When the sun rose fully in the sky, Cabrera slid down onto his forearms and looked on either side of him where the team was dispersed over the span of fifteen feet. "Sound off!"

Cassidy. Holt. Swan. Chambers. Even Mohammad was alive and well, though well might have been an understatement for the soldiers since the strain in their voices was evident. One long night bled into an even longer morning.

"They've isolated fire on the trucks again, Sergeant," Kennedy called from the end of the line.

"Are they usable?"

"Looks that way, sir. Just hard to get into without getting a bullet in you."

"Serge," Fred said ominously. Everyone turned their heads to look at him, and when they saw him point outward behind them, their stomachs dropped. A dust cloud roughly 600 yards away formed in the southern region of the plane directly behind them. The cloud grew bigger and bigger, and when the dust cleared for half a second by the sheer luck of the wind, it was evident what was in the midst of the sand. Neal's eyes widened just as the rest of the team's did at the realization.

They weren't ours.

Bullets hailing from the north. Threat sneaking from the south. They were surrounded.

"What about reinforcements, Sergeant?" Emma hastily asked.

"Negative. Closest team can meet us only a mile out."

"So we're just sitting ducks then," Neal stated aloud. No one gave him an answer but the shots firing overhead was a resounding yes.

"No," Cabrera determined and pointed to the prisoner lying in between Neal and Fred. "I'm not dying for this bastard, and neither are any of you. Find the shooters and take them out. As soon as it's clear, one of you take him and get the hell out of here. Is that clear?"

"What about—"

"You worry about the others when they get here. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"I said, is that clear?!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Whether they all got their second wind or Cabrera's little speech actually lit a fire in them, no one knew, but as soon as they returned to their positions behind the small shield of slab, their aim was precise and methodical. Emma got one hiding behind the pillar. Kennedy got two as they raced across the field from their hiding spot to tend to their fallen comrade. By the sound of the shots, there were two, maybe three left. More than they anticipated but at this rate they could actually get the hell out of here. That small victory was enough to make them all forget the reason they were here in the first place. Why they were under attack, and why, even after almost taking out the northern group, they still had to face the Trojan horse behind them.

It was then the prisoner moved. Somehow he had managed to remove the bag from his head, and though his arms were bound behind his back, the fool scurried to his feet and stood. One stray bullet from his own people could have ended him, but whether his God or Allah or sheer luck was on his side, he remained untouched, jumping up and down, yelling out his presence.

Neal was the first to react to his temporary escape.

The thing about reactions is that they give very little room to think, so when Neal stood up to launch himself at their captive and bring him down because a dead prisoner would have been a waste of time and effort, he didn't care how big of a target he made himself.

The bullet in his right shoulder blade embedded itself easily.

He fell on top of Mohammad, both of them tumbling to the ground as he cried out in pain. The burning in his shoulder made his eyes water, and as much as he wanted to clutch his arm and scurry back to New York with his tail between his legs, he didn't. Cabrera was right, he wasn't dying for this bastard, and if he was gonna die, then Tamara and Alia would know he did it fighting to get home to them.

With his weight on his right forearm, Neal groaned with every minuscule inch crawl as Mohammad tried to squirm away. Every motion sent white hot blinding pain behind his eyelids, but he kept moving forward until he grasped Mohammad by the hem of his shirt and yanked, pinning him to the ground. A breath. It was almost over. But not soon enough. Arabic interspersed with broken English sounded in the distance, getting louder and louder with an engine roaring, and when Neal looked up, the breath he so eagerly took was ripped from him as the rebels approached in an ancient Sedan fifty feet away.

"They're here!" Neal called, grabbing Mohammad with his left arm and dragging him along the dirt. Both arms incapacitated left him squirming like a worm along the ground, but the sooner he got to the truck, the sooner he could get out of here.

Emma was the first to look behind her at Neal's call, and when she flinched to run to him Cabrera yelled. "Find the shooters!"

