violently because she was too weak, but enough. Her hand jerked once at the IV line. Her body arched against the restraints on instinct.
And neither the morphine, fentanyl nor the Dilaudid helped.
Hunt Montgomery stood at the foot of the bed, scrub cap shoved back, gloves streaked from a dozen interventions. Lucas Hale monitored O? levels. The nurse by the IV cart looked seconds from crying.
Outside the room, Mike Johnson stood like a statue, watching through the glass helplessly. Inside, Dante sat motionless in the chair beside the bed, jaw locked, hand clenched tight around the rail.
Shannon’s sharp inhale broke off into a hoarse whimper. It wasn’t a cry. It was a horrific, raw, broken breath. Her eyes were open, glazed with terror and tears.
“Dante,” she rasped, barely audible. “Hurts…” She twisted again. Her body jerked, then sagged.
Lucas glanced at Hunt. “Her heart rate’s spiking. We’re going to lose her window.”
“Get the tube ready,” Hunt said. “She’ll have to be sedated and intubated again before this gets worse. Set up a propofol drip.” He opened the crash cart, pulled out a syringe and began to draw up Ketamine.
Dante slowly stood. And without asking, without waiting, he pulled off his boots, lowered the rail, and gently eased himself into the bed beside her.
“Don’t yank her lines,” Hunt said instinctively.
“I won’t.” Dante slid behind her less injured right side, settled carefully, slowly, and wrapped one arm under her shoulders, the other around her waist high enough to avoid the dressings and her still dislocated hip.
His hand splayed over her rib cage, under the monitor leads.
He moved like she was shattered glass. And she was.
Shannon gasped once, shallow and ragged, then something gave. She collapsed back against his chest, body trembling.
He held her tightly. “It’s okay,” he whispered, lips near her temple. “I’ve got you. Trust me. Just let go.” Dante rocked her in a slow, steady rhythm. “Breathe with me.”
Her breathing began to match his. Her breaths were still sharp and broken but slowing.
Hunt glanced at the monitor. “BP’s stabilizing. Oxygen climbing. Pulse down seven.”
Lucas muttered, “You’re kidding.”
“This is the power of human touch.” Hunt exhaled and looked at Dante. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”
Dante just kept rocking her, like she was all that mattered.
The tension in Shannon’s body eased. The meds were finally able to reach her now. The painkillers that had been ricocheting off a body too tightly wound to accept them began to let them in.
Dante’s arms stayed wrapped around her, his hand anchored just beneath her sternum, feeling the tiny lifts of each breath. She exhaled into his shoulder. A tiny sound escaped her lips, not a word. Not even a cry. She was asleep within minutes.
Dante didn’t shift. Didn’t yawn. Didn’t reach for his phone or speak to the nurses tiptoeing around the bed. He just stayed.
ICU OBSERVATION CORRIDOR
Mike and Ford watched the same scene. Dante was curled around Shannon in the hospital bed, unmoving. One guard dog. One broken soldier.
Mike’s jaw twitched once. “I thought it was a fling.”
Ford didn’t answer.
“I thought it was the kind of mistake people make before they get their heads on straight.”
Ford stepped beside him, arms folded.
Mike’s voice dropped lower. “But he didn’t run.”
“No,” Ford said. “He didn’t.”
“He was in that bird,” Mike murmured. “In spirit. That’s what he looks like now, like he flew it down with her.”
Ford glanced sideways. “Would it have made a difference if you'd known before?”
Mike didn’t answer. Because the truth was, yes. But that was before the wreckage. Before this. And now there was no room left for denial. Only what came next.
FORT NOVOSEL – INTERNAL SECURITY HOLDING – 0310 HOURS
Krueger sat in the reinforced room with his wrists cuffed and his legs shackled to the floor. The overhead light buzzed slightly off-frequency. Adina Ganz entered. She didn’t speak. Didn’t sit.
Behind her came Ford Cox and Sean Paulsen. Between them, a slim man in a suit stepped in and shut the door behind him with a click.
Paulsen dropped a printed dossier onto the table, sealed and official. The seal read: U.S. Air Force Academy – Incident File 442-19A.
Krueger didn’t look at it.
Ford sat across from him and folded his hands. “I want you to understand,” he said calmly, “you’re not under military jurisdiction anymore.”
Krueger smiled faintly. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
“No,” Adina said. “It’s just the only reason you’re still breathing.”
Krueger looked up coolly. “You’ve got no proof of anything.”
Paulsen slid a photograph across the table, clear, in color, and timestamped. Pieces of the broken ampoule. “You left your fingerprints. Thumb and pointer.”
Silence.
Ford leaned in. “You’re not walking out of this.”
ICU ROOM 4 – 0417 HOURS
The light in the room had dimmed further. The machines still beeped steadily. Shannon hadn’t stirred again, deep in a medicated sleep. One arm was draped over Dante’s, her head nestled beneath his chin.
He was still awake, eyes open and one hand curled loosely around hers, thumb brushing over the edge of her knuckles. He didn’t know what time it was, nor did he care. All he knew was he wasn’t going anywhere. Not until she opened her eyes again.