Chapter 25
The Black Hawk slammed onto Jordanian soil with a bone-jarring impact, spitting a violent spray of sand and dust. The moment the skids touched, Link sprang to his feet, adrenaline a cold, hard current through his veins.
He didn’t wait for the ramp. He burst out the side door, medical kits already in hand, and hurled one to Jax, who was a step behind him.
“Jax! Shadow! With me!” Link’s voice cut through the roaring rotors, raw with command.
“Enzo, Thorn—perimeter! Jake, on that sat phone now! Prep Hank and Michaels. Tell them second bird is down, just shy of the border, all personnel unaccounted for. We need extraction, quick reaction, and medical support on Syrian soil. Move!”
The desert floor was a maelstrom of whipping sand and the deafening thrum of the idling Black Hawk. The acrid scent of burning oil, carried on the harsh wind, grew stronger, pulling Link’s gaze to the smoking wreck just a quarter-mile back, a malevolent beacon of fire in the Syrian night.
Behind him, Noor’s quiet sobbing, punctuated by ragged gasps, was a fragile thread against the backdrop of shouted orders and frantic movement.
She still sat strapped in, her face pale, streaked with tears and exhaustion, her eyes fixed on the smoke plume, a flicker of fear mingled with fierce, desperate hope.
Her girls were safe, nestled close in their seats, still peacefully sedated. But Sammy…
Link moved to her, his hand briefly touching her shoulder amidst the chaos.
He leaned close, his voice softer, but no less firm, for her ears alone.
“Noor,” he began, meeting her terrified gaze.
“I need you to listen to me. Your girls are safe. We brought them out. And we’re going to get Sammy.
He’s tough, he’s smart, and he’s with Nova and the best team I know.
I promise you, we’re bringing him back.”
Noor’s breath hitched, the raw sob caught in her throat. She nodded, drawing shaky comfort from his words, her gaze returning to the distant smoke, a silent prayer forming on her lips.
Link squeezed her hand once more, then spun away, grabbing his rifle from where it lay. He didn’t pause to strap it on. He didn’t hesitate.
“Jake, you have control here,” he barked, his eyes already locked on the distant wreckage. “Take care of the ladies and coordinate with Hank and Commander Michaels. I’m going in.”
Then, fueled by a terrifying cocktail of paternal dread and soldier’s resolve, Link, Jax, and Shadow launched themselves across the desolate landscape.
Link forgot his exhaustion, forgot the pain, forgot everything but the image of his son and his team, caught in that smoking tomb, just beyond reach.
He sprinted full speed, a solitary figure racing against the fear.
The ground grew rougher, littered with shattered rock and debris ejected from the crash. Twisted rotor blades lay half-buried in the sand, massive limbs torn from the helicopter’s body. The air grew thick with the stench of jet fuel and ozone, the heat from the burning fuselage a palpable wave.
Link didn’t break stride, his eyes sweeping the scene. The cockpit was a mangled mess. The pilots were still inside, slumped, utterly still. No time.
He moved around the smoldering hull, his ears ringing with the sounds of twisted metal groaning and distant, sporadic gunfire.
There, outside the main wreckage: Blast, sprawled on his back, eyes wide and unfocused.
His right leg was a horrifying, unnatural angle, bone jutting through torn fatigues.
Cuts and scrapes crisscrossed his face, but he was breathing.
“Jax, Blast!” Link barked, pointing. “Shadow, help me clear this side!”
Jax was already kneeling beside Blast, his medkit spilling open.
Shadow moved with Link, pulling at sections of fused metal.
Deeper inside the fractured cabin, Link saw Warden.
He was slumped against a ruptured bulk, a deep gash weeping blood from his temple, unconscious.
Tank. No. Tank was trapped beneath a section of the collapsed ceiling, head twisted at an impossible angle. There was no life there.
“Dog! Nova!” Link roared, his voice cracking.
He saw Dog then, a bloody mess of cuts and bruises, whether his own or from others was impossible to tell in the flickering light. He was straining, pulling at a section of bent metal that had crushed a seat. “Spider! He’s pinned!” Dog grunted, his face contorted with effort.
And Nova. She was moving, slowly, pushing herself up, her hand pressed to a bleeding gash on her temple. Her arm hung at an odd angle. She looked up, her eyes wide, glassy with pain but recognizing Link.
One glance, two. Link’s tactical brain cataloged injuries, triage, immediate threats. But one face was missing. The most important one.
“SAMMY!” Link screamed, his voice ripped from his throat, raw with terror that drowned out the roaring inferno and the chattering gunfire. He scrambled over a section of fuselage, scanning the shadowed areas, the heaps of twisted steel. “SAMMY! ANSWER ME!”
A sudden, sharp volley of machine-gun fire stitched across the wreckage, impacting metal with a high-pitched whine. Faisal’s men. They were here, trying to finish the job.
Link dove for cover behind a piece of the fuselage, Jax and Shadow returning fire, pinning down the incoming attack. But Link’s eyes remained glued to the ground, searching, desperate.
Then he saw it. A foot. A sneaker, barely visible, half-buried beneath a massive, jagged piece of the tail rotor.
“Sammy!” he gasped, terror and renewed hope battling in his chest. He lunged forward, ignoring the incoming fire, ignoring Jax’s shout of warning, ignoring everything but that tiny, familiar sneaker.
Suddenly, the desert night was torn apart by a new sound.
Not the chattering of small arms, but the deep, throaty roar of two helicopters, swooping low and fast from the north.
The lead chopper’s powerful searchlights cut through the dust and smoke, turning the wreckage site into a harsh, blinding arena, a wave of disciplined, rapid-fire suppressed weapons erupting from its side, hammering the positions of Faisal’s men, who were immediately thrown into disarray.
Behind it, the second Black Hawk was already deploying.
Rope lines snaked down from its belly, and a SEAL team in full combat gear fast-roped to the ground near the wreckage, moving with ruthless precision to secure the crash site.
The cavalry had arrived.