Fighting Redemption(71)

Kyle choked with laughter as Ryan stalked away. Usually the normal banter between his patrol mates slid right off his back, but the mention of Fin made him an easy target.

“Hey!” Ryan turned at Kyle’s shout. Kyle was leaning casually against the doorframe, a smirk still playing on his lips. “I wasn’t here to stalk your ass. Monty called a briefing at 1900 hours.”

A briefing meant an operation was on the horizon, and they were all itching to get out into the field. “Good,” he muttered, and cracking his knuckles loudly, Ryan left to grab something to eat.

Two days later found them scoping the back of the mountains behind a suspect village for evidence of enemy presence. Their task was not to engage fire, but gather intelligence. Either way, an incident occurring was highly probable.

As Ryan crested a small rise, he came across what looked like a weapons pit. Crouching down, he examined the man-made rock structure. The ground had been flattened and an etching into the rocks gave no doubt enemies were occupying the area. Standing, Ryan signalled to both Nathan and Kyle to come over and document the site. Just as he was putting down his machine gun to grab his binoculars and scope further down, a bullet zinged passed his head, flying over the top of Nathan and Kyle and slamming into the tree above.

“Sonofabitch,” Ryan growled.

Snatching his weapon, Ryan folded himself behind the thick barrier of rock and assumed a firing position, his mind racing. Were they under attack? He was lucky that bastard was a bad shot.

Nathan reached his side, crouching down to assume defensive fire. A shot rang out as Kyle joined them, and Ryan’s heart thundered in his chest when he heard Kyle suck in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” Kyle groaned with clenched teeth. “I’m f*cking hit.”

Ryan’s stomach rolled, his vision tunnelling when Nathan turned towards Monty and barked, “Man down.”

Pull your f*cking shit together, Kendall.

With clammy skin and sweat pouring down his face, Ryan shuffled over to Kyle as Galloway appeared with first aid. Kyle’s face was red, his lungs drawing in short, sharp gasps of air.

“Where?”

“Right arm,” he panted. “It’s my goddamn elbow.”

He could already smell the blood, the same metallic tang that hung so thick in the air when Jake died. When Ryan closed his eyes he could still see it pouring out, Jake’s life slowly seeping into the ground.

Ryan shook his head, blinking hard and gingerly took hold of Kyle’s arm. Bone and muscle tissue were exposed. It looked messed up, but this was no life-threatening injury. “Suck it up, Brooks,” he ribbed, relief lightening his tone as he reached for gauze and bandages. “It’s just a scratch.”

Kyle tried to laugh but the sound came out choked. “Fuck you, Kendall,” he mumbled, his eyes scrunched shut from the pain.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t.” Chuckling, Ryan met his eyes as he numbed the area and began to patch the injury. “Your firing arm is gonna be out of action for a little while.”

They locked eyes, a silent acknowledgement of what this would mean. Not just surgery to piece the bone and muscle back together, but likely months of physiotherapy to get him back to the standard of fitness the Regiment expected. Kyle was going home.

“Fucking hell, Kendall,” he muttered with quiet frustration. He closed his eyes, tilting his head to the sky. After several deep breaths, he re-opened them, the pain and disappointment shuttered—tucked away for what was probably a more private moment. “I’m gonna have to learn how to use my left hand to jack off now,” he said loudly for the team’s benefit.

Unable to work up a smile, Ryan focused on putting together a sling, the team falling silent and keeping watch as Tex set up satellite communications. With a major attack appearing unlikely, and with Kyle patched up, they were informed the request for casualty evacuation had been granted.

Monty inched towards Ryan. “We don’t know what the f*ck we’re dealing with out there. Could be one or two rogues, but from the intelligence we’ve gathered so far, which isn’t much, it could be f*cking hundreds. Let’s retreat to a pick up position for Brooks, and then we can formulate a plan.”

“Fuck this shit,” Kyle growled.

Ryan slapped him on the back in sympathy, knowing it wasn’t the pain making Kyle pissed—it was having to leave his team in the middle of an operation. They trained hard for these missions, living and breathing it every day. Being rendered useless to your team and missing out on the action would be a goddamn motherf*cker.

Moments before Kyle was evacuated, he lifted his chin at Ryan, the action saying more than any words could.

Ryan nodded back, and after their team received a response from Squadron Headquarters, they moved further up into the mountains in order to gather further intelligence.

Gripping his weapon tight, Ryan looked up at the ridge as darkness fell and repressed a shiver when cool air collided with his sweat dampened skin. They were one man down and heading directly into a region yet to be occupied by Coalition forces. In essence, they were quite possibly climbing their way right into Hell.





Seven weeks later

Fremantle, Western Australia



“Honey, you can’t eat that.”

With narrowed eyes, Fin watched her mother reach into the supermarket trolley and take out the packet of smoked salmon she’d just tossed in there.