Movement to his rear made him look back at the silhouette of a large man carrying a rifle on a bipod. Pain stabbed through him like a red-hot poker, blinding him. When his vision cleared, he focused on the big man standing beside him. Big Bird leaned over him. “Nacho, you need a hand?” Relief flooded him and Caesar nearly wept for joy. “I could.” The big man flung his weapon over his back. “Got a man down out here,” he said into the headset. “Make that two.” Big Bird scooped Caesar up in his arms and carried him to the chopper, laying him out on the floor of the craft beside an injured German. As soon as his backside touched the floor, he experienced excruciating agony. When he tried to roll over, he nearly blacked out. He ground his teeth, forced himself to his side and lay still until the dizziness receded. His lower back, buttocks and thigh went numb. Thankful the pain had disappeared, he didn’t think beyond that, just concentrated on breathing. Dustman loaded the Taliban leader into the same craft, none too gently.
