Marisol had the shears in her hand before anyone saw her reach for them. The sergeant major’s shirt split open, and her voice dropped into a calm the staff had never heard from her. “Blood is collecting around his lung,” she said. “Dr. Marsh, I need a chest tube kit and four units of O negative, now.” Nobody argued. Paige slid the tray across before she realized she had moved, and Marisol made a clean cut between two ribs. Dark blood rushed into the canister, and the monitor’s frantic beeping slowed.

Boyd caught her wrist. “Oz, listen. Cruz has a fragment sitting against his aorta. It moves when he breathes. Don’t let them slide him into that scanner.” Marisol turned toward the second bed, where Staff Sergeant Cruz lay gray and silent. Before anyone answered, the alarm on Cruz’s monitor began to scream.