Captain Trivette shook her head. “Take us out, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, ma’am.” We launched, the ground falling away from us in a series of squares and zigzags. We headed north toward Tarin Kowt, or TK, where Jagger was stationed, while Captain Trivette gave Will a quick course in the area.

Man, it was nice having Will here. It felt like flight school, except for the whole foreign country, hostile enemy thing.

Twenty minutes in, I was enjoying the flight, something I hadn’t had much opportunity for in-country. Will asked questions from the back, and either Captain Trivette or Rizzo answered him.

Near the Tor Ghar mountains, the radio crackled. Troops were in contact nearby.

“Do we respond?” Will asked.

“Nothing to do yet, Lieutenant Carter,” Captain Trivette answered. She checked the fuel and then took the controls. “It won’t hurt to be nearby since we’re already out.”

My heart jumped in anticipation as she altered our course toward the mountains. Two Apaches came on the frequency, responding.

“Now what?” Will asked.

“Now, we wait,” I responded, looking back over my shoulder at him. “You ready to become a man? All buckled in?”

“Yes, Mom.”

I tossed him a one-fingered salute with a grin and watched the mountains approach.

“Gun one-one.” One of the Apache pilots came on the radio, his voice instantly familiar. Jagger. Holy shit. “In pursuit of target. Follow?”

My stomach lurched. “Carter,” I called back. “That’s Bateman.”

He instantly sat straighter, on alert just like I was.

The other helo came on. “Gun one-two, I have your six.”

Calls for air support came across the radio, and the Apaches responded. Tense moments passed, but no medevac call was sounded. My shoulders sagged in relief as the ground troops called up their thanks.

“He’s all good,” I called back.

Will threw a thumbs-up, then lowered his head to his hands for just a second.

“Gun one-one, headed back to FOB,” Jagger called out, and I breathed a hell of a lot easier. I’d always known it was a possibility we would cross paths on a mission, but it wasn’t something I wanted to— “Fuck!” Jagger called out. My breath froze in my chest. “What was— Fuck, we’ve been hit! We’ve lost our tail rotor.”

I lunged forward in my seat like I could physically get to him, as my stomach plummeted to the ground hundreds of feet beneath me. The belts held me back. “Go!” I shouted to Captain Trivette. She’d already changed our heading toward the last known location.

“Mayday, mayday,” Jagger called over the radio. “We are going down. Repeat, we are going down!”

No. No. No. I was too far away. I couldn’t get to him, couldn’t save him. Couldn’t stop this from happening. Jagger. Every moment of our friendship flashed through my misfiring brain—hockey, rooming together, moving to Alabama, graduating flight school, that last barbecue before we left. He was the closest thing I had to a brother.

And I was fucking helpless.

The crumpling blast on the radio broke me into a million pieces, but the silence…it eviscerated me.

“Fallen Angel! I repeat, Fallen Angel!” Gunman one-two called over the radio. “They’ve gone down!”

Fallen Angel. Helicopter down.

The cry that came from my throat was animalistic, inhuman. “Jagger!”

Will reached through from his seat, putting his hand on my shoulder.

My best friend. My brother. He had to be alive. There was no other option.

“Gunman one-two, this is Dustoff one-two inbound. What is your current position?” Captain Trivette was steady on the stick and in her voice. I input the coordinates we were given, and she nodded. “We are three minutes out.”

It was the longest three minutes of my life.

“He’s alive, Walker. Even a helicopter crash couldn’t take down Jagger Bateman,” Will called on the com, but his voice shook.

He’s alive. He has to be. He’s alive. God. Paisley. The baby.

“Gunman one-two, what’s the status of an LZ?” Captain Trivette asked.

“We’ve got ground troops headed there on foot, but it’s cherry red, Dustoff. We’ve taken a few shots in our direction. I’m not even sure you can land near the site.”

Captain Trivette locked eyes with me, her face set and somber. “Are we in?”

“Yes!” Will shouted.

Rizzo hesitated for the smallest of seconds, then called out, “In!”

“Fuck, yes!” I damn near screamed. Every second we wasted was another that he could be bleeding out…if he’d survived the impact. He survived.

We flew over the ridgeline and into the valley, the Apache providing cover overhead. Figures darted beneath us, and an unwelcome sense of foreboding lodged in my throat as the walls of the valley rose above us like we were being lowered into a grave.

“Damn it. Could this be a worse location?” Captain Trivette asked as we moved further up the valley.

“There!” I shouted, pointing to the plume of black smoke mixing with the rising dust.

“Shit,” Will said.

Jagger’s bird lay on its side, a mangled mess, rotors torn off, and looking at the terrain along the hillside he was smashed against, he must have rolled down a fair share of it. He’s alive. That’s the only option.

Gunshots pinged, hitting us in the side. “We’re taking fire. We’ve been hit,” Captain Trivette radioed, her voice calm and collected. “Aircraft is stable.”