Chapter 858
A sound of pure agony escaped him. His splinted left fingers twitched once, uselessly, inside the rigid frame. His right arm strained against the brace and went nowhere. He had never hated metal, gauze, and bone-deep pain more than he did in that moment.
“Channel open,” K.C. said.
Jarrod leaned toward the console, his voice dropping into something colder than fury. “Range safety. This is Romero. Contain the fight. Do not escalate. Do not touch Thompson unless she fails to disengage. Get medical standing by for O’Malley and Thorne.”
“Copy, Colonel,” a voice crackled back.
Down on the field, the tide of the fight turned. Caroline’s instincts began to override her blind rage. She stopped throwing wild punches and saw an opening. In a fluid motion, she hooked her leg around Melanie’s, twisted her body, and pinned Melanie’s uninjured left arm across the mud, using shoulder pressure and body weight rather than a clean joint lock. Melanie’s broken right hand stayed trapped between them and the ground, making her scream whenever she tried to buck free.
But just as Caroline was about to force a submission, a shrill range whistle split the air. Floodlights snapped toward the fight, turning mud and gravel into a white, merciless stage.
Caroline heard the sound and her head snapped up, her eyes instinctively searching for the source. She saw Instructor Reynolds moving hard toward them. She saw Sharpe at her flank. She saw the medical orderlies breaking from the edge of the range with stretchers.
That split second of distraction was all Melanie needed.
With a surge of adrenaline, Melanie slammed her forehead forward, catching Caroline square on the chin.
Stars exploded behind Caroline’s eyes. The world went black for a second. The pain was sharp and blinding. Her pressure on Melanie’s arm loosened.
Melanie scrambled on top of her, her left forearm driving clumsily toward Caroline’s collarbone while her ruined right hand remained pinned uselessly in its sling. She could not choke Caroline with both hands. She could only press, shove, and claw for balance with the one side of her body that still worked.
But the pain had cleared Caroline’s head. The shock of the blow brought a chilling clarity. She arched her back, driving her knee hard into Melanie’s ribs.
Melanie grunted in pain, her balance faltering. It was enough. Caroline twisted, reversing their positions with a speed that was terrifying.
She was back on top. This time, there would be no mistakes.
Her arm snaked around Melanie’s neck, her bicep pressing against the carotid artery. Her grip locked against her own shoulder and bicep, tight enough to end the fight but controlled enough to leave room for surrender.
Melanie thrashed, her left hand clawing at Caroline’s forearm while her sling-bound right arm jerked helplessly against her chest. Her feet drummed against the ground. Her struggles grew weaker, her movements frantic, then sluggish.
High in the command tower, Jarrod watched without moving.
Every instinct in him tore against the cage of command, rank, injury, and consequence. He wanted to be on that field. He wanted to rip the world apart with his bare hands, if his hands had still belonged to him.
They did not.