Rebel Heart

"Sir, I stopped the bleeding with skin patches, but he's got metal in three-" the medic started.

"Can he travel?" Brady asked.

"He's in shock."

Brady knelt beside the unconscious soldier. His face and neck suffered severe burns while his right side looked as though a Brillo brush had been taken to it. He saw the skin patches, fracture brace, and laser-sealed wounds-evidence of the medic's quick work-but he also saw the unusual bulge in the wounded soldier's side. Large pieces of shrapnel were stuck inside.

"What's near here?" he demanded, twisting to see the team's scout.

"Nothing for miles in working condition, except the fed buildings down the road. They have a hospital, but-"

"Hospital," he breathed.

"It's a feds hospital, wrapped in armor and surrounded by one of those biohazard elimination fields and landmines. There's no going near it," Jem replied. "They don't take our kind there, anyway."

"But it's up and running?" Brady pressed.

"The only thing running for a hundred miles."

Brady rose, hope flickering through him. He motioned for his men to stay where they were and jogged out of earshot. He tapped his personal net implant and murmured "Angel" to direct the implant in his brain to contact her.

"Angel, you there?" he asked.

"Please wait," came the woman's response. He did so impatiently, shifting his gear around his body. "I'm here."

"You of all people could probably help me about now," he said.

"What's wrong?" she asked, concern entering her tired voice.

He paused, glancing at the yellow stripe of dawn nudging back the night sky. He wondered often about Angel, the woman with the soft-spoken voice and peculiar perspective of the world. She was a fed, and a powerful one if she held the keys to the government's secret emerops facilities. Tim trusted her, but Brady was cautious, suspecting she was unwitting of Tim's activities in the PMF.

"Do you have access to the hospitals?" he asked and braced himself for more bad news.

"Yes," she responded without hesitation. "Are you hurt?"

"No, but one of my men is down. We're in a complicated situation, and we need a doctor."

"Send me your coords."

He withdrew his computer and did so, grateful for the woman that helped him out of blind faith. The enigmatic Tim's request for a favor was readily granted after three generations of both their families working together towards the PMF's goals of national unity. As Easterners, Brady and his brothers continued the legacy their father and grandfather had of serving as the military advisors to the politicians that Tim's Western family bred. And yet, Tim said nothing of Angel except to take care of her.