Clay Spenser is running full-tilt through a pine forest when he realizes something has gone wrong with his life.

Bravo Team's current mission is relatively simple: hike in through the hills, infiltrate the compound, take out the target, and get back out again without dying. The first part went off without a hitch. There was some contact after the target was eliminated, but that wasn't unexpected. With a few well-placed explosives, Bravo left enough chaos behind them to ensure a reasonable head start back toward the exfil site.

There will be pursuit, but not of the vehicular variety. No real roads run through these hills. The landscape is jagged, and the narrow valleys are choked with brushy pines clustered so closely together that even ATVs aren't a viable option.

The exfil helo is supposed to pick up Bravo in a broad, arid basin on the other side of the hills. Possibly the most hazardous part of exfiltration will be the moment they emerge from the narrow, tree-choked ravine; it offers good cover but poor visibility, and if the enemy combatants somehow manage to circle around and get ahead of Bravo, there's a chance the team will come out into an ambush.

This is a concern primarily because this mission is being undertaken sans ISR. They're not cleared to use drones in the area, meaning there's no feed that HAVOC can use to confirm the path ahead is clear.

As an alternative, Jason has elected to send Clay high so he can make sure they're not running blindly into a shitstorm. This is a logical decision, given that Clay is both a sniper and the fastest guy on Bravo Team.

Or, Clay is realizing, was the fastest guy on Bravo Team … because they aren't even near the end of the valley yet, and it's taking everything he has just to keep up.

Gritting his teeth, Clay pushes through the burn in his legs, the stitch in his side, and tries to think if he's been slacking on conditioning; running less, eating worse, drinking more. He draws a blank, but clearly he's been doing something wrong, and he's gonna figure out what as soon as this goddamn mission is over.

All too soon, Jason turns back to signal Clay toward the hill to the west.

With a nod of acknowledgement, Clay detours off through the trees, toward where the sharp slope of the uplift juts straight up toward the sky. The soil is crumbly, littered with dry pine needles and loose pebbles that slide under his feet as he throws his weight forward and starts to scramble upward, heart pounding from the exertion.

He can be exhausted later. Right now, his team needs him to do his damn job.

By the time Clay nears the top of the slope, his breath whistles audibly through his throat, and his legs feel weighted. He has to concentrate hard on lifting his feet high enough so that they don't catch on the bigger rocks that poke up from the soil.

Seriously, when did he get this out of shape? Where did the guy go who broke Jason's records on Green Team?

He has a brief, vivid memory of running, Brian at his side, but it's not the time, so Clay shoves his friend back into the compartmentalized corner of his mind that is maybe the only place on earth where Brian is still alive.

Clay stays just below the ridgeline to avoid silhouetting himself against the still-bright sky. Crouched low, he follows the promontory to its conclusion, expecting at any moment for Jason to ask him what's taking so long, but there's only silence in his ear.

He settles, resting his rifle on a spine of rock, looking through the scope down at the mouth of the ravine where it widens out into the basin. His vantage point is good; the potential ambush site contains little cover beyond the trees. Ignoring the burn in his lungs, Clay forces himself to slow inhale, slow exhale while he scans the entire area, searching for any flicker of movement, anything that looks out of place in the thinning treeline or beyond.

"Bravo One, I'm in position," he says, managing not to sound as out of breath as he feels. "I think we're good. No movement. Everything looks clear from here."

"Copy. Let's get out of here."

Clay pushes himself up. "Roger that, Bravo-"

His knees buckle. A wash of static whites his vision.

"Shit," he says blankly, finding himself suddenly sitting on the ground, staring at the fading sunlight gilding the top of the ridge across the canyon.

His knee feels damp. Just the right knee, not both. He touches the fabric. His fingers come away red, and, well, that explains a lot.

It's got to be there somewhere, but Clay can't find it. Knee? Thigh? Where is the damn wound?

"-Six, report!" Jason barks in his ear. Clay flinches. Shit. He must have still been on comms when he went down.

"Got a little bit of a situation here," he says. His voice comes out very calm. "I'm injured, but I don't think it's too bad."

"Copy, Bravo Six." Jason's tone stays neutral. "What are we talking? Sprain?"

Clay winces. This isn't gonna go over well. "Uh, negative, One. Think I got shot."

There's a brief pause. "Got shot in the firefight that ended half an hour ago?" Jason asks, sharp-edged.

Clay's first impulse is to get defensive. He tamps it down. "Guess so. Didn't realize till I stopped moving."

Jason lets that go. For now, at least. "We need to come to you?"

