Fifty minutes of driving to the coordinates where the helicopter was supposed to extract them, and most of the road had been a washboard of potholes and broken asphalt. That’s what resulted from IEDs, bombing, and lack of repair.
The car bounced to a stop…Kurt looked across the car at Mike. His partner was curled forward, both hands on his head, face a mask of pain.
“Mike, talk to me.” Kurt ordered. He gripped Mike’s shoulder.
“Hurts so damn bad.” Mike’s tone was raw, close to a whimper.
“Hang tight. The chopper should be here in the next five minutes. They’re supposed to be sending a medic.”
Those minutes ticked by in silence broken only by Mike’s harsh, uneven breathing. Kurt kept a hand on Mike, rubbing his back, hoping the pain would lessen. All the movement, all the jostling and