She turned back, and with precision aiming like she could see through stone and had x-ray vision, shot. A cry sounded to the north and a body fell away lifeless from behind a wall. Frederick fired the next shot, and for a moment, it was blessedly silent. Their breathing was tuned out and the approaching roar of the car wasn't there. Almost. Almost done. Then: "Move! Move! Move!"

They all vacated their positions while Neal struggled to stand on his feet as Mohammad kicked and spat at him.

"I will shoot you in the fucking head, I swear to god!" Neal promised, getting to his knees and tossing the prisoner to the ground who groaned in response. Kennedy was the first to him and carried Mohammad to the first car, tossing him in the back just as Frederick scooted in. Following orders, they were off.

As soon as Mohammad was out of his sight, Neal let the pain he held at bay go, and it rushed him like a tidal wave. It tore through his shoulder and across his chest, and he fell to all fours in a breathy whimper. A puddle formed just under his right arm, and blood seeped through his uniform in splotches just under his armpits. He was so goddamn tired. Fuck, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut as he moved the weight off his right arm. Jesus fucking Christ.

"Come on, Neal. Get up." Hands were under his arms and yanking him to his feet. The pressure on his wound made him literally feel the bullet lodge itself further.

He yelled.

Emma half carried him to the only remaining vehicle, but Neal shook his head hearing the engine even closer. Thirty feet.

He fell to the ground, Emma toppling flat over him at the return of gunshots, and Emma had enough sense to bring them to the opposite side of the wall that had been their defence for hours. Five men had exited the car and ran straight for them, but what they lacked in aim they made up for in enthusiasm. Bullets riddled the area surrounding them with no rhyme or reason, sand blowing up like every trigger ignited a buried mine and stone crumbling at its base that one good shot would knock their only shield down.

"Stay low," Emma grunted.

Neal held his arm and winced, hissing between his teeth as his vision blurred. "This is it, huh?"

"Not now."

"This is what we live for," he continued in a hysterical daze. "Going out in a blaze of glory."

"Neal." Emma peeked over the edge and fired. One down but the four remaining were twenty feet away.

Christ, he gripped his arm. Well if he was gonna die, at least he wasn't gonna be alone. Emma continued firing shots overhead before ducking down with her neck tucked into her chest. She switched her glances between him and the incoming targets before finally leaning closer to him and examined his wound.

"Ah!" He cried, struggling against her grip.

"You need to get checked." She pulled her hand back and came away with a blood-covered palm.

He laughed again, his head dizzy. "Hey, do me a favour." Her face pulled into a knowing frown. "Tell Tamara and Alia—"

"No, Neal."

"Make sure they know I love them, okay?" He gasped and slid further down as the chunk of rock just above his head ricocheted into pieces.

Her face was grave, worry settled into emerald eyes before hardening with sheer determination. "You tell them at your wedding."

"What?"

"I'll cover you."

"No."

"You've got a baby at home. A wife. You have no room to argue." She gripped the back of his collar so hard he choked.

"So do you!"

The only reason he knew his words dug deep inside her was because of the blink and clench of her fist around his collar. "Just get your ass to the truck!" was all she provided as she gripped him close, grabbed a gas bomb from her stash, and chucked it overhead. The gas provided them momentary cover as they escaped from their hideout.

With Neal tucked into her side and her gun shooting outward into the smoke, Neal walked as fast as he could with Emma pulling him along. The ground beneath their feet dripped with his blood, following them like a trail of bread crumbs. Glancing under his helmet to the truck ten feet away, he could see Cabrera's gun sticking out of the broken passenger side window firing at the four men running towards them. A cry and a thud. Spots clouded his eyesight, and he lost feeling in his right arm, the limb so stiff he couldn't even move it if he tried.

The gas cleared. Ten feet. A bullet lodged in the tail lights of the truck.

The driver's side back door popped open, and Cabrera had relocated behind the wheel, his rifle trained just behind them as he fired off shots. "Come on, move!"

They were almost there. They'd duck in the back, and Cabrera would get them out, and they'd meet up with Fred and Ken and be home free. They were gonna make it.