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veins, Jack managed to stop the soldier’s
fall. He recognized the driver as Lance Corporal Baker, an all-around good kid.
Jack tried to remember where he was from.
    "You
OK?" Jack asked.
    The
kid looked up at Jack, with blood streaming from his ears. "What?"
    Jack
grabbed him by his collar and pulled him in close, face to face. "Are you
OK?" he yelled.
    "I...I
think so."
    "Good.
Sit down. Drink water," Jack yelled at him.
    Jack
gently lowered the man to the ground, handed him a bottle of water and crawled
into the HUMVEE.
    The
passenger side was completely caved in, pinning the Marine in the seat between
the crumpled door and the large center console. The Marine groaned—which was
good. It meant that he was still alive.
    Jack
focused for a moment, trying to remember his name.
    He
couldn't.
    "Easy
there, fella. We'll get you out."
    Jack
crawled onto the crumpled center console to evaluate the man. He was bleeding
from his mouth and nose—definitely not a good sign. He ran his hands along the
soldier’s chest and instantly knew why.
    The
sharp, jagged edge of a rib protruded through the man's jacket. Red frothy
blood, lined the wound. Pinkish bubbles rose and fell in time with the Marine’s
breathing.
    Fuck.
He dropped a lung , was Jack's first thought. We've got to
get him out of that seat , was his second.
    "Chief!"
Jack shouted over his shoulder. "Get a God-damned crowbar and get that
God-damned door open— NOW! "
    Jack
turned back to the Marine. "Easy there, everything's going to be
alright."
    The
Marine didn't say anything; he just looked back at Jack with wild, panicked
eyes. After what seemed like forever, but was really less than a minute, Jack
looked across the wounded Marine to the action outside.
    Chief
Whitley, along with several other grunts, were all pushing and pulling at the
passenger side door. There was a long screech of twisting metal, followed by a
hollow pop, and the offensive barrier fell free.
    "Watch
him!" shouted Jack. "Don't let him fall. Lift him out gently ."
    He
knew they had to transfer the man carefully. Broken ends of bones could be very
sharp. Movement could cause them to saw into or through organs and arteries,
like a butcher's knife.
    Gingerly,
Chief and the other Marines lifted the injured man from his seat, then out of
the twisted wreckage. Someone had spread a tarp down on the side of the road.
They gently laid the wounded man on it.
    Jack
backed out of the HUMVEE and sprinted around the vehicle.
    "Dustoff's
coming?"
    "Already
called," answered Chief Whitley. "Helo's on the way. ETA five
minutes."
    Damn,
they're efficient. Those pilots work fast. Jack grabbed his
medic kit and knelt over the man. I've got to work fast, too.
    Tearing
open the man's jacket, Jack cut away his T-shirt, exposing the wound. It looked
even worse, now that he could see it fully. A good inch of rib protruded from
the young Marine's chest.
    Jack
pulled a sterile, plastic sheet from his kit and pressed it over the gash in
his chest.
    The
surgeons back at base would fix him up. Jack just had to make sure the injured
Marine would make it there alive. Bubbling, frothy, blood immediately stopped
oozing out, from under the airtight dressing.
    Now
Jack had to move even faster.
    Since
air was no longer able to escape the injured lung, it would build up and up, until
the pressure in the injured lung kept the man from pulling air into his good
lung.
    With
a quick and deft movement, Jack pulled an IV needle from his kit and pushed it
into the top of the man's chest, above the now covered wound. The hissing sound
made by escaping air confirmed he was on target—the building pressure was being
relieved.
    Jack
sat back just as the sound of helicopter blades tore through the afternoon air.
    He
had the ridiculous impulse to raise his hands in the air and yell, “Done!” as
if he’d tied a calf at a rodeo or something. He’d certainly gotten his work
complete, and under time, too.
    "The
Dragon loses today," Jack said with