I'm so sorry it took so long! To make up for it, this chapter was eleven pages on Word. O.O
Many thanks to UnfinishedCadenza, ita-chan01, Arhani 'Danny' Daforcena, shadowsghosts and ectoB1, my beta! ^^
DISCLAIMER: I do not own CoDMW2. Infinity Ward does. Pretty sure about that.
Common nightmares often include the monster under the bed, the boogeyman in the closet, the reaper coming for his harvest. Nightmares were always something that ended when the daylight broke, a trick of the mind that frightened one into a stupor that could last for days. Mornings were the saviors of dreamers who had nightmares, chasing them away and showing them that they were not real, and by emerging from the covers of the bed, the terrors were escapable for the day.
Valorie herself had many nightmares in her lifetime, and they certainly did not lessen when she joined the Army Rangers. This one, however… she had no words for it. It didn't follow any common practice for nightmares; it struck in the daytime, multiple horrors coming at once and in quick succession. Allen was dead. Russia was invading. America was burning. All the past events of the last week had cumulated into this grand finale of a horrible turn of events, from innocent civilian deaths to the burning of monuments and historic American land. The land of the free was being shackled by fear.
As Valorie waited, afraid, exhausted, and dirty, crouched in the drainage ditch behind a smoldering house in Virginia, she thought back to what Noah had told her, not two days before as she was on the airplane to the home front. Shepherd had transferred him to the mysterious 141, mainly as a pilot. He also held the position of secondary captain to assist the one already in place. He said it was great; the food was awesome, the beds were warm and not filled with sand, the guys were all amiable. Valorie snorted as she recalled that conversation. Here she was now, under heavy fire and watching carnage surround her as Noah lived it up on some prissy base. She shook her head, shaking off her animosity towards her friend as well. She tried to think back; Noah had told her of a specific mission in which the other captain and a sergeant had infiltrated enemy lines to retrieve a downed ACS module. Wistfully, Valorie glanced up at the sky as Russian fighter jets soared overhead. She supposed even the elite band of brothers at Encounter Base had a bad day. Unfortunately, the screw up now landed on the Rangers at Army Base Phoenix to fix, and whether she liked it or not, Valorie had a job to get her boys back home alive.
Not five minutes ago, Hunter 2-1's Humvees had been blasted by an enemy BTR. Sergeant Foley had given the order to abandon the convoy fast enough, and the eight members of the squad were now glancing anxiously about, several eyeing planes that flew overhead.
"Squad on me," Foley called, trying not to draw attention to the group of disheveled troops. The call that they were going home to fight had been a complete shock, and many were still in dismay at seeing their country burning. Valorie slapped one whose mouth was hanging slack as he looked at a Russian launch a grenade at a fleeing car, shaking him out of his stupor. Each soldier took a knee or crouched next the Foley, ducking once in a while as a response to stray bullets or anxiously looking over their shoulders. Valorie scanned everyone's faces. Dunn kept nervously peeking over his shoulder. Pvt. Iris and Pvt. Spring stood close to her, crouched and cautious. Valorie glanced at the newest member, Pvt. James Ramirez, who regarded Foley with cool acceptance. He seemed unperturbed by the chaos in the air. The last two men looked at Foley, waiting for orders. Valorie knew her own appearance was still haggard. Although she had gotten snippets of sleep after the fiasco at the Red Zone, it wasn't enough. The invading nightmares didn't help either.
"Raptor is about 300 meters north of here. We're going to secure him and get the hell out of here. Hooah?" Foley asked, trying to inspire his battalion. They still exchanged unsure looks and only muttered a reply. Silently, they followed Foley across the bridge. Valorie scanned her surroundings, Pvt. Iris and Pvt. Spring covering her flanks.
"Overlord, this is Hunter 2-1, requesting air support, over!" Foley called into his radio, leading the team into a home's backyard. The group held their breath as the Russian BTR rolled down the street, turrets scouting for any American that they could rip apart.
"Negative, Hunter 2-1, all air support is already engaged. Ground troops en route, but have encountered heavy resistance. Good luck, Hunter 2-1," Overlord blared over the radio. Foley glanced at Dunn, a furtive look that the two shared. They wondered just how bad this attack was.
"Copy that Overlord. Over and out," Foley responded, listening as Overlord's line went dead. He relished in the quiet buzzing, the temporary bubble of peace around his troops in the shelter of the backyard. For now, everyone was safe in this war torn country. The sergeant didn't know how long it would last.
