The gas turbines roaring at max RPM were just background noise for Geiger; the stench of death was not much different. A gentle mountain wind was picking up again, singing a quiet, cold dirge for the fallen; he never bothered to listen.

  Needle stood just centimeters away, yet he felt like a part of the helicopter fuselage. He had been extracted from his position at HMG-1 seconds ago. His hands were painted black from burnt gunpowder. Needle’s eyes told Geiger what he never wished to hear; his mouth spoke no words.

  HMG-2 position: 40 meters ahead, 15 below. The KPV barrel was still glowing a furious orange. Zyklon’s body was slumped over it; her blood turned to steam as it dripped onto the hot metal. Her dead eyes were still trained on an ammo belt she never reloaded. Brass littered the mountainside next to her last position. Spent casings held company to live ones, all assigned to the same fate.

  As the helicopter closed the distance, Needle’s body shook; he covered his nose. Your lover’s burnt corpse smells different from your enemies', different from your allies', and different from your own. Same spent flesh, different smell, same fate.

  Bugeyes held his left hand, Semtex his right. Geiger did not move. Needle yanked his hands away and saluted; everyone mirrored the gesture. Geiger was last.

  The fallen soldier’s long silver hair answered the salute in response to a brief, violent wind. Soon she vanished from view as the helicopter veered toward its next waypoint: Glass’s position.

  Geiger did not see Needle’s reaction as he sat down next to his comrades. He could barely hear their whispers; they did not matter. His hands started shaking violently; he didn’t bother to hide it this time.

  “Glassy!” he screamed at the mountain. The howl of the engines drowned out his cries.

  He forced the binoculars into his quivering palms but could never keep them steady enough to resolve a clear image. His fear materialized in its place instead, resolved perfectly in his sight. Time slowed down.

  Glass’s frozen corpse. Her eyes frozen still, looking through her scope—not at him. Holding her sniper rifle—not him. The smell of Zyklon’s corpse invaded, lingered, and rotted.

  He ripped the binoculars from the belt strap and threw them at the cursed mountain. The mountain did not answer. It just froze his tears, imprisoning them.

  Instinct took over.

  “God!” he whispered the unknown word. He looked at the dead radioactive clouds for no reason he could name. “Please!”

  The mountain answered; the wind whispered. For a split second, the frigid wind felt soothing. It smelled untainted, untouched by terminal war.

  Had someone, or something, listened? He knew it, even if he could not articulate or explain it. His palms stopped shivering, his eyes now fixed on Glass’s concealed position 400 meters away.

  200 meters. His impulse almost overrode his religion: discipline. Geiger almost used the comms like his dim-witted gene-sister Blood had moments ago. He heard his allies stand up; Geiger turned slowly to face them. His eyes trained on them; they lowered their heads and sat down again. No words were exchanged.

  Distance bled; he could hear his own heart thumping. As the shivers were ready to set in, he did not clench his massive fists. He gave in to the urge and looked at the clouds again. He repeated the ritual.

  Fifty meters. The tip of a suppressor barely jutted out from a mound of snow; if he hadn’t known the exact coordinates, he’d have missed it.

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  “GLASS!” exploded from his lungs, echoing in the dead valley.

  The helicopter started slowing down.

  “My Glassy!” he cried once again.

  No movement. No movement! Why?

  From the corner of his eye, he saw it. The pilot pushed the stick forward and jabbed the throttle. The helicopter groaned forward.

  “NO!”

  He unclasped his armored rig. It clattered on the cold fuselage floor. Geiger grabbed the fast line with one hand.

  “Geiger! No time!” Semtex screamed.

  “Ten seconds, brother!” He jumped overboard, line in hand.

  The rope bit into his palm as his glove disintegrated from the friction. He never felt it. The helicopter tilted its nose up, slowly ceasing its forward momentum; he wanted to smile but couldn’t manage it.

  Boots crushed snow.

