Destiny's Revenge (Destiny Series - Book 2) by Straight, Nancy (management books to read .TXT) 📕

although I knew he was still talking, and I knew it looked as though I were still listening.

I took the step into the awaiting tunnel, emerging on the other end in a dark place. It felt like a cave: there was almost no illumination, and I could feel the pangs of fear gripping me from my aversion to the dark. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out a shadowy figure lying down flat and another figure several feet away sitting Indian style.

I gingerly made my way the ten feet or so to the person I saw seated. Before his night-washed features came into view, I knew it was Max. I wanted to leap into his arms, for him to know that I was here with him. Max looked in my direction, and for an instant I thought he could see me, but after Rewsna’s explanation today I knew better; I knew I was merely here in spirit. At least seeing him gave me renewed hope. I was thankful just to know that he was okay, despite not knowing where he was.

I knelt down beside him. His face looked different, still beautiful, but leaner; even in the darkness it was weathered by the sun. That easy smile he always wore seemed nowhere to be found, his expression hollow. I reached my hand to his cheek and felt his stubbly face, the softness of his earlobe, the sandy grit on his neck. I rested my head on his shoulder. I could hear him breathing and told myself that this was enough. Max was okay. I got to be there with him: I could touch him, taste the salt on his lips, hear his heartbeat.

The man on the floor stirred, almost inaudibly, “What day is it?”

Max answered quietly, “It’s Friday, just a few more hours until the rendezvous. You’re going to make it, Ski.”

“Yeah, that’s what you keep telling me, but I’m gonna make it long enough to die en route to the hospital. I told you not to waste the water on me.”

“I’ve seen people lots worse off than you, and they didn’t whine like little babies. They’re all still alive, so how about you save your energy, and shut the hell up. You’re going to be fine.” Max’s voice was vacant of emotions, as if someone else were speaking. I thought maybe it was the exhaustion, possibly dehydration; whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk to this man.

“Name one person you’ve seen that lost as much blood as I have and made it.” Ski seemed almost to be challenging Max. This man was betting on his own death and daring Max to prove him wrong. It seemed a strange game to play when both were so obviously beaten down.

This challenge must have gotten Max’s blood pumping or something, because there was a fierceness in his voice when he answered, “You want me to name someone? Fine, her name is Lauren, and she is a hell of a lot tougher than you’ll ever be.”

I was startled at the sound of my name and looked into Max’s eyes. That hollow expression I had seen moments ago was replaced by a fury. “She jumped in front of a robber with a gun that was going to waste a little kid. She took a bullet that was never meant for her. She didn’t cry or whine or even complain – she just stood there looking at the guy with blood gushing out of her leg and told him to leave the kid alone. She lost half the blood in her body that night, her heart stopped, and she did nearly die. When the docs got her patched up they put like four pints of blood in her and she was fine. Never once did she ever say ‘oh poor little me,’ ‘oh why is this happening to me?’ Stop being a girl, Ski. Suck it up. We’ll be on a bird in a couple hours. You can cry to your wife about how you almost died - after they send you home. I carried your ass up this mountain; I don’t want to listen to it anymore.”

There was a silence between the two men. Max’s words to this wounded soldier sounded bitter, but it made my heart soar to know that I was on his mind right now, in this very instant, even in this most desolate of locations.

Ski reluctantly declared, “Max, I owe you my life, several times over. If we get out of here, I’ll never be able to pay you back.”

The fury in his voice had evaporated when Max answered, “You don’t owe me anything. I’m just doing my job.”

Ski snorted, “Oh that’s right, your job is definitely to ride point on a convoy; that’s where all the medics ride. Your job description also includes picking up the two-forty golf when the gunner’s wounded, hold the position for two hours until all the ammo is gone, and drag the gunner up the side of a cliff; if that isn’t enough, setting up a shelter to keep both of us from frying to death in the sun and radioing for an extraction. Were those extra classes or part of the normal curriculum for being a medic? Medic training is top notch these days. We should start sending our special ops guys to your medic training schools.”

“I’m not a medic, jackass, I’m a Corpsman. Medics are in the army – they only train in band aids and IVs. We Navy guys get far more specialized training.” The two chuckled at each other before falling back into a more comfortable silence.

Ski asked hesitantly, “So, who is she anyway?”

Max didn’t answer for a long time; he didn’t even make an effort to look in Ski’s direction. I began to wonder if he’d even heard the question when he finally spoke. The sound of his voice was labored, and I could hear the shakiness reverberating as he spoke, “She was my girlfriend, the love of