"Sarge," Dunn squeaked, glancing nervously about, "Did HQ just tell us to go F ourselves?"
"Pretty much!" Foley glanced around the house, scanning the BTR. The quickest way to Raptor was being blocked, but a plan soon came to mind. "Okay, team, hang tight; BTR hasn't spotted us yet. Do not fire, got that? Ramirez, you're gonna pop some smoke to give us cover on my mark. Understood?"
All the rangers nodded with apprehension, nervous about taking down an armored tank. Valorie was checking her medical supplies, making sure she had everything she would need and extras. Quietly, they followed Foley onto the torn up street, sewage leaking out from the cracks, gas explosions occasionally erupting. With all this carnage, it was a living minefield; one false step and a leg could be blown off.
Valorie marveled at what she saw. Dolls from small girls littered the street, burned and blackened; bikes from teenage boys were twisted and mangled, sick trophies for the Russians. Some houses had already been ransacked and ravaged, and Valorie glanced down as she stepped on a photo frame. She stooped quickly to pick it up and examine it. The glass was missing, but inside the photo was mostly intact, showing a smiling four member family. Valorie squinted at it some more, wondering what the dark splotches on the picture were. After realizing what it was, she dropped the picture quickly, stomach clenching.
As soon as the BTR swiveled its turrets around, Pvt. Ramirez hurled three smoke grenades, effectively eliminating the tank's line of sight. The entire squad sprinted into the alley, guns blazing. Valorie took down one enemy while running full speed, not having time to think about it as more gunshots rang from the alleyway that the squad was entering. Valorie dove behind a dumpster, listening as the bullets pinged off the metal. She hoped it would hold. Pvt. Ramirez joined her, jumping up to take down the enemy as they reloaded.
"Clear!" shouted Pvt. Iris, coming out from behind his cover. Everyone followed suit, and Valorie began flitting between all of them, checking for cuts, scrapes or major wounds.
"Everyone okay?" she called, fussing over Dunn. He pushed her off, knocking a fist against the side of her helmet and assuring her he was fine. She checked over Ramirez next, who calmly assured her he was still breathing.
"Specialist, you gonna give us all full body checks or are we gonna get to Raptor?" Foley asked, moving down the alley, beginning to take down hostiles massing at the gas station parking lot. Valorie smiled at the tough love, coming to a crouch next to her sergeant and began to pull the trigger on her M4A1.
"If I don't look after you boys, who will?" Valorie shouted over the gunfire, aiming and firing at a Russian running for cover behind a pick up truck. She sucked in a breath when the recoil struck the burns on her hands. The wounds from that day were still fresh and painful, constant reminders of Valorie's limitations and weakness. She hated them.
Moving quickly, the squad converged on a downed helicopter, metal twisted and bent in ways Valorie had not thought possible. Raptor was supposedly in here, but as Valorie peered inside the windshield, no one was there. She kicked the front of the bird, grumbling. The group pushed forward once again, steadily gaining ground. They meet up with the reinforcement troops in the middle of the fight, and a young soldier waved their band over.
"Private, gimme a sitrep! Where's raptor, do you have him secure?" Foley barked, squatting behind a car and firing. His squad fanned out loyally behind him, Valorie taking a knee. She pulled the scope up to her eye and fired, doing her best to wound, not kill. Not only did this not put more blood on Valorie's hands, but it also caused more Russians to leave the fighting; one unable to fight, two to carry the wounded.
"We've got Raptor, moved him to a meat locker. It's practically bulletproof! You got a medic with you?" The private yelled. Foley nodded.
"Red, go with the private, check on Raptor!" Foley ordered, letting out a quick burst of fire from his gun to end his sentence. Valorie scowled as one of her bullets ricocheted of a tree and hit a car, causing the engine to catch on fire.
"Send Dunn! I'm a combat medic, not a babysitter!" She screamed back, hitting her target this time. Foley scowled, sending it her way and Valorie sighed, knowing she was going to have to follow these orders. Still, she hesitated. Valorie didn't want to leave her squad; these men were more important to her than some business executive that never saw bloodshed, only heard reports. The troops risked their lives that the VIP seemed to not care about. Foley must have learned to scowl from Noah, because Valorie swore she had seen it before.
Valorie almost shrieked as she felt something hit her shoulder. She turned to see Pvt. Spring smiling, a refreshing sight. It astounded Valorie; how was this boy still smiling, even through the worst nightmare she was sure any of them had ever had? Hope radiated through him, as well as a drive to succeed and the will to win. His confidence flowed into Valorie, absolving her stubbornness.
