He rubbed his chin with his free hand for a moment, clearly troubled. Whether it was from the possibility that she actually did know the pilot or thoughts of how she might eventually report this entire incident, she couldn’t tell. And didn’t care. As long as she could get away, maybe try to make a difference.
“You follow me,” he said finally. “My way, you understand.”
She nodded. It was better that way. He knew the terrain, probably could pinpoint exactly where the man went in. They’d save time, precious time. “Hurry.” She followed him at a trot, rummaging through her backpack as she did, hunting for the first aid kit. It was small, mostly intended for traveler’s stomach and minor injuries, but she remembered stuffing a couple of bottles of painkillers in there as well. That, and some bandages if he needed a tourniquet or something of that nature. With a sinking feeling, she realized she hadn’t actually checked on the condition of the material inside the kit since Xerxes had returned it to her. That it had survived the crash and she actually had it seemed miraculous.
Her thoughts veered away from thinking about the whole question of her objectivity. Later, when there was time. Maybe.
She patted her camera. Either way, it would be a hell of a story.
Out in front of him maybe two miles, Thor saw two people running across the long field laid out along their ingress path. A man and a woman, judging by the way the smaller one was running. Their presence registered long enough for him to notice that the woman was rummaging in a pack of some sort as she ran.
Maybe they weren’t part of the resistance force. After all, it was pretty normal to see people running away from the projected location of an air strike. Nothing wrong with that.
Except they were running the wrong way. People ran
He swerved slightly off course, just enough to bring them into line with his gun.
“Run!” Xerxes shoved her from behind then locked one arm under hers and dragged her along with him. She lost her balance but couldn’t fall, not with his arm locked under hers. He was carrying her, practically dislocating her shoulder in the process.
“They’re ours,” she screamed back as she moved her feet, trying to keep some of her weight off her shoulder. It was like a controlled fall. “They’re American.”
“They don’t know who you are,” he said, moving faster than she thought possible. “Those rocks — hurry, it’s our only chance.”
She saw them now, a dingy set of gray boulders cropping up along one edge of the field. She glanced up, saw the Hornet was now nose on to them. Xerxes was right — the Hornet had seen them and was not too pleased about it.
“Get down!” Xerxes tossed her over the boulder head first then followed her himself. He landed on top of her. She heard an odd, sickening snap and pain radiated through her rib cage.
Xerxes was still on top of her, holding her facedown in the small field of rocks and debris surrounding the boulders. He crossed his arms over the top of his head and tucked his chin in, digging it into her back.
There was a sound like a buzz saw, a moment’s pause, then another spate of sound. Rock chips flew up over them, arcing off from the side of the rock facing the aircraft. Pamela screamed, the noise muffled by the dirt being ground into her mouth.
Then the aircraft was almost directly overhead, the hard beat of its jets drowning out everything else in the world. The ground underneath her shook as it beat against her body, penetrating skin and muscle to resonate in her very bones. Xerxes’s weight, the pain in her side, all of it was insignificant compared to the overwhelming blast of sound energy. It went on for seconds, minutes, hours it seemed.
Then the sound down dopplered and dropped in volume. It was now mere noise, not the world-ending fury she’d felt before. She tried to move, but the Macedonian commander held her down. The pain returned, harder and more demanding now.
Finally, she felt him roll off of her. He laid on his back for a moment, breathing heavily, Then he levered himself up to his feet, dusted off the front of his uniform and said, “We have to go. He’ll be back, and then he’s going to have time to take another run on us. This time, we were lucky.”
Pamela started to stand, then let out a yell as the pain lanced through her. A hot knife, gleaming dull red, was turning in her chest. She tried to speak, then felt the world go dim gray around her.
“You cannot do this,” Xerxes said. He knelt down beside her and with no regard for any sort of personal privacy, ran his hands exploringly over her body, searching for the injury. He paused as his fingers skated over her ribs. Pamela let out a moan. He prodded her rib cage, sending new flashes of agony arcing up her spine. She tried to roll away, make him stop the torture, but his free hand held her firmly clamped in position.
“Cracked ribs,” he announced. “You’ll feel better once you stand up.” He grabbed her under the armpits and hauled her into a standing position. “Come on.”
Pamela put one hand on the boulder for support, now certain that she was near passing out. “I can’t walk.”
“Sure you can. I’ve had plenty of cracked ribs. As long as you’re not having trouble breathing, you’re okay for now. And you’re breathing just fine. So come on.”
“I can’t.”
He continued walking without turning around. “You said this was important. Or is that only when it’s convenient?”
Pamela bit back a harsh reply. If he could do it, then she could. “It’s important. Hold on, I’m coming.”
Thor swore as he saw the bullets digging a deadly furrow in the rich earth. The rounds tracked into the rock, blasting off the front face of it. Maybe some of the shrapnel got them, but he didn’t think so. They’d found just the right angle behind it to shield themselves from the gunfire.
Maybe he could go around, circle back behind them and keep hammering at them until he either got them or blew their rock to gravel. He considered that option for only a few moments before rejecting it. He might pull some crap with the Greeks over this RTB bullshit, but that Tomcat driver would never buy it.
He veered back into the formation, bringing up the rear. There was a chance they hadn’t even noticed his strafing run, although the plane captains certainly would when he brought the Hornet back in with rounds expended. Not that that mattered — his plane captains were Marines, and they’d understand.
On the way back there might be time. That is, if they were stupid or wounded. At least he hadn’t had to dodge a Stinger, if that’s what she’d been pulling out of that pack.
Now that he thought about it, the pack wasn’t really long enough to accommodate the bulk of a Stinger missile tube. But if that’s not what it had been, then why had they been running into the path of the oncoming strike.
Buddy. The thought rang icy cold in his mind.
They were after his wingman.
He started to turn back, but the strike wave was already descending for their final run in on the target. He divided his attention between the IP ahead and trying to crane his head around to see if he could still see them, then realized that was a hell of a good way to get killed. Who knew what else was around the IP? And not paying attention at this altitude was sheer insanity.
