The grenade hit the side wall and ricocheted off the ceiling. It tumbled down and bounced off the top of the tractor and spun through the air until it rolled to a stop ten feet from the back of the tractor.

Time slowed as Mike watched the grenade's flight to the hangar floor, his body immobile. It spun in a circle, the internal mechanism counting down. Five seconds. From the time the spoon dropped to the explosion, five seconds. Niki, Randall, Julia, the two kids, and he were on one side of the tractor. Tom and Al were on the other side. Milliseconds felt like hours. They were all exposed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Al open his mouth. There was no way to bat this one away. Not everyone would die, but those who didn’t wouldn’t be in any shape to fight. Al lunged forward.

Mike's head whipped to the left. He wanted to shout. Get down.

He’d seen Al’s mouth open the sound finally penetrated his mind.

“Grenade!” he yelled.

Al took a second diving step, landing in the fetal position around the explosive, his back to the tractor.

The grenade went off and lifted Al a foot into the air the concussive force slammed him into the tractor.

Muffled but brutal, the explosion reached out to them. Al’s body took the brunt of it, leaving his shredded corpse against the back of the tractor. Blood began to pool under him. Some of it had sprayed into the air, reaching them.

Her face empty of expression, Julia mechanically reached up and wiped her face. She looked at her red streaked hand and screamed, sinking to her knees.

Mike strangely couldn’t look away from her. He felt a horrible relief inside. He should have been the one. Everyone was his responsibility. His only thought, everyone was going to die, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. He tried to push the feeling away, push it out of his mind. Al had saved them, but the cost was nearly unbearable. Instead of stupidly watching the grenade, he should have acted.

“Mike.”

He dragged his focus off Julia.

Tom’s weapon fired. He wasn’t letting off the trigger.

Mike spun his weapon up. Men were firing up the stairway, pushing their way up.

He dodged behind the wall, stuck his gun around, and fired.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

Tom changed magazines. Mike fired a long burst of automatic fire, blindly shifting his gun barrel.

Tom re-engaged. He hid behind the wall, only his weapon exposed.

The firing slacked off below them. Mike changed magazines but didn’t fire.

The attack below had been cut short by Tom's quick reaction.

Tom pulled his weapon back. Mike waited until he reloaded and snatched a look. There were five bodies on the stairs.

Mike put his hand on his ammo vest. He had one more mag. With what he had in the gun, he was down to sixty rounds. Tom tapped his mag and raised two fingers. They both made a point of not looking behind the tractor where another gun and more ammunition lay.

He snatched another quick look at Tom. The big man looked small as he leaned his back against the wall, his head down. He looked like the fog had just hit him. Mike felt it, too.

“Tom.”

His friend lifted his head, his eyes seeing nothing.

“Tom, you good?”

He knew how the man felt and wanted to mourn with him but now wasn't the time. He let himself go numb, wanted it to happen, no emotion. A calm, cool mind could make good instant decisions. One clouded with emotion would get them killed.

Suddenly, Tom jerked off the wall. “I’m good.”

“Good. I need you to watch the stairs.”

Tom checked his rifle and pointed it downstairs. They were both reeling but wouldn’t speak about what had happened. Not now. Maybe it would come out in some safe place like a bar where no one knew them. They’d get blind, stupid drunk, and remember their friend. They’d talk about the good times and the shit times. They would laugh and maybe cry if no one was watching.

“I’ll check him.”

Red tear marks traveled down Julia's cheeks. She’d wiped most of the rest of the blood away. She’d pulled her charge down with her. He sat uncomprehending, frozen in place. Her rifle lay on the floor unattended.

Niki got to her feet but slumped on the wall. She reached out to Mike and put her hand to his face. “I’m sorry.”

Randall had a dumb look on his face, but he had control of the boy.

Around the corner of the tractor, the sight told the story. Al was truly gone. The blast had torn his chest apart. The shrapnel had shredded him. Mike steeled himself and reached for Al's extra magazines and AK. The explosion had damaged two of the mags. He kept them in case he had to dig the rounds out of them. He took the AKS mags out of his vest and replaced them with Al’s AK mags. With Al’s weapon on his shoulder, he gave Randall the AKS, the last mag he tossed over to Tom. He would rather have kept the smaller weapon, but he needed the extra ammo, and AK ammo wouldn’t fit in his AKS.

When he finished, he looked down at his hands front and back. They were covered in red. He wiped them and the weapon dry. His hands stayed streaked with dark trails of Al's blood. It wouldn't all come off. Niki watched him while he pulled the AK’s stock between his legs, leaving a blood mark on both pant legs. He needed to focus. He had to get the others out.

He turned Julia around and took the satphone from the backpack. He held it out for Tom to see and put it on the tractor.

Mouth near her ear, he whispered. “Get everyone out to the helipad. Take them to the edge and wait for us.”

She nodded, her eyes red with tears, and pulled and pushed the others to the personnel door, getting them outside.

He glanced at Tom. This was going to be the hard part, keeping it together while he talked to Hotak. He had another reason to kill the man. Another brother dead.

“Hey, asshole. The only thing you accomplished was wounding one of your kids. He’s unconscious, lost a leg and an arm. We put tourniquets on the stumps. He’ll live for now, but I don’t know how long we’ll be able to keep him alive.”