Akaljeet sat with her back against the rock wall of the cliff; the robots had carried the wounded, but two had died in the process. One of robots had a disabled tread and could not follow them. She checked on the third wounded man. She realized that he had died too.
She wondered where Panveer was. She checked on his signature with he med scanner. He showed up about 50 meters from her. Now that there were no more wounded to transport, they could hightail it out of there.
Panveer did not seem to be moving and she feared the worst. Realizing that she could be alone out here, she went in his last know direction. Near panic, she found him lying in some brush. She quickly checked his vitals and was relieved to see he was still alive. On further inspection, she realized he had been wounded again, this time in the leg.
She Picked him up in a fireman’s carry and quickly went to her knee; he was to heavy for her to move. While moving him, he became conscious.
“How bad is it?” Panveer said.
Akaljeet consulted her scanner again. “Is it painful?”
“Very.”
“Your tibia is fractured and you’ve lost some blood. The shrapnel is lodged near the bone. You need to be evacuated.”
“Help me to the cliff.” He put his arm around Akaljeet and half limped, half-dragged his leg over to the cliff wall. He collapsed and sat with his legs out, back against the wall; he took off his helmet. Akaljeet kneeled next to him.
“I’m not going anywhere, am I?’ he asked.
Akaljeet scanned the area around them with her eyes. She went to the robot, which had a motion scanner, and saw that there was no movement around them for 500 meters.
“Maybe the Iranians will take you prisoner and treat your leg,” Akaljeet said.
“I suppose that is possible, but I will never be taken alive,” he said. I will kill as many of them as I can before meeting God. That is what I swore to do when I agreed to come here and defend my country. The dead of Baltimore demand it.”
“Then we can have the robot carry you back to the landing zone.” She operated her wrist controller and the robot moved toward Panveer.
“Please give me a second.” His face grimaced in pain.
“Here,” she said. She held her autoscalpel up to give him an injection.
“No, I want my mind clear.”
“This will not affect you.” She injected him with chondicrin, the non-euphoric painkiller made from sharks. It wasn’t as strong as opiates, but it eased severe pain better than other analgesics.
The night was quiet; and although Akaljeet was worried that Panveer was no longer mobile, she was glad he was alive. They were at least 3-4 miles away from extraction, and the robots that had carried the wounded from the aid station were no longer active due to the Iranian EMP. She didn’t see any way forward for them. She might have to leave him behind and she did not want to do that.
Panveer knew that he was finished. The pain, even with the shot, was intense; the Iranians would likely advance in the morning, which was now only hours from now. If they couldn’t find some sort of transport, they would likely die here. Iranians were not known for taking prisoners.
Panveer placed his pistol and knife on his right side where he could get to them easily. “You had better go,” he said, “they will be going forward soon, and they will likely kill anyone they find.”
“I can’t just leave you.” Akaljeet sat by his side. She placed her hand on his head and felt for fever. He was warm.
“You will die for your loyalty,” he said.
“Then I will die. I have nothing to live for except to kill Iranians. They took my husband from me, and they must pay.” She became worried about his condition, but she took out her scanner but it was dead too. No medicine, no food, little ammunition: they would not last long.
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