After telling the captain to rest and not push himself, Dave signaled for the others to move. His gaze swept across the team as he began issuing instructions.

"Those of you who can still move, look for sturdy poles, about two meters long," he ordered. "The rest of you, strip the dead and tie their clothes together. We’ll use them as the sling for a stretcher."

He paused briefly, his tone firm.

"Your captain can’t keep walking with broken ribs. That’ll only make things worse. We’re carrying him out."

Dave knew that if he didn’t make the decision now, the captain would try to endure it and keep moving on his own, pain or no pain. A soldier like him would push forward until his body gave out, and he might even continue fighting if needed. Without clear orders, the others might let him do exactly that.

So Dave didn’t give them the chance.

Sure enough, the moment Dave gave his orders and everyone understood what he was planning, surprise rippled through the team.

Normally, a stretcher was a last resort, used for the extraction target, not one of their own, and avoided whenever possible. Carrying an injured man meant weakening their formation. Those assigned to the stretcher would have slower reactions because their hands were occupied, so they would be unable to drop or take cover quickly if bullets suddenly rained down from an ambush. In situations like that, death often came before they even had time to react.

That was why, more often than not, injured soldiers were expected to grit their teeth and endure until they reached a safe zone; only then would a stretcher be used.

Dave understood all of this. He’d made the same calls before.

But three broken ribs were no small matter.

For all they knew, one of those fractures could have already punctured a lung or nicked the liver or spleen. Internal bleeding was a silent killer, and it was also fast, and unforgiving, and if the captain collapsed midway, they wouldn’t be evacuating a wounded man anymore. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

They’d be carrying a corpse.

And that would be far worse.

Besides, Dave refused to bring back dead subordinates. To him, that would be nothing short of a failure. These men were not just soldiers under his command; they were brothers who had trusted him with their lives. Losing them because of a decision he could have prevented was a weight he refused to carry.

If there was still a way to stop that from happening, he would take it.

That was why he chose to shoulder the responsibility himself and lead the group out of this place — alive.

"But, Young Minister, if we put the captain on a stretcher now, we’ll lose precious seconds if we have to evade an ambush," one of the team members said hesitantly. "That kind of delay could be more dangerous than letting him walk at a controlled pace."

He wasn’t arguing for the sake of it. Given their current situation, it was highly likely that more than one enemy team was still hunting them. There was no way to know when they might cross paths again, or whether ambush points had already been set up around the area. If they were caught in the open, burdened and unable to react quickly, they would be doomed.

That was why they needed to stay careful and inconspicuous, moving slowly, keeping low, and blending into the terrain as much as possible.

"I know," Dave said, frowning as he weighed the situation. "That’s why we’ll send scouts ahead first. If the path is clear of ambushes, we’ll move the captain on a stretcher."

He paused, his voice turning firm.

"If he keeps moving as if nothing’s wrong and the worst happens, even if we manage to break out and get him to a hospital, it might already be too late. His condition could become far more complicated, or outright fatal."

The team fell silent as they understood his meaning. It wasn’t that any of them wanted to abandon their captain. Quite the opposite.

If a rib had punctured his lung and internal bleeding had begun, his breathing would deteriorate rapidly. If he kept walking, they might not even notice when he lost consciousness, or when his lungs started filling with blood, and when that happened, he would begin drowning from the inside. And if other organs had been damaged, the outcome would be no different.

Dave paused, scanning their surroundings. Beside him, the captain no longer seemed fully present, his gaze unfocused, his breathing uneven, dizziness already setting in.

Dave continued, his voice low but steady.

"No matter which option we choose, it’s going to be dangerous. We’ve already been exposed and betrayed here. Leaving anyone behind isn’t an option."

His jaw tightened. "If we do, the enemy will have undeniable proof that the government was involved in this operation. And the moment that evidence surfaces, my political opponents will seize it and tear us apart. I can already see how it will unfold: public outrage, distorted narratives, accusations flooding the net."

He exhaled slowly. "If that happens, this mission won’t just fail. Any deaths we suffer will be meaningless, and we’ll still be painted as the villains in the end."

Dave lifted his head, resolve hardening in his eyes. "So since that’s the reality, we put all our cards on one thing, getting everyone out of here alive... and making them pay for this."

Luke glanced at Dave. "The way you talk, are you gearing up for another election already? Practicing your speeches?" he teased.

Dave shot him a resentful glare.

Luke only scoffed in response, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint, amused smile. Then the humor faded from his expression as he turned serious again.

"So," Luke said evenly, "what’s the plan?"

"The plan is simple," Dave began, addressing the team. "We need someone skilled at scouting to check the path ahead. I’ll lead the team and act as captain. You, on the other hand, will guard the rear."

"Two more personnel will flank those carrying the stretcher, ready to assist if needed. The rest would need to rotate every ten minutes, so no one gets too exhausted while carrying the captain. That way, their reaction time won’t be compromised, and they’ll get a brief chance to rest between shifts." Dave’s gaze swept across the team as he spoke, making sure everyone understood their role.

Understanding the plan, the team’s best scout stepped forward and nodded to Dave, silently accepting the task. No one objected; they all knew he was the most suitable for the job.

Among the other soldiers, they quickly selected those with the greatest strength and endurance to carry the stretcher, while the rest were assigned to guard the perimeter, watching for any signs of movement. Luke, tasked with guarding the rear, simply nodded without a word.

Once the roles were agreed upon, the soldiers moved efficiently. They examined the bodies of the fallen enemies, selecting the most intact clothing with minimal bullet holes, and stripped it to use for the stretcher.

Others searched for sturdy poles, and together they silently assembled a makeshift stretcher for the captain. Meanwhile, Luke and Dave stayed by the captain’s side, checking his condition and ensuring he was ready to be moved.

The captain finally stopped putting on a brave face, his pain evident even after using the coolant spray. "Heh... heh... Young Minister, I can still move. You don’t have to go through all this for me..." he said, wincing with every word.

"Stop acting tough and rest for a while. If you feel anything wrong with your body, tell us immediately, don’t try to hide it. Hiding it would only make all our efforts pointless, so I expect you to be honest with us," Dave said, his eyes narrowing into a serious glare.

He wasn’t just giving orders; he knew the captain might keep his condition a secret to avoid being a burden. Dave had to use a mix of firmness and subtle pressure to make him feel accountable, ensuring that if anything went wrong, like shortness of breath, pain, or other symptoms, they would know, especially since there was no doctor among them to read his condition at a glance.

"I..." The captain opened his mouth, wanting to argue, but then paused, thinking seriously. He took a deep breath, as if reaching a decision. "I... understand, sir."

"Good. Now tell us exactly what you feel," Dave said, a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice at having finally made the stubborn captain relent.

Seeing Dave act like a victorious child, the captain pretended not to notice and answered, "I feel a little dizzy... maybe a mild concussion from being slammed to the ground, and some shortness of breath, with pain all over. Aside from that, I don’t think there’s anything else."

He carefully tried to gauge his body, aware of what Dave was worried about. He focused on distinguishing whether the pain was just from bruising or if it was coming from the inside, because if it was internal, things could quickly become dangerous.