"Specialist Red, we'll be fine. I'll let you know if any one of us gets hurt," Pvt. Spring promised, tapping his radio to show her how they would keep in touch. Behind him, Pvt. Iris puffed out his chest, nodding to Valorie. They were accepting the additional task of watching over everyone. Valorie searched their faces before nodding, running and dodging bullets with Pvt. Wells and looking back as much as possible.
Amidst bullets, fire and bodies, Valorie sprinted next to Pvt. Wells, diving into a burger joint as soon as a spray of bullets peppered at her heels. Two soldiers slammed the door quickly, even though the glass had been destroyed. The private pulled her over to a meat locker and opened it, revealing a slouched Raptor inside. Valorie set to work, checking vitals, looking for cuts, and examining the man. She checked his pulse, lifted up his eyelids to look at his eyes, and felt around the back of his head for wounds. He only had a few scrapes, evidence of his fight with the helicopter. The only major problem was that the man was unconscious.
"How's he looking, Doc?" Pvt. Wells asked, leaning over her shoulder as she disinfected a cut. The hydrogen peroxide foamed as it hit the wound, letting Valorie know it was doing its job and eating the bacteria. She reached into one of her pouches and hooked up an IV to the VIP's arm, just in case, before turning to Pvt. Wells.
"He'll be fine. The unconsciousness is a little troubling, but I see no head wounds; he should wake up within hours. You boys just gotta keep him safe," Valorie instructed, standing and yanking off the rubber gloves. She followed Pvt. Wells out of the locker, and he locked it from the inside before exiting.
Valorie crouched down of her hands and knees, flinching as bullets zinged into the restaurant, hitting the foam seats right above her head. Little tufts of cushion pelted her head, dust and dirt fling into her eyes. She cursed, dropping into prone position as she rubbed vigorously at her eyes. Valorie set herself into a sitting position safely, blinking away dust. She coughed viciously, placing her hand against her chest to monitor her heart beat. Among the screams of the dying and the cries of the wounded, Valorie tried to calm herself. Her blood was pumping in her ears, paranoia dancing across her mind. She felt jumpy and nervous, the effects similar to drinking one of those taurine filled energy drinks. Valorie closed her eyes and took steady breaths, calming her heart rate. The blackness in her eyes muffled the horrors of the outside grounds, and slowly Valorie began to unravel her tense brain.
Feeling something wet against her skin, Valorie opened her eyes, still watering from the dirt. She moved her hand around on her chest, feeling the front of her shirt cautious. When she removed her hand, it came back red and sticky, and she was sure it was not strawberry jelly. Valorie's breathing increased until she was hyperventilating, eyes becoming unfocused and livid, moving from object to object in the café. This was blood, the blood of a soldier, the soldier whose name she hadn't caught as she carried him to safety from the chaos of the Red Zone. Valorie's hands began to shake, tremors that couldn't get the blood off of her hand no matter how hard she shook them. It stuck to her like glue, with her wherever she went, and she feared it would never leave.
"Hey, Specialist! You alright?" Pvt. Wells called over to Valorie, watching her as if she was a caged animal. Valorie whimpered and turned glossy eyes to find the voice, that one thing calling out to her. Her eyes blinked twice and refocused, the pupil dilating and becoming larger as Valorie shook herself. She started, clutching at her shirt and examining it with scrutiny, eyes wide and disbelieving. She glanced up and nodded reservedly at the private. He shook his head. "Women."
Standing on shaky legs, Valorie began her rounds, checking for injuries and tending to the wounded. The fast food restaurant seemed to be a decent stronghold, for not many troops were seriously injured. Valorie was sewing up a gash on one sergeant's arm when she heard a whistling, a fast increase of air. The air pressure seemed to drop, and the next thing she knew Valorie was being pulled onto the ground. A Predator missile slammed into the asphalt outside the restaurant, shaking its foundations and blowing out any glass that hadn't already been destroyed. Dust flew into the air, obscuring all forms of vision. Valorie hacked, trying to get her lungs free of grime. She thanked the sergeant, who had shielded her, shaking off some glass fragments.
"Any injuries?" Valorie yelled, her voice cracking. A few moans and groans, plenty of curses, but no immediate screams of pain. Valorie sighed, content, and glanced out the window.
