— Please, ma’am.
Fletcher’s voice was rough with barely controlled emotion.
— Let me finish. I need to say this.
Grace nodded, falling silent.
— Three days ago, we were surrounded in that valley. Completely encircled. We’d burned through our ammunition defending the compound, protecting our wounded, holding out for support that kept getting delayed.
His voice thickened.
— We knew—every single one of us knew—we weren’t making it home. We’d accepted it. Made our peace with it. Recorded final messages for our families. Said our goodbyes to each other. We were preparing to make our last stand when your call sign came over the radio.
The room was absolutely silent except for the air conditioning’s mechanical hum and the distant sound of aircraft engines.
