"This is all my fault. Clay shouldn't have been on this mission—I screwed up," Jason said, his face filled with guilt.
"Cut it out, Jason. You always do this. It's not your fault—it's war. Anything can happen in war, and besides, if you hadn't taken out that RPG position by yourself, none of us would've made it back," Ray Perry said bluntly. He couldn't stand seeing his team leader in this self-loathing state.
Jason punched the wall, causing the drywall to shake and flake off dust. "You don't understand. None of you do. Aren't you even wondering why Jack suddenly showed up here?"
The room fell silent.
"Because right before we deployed, Clay told me he was planning to leave Bravo Team for Stella and their unborn child. I recommended him to Jack. We were supposed to sit down and discuss his future. I should never have let him come on this mission."
"Damn it." Ray froze for a moment, realizing the weight of Jason's words. He didn't know how to respond.
Raising a flag like this—making a major life decision and calling it "one last mission"—wasn't just a trope in movies. Superstitions about "something bad always happening on the last mission" were pervasive even in real military circles.
But at the end of the day, everyone knew it was just superstition. None of them blamed Jason for what happened. Each of them had their own way of coping with the situation, and for Jason, that was taking the burden of guilt upon himself.
Jack noticed that everyone in the room was clutching their phones, but all of them were powered off. They knew that turning their phones on would mean facing calls from their loved ones—and from Stella.
"Doctor! The doctor's here!" Sonny, who had been keeping watch at the door, shouted excitedly, throwing the door open.
Jason shot up from his seat, despite the sling immobilizing his right arm. "Colonel, how is Clay Spenser?" The rest of the team gathered around the doctor, their faces filled with anxious anticipation.
"He's out of surgery, Master Chief Hayes, but his condition is critical," the surgeon said, still wearing scrubs, his face lined with exhaustion.
"Will he keep the leg?" Ray Perry asked urgently.
The surgeon frowned, carefully choosing his words. "Spenser's left leg sustained severe compound fractures. We've done what we can to repair the bones, soft tissue, and nerve damage to preserve as much function as possible."
He paused, looking grim. "But frankly, I'm more concerned about his internal injuries. His spleen has sustained significant damage, and you should know how serious that is."
"How bad is it?" Jason pressed.
The doctor shook his head, casting a pall over the room. "If we don't remove the spleen immediately, we can't guarantee his survival. But I'd like to avoid that if possible. I hope my patients can leave the hospital with all the organs they came in with."
"What happens now?" Jason's grip on his phone tightened and loosened repeatedly, his frustration palpable.
"He's extremely critical—his blood pressure is dangerously low, his heart rate is elevated, and there's significant infection around the leg wound. I've heard he vomited up the broad-spectrum antibiotics on the battlefield, correct? That means we're also dealing with the risk of sepsis. If it progresses, amputation might become necessary…"
The doctor's words made everyone's heart sink. Even Jack felt a heavy weight settle in his chest. If Clay lost the leg, it would be an uphill battle convincing the FBI to take him in as a field agent, even with Jack's recommendation.
"Can we see him? Just for a few minutes?" Jack asked urgently. What he really needed was a brief moment of contact with Clay—just long enough to keep him alive.
Thankfully, the doctor hesitated only briefly before nodding. "Ten minutes, at most. He needs rest more than anything else."
Jack let out a quiet sigh of relief. If the doctor hadn't allowed it, he would've had to resort to more underhanded methods—like sneaking into the ICU in disguise. But that would've been far too risky; getting unauthorized access to a military hospital's ICU was no small feat.
Dressed in isolation gowns, masks, goggles, and all the necessary protective gear, Jack and the Bravo Team members entered the ICU. Their bulky, alien-like appearance must have been quite a sight because Clay, despite his weakened state, let out a hoarse laugh that turned into a fit of coughing.
"Hey, buddy, welcome back from hell. How're you feeling?" Sonny greeted him warmly, standing by his bedside.
"Am I hallucinating, or did you guys recruit a new teammate while I was out? Why are there six of you?" Clay's voice was weak, but his sense of humor was intact. He squinted, trying to make out their faces through the masks and goggles.
"I'm just here to meet my future teammate," Jack said with a smile, casually placing a hand on Clay's shoulder.
"Jason's in such a rush to get rid of me, huh?" Clay joked, though his voice carried a note of resignation.
Whether it was the mask muffling his voice or his own conflicted emotions, Jason sounded more subdued than usual. "I'm sorry, Clay. Over the years, I may have been too hard on you, but—"
"Shut up, Jason. I know I'm an idiot. I also know how many strings you've pulled for me behind the scenes, and that you reached out to Jack because you were worried about my future. I owe you more than I can ever repay… cough, cough…"
Clay coughed again, wincing in pain. "Thank you, all of you. Thank you for getting me off that battlefield."
The room fell silent. No one noticed that Jack's hand remained on Clay's shoulder, or that his face beneath the mask was growing pale, his eyes slightly unfocused.
Clay's injuries were severe. In addition to his ruptured spleen, his liver and other internal organs had sustained minor damage, and blood clots had formed in several areas. The infection in his leg was already progressing into sepsis, and his body's defenses, even with medication, were rapidly deteriorating.
Both the tibia and fibula in his left leg were shattered. His foot was connected to the rest of his leg by little more than damaged muscle, tendons, and skin. Without Jack's intervention, Clay would undoubtedly lose the leg. The doctors would have no choice but to prioritize saving his life over preserving the limb.
Jack worked carefully, repairing key nerves and blood vessels to ensure the doctors could proceed with the most conservative treatment possible. This way, even if Clay's leg healed completely, it wouldn't raise any suspicions.
The ten-minute visitation passed quickly. The SEALs reluctantly said their goodbyes to Clay for the time being. Jack followed them out, his legs unsteady and his vision darkening at the edges.
"You okay, buddy?" Jason asked, noticing Jack's pale complexion after they removed their protective gear.
"I just need to sleep. I came here on a military transport and didn't get much rest," Jack lied, brushing off the concern.
"There's no shortage of beds here. I'll find you a quiet room. No matter what, we'll never forget what you've done for us," Jason said, his voice tinged with emotion. His eyes glistened faintly.
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