  Arms punched through her concealment—a frozen burial mound. He shoveled away snow with his bare hands with animalistic ferocity. Precious seconds passed. He never stopped screaming her name.

  His hand touched something solid and fibrous. Not her. He yanked it free. The arctic camouflage netting flew aside, taking much of the cursed snow with it.

  Glass had crawled into a fetal knot in front of him, barely breathing. She had tucked her long hair inside her fatigues and pulled her shirt over her face, palms clenched around her torso. The anti-materiel rifle still stood on its bipod in front of her. A tactical map of the valley was frozen in place, a kill tally scratched with claws on the margin. Six 23mm spent casings were stacked next to each other at her side; each one a kill, each a reminder of function.

  Geiger’s name was freshly scratched by deadly claws on the Kevlar blanket. Black, frostbitten palms still clutched it in her final moments.

  Geiger snatched her by the harness, stepped into the knot at the end of the fast line, and screamed, “Go!”

  The ground gained distance. He looped an arm around the line and brought Glass close. He could hear her teeth rattling.

  “Glassy! We are out of here! Hang on! Please!” He took her palm. Pitch-black skin.

  She struggled to open her mouth but couldn’t manage to utter a word. She held tight and shut her eyes tighter. Glass exhaled.

  The winch came to life; the fast line started getting pulled back into the helicopter. For a split second, Glass stole a glance at her abandoned sniper rifle as they drifted into the distance below. Then she looked at her dead fingers; her abandoned function. Her eyes fell on Geiger, her dead palms on his chest.

  She tried to speak, but only a sigh was produced. She tapped Morse code on his chest with her wrist: Why?

  Geiger kissed her frostbitten palms, then her forehead. She closed her eyes and just held on.

  The winch stopped. Bugeyes and Semtex pulled Glass inside. Geiger shut the door, locking the lethal cold outside, and covered her with a blanket. He rubbed the cold away from her shivering body.

  Bugeyes approached, tapping her watch, with Semtex right behind her. She saluted and violently stuck her arm in front of Geiger’s face.

  Watch: 00:05.

  “Noted,” Geiger spat, slapping the watch away.

  “Yes… Commander” Bugeyes grinned.

  “Sit the fuck down.” Needle pushed Bugeyes away; Semtex offered no protest.

  Watch: 00:00. Click. Click.

  Geiger ignored it. Glass was in his arms; he listened to her heartbeat. Needle offered a cigarette to Geiger and lit one for himself. Geiger thirstily inhaled the smoke.

  “I’d have done the same,” Needle softly punched Geiger’s shoulder.

  “Havoc will have words with you” Bugeyes retorted.

  He did not respond to either. The monotonous monologue of the gas turbines took over as they headed to the HEMMT.

  No one spoke a word. For every second that passed, Bugeyes stared at her watch; with each passing second, she breathed faster. Semtex placed a fresh mag in his battle rifle; Needle just smoked with his eyes closed. Geiger shook Glass gently every time she was about to lose consciousness. He never stopped combing her hair.

  The heli nosed up and started its descent. The comms erupted in their helmets.

  Comms: "Condor 1, five bogeys, 25 clicks, angels six, Hot! Two minutes.”

  Havoc: “Engage! Condor 2 and 3, bug out! Vector Waypoint 7 immediately!”

  Comms: “Condor 1, lock confirmed. R-77 away. Fox 3! Fox 3!”

  Geiger watched as the main weapon bay of the attack bird opened. Five out of the six missiles it held dropped in quick succession. A plume of fire erupted from their rocket motors as they shot straight up into the sky, disappearing from view.

  The pilot jabbed the throttle all the way forward and eased the stick in the same direction. They held on as the helicopter shuddered forward at maximum acceleration. The valley started racing past them.

  Geiger’s eyes widened at the pilot’s panel, at the Radar Warning Receiver. It stayed dead; they were not spotted yet. He did not dare look at the fuel panel.

  He looked at Glass.

  She was alive.