"Nah, man, I'm ambulatory. I'm good." Clay pushes himself up, waits a beat for the dizziness to ease, and starts downhill, keeping his weight back, half sliding on pine needles and scree.

That odd stitch in his side comes back, a vague, nagging hitch of pain just below his tac vest that twinges a bit sharper when he twists. The pieces click together in his head. He swears quietly.

If he got hit in the side, and the blood has soaked all the way down to his knee…

Well, whatever chance he had of surviving is now gone, because Trent is going to kill him.

At the bottom of the slope, Clay stands, staggers, and has to grab at a tree to stay on his feet. Looking up through the branches confirms that the sky is still pre-sunset blue, but the light seems to be quickly fading, color bleeding out of the edges of the world.

This is going to shit much faster than he expected. He should probably be worried about that.

He makes it from that pine tree to another, and then another and another, but his team isn't yet in sight when his vision goes liquid and he sits down hard against feathery bark.

Clay tries to blink away the blur. He puts his palms flat on the forest floor and pushes up. His arms shake, but nothing else happens.

"Hey, Bravo One," he says into the radio, "I think, um…"

"Coming to you." Jason sounds clipped. Maybe impatient. Angry. Hard to tell with the way sounds are echoing hollowly in Clay's head.

He leans against the pine tree, blinks, and peels back open his eyes to find Trent crouched over him, saying, "Clay, where? Where?"

"Side," Clay mumbles. "I think." His mouth is dry. He's started shivering. He doesn't remember it being this cold.

Someone takes him by the shoulders and eases him down so he's lying flat on the carpet of pine needles. Clay drifts, and when he comes back Trent is saying, "If we'd caught it right away, maybe, but he's already been bleeding for too long."

"Shit." Jason paces a few steps, then turns back. "I figure we've got maybe 30 mikes before they catch up to us. If we don't make it to exfil before then…"

Trent does something to Clay's side. Clay groans, makes a cursory attempt to bat Trent's hand away, but doesn't have the energy to struggle when Sonny pins his wrist to the ground and says, "Uh-uh, Blondie. Let him work."

"If we move him," Trent tells Jason, "he's gonna start bleeding again."

"But if we don't move him…" Ray doesn't finish that sentence. He doesn't need to.

Clay forces his eyelids open and looks at Jason. "How far?" He asks.

Jason opens his mouth, closes it. Even with the world gone blurry, Clay can see the answer written all over Hayes's face. They've already lost too much time.

Unencumbered, the team might still make it. With him slowing them down? They'll die. That can't happen. Not again.

"You're gonna have to leave me," Clay says. Sonny's fingers tighten on his wrist.

"No," Jason states flatly.

"Jace-" Clay struggles to sit up. Sonny pushes his shoulders back down. "Dammit, Jace, listen to me!"

"Spenser, stop talking," Jason snaps.

Clay's face is wet. He gulps in a breath that sounds very much like a sob. "Y'all can still make it. There's no reason for all of us to die."

"There's no reason for any of us to die, you got that?" Without waiting for a response, Jason turns away, starts talking to HAVOC about the exfil site: Negative, we can't get there by then.

Clay is desperately thirsty. His skin prickles with cold sweat. He loses track of the conversation until Jason leans over him and says, "We have to move you now. It's gonna hurt."

It does.

Once they get him upright, Sonny and Ray each sling an arm beneath Clay's shoulders, taking most of his weight. As they haul him along, Sonny mutters a steady stream of complaints about how heavy he is.

Clay opens his eyes, sees nothing but a wash of fading gray, and whispers, "Sonny, is it dark?"

Sonny makes a noise like there's something stuck in his throat. "Yeah, kid. Sun's down."

"Oh," Clay says. Sonny sounds out of breath. The jumbled shards of Clay's thoughts try to tell him that there's no way they're moving fast enough to make it in time, but he closes his eyes and opens them again and there's the helo.

Together, Trent and Sonny and Ray get Clay inside and lay him down while Jason yells something at the pilot. They lift off. Clay watches as Trent puts an IV in his arm. He doesn't feel the needle go in.

The helicopter is loud, but it's a distant sort of loud. Clay lets the thrum vibrate through his bones. There's just enough light for him to make out everyone's faces: Trent, Sonny, Jason, Ray, Brock. They're all here. They're all safe. No one died for him.

Clay's eyes burn. He fights to keep them open, because he isn't ready to not see his team anymore.

Trent leans down, yelling something, hands cupped around Clay's face. It seems important. Clay tries to listen, but he's so tired.

His eyes slide closed and he's gone.