“They were ambushed on day two.”
“Two gone instantly.”
“One bled out before sunrise.”
“One vanished.”
“Never recovered.”
The General’s eyes moved across the recruits like a slow sweep of a spotlight.
“That left three.”
A hush spread so deep it felt physical.
“One had shrapnel buried so deep in his chest he could barely breathe.”
“Another—comms specialist—got knocked unconscious in the blast.”
He let that hang.
“And the last one?” he said quietly.
He looked at Grace.
“She was shot through the thigh.”
“Two fractured ribs.”
“No painkillers.”
“No evac.”
“Just miles of ice and shadow between her and maybe… survival.”
Grace didn’t move.
Not one flinch. Not one twitch.
The General kept going, and the words hit like cold water.
“She carried the comms guy on her back.”
“Dragged the wounded one on a makeshift sled rigged from broken straps and a snapped rifle barrel.”
