“Anymore?” Fisting her hands, she rounded on him. “This is a peaceful village. Put your guns away.”

“It didn’t look so peaceful when we arrived.” He walked over to the truck bed and looked inside. Jalil Chukuwereije stared lifelessly back at him.

With a snarl, Doctor Myers asked, “And whose fault is that? Huh? Whose bullets killed that boy in the back of the truck?”

Nodding, his voice intentionally calm, Rick gestured to Jalil. “That ‘boy’ is Jalil, the oldest son of Chukuwereije, the vilest warlord I’ve ever had the displeasure of encountering. That ‘boy’ has murdered hundreds of people as lieutenant to his father—entire villages, in fact. I won’t bore you with the number of people he has personally raped and maimed.” He bent down, nearly touching her nose with his. “Hundreds, Doc. Now, you have your tools? We have ours. In case any more of these ‘boys’ show up, we’ll just keep our tools close at hand, if it’s all the same to you.”

Her jaw muscles tensed as she clenched her teeth. She stared into his eyes for several seconds before looking back to the men carrying the stretcher.

Rick scanned the dirt streets of the village, looking for any further sign of trouble. He didn’t like standing out in the open in the middle of three dead Chukuwereije soldiers.

Just as he started to redirect his men into one of the buildings, the doctor gestured to the building behind them. “My supplies are in there.”

He let McBride and Fisher precede him into the mud hut. A very tall man wearing blue scrubs emerged from a nearby building and attempted to follow them inside.

Sanders stepped in front of him. “Just the doc,” he said quietly in passable French.

The man had nine inches on Sanders and looked like he might try to bodily move him out of the way. Instead, he simply said in clear English, “I am with the doctor.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you are,” Sanders said. He coughed, and a strange look crossed his face. Before Rick could ask what had happened, Doctor Myers spoke.

“That’s my nurse. Let him in.” She didn’t even look up as she examined Ozzy’s leg.

Rick nodded at Sanders, who leaned against the wall to allow the larger man to rush by him.

Rick started toward Ozzy. Doctor Myers glanced up. “I can try to suture the artery, but I’m no vascular surgeon.”

“We appreciate anything you can do,” he said. They had no choice. Ozzy wouldn’t survive if they didn’t try.

He heard a strange gargling sound and looked behind him. Sanders stumbled fully into the room, crashed into a cart filled with supplies and equipment, and landed on the ground.

Chapter
Three