Chapter 30 #2
He knew exactly what to say: the feeling was mutual, had been since Hale had dared him in the shelter and Elliot had let himself want something for the first time in his life.
That every text they’d exchanged over the years mattered more than they should have.
How Hale’s name in his contacts made his pulse pick up in a way nothing else did.
Elliot sighed and put his arms behind his head. He stared at the top of the container above him until his eyes adjusted to the dark.
For the first time in his life, he’d walked away from his father’s expectations. And still, he couldn’t have the one thing he actually wanted.
Not when Hale was about to deploy into his own combat zone, and Elliot didn't know if either of them was coming back.
Saying it now would be cruel.
A month later, Elliot knew the operations room better than he knew his recently upgraded private quarters.
A converted shipping container longer than most, reinforced, with three workstations running twenty-four hours and a wall of screens showing feeds from assets in the field.
It smelled like overheated electronics and stale air.
And bad coffee. Elliot had spent the better part of the last seventy hours in it.
Outside, the situation had deteriorated.
What had started as a contained operation along the northern corridor had now spread. Over the last couple of days there had been two additional hostile units moving into the area, supply routes had been compromised, and one allied team had been pinned down for six hours before extraction.
The joint task force was stretched thin and everyone in the operations room knew it.
Major Okafor had barely left the container in eighteen hours. Diaz was out on rotation. Walsh was on the eastern perimeter.
Elliot’s gaze stayed fixed on the comms station.
"Captain Shaw." Okafor's voice cut through the room. "Come here. American aviation unit, call sign Viper Two. They've got a four-man ground team pinned down three klicks northeast of extraction point Echo-Four. Their primary comms operator is down."
Elliot was already moving. "How long?"
"Forty minutes. Hostile fire from two positions, north and east. The helicopter won't leave."
Carver was already on the frequency, headset on, leaning into the mic.
Elliot pulled up the grid on the screen beside him and studied it—the ground team's last known position, the two hostile contacts, the helicopter circling overhead in a pattern that made no sense if you didn’t know the pilot refused to abandon the men below.
Carver tried again. "Viper Two, this is Sierra Operations, we need you to pull back to—"
"Negative." The voice that came through the speakers was calm and completely immovable. "I've got eyes on two of them. They're still moving."
Carver glanced at Elliot.
"Viper Two, your position is exposed. You need to—"
"I said negative." A beat. "As long as they’re moving, I'm not leaving."
Okafor appeared at Elliot's shoulder. "Pilot's been like that for forty minutes."
"I can tell," Elliot said, his gaze never leaving the screen.
The helicopter held its position. The ground team crept northwest, agonizingly slowly, hostile contacts closing in from two directions. Air support was twelve minutes out. The math was not good.
Elliot put his hand on Carver's shoulder. Carver stepped back without a word and Elliot took the headset.
"Viper Two, this is Sierra Ops actual. I need you to listen to me."
A pause. "Listening."
"Your position is not sustainable. You need to pull back to Echo-Six and wait for—"
"I've got eyes on my people. I'm not pulling back."
"If you take a hit while you're circling you lose everybody. You understand that?"
The pilot was quiet for a beat. “I understand the math, Sierra Ops. I just don’t like the result.”
Elliot went still.
It was the cadence of it. The way the seriousness was softened by humor. He’d heard that before. He knew that voice from somewhere that had nothing to do with this room or this frequency.
He shot Okafor a look. “What’s the pilot’s name?”
Okafor shrugged. “Didn’t come through in the brief.”
Elliot turned back to the mic. "Viper Two. Please identify yourself."
There was nothing but static on the line. Then voices—clipped and urgent, multiple people talking over each other.
"Viper Two, identify yourself."
The static shifted.
"Captain Hudson Hale. 160th SOAR."
Elliot stood so fast his chair toppled over.
Hudson.
There was a beat of silence on the frequency.
Then everything happened at once.
An earsplitting sound tore through the feed. The screens flickered. Someone behind Elliot shouted something he didn't register.
"Viper Two." Elliot's hand tightened on the headset. "Viper Two, report."
Nothing.
"Hudson." The word came out before he could stop it. "Hudson, report."
Static.
"Hudson—" His voice broke.
Static.
Elliot was aware that he was still standing, pressing the transmit button with more force than necessary. He was aware of Okafor moving to the adjacent screen, of Carver frozen beside him, of the room having gone completely silent.
"Viper Two, come in."
The frequency cracked open.
"...still up…" Hale’s voice was strained. "Say again, Sierra Ops… still up… I've got—" Static. "I've got all four on board. Tail rotor is hit. I need a landing zone. Now."
Elliot exhaled one breath and pulled himself back together in the same motion.
"Echo-Six. Two klicks south. It's clear."
"Copy. Echo-Six—" A jarring sound, something grinding. "She's not doing well. Talk me through it."
"Bearing one-seven-zero. Two klicks. There's a flat stretch east of the ridge, you'll see it."
"Copy." Breathing on the line. Controlled, but only just. "How long?"
"Three minutes at your speed."
"Copy, three minutes."
Major Okafor was already on another frequency, mobilizing extraction, coordinates relayed. The room operated around Elliot at full speed but he registered none of it. He kept his eyes on the grid, the small marker that was Viper Two moving south, slower than it should, trajectory uneven.
"Viper Two, bearing check."
"One-seven-two. Correcting." A pause. "She's fighting me."
"You're doing fine. One point five klicks."
"Personnel status?" Okafor said behind him.
Elliot keyed the mic. "Viper Two, ground team status."
"All four conscious. One injured, not critical."
The marker moved. The room watched. Nobody spoke.
"I see it." Hale’s voice was fully focused. "I see the ridge."
"Five hundred meters," Elliot said.
Static.
"I've got it." Muffled cheers mixed with Hale’s voice. “I've got it."
The marker descended.
Elliot watched it touch the grid point and stop.
"Viper Two is on the ground," someone called from the far workstation.
The room exhaled in one collective breath.
Elliot stayed there with his hand still on the headset. He didn't move. Couldn’t. He was still holding his breath.
Then Hale’s voice came through—the effort of the last ten minutes audible in every word. "Sierra Ops, Viper Two. We’re down safe. All personnel accounted for."
Elliot closed his eyes.
"Copy, Viper Two." His voice came out calm. He had no idea how. "Extraction is four minutes out. Stay on the ground."
He opened his eyes.
Okafor was watching him from across the room. Carver was watching him. Half the room was watching him.
Elliot set the headset down carefully on the workstation.
Four minutes. Hale was on the ground in a damaged helicopter in a hostile area and extraction was four minutes out.
Elliot had done everything he could do and now there was nothing left to do but wait.
But he couldn't wait in this room.
"I need some air," he said to no one in particular.
He walked out of the container and made it approximately four steps before he bent over and threw up into the sand.
He stayed there for a minute or two, hands on his knees, the Syrian heat pressing down on the back of his neck.
Then he straightened, wiped his mouth, and went back inside.
“Give me a status.”