Page 2 of Raven's Curse
The group separated, Kash and two others veering right — corralling the hostages against the wall as they hauled ass toward the rendezvous site. Dalton and Carver returned fire, until a grenade landed nearby.
The two men hit the ground, the frag exploding a second later. Dirt and shrapnel flew through the air, dust choking off the area in a smothering debris cloud. Chase raced ahead, firing off rounds before he and Hodges ducked behind another small building. Chase eased Rios onto the ground, then chucked out a few canisters, emptying his mag until everything erupted into chaos.
The grenades detonated, a blinding flash slicing through the darkness as an ear-piercing shrill echoed through the air.
“Cover me.” Chase didn’t wait for Hodges to start shooting, just darted out, dodging gunfire and tripwires before grabbing Dalton and dragging him behind a wall. Chase braced his shoulders against the shed, then raced over to Carver, taking a hit to his vest as he carried the man back.
Hodges took point, doing his best to cover every angle as Chase piled more supplies on Dalton’s legs, quickly triaging the injuries. Carver had multiple shrapnel injuries, the worst chunk poking out from his thigh. Blood dripped from the wounds, soaking into the ground in an increasing black puddle. Dalton had a GSW to his upper shoulder, just outside his vest. No exit wound.
Chase went to work, pouring on clotting powder, doing his best to plug the holes — ready them for medevac. Hodges was on the comms, calling in another chopper, going through his mags in an effort to keep the forces at bay. Rotors sounded in the distance, the deep resonance vibrating through the ground.
Footsteps pounded near the wall, two hostages doubling back — hitting the ground amidst more gunfire. Chase tensed, glancing at the soldiers, then back to the civilians, aware he couldn’t carry them all.
Couldn’t save everyone.
Dalton gave him a shove, hand falling to his lap as if the simple movement had drained his strength. “We’re not dead yet, Remington. We can drag our asses to the medevac chopper. Hodges has our backs. Get them and go.”
Chase clenched his jaw, staring at the increasing pool of blood. The unfocused eyes staring back at him. He readied his rifle, glanced at Hodges, then over to Dalton. The man was already fading, eyes drooping, his weapon resting in his lap.
Dalton coughed, blood splattering across his fatigues. “I said, go.”
Chase pushed down the riotous roil of his gut. The cold reality that he might not make the return trip in time. “I’ll double back once they’re onboard. Ride home with you.”
“Only if we don’t get onto that other chopper, first.”
“You’d better.” Chase took a step — looked back. “I’m sorry.”
He took off, sprinting across the short section — grabbing both women without really slowing. He slung one over his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around the other’s chest — half-carrying her as he bolted for the aircraft. Shouts carried on the wind, grenades and gunfire following in his wake as he picked up speed.
Foster’s chopper waited in a small clearing, the rotors damn near hitting the trees, Rhett rattling through ammo as he cut through the adjoining forest, cracking branches and scattering more forces.
Chase hit the opening at a dead run, Zain curling in behind him when some asshole popped up off to their right, catching Chase twice in the vest. He managed to twist before he hit the ground, keeping the hostages from landing beneath him. A couple reports popped next to him, Zain appearing out of the night as he grabbed the women.
He snagged Chase’s collar — yanked him upright. “Run.”
Chase shook his head, glancing back. “I can’t leave Dalton and the others. Go. I’ll catch a ride with them.”
He took a few stumbling steps, willing his damn lungs to inflate against the fire in his ribs when a whoosh soared overhead.
White light filled Chase’s view, the missile strike bowling him backwards. He cartwheeled across the ground — stars, dirt, repeat. Over and over before he landed on his back, dust and gravel swirling through the air. Smoke burned a line down his throat. A deafening roar sounded in his head.
He coughed, blacked out, rousing when a hand grabbed his vest. Loud pops boomed around him, the odd casing flicking across his body.
Rhett lifted him onto his feet, snugging his arm around Chase’s chest as he kept firing. “Are you nuts?” Rhett backed up, clipping anything that moved, dragging Chase with him.
Chase shook his head. “Dalton…”
He barely got the man’s name out without puking. Nearly collapsing right there on the ground.
Rhett tightened his grip, catching another tango when he stepped out of the forest. “Medevac’s almost here. They’ll grab anyone still breathing.”
“Rhett, I can’t?—”
Rhett stopped next to the chopper, looking Chase dead in the eyes as he heaved him inside. “There were multiple hits.” He swallowed, closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t see how they survived. Regardless, you’re in no shape to rescue anyone, not even yourself. So, plant your ass on the floor, and try not to fucking die before we get you back to base.”
Rhett took up his position, still firing as Foster picked up the chopper, tossed it off to one side and roared out, the doors open as he whizzed overhead, punching through flames and smoke before heading off.
Chase slumped against the bulkhead, blood smeared on his skin. He stared out at the carnage as it faded into the distance, an emptiness settling in his gut.
