Magazine empty. He’d reload. Rebecca rose, fired twice.
The rifle shooter went down. One left. But her rifle clicked empty too.
The last enemy fighter saw her, saw she was reloading, started running toward her, weapon up, shouting something she didn’t understand. Rebecca dropped the rifle, drew her knife.
Twenty meters between them. Fifteen. Ten.
He fired, missed, snow kicking up to her left, five meters. She sidestepped, inside his firing line, too close for him to track. Her knife found his throat.
He collapsed, hands clutching the wound. Rebecca stepped back, watched him try to stop the bleeding. It couldn’t be stopped.
Not out here. Not in a blizzard. He looked up at her, eyes wide, asking a question he couldn’t voice.
«Thirty-two,» she said quietly.
Not to him. To herself. To everyone who hadn’t made it home tonight.
She watched until he stopped moving. Then she was alone in the ravine with the dead and the snow and the slowly dying storm. Rebecca walked back to the road.
Every step hurt. Everything hurt. Her hands had gone numb.
Face felt frostbitten. Shoulder was definitely injured. Didn’t matter.
Had to check on Mitchell. Had to make sure he’d survived. The convoy vehicle still burned, but weaker now.
Running out of fuel. Running out of heat. Soon they’d be just twisted metal and white landscape.
She found her vehicle where she’d left it. Engine cold. Lights off.
Knocked on the door.
«Mitchell. It’s Hayes.»
No response.
«Mitchell, open up.»
Nothing. Rebecca tried the handle; locked from inside. She could see Mitchell through the window, curled up in the passenger seat.
Gun in his lap. Eyes wide. Not moving.
She knocked harder. «Mitchell! It’s over! Open the door!»
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared.
Shock. Combat shock. He’d gone somewhere inside his head and wasn’t coming back without help.
Rebecca checked the other vehicles. Maybe she could find tools. Break a window.
Get him out. Found something better. In Convoy Five, somehow still intact.
A survival radio. Battery powered. Emergency frequency.
She carried it back to her vehicle, set it up in the snow, extended the antenna, keyed the mic.
«Any station. Any station. This is Convoy Three. We have casualties. Multiple casualties. Requesting immediate evac.»
Grid coordinates. She read off their position from memory. Waited.
Static.
«Any station. This is Convoy Three. Does anyone copy?»
More static. Then, faint, breaking up.
«Convoy Three. This is Firebase Delta. We read you. What is your status?»
Rebecca looked at the burning vehicles. At Mitchell’s face in the window. At the thirty-two bodies scattered in snow.
«Status is…» She paused. «Hostile force neutralized. We’re secure. But we need immediate medical support.»
«Copy that. Convoy Three. Birds are already en route to your last known position. ETA thirty minutes. Can you confirm hostile status?»
She looked at the ravine. At the creek. At the tree line.
«Confirmed. Threats eliminated.»
«How many hostiles?»
«Thirty-two.»
Long pause. «Say again, Convoy Three?»
«Thirty-two. Confirmed kills.»
Another pause. Longer.
«Convoy Three. How many effectives do you have?»
Rebecca glanced at Mitchell again. Still hadn’t moved.
«One,» she said quietly. «One effective.»
The radio went silent. The blizzard broke twenty minutes later. Rebecca sat in the snow beside the radio, weapon across her lap, watching the sky gradually lighten from black to gray.
Christmas morning. Somewhere, people were waking up to presents and breakfast and normalcy. Here, there was only silence.
She heard the helicopters before she saw them. Deep thump of rotors echoing across the landscape. Two Black Hawks, flying low, following the road until they spotted the burning vehicles.
They circled once. Probably confirming the grid coordinates. Probably trying to assess the situation.
Probably seeing exactly what she’d told them. Bodies everywhere. Blood and snow.
One woman sitting beside a radio. The lead bird set down fifty meters away. Rotor wash kicking up snow and ash.
The side doors slid open. Medics jumped out, followed by armed security. They approached cautiously, weapons ready, clearing angles.
The first one to reach her was a sergeant. Older guy. Combat patches on his shoulders.
He took one look at Rebecca, at the scene behind her, and his expression went carefully neutral.
«You Hayes?»
«Yes.»
«You injured?»
«Shoulder. Maybe frostbite.»
«Can you walk?»
«Yes.»
«Then let’s get you to the bird.»
He reached down to help her up. She waved him off. Stood on her own.
Legs wobbled but held. She picked up her rifle. Started toward the helicopter.
«Hayes.» The sergeant’s voice stopped her. «The thirty-two hostiles. You engage with your unit?»
Rebecca looked back at the convoy. At Mitchell’s vehicle. At the scattered burn marks and blood.
«No,» she said. «Just me.»
His expression didn’t change. Professional. But something flickered in his eyes.
Disbelief maybe. Or respect. Hard to tell.
«Just you,» he repeated.
«Yes.»
«Alright then. Let’s go home.»
The medics got Mitchell out of the vehicle. He didn’t fight them. Didn’t help them.
Just let himself be carried. Still locked in whatever place he’d gone. They loaded him into the second bird.
Started working on him immediately. Warming blankets. IV fluids.
Words Rebecca couldn’t hear over the rotors. Someone put a blanket around her shoulders. Someone else took her rifle.
She wanted to protest but couldn’t find the energy. Let them handle it. Let them take care of everything.
As the helicopter lifted off, she looked down at the convoy site. The burning vehicles were just black spots now against white ground. Bodies were dark shapes scattered randomly, like toys thrown by an angry child.
Thirty-two of them. She’d counted after the last one fell. Walked the entire area.
Made sure there weren’t any wounded. Weren’t any playing dead. Thirty-two enemies.
Exactly. The helicopter banked, turned toward base. The convoy site disappeared into distance.
Into snow. Into a Christmas morning that had started with death and ended with silence. Rebecca leaned back against the vibrating wall, closed her eyes.
Somewhere below, families were opening presents.
The debrief lasted six hours. Rebecca sat in a gray room at Firebase Delta, talking to an endless rotation of officers. First the duty commander, then intelligence, then someone from higher command who’d flown in specifically for this.