It really wasn’t a question.
Orion blew out a breath. “She fell. It . . . rattled me.”
“Sounded like more than that . . . but good thing because we hadn’t a clue where you were. If I hadn’t heard you, we would have kept walking. By the time you attempted to climb out again, we might have been long gone.”
Orion looked at him.
“So, I guess God even uses our darkest moments for good,” Ham said.
“Okay, whatever. I was mad. You can’t take everything and turn it into a God-is-on-your-team moment, Ham.”
“Why not? He is . . . and maybe he brought you up on this mountain—”
“To wreck my life. Again.”
Ham recoiled.
“Guess what, Chief. The person I’ve been wanting to find, the one who had all the answers about the ambush that killed Nickles and Dirk, the informant who lied, and the CIA brass who didn’t care and sent us in anyway—Jenny.”
Ham just blinked at him.
“Mmmhmm. She was the CIA analyst who made the call—”
“She hardly had the power to make the call, Ry. The Taliban strike was confirmed by drones and on-the-ground Ranger intel—”
“The Taliban set us up, and she should have seen it coming.”
Ham cocked his head. “Aw, dude, that’s a little . . . I mean, nobody can read minds.”
“She’s a profiler. That was her job.”
Ham’s mouth tightened around the edges.
Orion looked away. “It doesn’t matter. Like she said. It doesn’t change anything. I’m still angry. Now I just know who to be angry at.”
“You sure you want that?”
Orion looked at him. “Want what?”
“To carry all that anger around inside you. It’s like . . . it’s like you drank poison but you expect the other person to die. You’re the one who suffers.”
It did feel a little that way.
“You’re right. God did bring you up here, but maybe to show you that the turmoil inside you has nothing to do with blame. Or even what happened to you. It’s about the fact that you didn’t deserve it. You were innocent, and it happened to you anyway.”
Orion breathed that in. Maybe. “I went in to help people, and . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why?”
“That’s the answer you really want. Why did this horrible thing happen to you, to Dirk and Nickles and my guys, when we’re the good guys. We didn’t do anything wrong. If we’re going to go down, at least it should be because we deserve it, right?”
“Yes, actually. Because if it’s not, then it’s either random and grossly unfair or . . . God really isn’t on our side.”
“Or he is.”
Orion gave him a look.
“Consider what we go through at BUD/S. We are tested. Pushed. Tried. And made into men through our suffering.”
“So, God wants me to become a better person? That’s why he punishes me?”
“Or, he chooses you because he has amazing plans for you, but you need to walk through that fire first. You need to contend with the darkness in your heart, learn to forgive, and realize that it’s not about you. It’s about who you could—will—be. Because of your suffering. And because you came through it.”
The radio burst to life. The chopper, returning. Ham got up and walked over to Kit. “Ready to go?”
Kit found her feet as the chopper lowered the litter down to the ledge. Then she and Ham dragged over the body and loaded it in. Kit grabbed the top strap of her husband’s backpack, attached herself to the rig, and Ham radioed her up.
Leaving him and Orion on the ledge.
“Consider this, bro. Jesus hung on the cross. In front of him, he had betrayers and accusers, and beside him, a murderer and a thief. He, however, was innocent. And yet he hung there and suffered because he knew the future. He knew it would save us. He looked out at that rabble and he said, ‘Father, forgive them. For they know not what they do.’”
The litter started coming back down.
“God brought you up on this mountain not to betray you, but because you matter very much to him, Ry. He does not want you to stay in your anger, does not want you to hide from your calling. And if getting you to face your fears is what it takes—making you helpless and letting you discover he’s still with you—then that’s what he’ll do. Even if you have to suffer.”
Ham caught the litter and brought it to the ground.
“Yes, life is unfair, and we will always have people who will hurt us. Who don’t know what they do. But God wants you to let him handle the justice . . . you just give him your heart. Because that’s what he’s really fighting for. He wants to wash it free from the anger and fill it with his love. The question is, are you brave enough to let go and give him your heart?”
Ham picked up his pack of gear. “God is contending for your heart. And so am I. Because neither of us are done with you yet.”
Ham came over and hooked his hands under Orion’s shoulders.
“I can walk.” Orion growled as Ham lifted him to his feet.
“Yeah, I know.” Ham gripped him around the waist, helping him to the litter. “But it doesn’t hurt you to have a little help. That’s what teammates are for.”
He settled Orion in the litter and strapped him in. Then he knelt next to Orion and clipped his harness to the rig. “Let’s get off this mountain.”
Jake was waiting on the deck of the chopper as they rose, and he pulled the both of them in. Kit was strapped in, her husband’s body on the floor next to her. Ham shut the door.
Then they were descending. Orion watched the peak rise, fall away as they swooped into Muldrow Glacier, then around the mountain to the Denali Base Camp.
Snow kicked up into a whiteout as they settled on the icy surface of the Kahiltna Glacier. The door opened, and for a crazy moment, he hoped that Jenny might be there, waiting.
Of course not.
Maybe he shouldn’t blame her quite so much for that, because she was hurt—really hurt—and they’d probably already flown her off to the hospital in Anchorage.
Wait. Amidst the roar of the dying rotor wash, the wind that seared the mountain, and the shouts of rescuers, he heard her quiet voice.
“I had a nervous breakdown.”
“I wish I’d been there in Germany when you woke up. I was already in trouble, or I would have been there.”
Already in trouble.
Already having an emotional breakdown?
“I went to Afghanistan because I wanted to save lives.”
Oh, Jenny. No wonder she’d wept so hard when he told her his story.
Weeping for him. For his buddies. For her mistakes.
Maybe she had a little PTSD too.
Just like that, his anger snapped free. Just released, like a whoosh from his body. And compassion into the empty places flooded.
Or maybe he’d call it love.
Jake and Ham had carried him out of the chopper like he was some kind of invalid, and the moment they set him down and released him, he sat up and held out his hands.
“What?” Jake said.
“Help me up, dude. Is Jenny still here?”
Jake grabbed his hand. “No. We sent her on a flight to Anchorage.”