Free Black Site by Dalton Fury

impossibly young and clean-cut in the red light of the cabin.
    He looked down and realized that the man treating him was Benji, a baby-faced Delta operator from Raynor’s squadron. He then noticed another operator looking out a portal of the Chinook with his rifle cradled in his arms. Master Sergeant David “Monk” Kraus stared into the night. Behind Monk, on the floor of the helo, Raynor saw three black body bags stacked one on top of the other.
    He blinked and looked away.
    Benji must have noticed that his patient had awakened. He shouted over the chopper’s engines. “How you holding up, Racer?”
    “Can’t feel my legs.” His words felt fat and slow in his mouth, an effect of the drugs coursing through him.
    “Yeah, your lumbar is broken. Most likely the snap just bruised your spinal cord. If you’re lucky you’ll get your feeling back in a few days. You also caught three in the leg. Lost two quarts of blood, but we’re filling you back up. You’re outta here. Going to Ramstein as soon as we get up to Bagram and get you on a transport.”
    “Where’s T.J.?” Raynor asked. Although T.J.’s Eagle 01 element was not part of the Quick Reaction Force, they had been staged three hours closer to the border than this Ranger/Delta QRF. Raynor had assumed that if anyone had been able to rescue him, it would have been his friend.
    Benji looked down at Racer. Said nothing.
    Now Monk appeared over Raynor’s immobilized head. Dropped down on his kneepads, leaned closer still. Even in the dim, red-tinged cabin, Raynor could see malevolence in the master sergeant’s eyes. He and Musket were best friends.
    But there was something more.
    Monk said, “The JOC ordered up the QRF at 0900 after they intercepted AQ radio traffic saying the Taliban engaged American commandos. But T.J. didn’t want to wait. He talked an Mi-17 chopper at his safe house into taking Eagle 01 over the border to your ROD. They couldn’t find you, so they flew to your rendezvous point. On the way the chopper took an RPG to the prop. They tried to make it back over the border, but they lost control. They went down hard in the Tochi River four klicks north of where we found you. The UAV overhead didn’t see anyone surface. We asked the Pak Army to help us search for survivors, but they’re plenty pissed about the incursion, and it’s not like they’ve got control of that area of operations. The river is fast and deep and runs through a hundred miles of bandit country. We’ve been told we’re to make no more cross-border incursions unless we have positive proof of life. We’ve got two UAVs overhead, but it looks like T.J. and the rest of Eagle 01 are dead, along with the two Agency pilots.”
    “Oh my God,” Raynor said.
    “God didn’t have anything to do with it. Did you vacate your ROD site, Racer?”
    “We were ambushed.”
    “In your ROD?”
    Raynor looked up at the ceiling of the chopper. For the first time since puberty, tears welled in his eyes. “Negative. I moved us forward.”
    “Then all this shit is on you.”
    Kolt nodded slowly. Closed his eyes. He knew his reasons for moving ahead had been sound, but it did not matter now. “I know,” he said softly.
    Monk turned away, returned to his seat by the door.
    *   *   *
    After a week of intensive care in the hospital at Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany, and a further three months of inpatient treatment at Duke Medical Center in North Carolina, the majority of Raynor’s physical wounds had healed. Surgeons fused two vertebrae, and sensation and mobility returned to his legs. But while in the hospital, it was hard not to notice that visits by his chain of command were nearly nonexistent, and visits by teammates in-country were few and far between. He knew his decisions in Pakistan would be harshly criticized, but he also knew the OPTEMPO of his squadron kept the boys busy. He assumed it was the latter that was keeping his comrades away. But his mates who did drop in to