Robert Crais - The Last Detective

He emptied a second magazine, ejected it, then rammed home a third. He fired into the trees, then crawled over Rodriguez to check Abbott. Abbott was pressing on his stomach to cover his wound.

"I've been shot. I think I was shot!"

Cole pulled Abbott's hand away to check the wound, and saw a gray coil of intestine. He pushed Abbott's hand back on the wound.

"Press on it! Press hard! "

Cole fired at shadows, and shouted at Johnson.

"Where are they?! I don't see them!"

Johnson didn't answer. He reloaded and fired with mechanical determination – brrp , brrp, brrp!

Cole watched Johnson's bullets chew up a heavy thatch of jungle, then saw muzzle flashes to the right. Cole drained his magazine into the flashes, reloaded, then tore a hand grenade from his harness. He shouted to warn Johnson, then threw the grenade. It went off with a loud CRACK that rippled through the trees. Cole threw a second grenade. CRACK! Johnson lobbed a grenade of his own – CRACK!

"Fall back! Johnson, let's go!"

Johnson scuttled backward, firing as he withdrew. Cole shook Abbott.

"Can you get to your feet? We gotta get out of here, Ranger! Can you stand?"

Abbott rolled over and pushed to his knees. He kept his left hand pressed hard to his stomach, and moaned with the effort.

Cole fired into the trees, then threw another grenade. Johnson didn't need to be told what to do; he knew. Fields might be dead, but Rodriguez was alive. They would carry him out.

Johnson and Cole fired short bursts behind them, then got on either side of Rodriguez and lifted him by his harness.

Cole shouted, "Go, Abbott. Go! Uphill the way we came."

Abbott stumbled away.

Cole and Johnson dragged Rodriguez away, firing awkwardly with their free hands. The shooting died down when they threw the grenades, but now it built steadily again; Charlie shouted to each other through the green.

" Minh dang duoi bao nhieu dua? "

" Chung dang chay we phia bo song! "

Cole felt bullets snap past. Johnson grunted and stumbled, then caught himself.

"I'm okay."

Johnson had been hit in the calf.

Then Cole felt two hard thuds shudder through Rodriguez and knew that their team leader had been hit again.

Johnson said, "Mother fuckers ! "

"Keep running!"

Rodriguez belched a huge gout of blood and his body convulsed.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Fucker's dead! Motherfucker's dead! "

They put Rodriguez down behind a tree. Johnson fired down the hill, chewing up two magazines as Cole checked Rodriguez for a pulse. There was none.

Cole's eyes burned hot and angry; first Fields, now Rodriguez. Cole emptied his magazine, then pulled the grenades from Rod's harness. He threw one, then another – CRACK! CRACK! Johnson stripped Rod's ammo, and they fell back, Cole firing as Johnson ran, then Johnson firing to cover Cole. Cole had still not seen a single enemy soldier.

They caught up with Abbott at the top of the hill and took cover behind a fallen tree. The rain fell even harder now, draping them in a gray caul.

"Johnson, get on the radio. Tell'm we've got to get out of here."

Cole stripped off Abbott's gear, then pulled open his shirt.

"Don't look, cherry! Keep your eyes on the trees. You watch for Charlie, okay? Watch for Charlie."

Abbott was crying.

"It burns! It hurts like the dickens. It really hurts!"

Cole loved Roy Abbott in that moment, loved him and hated him both, loved him for his innocence and fear; and hated him for taking a round that now slowed them down and might get them killed.

Johnson held Abbott's hand.

"You're not gonna die, goddamnit. We don't let cherries die on their first mission. You gotta earn your death out here."

Cole said, "Rangers lead the way. Say it, Roy. Rangers lead the way."

Abbott struggled to echo, fighting back tears.

"Rangers lead the way."

Abbott's intestines had burst through his abdominal wall like a mass of snakes. Cole pushed them back into his body, then wrapped Abbott with pressure bandages.

The bandages soaked through with red even before Cole finished wrapping him, a sure sign of arterial bleeding. Cole wanted to run away, leaving Abbott and the blood and Charlie behind, but he fumbled a morphine Syrette out of his med kit and pushed it into Abbott's thigh.

"Wrap him again, Johnson. Pull it tight, then hook him up."

Rangers saw such heavy combat that each man carried cans of serum albumin blood expander strapped to their web gear. Cole threw the empty Syrette aside and snatched up the radio as Johnson hooked up Abbott's serum can.

"Five-two, five-two, five-two. We have heavy contact. We have two KIA and one critical wounded, over."

The tinny voice of their company commander, Captain William "'Zeke" Zekowski, came back scratchy in his ear. The thunderstorm was ruining their communication.

"Say again, five-two."

Cole wanted to smash the phone, but instead he carefully repeated himself. Panic kills. Keep it tight. Rangers lead.

"Understand, five-two. We've got a slick and two gunships in orbit three miles out, but they can't get in with that weather, son. It's blowing through fast, so you hang on."

"We are pulling back. Do you copy?"

The crackle of static was his only answer. The rain beat at them so hard that it was like standing in a shower.

"Does anyone hear me?"

Static.

"Sonofa bitch ! "

No radio. No extraction. Nothing. They were on their own.

When Johnson finished taping the serum IV to Abbott's forearm, they helped him to his feet. Now the rain was their friend; the heavy curtain of water would hide them and wash away their signs and make it hard for Charlie to follow. They would be safe until the others came to save them.

Johnson stepped out front to take the point when a shot cracked dully under the rain and his head blew apart. Johnson collapsed at their feet.

Abbott screamed.

Cole spun around and fired blindly. He dumped his magazine, then picked up Johnson's rifle and emptied that magazine, too.

"Shoot, Abbott! Fire your weapon!"

Abbott fired blindly, too.

Cole shot at everything. He fired because something was trying to kill him and he had to kill it first. He threw his last hand grenade, CRACK! , then stripped a grenade from Johnson's harness. CRACK! He stripped off Johnson's ammo packs, then stripped off the radio. Johnson's head came apart like a rotten melon.

"Run, goddamnit! RUN!"

He pushed Abbott down the hill, then fired another magazine into the rain. He reloaded, fired, then hoisted the radio. Bullets slammed into the deadfall in front of him, sending up a spray of splinters and wood chips.