Dale Brown''s Dreamland: Razor''s Edge by Dale Brown & Jim DeFelice

Author:Dale Brown & Jim DeFelice [Brown, Dale & DeFelice, Jim]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“Negative, sir. They’re sure, though. Hang on!”

“Okay, ladies!” yelled the Marine sergeant, moving to-

ward the door. In the next moment, the Osprey pitched

sharply, pirouetting around and descending in nearly the

same motion, dropping so quickly that for a half second

Danny thought they’d been hit. Then there was a loud

clunk and he knew they’d been hit. But they were on the

RAZOR’S EDGE

209

ground, it was time to go, go—he fought back a sliver of

bile and lurched toward the door behind his men as the

door kicked down.

The Osprey settled harshly onto the uneven surface of

the scratch road. Danny was the fifth man out. An acrid

smell stung his nose; the Flighthawk had smoked a

pickup truck, which was burning nearby.

“Yo, Marines—my guys on point! Whiplash on fuck-

ing point!” yelled Danny. It wasn’t a pride thing—it

made much more sense to have the people with the body

armor in the lead. The Marines finally caught on, or

maybe they just grew winded as Liu and Powder motored

past.

So where the hell was their guy?

The Flighthawk whipped overhead and wheeled to the

right, then shot straight upward about three hundred

yards away. But it wasn’t until the plane rolled and dove

back down that Danny realized Zen was trying to put

them on the downed pilot.

“There! There!” he shouted, pointing. “Powder, your

right. Right! Right!”

No way the pilot didn’t hear the Osprey. So why wasn’t

he jumping up to greet them?

They had to clamber over a twenty-foot-wide rock

slide before finally reaching their man. As he cleared the

rocks, Danny saw the pilot sprawled on the ground, his

radio lying smashed on the rocks. Powder was just get-

ting to him; Liu was a few yards behind Danny.

Powder threw back his helmet and put his head down

in front of the pilot’s face. Danny noticed a black stain on

the pilot’s right pant leg; congealed blood.

“Breathing. Shit, I thought he’d fucking bought it,”

said Powder. “Hit by something.”

Liu threw his medical kit in front of him as he slid

close. He glanced quickly over the pilot’s body, then

210

DALE BROWN’S DREAMLAND

reached into his pack for the quick-inflate stretcher. He

pulled a wire loop and held onto the side as compressed

air exploded into the honeycombed tubes. Liu took a pair

of titanium telescoping rods from the underside of his go-

bag, then propped the stretcher on rocks next to the

stricken man.

As they moved him to the stretcher, a second radio fell

from his hand. His face had been bruised badly during the

ejection, and his right hand burned; besides the leg there

were no other outward signs of injury. Liu had his en-

hanced stethoscope out, getting vitals. The stethoscope

had a display screen that could be used to show pulse rate

and breathing patterns; intended for battle situations

where it might be difficult to hear, the display also helped

convey important information quickly to a full team. The

downed airman’s heart beat fifty-six times a minute; his

breathing code was yellow—halfway between shallow

and normal.

“Leg’s busted,” said Nurse. “Compound fracture.” He

checked for a concussion by looking for pupil reaction,

then listened to make sure the pilot’s lungs were clear.

“Cut by something, but if it was a bullet, it just grazed

him. Looks like that’s the worst of it.

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