The call came in after two in the morning, and at first I almost missed it under the other traffic.
"Bravo, say again, you were stepped on," I said.
Static. Then a voice, young and trying hard to sound steady.
"Sticky Six, this is Bravo Two. We have contact outside the wire, we have one wounded, request support, over."
I sat up straighter in the dark of the ops center. The screens threw a pale light across my desk.
"Bravo Two, Sticky Six copies," I said. "One wounded, contact outside Sangin. I have you. Say your grid when you can, over."
He read it back in pieces. I wrote every digit down twice.
"Good copy, Bravo Two," I said. "I am passing that now. Stay with me on this net, over."
"Sticky Six, we are kind of busy here, over."
"I know," I said. "I know you are. Keep this frequency open if you can. I will do the talking."
That was the job. I did not decide anything for the men on the ground. I kept the thread from breaking, called the other stations, repeated what I had, and came back so they would hear a voice that was not shouting.
"Bravo Two, Sticky Six," I said. "Help is being coordinated. I do not have a time for you yet. I will tell you the minute I do, over."
"How is your wounded?" I asked, when there was a gap.
A different voice answered, closer to the handset.
"Sticky Six, he is awake. He is talking. That is good, right?"
"It is good," I said. "Keep talking to him. Tell him to stay awake."
"He wants to know your name," the voice said.
"Tell him Sticky Six is fine," I said. "Tell him Sticky Six is not going anywhere."
For a while after that there was only noise. Distant sounds came through whenever someone keyed the handset, broken and far away, and then a voice would cut in with half a sentence and be gone.
"Bravo Two, say again, over," I said.
Nothing.
"Bravo Two, Sticky Six, radio check, over."
I counted to ten in my head. I had learned not to fill the silence too fast. Sometimes they were moving. Sometimes they could not answer.
"Sticky Six, Bravo Two," he said at last. "Sorry. We had to move him."
"You are fine," I said. "You did right. Is he still with you?"
"He is still with us."
"Good," I said. "Listen to me. The route is being worked. The other station has your grid. You are not lost in this, Bravo Two. I have you marked right here in front of me."
It was not much, a mark on a screen, but I said it like it mattered, because from their side, maybe it did.
"Sticky Six, can you stay on?" the younger voice asked. "Just, can you not switch off this net?"
"I am staying on," I said. "I will be right here. If you do not hear me for a minute, I am talking to someone else about you. I am still here."
"Copy," he said. "Copy that."
The minutes stretched out in a way I still remembered years later. I repeated grid numbers until I could have said them in my sleep. I asked about small things, just to keep the line warm between us.
"Bravo Two, what is it like on your end?" I asked.
A short laugh came through, surprised.
"Sticky Six, it is cold and dark, over."
"Cold and dark copies," I said. "Same here."
"Copy," he said, quieter.
Later, the other station came back with an update, and I passed it word for word, slow and clear.
"Bravo Two, Sticky Six," I said. "Movement is happening on your request. Hold your position if you can. Keep your wounded warm. Say again back to me, over."
He repeated it, stumbling once, and I made him say it again.
"That is it," I said. "You have it exactly right."
Near dawn, the traffic thinned. One by one, the other call signs checked out. Bravo Two came up one last time, his voice scraped thin.
"Sticky Six, Bravo Two. We are handing over here. Thank you for staying on."
"You did the work," I said. "Take care of each other, over."
"Will do. Bravo Two out."
Then the net was quiet, the way a room is quiet after everyone has left it. I sat with my hand near the handset, waiting for a call that did not come. I never heard the wounded man's name. I never heard whether the morning found him better or worse. I wrote the time in my log, closed the book, and walked out into the pale light with that not knowing tucked in beside everything else I carried home.
Chapter 8: Coming Home Quiet