There was something moving in the dust cloud, lying prone to the ground and inching across it. Valorie squinted and noticed a flag sewn into his uniform. The dust settled. Valorie got a better view of the soldier, definitely a Ranger. The poor kid hadn't made it inside fast enough, and the blast had caught one of his legs, blowing it off. He stopped moving, and Valorie thought he was dead, until he rolled over onto his back and coughed. She wasted no time, pushing herself up onto her legs and taking off toward the soldier, yelling at one of the privates to follow her. She pushed open the shell of the diner's door, darting out into the open.
"Specialist! What the hell are you doing?" screamed Pvt. Wells from the safety of the diner, looking at the crazy medic and her reluctant partner. Valorie tossed her weapon aside as she clattered to the ground next to the fallen man, who was once again unresponsive. Valorie placed her ear against his chest, and very faintly hear his heart beat, and felt his breath tickle her ear. Wasting no more time, Valorie lifted him up carefully with her assistant, who looked quite pale. They dashed back inside, running to the back of the restaurant. Valorie swept her hand across a table, clearing the glass off of it before setting down the man gently. It would have to do for a surgical table. Valorie ripped open an IV, slipped the needle into a vein and passed the fluid bag to her assistant. When he didn't take it, Valorie shot him a look.
"So…much blood," he choked, beginning to gag and dry heave. Valorie hung the bag on a nail that once held a photograph, not paying the soldier any mind as she became engrossed in her work.
"If you're going to puke," Valorie said, pulling out supplies from her bag, "do it in the corner."
Vaguely, Valorie heard stomach acid hit the floor as she rolled up what was left of the soldier's pant leg. She assessed the damage. It looked to be a clean dismemberment, a few tendons and muscles still showing beneath cooked skin. From the lower kneecap down, there was no more leg. Valorie slipped on new gloves, flexing her fingers in her second skin. She lifted the leg up gently, peering into the wounds. She shivered as the blood ran down her arms and trickled onto the ground, but reverted her mind back to the task at hand. Shrapnel was in the wound, and the larger pieces that Valorie could see had to come out. She attempted to pull it out, but soon realized that she couldn't hold the leg steady enough on her own. She huffed in frustration.
"I need help over here!" she called, cursing absently as the man on the table shook from a spasm. A private came running over, unaffected from the blood, and slipped on the gloves supplied by Valorie and supported the leg as Valorie dug around, looking for shrapnel. Blood flecked her shirt and pants, but she didn't care as long as she saved this life. Removing the debris the best she could, Valorie began to apply pressure to the wound. She looked at the soldier helping her. "Can you do this?"
He nodded, and Valorie showed him where to apply pressure. Her hands now free, she fumbled the collar of the soldier's uniform, looking for dog tags. When she found them, she cheered, discovering the name, rank and ID number of her mystery man. It also had his blood type, and Valorie pulled out the necessary type of blood she would need for a transfusion. Another needle and IV cord came out of the bag, and she hooked these up to his other arm. The original IV bag she replaced with a solution of procoagulants, formulas for making blood clot. She hung these up and waiting five minutes, watching as the solution took effect, the soldier's face became more lively, and the blood slowed down to almost a trickle. Valorie began to wrap the wound with gauze, tightly to stem the blood, and tied it to secure the bandage.
Valorie slumped into the booth, avoiding the blood and she pulled her legs up. She wiped the blood on her face using her shoulder, and scowled at the stains on her shirt and Kevlar vest when she noticed them. Sighing, she forced a smile onto her face. It hurt. "What's your name, private?"
"Pvt. Jack Rhipper, ma'am," he spoke in all seriousness. Valorie stared at him, not knowing if he was trying to be smart or truthful.
"You pulling my leg, private?" Valorie teased, cracking her shoulders and neck. The young man shook his head, glancing at the man on the table.
"So, he's going to alright then?" Pvt. Rhipper asked, sliding down onto the floor. He wrinkled his nose as he smelled the vomit across from him.
"Define 'alright,' private," Valorie snorted. The young man looked at her, confused, and asked her to continue, which she did. "There are two kinds of wounds in a war: physical and mental. The loss of a leg is physical, and although the leg won't repair itself, the blood will stop flowing and the wound can be fixed," Valorie paused, dismally looking out the window, wondering about her own boys. "Mentally, well… this war changes you, private. If you doubt that, all you have to do is search your memories. How many injuries have you seen, or limbs blown off, or brothers killed? He'll be alright physically, but that leg will be a reminder of how this war changed everything."
