Chapter 10 Final Preparations #3
"Because I cannot deliver damaged goods to my buyers," Nazari said matter-of-factly. "They are paying for an American special operations soldier in working condition. Not a corpse. Not a cripple."
"Considerate of you." Steele's voice was rough. Dehydration and the split lip making it hard to form words.
"Practical." Nazari pulled over a chair and sat, crossing his legs like they were having a casual conversation.
"Dr. Khalil will set your arm. Remove the shrapnel from your leg.
Treat the infection. You will be given antibiotics and proper food.
By the time the Syrians arrive tomorrow, you will be presentable. "
Tomorrow. Not three days. Two. They'd moved up the timeline.
Steele didn't let his face show the cold dread that settled in his gut.
Tomorrow meant his team had even less time than he'd thought.
Meant rescue was even less likely. Meant the window was closing faster than anyone knew.
He kept his breathing steady, forced his expression to remain neutral. Showed nothing.
Dr. Khalil knelt beside him and opened his bag. His hands were steady as he examined the arm first, fingers probing gently despite the circumstances. "This will hurt," he said in accented English. "I have no anesthetic."
"Wouldn't expect any," Steele replied.
The doctor worked quickly and efficiently.
Set the bone. Splinted it with wooden slats and cloth strips from his bag.
Wrapped it tight enough to immobilize but not tight enough to cut off circulation.
Professional work despite the primitive conditions.
Then he moved to the leg. Cut into the wound and Steele's vision went white.
The doctor's fingers probed deep, searching for the metal embedded in muscle.
Every touch was agony. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain radiating up his leg and into his spine.
Steele's good hand clenched into a fist. His jaw locked so tight he thought his teeth might crack.
Finally, Dr. Khalil pulled out a piece of twisted metal about the size of a thumb.
Shrapnel from the RPG blast. He dropped it into a metal bowl with a clink that sounded obscenely loud in the small room.
He packed the wound with gauze soaked in antiseptic.
Wrapped it. Injected something into Steele's thigh that burned.
"Antibiotic. It will help fight the infection. "
Steele's breathing was ragged. Sweat poured down his face despite the cool temperature. But he hadn't screamed. Hadn't broken.
Dr. Khalil stood and looked at Nazari. "He needs fluids. Food. Rest. The wounds will heal but only if he is given proper care."
"He will have it." Nazari stood as well. The doctor packed his bag and left without another word.
Nazari studied Steele with clinical interest. "You are wondering why I would bother. Why treat your injuries when you are simply going to be handed over to people who will hurt you far worse than my men have."
Steele said nothing. Just stared at him with his one good eye.
"The Syrians are paying a premium for you," Nazari continued. "They want you healthy enough to withstand what they have planned. Healthy enough to be paraded in front of cameras." He leaned forward slightly. "But they also want you broken. Defeated. A symbol of American failure."
"Good luck with that."
Nazari's smile widened. "You still have hope. I can see it. You believe your team will come for you. That they are planning some dramatic rescue even as we speak."
Steele didn't respond. Didn't confirm or deny. Just kept his face neutral.
"They are not coming," Nazari said. "I have been monitoring communications. There has been no unusual military activity. No search patterns. Your superiors have written you off as acceptable losses."
The words were designed to break him. To strip away hope. Steele knew the tactic. Had been trained to recognize it. Didn't make it any easier to hear.
Nazari stood and walked to the door. "My wife and son are gone because of you. Because you chose to help them escape instead of completing your mission. I want you to spend your remaining time contemplating that choice. Wondering if it was worth it."
Steele met his eyes. Held his gaze for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice low and steady despite the pain. "That what you did to them? Your wife and son? Keep the bruises where no one could see? Make sure they knew their place but looked perfect on the outside?"
The slap came fast. Nazari's hand connected with Steele's face hard enough to snap his head to the side. The split lip reopened and fresh blood ran down his chin. But Steele turned back slowly, looked Nazari in the eye, and smiled through the blood.
"Hit a nerve, did I?"
Nazari's jaw was tight. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
For a moment, Steele thought he might actually lose control.
But then the mask slipped back into place.
"Tomorrow," Nazari said quietly, his voice dangerously soft.
"Tomorrow the Syrians will come. And I will personally ensure they understand exactly how much suffering you deserve. "
"Looking forward to it," Steele said, though his heart was pounding.
Nazari stared at him for another long moment. Then he turned and left. The guards followed, and the door slammed shut.
Steele was alone again with nothing but the buzzing light and his thoughts.
He tested the splint on his arm carefully.
Solid work. The pain was still there but manageable now that the bone was set properly.
His leg throbbed with each heartbeat but the worst of the infection heat had already started to diminish.
The antibiotic was working. Nazari had made a mistake.
A small one, but a mistake nonetheless. He'd made Steele healthier.
Stronger. More capable of fighting or running if the opportunity presented itself.
The door opened again and a different guard entered with a tray. Rice. Chicken. Bread. Water. Even some kind of fruit. More food than Steele had seen in two days. The guard set it down and left.
Steele ate slowly, mechanically, forcing himself to chew despite the pain in his jaw. His body needed the calories. Needed the fuel to heal and stay strong. Each bite was an act of defiance. Each swallow was preparation for whatever came next.
