SULAIMAN MOUNTAINS. SOUTHERN AFGHANISTAN.
Monica approached the ground, gloved hands gripping the side of the stretcher as debris swirled up in a funnel around the wounded man, whom she could now clearly see wasn’t Ryan or anyone else from the contractor team.
The moment her boots sank into a layer of pine needles, Monica disconnected the heavy-duty latches of her harness and helped the woman kneeling next to the wounded man move him into the stretcher, with the assistance of Chief Larson.
“Hey, Miss Cruz!” he said with a grin, over the noise of the helicopter.
“Hey to you!” she replied. “Where’s everybody?”
“Busy! Somewhere up that ridge!”
“I’ve been ordered to go back to KAF with him!” the woman said in a British accent. She looked a few years older than Monica, though it was hard to tell with her camouflage cream.
“Fine by me!” Monica replied, pointing at the harness swinging next to the stretcher.
“What about you?” the woman asked.
“I’ve been ordered to get the hell out of KAF!”
Larson did a double take on Monica, and she ignored him while securing the wounded man inside the stretcher. The moment the woman put on the harness, clicking it tight, Monica signaled the gunner, and the two went airborne.
“You cleared this with the colonel?” Larson asked, looking up as the pair cleared the upper branches and were pulled aboard.
Monica reached for the MP5A1, verifying a chambered round while glaring up at the giant man. “Cleared it with Lévesque.”
“Good for you,” he said, extending a hand toward the woods. “Your boyfriend is up on a hill somewhere.”
“Not my boyfriend!”
“Of course not,” he said with a laugh while walking away.
Monica shook her head and followed him as the Black Hawk vanished from view.