Valorie switched her gazed to the man on the table, leaning over him as he began to groan. Before he was totally conscious, the medic slipped a shot of morphine into his leg. If he was struggling around due to the pain, the wound could reopen.
"Can you tell me your name, rank, and ID number, soldier?" Valorie asked, checking his eyes with a mini flashlight. The pupils dilated like they should, so she began to take his pulse.
"Um… ahh…," He stuttered, his eyes scrunched in thought. Valorie glanced at him through her eyelashes, wondering if she missed head trauma. She relaxed as he answered.
"Name's… Steven McClarke, ma'am, ranked lieutenant last time I checked. ID is 001528…974," he spoke hoarsely, grimacing as he tried to sit up. Valorie pushed him back down, and she motioned for Pvt. Rhipper to get ready to hold him down. Lt. McClarke complied, looking around as he lowered himself. He smiled as he caught sight of a funny picture that hadn't been blown off the wall and asked, "Where exactly am I, ma'am?"
"Cut it with the "ma'am" crap, you're a higher rank than me," Valorie scolded, avoiding the question. Mentally she was prepping herself, rehearsing lines to tell the trooper he had lost a leg. The reaction was commonly despair, although anger was also common. Apathy happened rarely, but that was the one Valorie worried about the most. Post traumatic stress usually hit those who felt nothing towards losing a limb the hardest. Valorie sucked air in through her nose. "You were clipped by a Predator missile explosion. Your left leg is gone."
"…what?" Lt. McClarke's smile didn't disappear, and Valorie knew that this guy was a denial type. He glanced down at his leg and then back at Valorie, who nodded, not wanting to meet his eyes. Lt. McClarke looked to Pvt. Rhipper next, who placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Oh…" Lt. McClake closed his eyes and said no more.
"Is he…alright?" asked Pvt. Rhipper, nervously fiddling with his pistol. Valorie sighed, moving to switch the bandages.
"Go out front and check for more wounded, private," Valorie ordered, avoiding the question. He left, and seconds later Valorie's radio beeped. Her hands already engrossed in a project, she nudged the earpiece with her shoulder.
"Specialist, gimme a sitrep on Raptor," Foley's voice cut through the static, and Valorie heard gunfire on his end of the channel. Her heart gave a painful jump, wondering what was going on over there.
"He's unconscious, but no serious damage. Stable," Valorie quipped, examining Lt. McClarke's leg. The blood had slowed down to a trickle. With clean bandages, she rewrapped the stump and tied the bandage tight. "I've also got another injury here. Serious, can't walk."
Foley was silent before his sigh came over the airwaves. "We'll secure him too. Friendlies incoming."
Pvt. Rhipper walked back into the room, reporting no other injuries, and Valorie gave him her thanks. Checking the lieutenant's pulse again, she almost jumped out of her skin when he gave a bark of a laugh.
"Why would you guys take me with you? I've got no use anymore!" He laughed bitterly, spitting off to the side. He fixed Valorie with a venomous glare. "Why did you save me? I'm useless now!"
Useless. That word swam around in Valorie's head. She glanced down at her hands. Were they useless? Sure, she had saved the man's life, but would it be the same? How come she could never heal the men she saved completely?
A loud thud against the table brought Valorie out of her reverie. Pvt. Rhipper had his hands curled in the front of Lt. McClarke's uniform, slamming him down into the table. Valorie jumped at the private, locking her arms around his torso.
"Hey! HEY!" Valorie shouted, wrenching the private off his superior. She pushed him face first into a wall, holding him there. "Calm down!"
Pvt. Rhipper looked at Lt. McClarke, turning his head to look at him. "She saved your life, and you don't even thank her! What's wrong with you?"
Valorie dragged Pvt. Rhipper out of the back room, throwing him the last few feet. She whirled on him, eyes blazing. "You dare insult one of my patients like that?"
"He's an ungrateful little piece of-" Pvt. Rhipper started, but halted himself when he saw he now had an audience. Sgt. Foley and his squad had appeared, watching the scene curiously. Pvt. Iris and Pvt. Spring took two steps forward as Pvt. Rhipper stood back up, glaring at the back room. Valorie got in his path, arms crossed and her imposing form bearing down on the soldier.
"Go take a walk, cool your head," she ordered, staring him down. When he refused to move, she pulled the higher rank card on him. "That's an order. Now move, private."
