Course of Action: Crossfire. Lindsay McKenna

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      Elena Amell, Cynthia Reifel, Linda Little, Faye Farmer, Joann Prater, Lori Weber, Shelley Jensen,

      Emma Metz, Dianne M. Quattlebaum, Lisa Bickley, Mary DeLeon, Jean Saucier, Betty Tanner, Pam Stack of Authors on the Air, Lucie Fleury Dunn, Sina Buckner, Shawn Leinhart, Kerrie Liddicoat (Australia),

      Felicia M. Ciaudelli, Pegg S. Godsil-Coatney, Constance Roehl, June Williams (UK), Abe Koniarsky, Amarylious McAlpin, Therese Scacchi Lopez,

      Robin Driscoll, Angela Rabin, Veda Funk,

      Danielle Schenk-van Lujin (Netherlands),

      Lisa Newman, Marcie Bryant, Julie DeLap,

      Veronika Spagnolo, Debb Lavoie, Rebecca Jensen, Regan Wiard Zick, Tammy O’Holloran,

      Jeanne Morris, Yrrehs You C. Lapaz (Philippines), Robin Dubach Mlckovsky, Debbie Shields,

      Berkeley Metz, Cathy Casey, Maureen Wolverton, Melanie Ley, Debbie Hankins, Stephanie Hyacinth, Kay Courtney, Linda Dawson Uhrich, Starr Hill, Pamela Plessinger, Sue Peace, Cheryl Bishop,

      Patricia Wheeler, Patricia Slate, Kathryn Sheets, Debbie Hankins, Ruth A. Chestnut,

      Judy Meece Kendrick, Loretta Ferris-Uszacki,

      Janice Caver Burton, Jeren Touch-Werner,

      Daphne S. Sampson, Reno Sweeney.

Chapter 1

      “I’m hit! I’m hit!”

      Ben Moore’s scream of surprise slammed into Sergeant Dan Taylor’s earpiece.

      It had been an ambush in an icy area where it had snowed.

      The blackness of the early December Afghan night lit up as another Taliban RPG screamed into their previous ditch position against their enemy. His Special Forces A team, comprising twelve seasoned Army personnel, had fled to an empty Shinwari village, taking refuge in a few mud and stone huts. They were outnumbered and outgunned.

      Dan cursed, digging the toes of his boots into the fine, silty dirt as he hurled himself around the corner of the mud house. Ben, who was like a brother to him, lay at the opposite corner, rolling on his back, his hands jerking around. He’d been struck down by a bullet!

       No! God, no! Not Ben! God, please...

      As Dan skidded onto his knees, the night lit up with yellow and orange fire while another RPG landed in the house in front of them. He winced. Rocks, dirt and dust showered him, and he crawled rapidly on his hands and knees toward Ben. His ears throbbed, lost sound and then his hearing partially returned. In the light, he saw a black, shining flow spurting outward from Ben’s neck. Oh, Jesus! He’d been hit by shrapnel or a bullet in the neck. With his gloved hand, Dan lunged forward, trying to cover the torn carotid artery that was spurting blood several feet into the air. His heart was pounding, sweat stinging his eyes, his breath coming in ragged, tearing gulps.

      “Lie still! Lie still, Ben!” he pleaded hoarsely, knees near Ben’s head and shoulder. Ben’s eyes were wide with confusion and shock, no doubt aware of what had happened. Ben was one of their 18-Delta combat medics. Tears mingled with Dan’s sweat, the tracks streaking down through the dust on his bearded face. Pressing his gloved hand against Ben’s neck, his fingers continually slipped in the warm blood.

      A bullet snapped past so near Taylor that he could feel the heat of it against his own neck. Ben was moaning.

      “Ah, God,” Ben rasped. “I’m hit...bad...Dan...bad...”

      “Get your hands away from it!” Dan pleaded hoarsely, leaning close, trying to stop the artery from bleeding out. “Don’t move! Dammit, don’t move! Ben! Let me try to stop it!”

      The burping ring of AK-47s filled the night air around them amid the deeper, more resonant sounds of the M-4 rifles used by the A team. Dan saw Ben beginning to lose energy, his eyes growing hooded, his hands dropping listlessly into the dirt. The human body contained approximately eight pints of blood. A wound like this could bleed a person out in two or three minutes if it couldn’t be stopped.

      “Hang on, hang on!” Dan cried hoarsely. He called Captain Jamie Curtis, but he didn’t answer. Was he hit, too? Dan tried Warrant Officer Carter Jackson. No answer. Half their team was down and wounded. Help was on the way—two Apaches were thundering toward their compromised position. Would they get here in time?

      Dan screamed to the comms sergeant, Franklin, to get two medevacs in here. Frantically, Dan tried to pull a battle dressing from his cargo pants pocket while holding his other hand tight against Ben’s neck. Son of a bitch! He yanked it free. Terror worked through him. The flashes from other RPGs fired in their direction made Dan feel helpless. It wasn’t something he felt often, and he hated the sensation. Ben’s blue eyes, now cloudy and less focused, met his, almost imploring. “D-dan...”

      “Shut up, Ben! Save your strength! Fight! Stay with me!” he rasped, quickly fitting the thick battle dressing against his neck. If Dan put too much pressure on the wound, he’d choke Ben to death. Pressure on a wound was always what stopped the bleeding, but the neck was the most vulnerable part of a human’s body. There was no way Dan could