Page 38 of Rescue

Jon

The office buzzes softly,a murmur of keyboards and distant voices. But today, the sound doesn’t settle. It grates, sharp against the tension in my chest. I sit in the lounge, staring at the cup in my hand. The coffee’s long gone cold, but I can’t bring myself to move. Every second feels stretched, waiting for the inevitable.

The shuffle of crutches draws my eyes upward. Will is at the door, moving slowly but with purpose. The stiffness in his gait is a stark contrast to the solidity in his expression. When we shake hands, the grip is firm, but there’s something beneath it—an unspoken acknowledgment of what brought us here.

We don’t talk much as we sit. Words feel inadequate, and the air between us is heavy enough without adding more. When Mel arrives, her smile is brief, her eyes shadowed with the same weight I see in the mirror. The three of us form a loose circle, our chairs too far apart for the kind of closeness this conversation demands.

Mel breaks the silence first, her voice soft, hesitant, as if testing the weight of the words before letting themfall. I nod along, though my mind drifts back to Yorkshire—those endless hills, the quiet that seemed to echo louder than any city noise.

The door opens, cutting through the tension. Greg Archer stands there, his expression as unreadable as ever. He motions for us to follow, and the three of us file into the meeting room like prisoners being led to trial.

Inside, the table gleams under harsh fluorescent lights. The screen on the wall flickers to life, displaying a timeline of events in cold, sterile text. Greg’s voice is even, detached, as he walks us through it. Initial Call from Pastkhuf Village – 10:23 AM. Decision to Dispatch – 11:15 AM. Departure from Khorog – 12:45 PM. Landslide Occurs – 13:12 PM. Emergency Response Begins – 13:18 PM.

Each line feels like a punch, the precision of it a cruel contrast to the chaos we lived through. As Greg speaks, the images flash in my mind—the rain hammering against the windshield, the gut-twisting slide of the truck, the moment everything collapsed.

When Greg finally pauses, his gaze sweeps the room. “Does this align with your recollection?”

I nod mutely, but the words in my head aren’t as neat as the ones on the screen. Should’ve checked. Should’ve pushed harder. Should’ve known.

Will shifts beside me, his jaw tight. Mel presses her palms flat on the table, her shoulders trembling. One by one, we voice it—the guilt, the regrets, the weight we’ve carried since that day.

Greg’s voice remains measured, but there’s a subtle shift in his tone, a quiet insistence as he addresses us.

“You all did the right thing,” he says, his gaze sweeping across the table. “The decisions you made were sound, given the information you had at the time.”

Will doesn’t let it rest. His crutches are beside him, forgotten as he leans forward, his knuckles whitening as they grip the edge of the table. “I should have done a better analysis of the route,” he says, his voice tight. “If I’d been more thorough, we could have avoided the area entirely.”

Greg holds his ground, calm but resolute. “And what would you have found, Will?” he asks, not unkindly. “That the last recorded landslide in that region was ten years ago? That the road, despite its condition, was marked as passable? None of that would have prepared you for what happened.”

Will exhales sharply, sinking back into his chair. The lines around his mouth deepen, but he doesn’t argue further. The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for more, but Greg presses on.

“We’ve reviewed all the documentation, every decision made that day,” Greg continues, his hands resting lightly on the table as he speaks. “There was nothing—nothing—that could have prevented this short of knowing the future. And none of us has that ability.”

The words land heavily, but there’s a finality to them, a boundary we can’t cross no matter how many times we replay that day in our minds.

Greg pauses, then shifts his focus to each of us in turn. “I know this doesn’t make it easier, but I want you to understand that this wasn’t negligence. It wasn’t carelessness. Working for an organisation like GHHI means working in unpredictable conditions, taking calculated risks. Unfortunately, sometimes the outcomes are tragic.”

His expression softens as he adds, “Arif’s family has been fully supported. We’ve ensured they’ll be taken care of financially. And for all of you—Mel, Jon, Will—you have access to the psychotherapist as long as you need it. Please don’t hesitate to use that resource. And if there’s anything else, anything at all, you let me know.”

The room falls into silence again, the weight of Greg’s words settling over us like a heavy blanket. For a moment, none of us moves, the echoes of his assurances mingling with the grief and guilt we can’t yet put down.

The air in the room feels heavier again as Mel looks between us, her lips pressing together thoughtfully before she speaks. “What about you two? What happens next?”

Will shifts in his chair, adjusting his crutches slightly. His face is set, a mix of weariness and resolve. “I’m done with missions,” he says simply, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “It’s time to focus on my family, be there for them properly. The risk... it’s not something I can justify anymore.”

Mel nods, her expression understanding but tinged with a faint sadness. “I get it,” she says softly, the weight of her own experiences clear in her voice. “My boss rescued me, honestly. I told her I couldn’t do this anymore—couldn’t keep going out there—and she’s moved me into a role here, something that doesn’t require trips abroad. It’s a relief. The aftermath of all this... it’s just too much.”

Her words settle between us, quiet but significant. She doesn’t need to elaborate; we all know the cost of what we’ve been through.

They both turn to me, waiting, and for a moment, I hesitate. The words are there, but they feel raw, unfinished. “I’m making some changes,” I say finally, my voice steadybut subdued. “I’m not looking for another secondment abroad, that’s for sure. I’ve had my fill of distant chaos.”

Mel gives me a wry smile, but there’s no judgement in it—only curiosity. “So, what then?”

“I want to escape London more,” I admit, the truth settling as I speak it. “Not to run, but to find some balance. Maybe up north. Somewhere quieter. I need to figure it out, but I know I can’t keep going the way I was.”

The words feel lighter as I say them, like I’m beginning to lift the weight I’ve been carrying. Mel nods, and Will tilts his head slightly, considering.

“I think we’re all looking for that in some way,” Will says, his tone reflective. “Balance. After everything... maybe that’s all we can hope for in the aftermath.”

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