Pvt. Rhipper pushed past Valorie's squad, all who started at him, daring to try something. Foley sighed, shifting the bundle on his back, which Valorie realized was Raptor. She cautiously mentioned Lt. McClarke, and without waiting for orders, Pvt. Iris and Pvt. Spring went to go retrieve the wounded soldier, returning moments later carrying him between the two of them. Lt. McClarke had his eyes shut, but Valorie knew he was awake.
"We've got him, ma'am," Pvt. Spring assured, seeing Valorie make a move to come over. Valorie gave Foley the approval for transport. Cpl. Dunn tossed her a rifle.
"On three we move. One… two… three, go, go, go!" Foley dashed out into the road, Valorie flanking him. She fired at any hostile that she deemed came too close, guarding the pieces of precious cargo. At the pace they moved, Valorie felt like a sitting duck in the road. She only exhaled as the group reached the back door of the restaurant. Raptor was set down in the meat locker next to Lt. McClarke. They locked eyes as the door shut, and Valorie gave him a nod through the shutting vault.
Leaning against Pvt. Iris, Valorie and the team made their way outside. Carnage was everywhere. Scowling, Valorie looked down at her uniform, caked with dirt, grime and blood. She had saved a life. This blood was not a stain, but an accomplishment.
Friendly air force flew overhead as the group booked it to the convoy. Helicopters began to land, bringing extra troops, and Valorie had to squint to keep the dust out of her eyes. Valorie jumped as her radio beeped, and she cautiously turned it on.
"Valorie, this is Noah, do you copy?" Valorie halted, Pvt. Iris slamming into her back. She glanced down disbelievingly at her radio, starting to move again.
"Noah? What the hell?" Valorie asked, walking over to her men. Everyone gave her a questioning look.
"Yeah, it's me. Listen, don't get in those Humvees. You're being transferred. That's an order, Val, from General Shepherd himself," Noah commented. "I'm touching down in the Blackhawk now."
"But-" Valorie tried, but Noah's voice cut her off once again. She fixed a glare to the helicopter.
"No buts. Say goodbye to your squad. It may be the last time you see them. You have five minutes Val. Noah over and out." The radio went dead. Valorie looked up with wide eyes, looking at her squad.
"What's wrong, Red?" Dunn asked, arms crossed and his posture trying to come off as being nonchalant.
"I… I'm leaving you all," she squeaked. Five minutes. Five minutes to say her goodbyes to the men who had protected her, who accepted her, who cared for her. Valorie looked up from the dirty road, right at her sergeant. He understood, nodding his head.
"You're leaving?" Dunn spat, glaring at the ground. His friend was leaving him, just like so many before her. Would she be another Allen?
"Shepherd's orders," Valorie mumbled, her dislike for the man growing. Dunn scoffed and stormed over to his Humvee, slamming the door. Foley gave Valorie's shoulders a squeeze, turning to face her.
"You remember to keep your head down, alright? And don't just act, you have to think sometimes," he advised, moving to the Humvee Dunn was fuming in. The two men who Valorie hadn't had the time to get to know nodded good luck to her, hopping into a vehicle. Out of the corner of her eye Valorie noticed the helicopter's blades start back up, letting her know Noah was getting impatient.
Valorie turned to Pvt. Iris and Pvt. Spring. They glanced at one another before opening their arms wide, wanting hugs. She nearly tackled them both as she latched onto her boys, not wanting to let go. One arm wrapped around each of their necks, pulling them close. They hugged her back just as tight.
"Now boys, don't get hurt alright? Mama Red won't be there to kiss any boo-boos," she chided, pulling away. Her voice wavered and her eyes glistened. Pvt. Iris snorted.
"Please. It will take more than a bullet to get us to stay down," he claimed, jutting out his chin.
"Nothing short of a flying death trap, that's for sure!" Pvt. Spring claimed, thumping his partner on his back. Valorie laughed.
"Take care of yourselves; you too, Private Ramirez. Now get going, boys," Valorie ushered them away to the Humvees with teary eyes. A piece of her was getting in that Humvee convoy with her squad, and she hoped it would keep all of them safe. Looking back constantly, Valorie clambered into the helicopter and Noah lifted it into the air, turning it to the west.
"How many did you save today, Ratchet?" asked Noah, urging the Black Hawk forward.
"Only one," she replied, watching the dust trail disappear down the highway.
"That's it?" Noah gasped, setting the chopper on auto pilot.
"Yes," Valorie sighed, turning to gaze at the carnage. It made her stomach churn. Glancing down at the blood on her uniform, she fixed Noah with a steely look.
"I'm afraid I'm going to loose many more."