Page 95 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

Ethan signals our ascent. Slowly, cautiously, we rise to the surface, breaking the water with minimal disturbance. The pilots gasp for air, their limited underwater time taking its toll.

“Aircraft?” Ethan keeps his voice just above a whisper.

“Moving west.” Rigel points toward distant lights. “Expanding search pattern away from us.”

“They think we sank with the bird.” Blake helps the co-pilot stay afloat.

“They think they killed us. Let’s stay dead.” Gabe breaks the silence, voice tight with pain. Blood continues to seep from his leg, but his eyes remain clear.

“They’ve done us a favor.” I adjust my position to better support his position. “As of right now, we’re off the grid. No one is tracking us. No one expects us.”

“We’ve got about forty minutes before the cold becomes a serious problem.” I check Gabe’s leg again. “Bleeding’s slowing. Needs attention when we hit land.”

“What’s the plan once we reach shore?” The pilot’s question comes through chattering teeth.

Ethan doesn’t hesitate. “We stick to the mission. Guardian HRS believes we’re dead. So does Malfor.”

“We find the women.” Blake’s voice carries quiet determination.

“We end this.” Jeb’s words fall like stones.

“Settle in. We swim for shore.” Ethan looks at each of us in turn. “Conserve energy. Standard formation with wounded center. Questions?”

Silence answers him. We’ve trained for worse, survived worse. The parameters have changed, but the objective remains.

The aircraft lights disappear over the horizon, leaving us alone with the sea and the night.

“Move out.” Ethan gives us our marching orders…Or rather, swim orders.

The ocean fights us with every stroke. Twenty minutes in, the cold seeps deeper. My fingers begin to lose sensation despite my thermal gloves. The first warning signs of hypothermia are setting in right on schedule.

“Keep moving.” Ethan’s voice carries across the water. “Halfway there.”

Gabe’s breathing grows labored as the combination of blood loss and cold takes its toll. I adjust my grip, taking more of his burden. He’s hampered by the injured leg. Unable to swim effectively and keep up.

“I’ve got you.” The words come naturally. Gabe and I are finally back in sync.

“Just like Bagram.” Gabe’s voice barely carries above the waves. “Remember?”

I do. Another extraction gone wrong. Another time I dragged his bleeding ass through hostile territory. “You were heavier then.”

“Less swimming, more blood loss.” His attempt at humor dissolves into a grimace.

The shore remains a distant shadow. My muscles burn with each stroke, the cold and exertion combining to drain strength. Still, I maintain my position, keeping Gabe afloat, matching my strokes to his weakening ones.

Thirty minutes in, the pilots begin to struggle, their lack of conditioning for this type of endurance evident. Rigel and Blake adjust their support, taking more of the civilians’ burden. It’s going to be a long ass swim.

“Status check.” Ethan’s voice is clipped. Strained.

“Moving.” Rigel’s reply comes between controlled breaths.

“Still here.” Blake adjusts his position on the flank.

“Functional.” Jeb maintains his position on point.

“Monitoring Gabe.” Walt keeps medical watch.

“Comms intact.” Carter confirms our connection to the outside world.