For a moment, Shane could not understand why it was still dark when he opened his eyes. Then he realized he was lying face down in a pile of sand. It took him three tries to raise his head; the first two attempts failed on account of the world spinning too fast.

Finally, Shane was able to rise to his knees, though only with significant effort. He brushed some of the sand from his face, and it came away a mix of brown sand and sticky red blood. Dimly, he recalled, amidst the sound of shattering glass and crunching metal, a ripping sound as his harness tore and he was propelled forward out of the pilot's seat.

Pressing his hand against the gash on his forehead to stem the bleeding, Shane looked around. The helicopter was about ten feet away from where he had landed, and he started to rise, but then remembered something. He fished into the interior pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a little metal cylinder. There was a button on top that he pushed, and he watched a small red light begin to flash. If anyone was monitoring the ISA radio frequencies, they would pick up the distress signal and hone in on its location.

I sure hope someone is listening.

Pulling himself to his feet, Shane staggered to the chopper. The tail had been crushed, the front glass had completely shattered, and the right side had been sheared away, exposing the main cabin.

Shane saw Salim first. The scientist was groaning, but his safety harness had not torn. In English first, Shane asked if he was okay, then remembered the man did not speak English. Repeating the question in Arabic, Shane received a very slow, slightly dazed nod. Good enough for now.

Malik was in much worse shape. He had not been strapped in and had been thrown against the back of the chopper when it fell. Shane made his way to the back and crouched down next to the young agent. His eyes were closed and he was breathing in short bursts. Shane could see blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

"Hang in there," Shane urged as he tried to check the young agent's injuries. It looked like the left side of his body had slammed into the rear of the helicopter when it crashed. The left arm hung awkwardly and was definitely broken. Shane felt along Malik's side and he cried out in agony, undoubtedly due to some broken ribs. Malik's cry turned into a cough and he spit up more blood. Because Shane could see no visible wounds to the chest, he figured that one of the broken ribs had punctured a lung.

Unfortunately, it was impossible to do the best thing for Malik - keep him completely still and get immediate medical attention. They had to get as far away from the helicopter as quickly as possible. By now, the jet pilots would have reported the crash location and Iraqi soldiers would be on their way by helicopter or ground vehicle. Shane prayed it was by ground.

He looked around the chopper and saw that Salim had finally figured out how to remove his safety harness. Now that he was free, the scientist walked over and looked at Malik. "We must leave him."

Shane shook his head. Leaving Malik was nothing less than a death sentence. Even if he lived long enough for the Iraqis to arrive, they would either shoot him or drag him back to Baghdad to be executed. In Arabic, he told Salim, "Check for a first aid kit and any emergency supplies. There has to be something." Nobody would be foolish enough to fly a helicopter in Iraq without some emergency supplies. Turning back to Malik, Shane said, "Hold on. We'll figure something out."

The safety harness. Of course. Shane stepped back out into the afternoon sun and walked over to where he had landed. The remnants of his safety harness were on the ground. He could do something with the straps.

When he returned to the chopper, he was met by Salim, who was carrying two canvas shoulder bags. Shane stopped and began searching them. One was the first aid kit. The other contained two liter-sized, sealed pouches of water, two emergency ration bars, a flashlight, a compass, and two ponchos - because ponchos are exactly what you need in the desert. No gun. No knife. Not even a flare.

Digging through the first aid kit for painkillers, he came away only with a bottle of aspirin. That's going to have to do, Shane thought. "You're going to have to take these dry," he said to Malik as he crouched down and placed two of the aspirin in the young man's mouth. After Malik swallowed them, Shane took the harness and slid the remains of the shoulder straps under his good arm and around his right side.

With a sigh, Shane began to slide the straps underneath Malik. "Sorry, there's no bloody way to avoid this," he said. "It's going to hurt like hell." Malik let out a loud cry as he was moved, then fell silent and his body went limp. Shane felt for a pulse and found one; the young man had just passed out from the pain. That might have been for the best, though, because he wouldn't feel any more pain as Shane finished putting the straps in place and tying Malik's broken arm tightly against his body.

Once Malik was settled, Shane found some gauze and a bandage and tried to cover the wound on his own head. His hair was matted with a mix of blood and sand, and he could not see what he was doing. However, after a few attempts, Shane was satisfied that the bandage would hold for the time being.

Turning back toward Salim, Shane switched back to Arabic. "We're going to have to carry him for now." At Salim's dubious look, Shane hissed, "It's not up to debate. We're not leaving him." He motioned to the first aid and emergency kits. "You carry the bags. I'll get Malik."

Malik had woken, but his eyes were unfocused. "Sorry," Shane said, apologizing once more, as he lifted the young agent to his feet. Malik gasped in obvious pain and then coughed up some more blood. Shane wrapped an arm around him, trying to avoid jostling his arm or ribs, and urged him to move. "Come on, Malik. One step at a time."

Very slowly, they moved out of the helicopter and into the midday sun. For the first time, Shane realized just how hot it was - well over 100 degrees. Didn't that just seem to sum up his luck? He had to pick the end of August to crash-land in a desert.

Shane checked the compass and made sure the three men were heading south. It was slow progress, but, thankfully, he saw no sign of pursuit. Shane decided they would try to put as much space between themselves and the helicopter before he found a place for them to escape the scorching heat. Then they would try to continue on during the night.

He felt inside his jacket for the ISA signaling device, and took a small amount of reassurance when he felt it. Shane just prayed someone out there was listening.