They moved forward, weapons still at the ready, head and eyes moving everywhere, peering into every corner and shadow. They walked quickly—almost a crouching run—with knees bent to absorb any uneven ground beneath their feet, prepared for unknown attacks coming from any direction. The doctor stood shocked, with two dead Chukuwereije soldiers at her feet, Duong’s blood spattered on the side of her face and a little in her eye.

Ignoring her for the moment, Rick checked the dead to ensure they weren’t just playing possum, then his men cleared the immediate area. Sanders threw him a thumbs-up and turned his back, weapon at the ready downrange in the direction of possible hostility. Rick flipped his selector switch back to safe, then dropped his rifle to hang on his sling harness. In the same motion, he stripped the bandanna from his face.

The doctor stood still exactly where he had left her. She looked like she might hyperventilate at any moment. She had blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, and the low heel of her boot might have pushed her toward the five-foot mark.

“Doctor Myers!” Rick said in English. When she didn’t even look in his direction, he gripped her upper arms. “Are you okay?”

She blinked up at him with big blue eyes but made no answer.

“Hey!” Rick gave her a little shake. She appeared to notice him for the first time. “Are you injured? Did they cut you? Or shoot you? Or hurt you in any way at all? I need you to answer me.”

“I’m not hurt,” she said. “I’m okay.”

Her voice sounded soft but eerily calm. Rick had heard this exact tone of voice on the battlefield before.

“Okay, good.” He took her at her word. Her breathing had returned to something close to normal, and she didn’t look too freaked out. He reached into his field pouch and retrieved a set of surgical gloves. “Listen up. We need your help. They got our medic. We did what we could, but it’s a little beyond our skill set. Or his.”

He checked behind him and made sure McBride and Fisher followed with Ozzy. As they approached, the doctor assessed their situation, stripped off her latex gloves, and accepted the fresh pair he offered. She pulled the gloves on even though they swallowed her small hands. He couldn’t help but feel impressed at the way she handled herself in such an intense situation.

His hands dropped back to his rifle. With angry eyes the color of a stormy sky, she snapped at him, “Put your guns away. You don’t need them.”

He didn’t blame her aggression in the wake of two men getting shot dead right at her feet. He could help redirect her anger to the proper place. “Anymore, you mean.”

She gave him a look of incomprehension.

“We don’t need them anymore.”