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it hurts most, anyway.”
    Nolan bent down to look and discovered a shard of metal, a fragment from the casing of a cannon round from the A-10 strike, had fallen from the sky at high speed and embedded itself deep into the man’s lower shoulder.
    “I’ll need to put a dressing on this, Sir. It won’t take a minute.”
    “Thank you.”
    He closed his eyes. Clearly he was in a lot more pain that he’d admit to. It was going to hurt even more in the next minute. He was bleeding badly, yet the metal fragment stuck out in such a way that the only way to strap on a dressing was to remove it, and fast. Before the man’s body literally emptied of blood.
    “I can do it.”
    He looked at Whitman. “You sure?”
    “Yep. I spent a couple of years as a Navy Corpsman. They said it’d help my application for the Seals.”
    “Right. Did it help?”
    Whitman grinned briefly. “Not a bit.”
    Nolan grunted. “Okay.”
    Jack bent down, unwrapped a sterile dressing, and gave it to Nolan to hold. “I’d ask you to keep it clean, but I guess that’s out of the question.”
    Nolan looked at his filthy hands and nodded. “It is.”
    Whitman felt around the wound, looking for vulnerable organs, anything that was at risk of further damage. The man’s eyes flicked open with the pain.
    “What are you doing?”
    “I’m about to put the dressing on, Sir. Nearly there, but I have to remove the metal fragment.”
    “Will it hurt?”
    “A little. Best if you close your eyes.”
    “Very well.”
    As his eyelids closed, Jack jerked out the shard. Immediately, a fresh spurt of blood jetted out of the open wound. He was ready for it and jammed the dressing against the hole, staunching the flow.
    “If you’d put your hand on the dressing, Chief, I’ll strap him up.”
    “Sure.”
    Jack stood up to take out another dressing from his pack. Something caught in the corner of Nolan’s vision. It was more an unconscious feeling than something he actually saw, but years of battle experience fired off the alarm bells.
    “Jack, get down! Sniper!”
    The warning probably saved Whitman’s life. The heavy .303 caliber round fired from a Taliban sniper rifle, a Lee Enfield, hit the Seal just as he automatically dodged sideways in response to the shout. The bullet was aimed at the area of his neck. Instead, it struck him on the side of the chest, square on the ballistic plate in the center of his armored vest. Whitman was flung back by the force of the heavy bullet. Nolan ignored him for the present and keyed his mic.
    “Enemy sniper, estimated position three hundred meters due north. It looks like he’s hiding in an old stone building, probably a ruined shepherd’s hut, just before the town. Nail the bastard. He just shot Jack.”
    “Is he okay?” Boswell.
    “I’m checking him out now. He took it on his ballistic plate. You have to take out that sniper, or he’ll nail a few more of us, and next time we may not be so lucky.”
    “I’m on him, Chief.” It was Vince. “I can see a gun barrel poking out from behind the stonework. We need to wait for him to make a move, then I’ll take him.”
    “Make sure you all keep your heads down while he’s still out there,” Nolan warned.
    He ducked low and crawled across to Jack. The man’s eyes were open.
    “How do you feel?”
    “Like I went ten rounds with Mike Tyson, but the vest stopped the bullet. I’ll be okay, but we still need to fix that guy’s wound. He’s leaking worse than a sieve.”
    Nolan looked at the casualty. The blood was flowing freely from where Jack had removed the steel fragment.
    “What do I do, Jack?”
    “Just like I was doing, strap a pad over it to stop the bleeding.”
    “It’s a lot of blood, do you think it’ll be enough?”
    “If you don’t do it right now, he dies.”
    Nolan nodded and rammed the pad back on the bleeding hole, using his knee to hold it in place. The man started to come to, then lapsed back into unconsciousness. He strapped the