He thought about his team. Wondered what they were doing right now.
If they were planning something or if they'd been ordered to stand down.
He thought about the woman from the compound.
The one with the dark eyes who'd looked at him like she was trying to decide if he was worth saving.
He'd assigned her a name in his head though he had no idea what she was actually called.
Wondered if she ever thought about him. Wondered if she'd made it home safely.
Tomorrow the Syrians would come. Tomorrow everything would change. Tomorrow the window would close completely and whatever hope he had left would die with it.
But today, right now, in this moment, he was still Logan Reed. Still Sergeant First Class. Still a Delta operator who didn't quit and didn't break. Still a man who'd made a choice to help a kid and his mother escape a monster.
He closed his eyes and tried to rest. Tried to conserve his strength for whatever came next.
One more day. He just had to survive one more day.
Somewhere out there, maybe someone was coming. Maybe his team had found a way. Maybe the woman with the dark eyes remembered him.
Or maybe he was alone.
Either way, he'd hold the line. Because that's what soldiers did.
Erbil, Iraq Same Time
Hawk checked his watch. 0100 hours. One hour until insertion. His team was ready. Had been ready for hours. But ready didn't mean calm. Ready didn't mean the waiting was easier.
Bulldog was checking his breaching charges for the third time. Making sure the det cord was properly connected. Making sure the timers were set. Making sure everything would work perfectly when he blew the north entrance and sent Delta Force into Nazari's building like the wrath of God.
Risk had his medical kit organized to the point of obsession. Every piece of equipment staged for instant access. Every drug pre-loaded. Every bandage ready. When they found Steele, Risk would have seconds to assess and treat. Seconds that could mean the difference between life and death.
Ghost monitored communication frequencies, looking for any sign that Nazari's people knew they were coming. Any spike in traffic. Any change in guard rotation. Any indication that the operation was compromised before it even started.
Joker sat in the driver's seat of the lead vehicle, engine idling, ready to move the second they got the call. His hands drummed against the steering wheel in a rhythm only he could hear. Nervous energy looking for an outlet.
Hawk understood. Felt it himself. The tension that came from knowing your team leader was in enemy hands and you were about to do something that could either save him or get everyone killed.
His radio crackled. Mara's voice, calm and professional. "Shadow Veil to Delta Six. We're ten minutes out from target position. Moving into final staging now."
"Delta Six copies," Hawk replied. "We're ready on your mark."
Ten minutes. Then they moved. Then they found out if three days of planning and coordination would be enough to pull one man out of hell.
Hawk thought about Steele. About the operator who'd led this team for five years. About the friend who'd pulled Hawk out of a burning vehicle in Afghanistan. About the soldier who'd stayed behind to buy civilians time to escape because that's who he was.
About the choice Steele had made that had led to this moment.
The radio crackled again. Ghost's voice, tight with controlled alarm. "Communication spike. Nazari's people are preparing for prisoner transfer. Timeline's moved up. They're moving him in three hours, not six."
Three hours. The window had just shrunk by half. If they didn't move now, if they didn't get Steele out in the next three hours, he'd be gone. Disappeared into Syria. Lost.
Hawk made the call. "All teams, we're moving now. Advance timeline. Insertion at 0130. Confirm."
"Shadow Veil confirms," Mara's voice came back immediately. "We're moving."
Bulldog looked at Hawk. "Early insertion. Guards won't be as settled."
"Can't be helped. We move or we lose him."
The team loaded into vehicles without discussion. They'd rehearsed this. Knew their roles. Knew that early insertion meant higher risk but the alternative was unacceptable.
The vehicles rolled out. Headlights off. Night vision active. Moving through Iraqi darkness toward a building where their team leader waited.
Hawk watched the landscape slide past through the windscreen. Thought about all the operations he'd run. All the missions that had gone right and the ones that had gone wrong. All the times he'd made the call that sent men into danger.
This one felt different. This one was personal in a way that went beyond tactics. Beyond strategy. Beyond the operational parameters that governed everything they did.
This was about bringing their own home. About refusing to leave a man behind. About proving that loyalty meant something even when the odds were bad and the risks were high.
The building appeared ahead. Dark. Fortified. Exactly like the intelligence had shown. Lights on in the basement level. Vehicles parked outside. Guards visible on patrol.
Hawk keyed his radio. "Delta Six to Shadow Veil. Eyes on target. Moving into position now."
"Shadow Veil copies. In position on south side. Ready to breach on your mark."
Hawk checked his watch. 0125. Five minutes early. Guards still alert. Timing wasn't ideal but it would have to do.
He looked at his team. At the four men who'd followed him into a hundred firefights. Who'd trusted him with their lives. Who were about to breach a building to rescue a man who'd done the same for them.
"Five minutes," he said. "We go in fast. We get Steele. We get out. No heroes. No unnecessary risks. We do this by the numbers and we all go home."
The team nodded. Ready. Determined. Willing.
The night stretched ahead. Dark. Dangerous. Full of unknowns.
But in five minutes, they'd have answers. In five minutes, they'd either save their team leader or die trying.
Either way, they weren't leaving him behind.
Not ever.