"Lieber Gott," Weber said to himself, seeing the wounds. One Team-1 member was surely dead, having taken a round in the side of his head. Four others right here were hit, three of them in the chest. Weber knew first aid, but he didn't need to know much medicine to know that two of them needed immediate and expert attention. One of those was Alistair Stanley.
"This is Weber. We need medical help here at once!" he called over his tactical radio. "Rainbow Five is down!"
"Oh, shit," Homer Johnston said next to him. "You're not foolin', man. Command, this is Rifle Two-One, we need medics and we need them right the fuck now!"
Price heard all that. He was now thirty yards from the van, Sergeant Hank Patterson at his side, trying to approach without being seen. To his left he could see the imposing bulk of Julio Vega, along with Tomlinson. Off to the right he could see the face of Steve Lincoln. Paddy Connolly would be right with him.
"Team-2, this is Price. We have subjects in the van. I do not know if we have any inside the building. Vega and Tomlinson, get inside and check-and be bloody careful about it!"
"Vega here. Roger that, Eddie. Moving now."
Oso reversed directions, heading for the main entrance with Tomlinson in support, while the other four kept an eye on that damned little brown truck. The two sergeants approached the front door slowly, peering around corners to look in the windows, and seeing only a small mob of very confused people. First Sergeant Vega poked a finger into his own chest and pointed inside. Tomlinson nodded. Now Vega moved quickly, entering the main lobby and sweeping his eyes all around. Two people screamed to see another man with a gun, despite the difference in his appearance. He held up his left hand.
"Easy, folks, I'm one of the good guys. Does anybody know where the bad guys are?" The answer to this question was mainly confusion, but two people pointed to the rear of the building, in the direction of the emergency room, and that made sense. Vega advanced to the double doors leading that way and called on his radio. "Lobby is clear. Come on, George." Then: "Command, this is Vega."
"Vega, this is Price."
"Hospital lobby is clear, Eddie. Got maybe twenty civilians here to get looked after, okay?"
"1 have no people to send you, Oso. We're all busy out here. Weber reports we have some serious casualties."
"This is Franklin. I copy. I can move in now if you need me."
"Franklin, Price, move in to the west. I repeat, move in from the west."
"Franklin is moving in to the west," the rifleman replied. "Moving in now."
"His pitchin' career's over," Nance said, loading the body into the Night Hawk.
"Sure as hell, if he's a lefty. Back to the hospital, I guess," Malloy strapped into the chopper and took the controls. Inside a minute, they were airborne and heading east for the hospital. In the back, Nance strapped their prisoner down tight.
It was a hell of a mess. The driver was dead, Chavez saw. crushed between the large wheel and the back of his seat from when the truck had slammed into the guardrail, his eyes and mouth open, blood coming out the latter. The body tossed out of the back was dead as well, with two bullet holes in the face. That left a guy with two broken legs,and horrible scrapes on his face, whose pain was masked by his unconsciousness.
"Bear, this is Six," Clark said.
"Bear copies."
"Can you pick us up? We have an injured subject here, and I want to get back and see what the hell's going on."
"Wait one and I'll be there. Be advised we have a wounded subject aboard, too."
"Roger that, Bear." Clark looked west. The Night Hawk was in plain view, and he saw it alter course and come straight for his position.
Chavez and Mole pulled the body onto the roadway. It seemed horrible that his legs were at such obviously wrong angles, but he was a terrorist, and got little in the way of solicitude.
"Back into the hospital?" one of the men asked O'Neil.
"But then we're trapped!" Sam Barry objected.
"We're bloody trapped here!" Jimmy Carr pointed out. "We need to move. Now!"
O'Neil thought that made sense. "Okay, okay. I'll pull the door, and you lads runback to the entrance. Ready?" They nodded, cradling their weapons. "Now!" he rasped, pulling the sliding door open.
"Shit!" Price observed from a football field away. "Subjects running back into the hospital. I counted five."
"Confirm five of them," another voice agreed on the radio circuit.
Vega and Tomlinson were most of the way to the emergency room now, close enough to see the people there but not the double glass doors that led outside. They heard more screams. Vega took off his Kevlar helmet and peeked around the corner. Oh, shit, he thought, seeing one guy with an AKMS. That one was looking around inside the building-and behind him was half the body of someone looking outward. Oso nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand came down on his shoulder. He turned. It was Franklin, without his monster rifle, holding only his Beretta pistol.
