Hargraves felt like he couldn’t take another step…but somehow he did. And another after that. His legs were screaming, the weight of the wounded Marine wearing him down.

He wanted to drop Garavick, to run for his own life. But thirty years of service made that unthinkable. It was base fear that made him even think such a thing, and that was something Hargraves had never allowed to rule his actions. The part of him that was Marine through and through didn’t want to live if he had to throw a comrade’s life away to buy his own.

Besides, I wouldn’t make it anyway…they’re just too close…

He was surprised he was still up. He’d heard dozens of rounds zipping by, but his luck had held. Toughness, strength, skill, training, courage—they all had their place on the battlefield. But luck was the most powerful of all. He was a veteran, but that did little to make an enemy miss him while he ran. That was largely fortune’s domain.

“Hang with me, Garavick. Don’t you die on me, Marine.” The private had been whimpering when Hargraves first picked him up, but now he’d gone silent. He was still breathing—Hargraves could feel the warm air from each exhale on his arm—but he was unconscious now. Or close to it.

Hargraves pushed, digging for everything he had, but he knew he was almost done. Even a Marine was subject to the physical laws, and he was out of juice. He needed to rest, even for a few minutes. But he didn’t have time. The enemy was right behind.

Wait…are they?

The bullets were no longer whizzing by his head.

He stopped, dropping low, laying Garavick on the ground. He turned, pulling his rifle from his back as he did and looking back the way he had come. He could hear something rustling in the tall grass, but it was receding.

He stood stone still, not quite believing that the dozens of soldiers that had been at his heels were all gone. But a minute later there was still nothing. Then two minutes.

He took a deep breath. Even the short rest had done him some good. His arms and legs were still exhausted, but they weren’t quite as dead numb as they had been.

He stared down at Garavick. The Marine looked bad. He was definitely unconscious, and he had lost a lot of blood.

And we don’t have shit in terms of medical facilities…just a few aid kits and one box half full of drugs…

He put it out of his mind. There was nothing he could do. If he got Garavick back and the Marine died…well, that was war. But he wasn’t about to leave him behind, not when there was any chance at all.