Deafened and dazed, he stared at the dark night sky, now awash with the glow of even brighter flames, and stretched his jaw. He couldn’t hear a damned thing. The pressure in his head and the pain arcing through his chest and ribs told him he was probably injured, maybe badly. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to suck in air but his body seized up in agony. When he finally got oxygen into his lungs again, he wished he hadn’t. The sour burn of fuel and the excruciating pain along his ribs made him want to never breathe again. Get up, he ordered himself. Get the fuck up and move. Pushing up on his palms, he surveyed the carnage. On instinct, he lifted his weapon to the ready position and slowly inched back toward the closest downed soldier. Ready to fire at the first unfriendly face he spotted, Max patted the soldier’s chest. The slap of a hand and a squeeze of his wrist communicated the man was down but not hurt. Taking his eyes off their surroundings for just a few seconds, he helped the specialist to his feet and got him oriented before moving onto the next man.
