She took the handkerchief from around his neck and dipped it in the river. Instead of wringing it out, she just put it back on his neck dripping wet. He sighed and kept his eyes closed.

When she’d done all she could, she carefully worked herself over to where Captain Norton sat. “Sanders is in good shape. Osbourne will be. I’ll be happy to have them in actual medical beds by the end of the day.” She glanced at his face, trying to read any expression there and getting nowhere. “How long will the boat ride take?”

Swanson answered. “Just over an eight-klick boat ride, then another hundred meters inland to the LZ.”

“About five miles,” she calculated.

Swanson glanced at her. “Okay.”

She nodded. “So not long.”

He shook his head. “Not long.”

Chapter
Seven

After the truck ride followed by the trek through the jungle, floating down the river felt calm by comparison. They used paddles instead of the motor and stayed close to the shore, which meant they constantly went under overhanging tree branches. Cynthia couldn’t help but look up every time to make sure something like a splendid dagger-tooth tree snake or Goldie’s tree cobra wasn’t about to drop into the boat.

Insects darted around, hovering over the water, then shooting off again. She looked over the edge of the boat and watched a school of little silver fish moving together in perfect harmony. She smiled as they swerved away from the boat.

Several hundred yards from where they’d started, she glanced over and saw a small boat tied to a tree. She recognized it as belonging to one of her villagers. She took that moment to pray again for the people she had grown to love.

Fisher got on the radio and started talking in jargon Cynthia did not understand. It sounded nothing whatsoever like the Hollywood depictions of soldiers using a radio, so obviously Hollywood got it wrong. Captain Norton sat next to him, occasionally jotting notations in a small notebook. At one point, Fisher checked his watch and said, “Fifteen twenty. Roger.”

She checked the time. Two more hours and they’d board an American helicopter and fly to the American embassy.

She accepted the offer of a canteen from McBride and took a swallow of tepid river water. She knew they’d purified it, making it safe to drink, but she had to play a mental game with herself. Her village had a well with clear, clean water. No one there drank the river water. In fact, she had been cautioned against it during the mission brief. The water tasted of iodine and smelled like a public swimming pool, but it wet her dry mouth.