The truth remains, Lipovsky is injured due to either sheer stupidity or a grandiose sense of bravery. I can’t tell which, but I digress. Only slightly.
I should leave the fucker to die, for all I care, but then again, he did expose himself because he knew that was the surest way to allow me to shoot the sniper right between his fucking eyes.
Crouching, I remove his helmet and the balaclava. His sweaty brown hair sticks to his forehead. It’s obviously dyed, because sometimes he goes longer between dye jobs and his lighter roots start growing.
The rifle’s sling, which has been strangling him since he was in the tree, has created stripes of red on the pale skin of his throat.
I start to pull it away, but I’m met with resistance.
His eyes are shut, and his lips are blue, which is a bad fucking sign, but the little shit actually tightens his fingers on his weapon.
Losing my weapon is no different from losing my life.
I yank the rifle out of his hold and strap it on my shoulder. Then I mechanically pull him against me. Once again, I’m struck by the sheer softness of the fucker, especially when he’s not being rigid and going through all the motions to appear tougher than he actually is.
I don’t have to search long for the wound. The ugly hole isn’t big, but it’s soaking his entire back with blood. The bullet must’ve hit an artery, considering the hemorrhage, and the hole with no exit on the flesh, right beside the protective vest.
It's not near any vital organs, but the blue lips aren’t a good sign.
We need to get him out of here now.
Just when I’m about to lift him, a prickling sensation stabs me in the back of my neck, and I grab my rifle before I abruptly turn around.
No one is in sight, but I feel them lurking in the surrounding area. I remain in place, unmoving, then I slowly focus on Lipovsky.
The moment they do attack, I’m ready for them. I shoot the first in the heart, but when I turn to the other, he’s already jumping on me and punches me in the side of my head.
My ears ring, but I grab my knife and stab him in the eye. He howls, trying to jump back, but it’s already too late.
I shoot him with Lipovsky’s rifle and he falls to the ground.
Motherfucker.My ear still rings from the blow, despite the helmet.
I click on my earpiece. “Alpha One to Wolf One. We have a man down, over.”
Nothing comes through, not even static.
Fucking fuck.
I remove it from my ear, and sure enough, it’s all crumpled.
So I switch to my portable one. “Alpha One to Wolf One, we have a man down. I repeat, one man down. Over.”
This time, there’s static, but no reply. Seeing how the operation was fucked sideways, I wouldn’t be surprised if our communication was messed with.
I barely managed to have a small info exchange with Viktor earlier. At least he’s alive. Which can’t be said about everyone else.
We lost our snipers and our medic.
The helicopter isn’t here yet, and there are no more sounds of gunfire. I don’t know where the rest of my team fucked off to, and I can’t afford to stay here any longer, or this little shit is as good as dead.
“Alpha One to base. I’m taking the man down to safety, over.” Then I click again. “Wolf One, you better bring your team back alive, over.”
If Viktor also loses men like Rulan did—
I promptly remove that idea from my head and start to lift Lipovsky on my back. He’s so light, it’s easy to carry him. But since he’s unconscious, he starts tilting to the side, so I use the sling of his rifle to attach his hands to my neck.
He moans when I put pressure against his wound.