Thinking they could simply hide out in the church and wait for reinforcements to arrive would be wishful thinking at best. This wasn't some video game safe zone, and priests in Central and South America have often fallen victim to cartel violence. Bravo Team's choice to defend this position was based on two pragmatic reasons outlined by Command.
First, it might buy them more time before they were discovered. Doza's men were already dispersing, conducting a citywide search. Religious sites like this were unlikely to be high-priority targets.
Second, although the church was small, its brick-and-mortar construction made it sturdy. The spacious chapel offered good defensive positions, and they wouldn't have to worry about a single RPG wiping them all out at once.
Jason scaled the low wall surrounding the church and unlocked the small iron gate from the inside. The team slipped through in single file, with Sonny bringing up the rear. He carefully reset the gate behind them, taking care not to make noise.
Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, they found the church brightly lit by candlelight but eerily empty. Bravo Team split into two groups, skirting the long wooden pews along the walls to quickly clear the rear rooms.
Jack, carrying Rasso, followed medic Trent straight through the center aisle. They made their way to the side altar, which was draped with an intricately embroidered tablecloth.
The side altar consisted of an ornate wooden table flanked by two thick white candles on either side. Behind it, on a raised marble platform, was the main altar adorned with a missal, a chalice, and a crucifix depicting Jesus' suffering. The scent of old incense lingered in the air.
Trent, seemingly indifferent to the sanctity of the setting—or perhaps just too focused on the task at hand—grabbed the edge of the tablecloth and swept the candles to the floor. Jack stepped aside to avoid the falling items before gently placing Rasso on the cleared table.
This wasn't a horror movie, so the fallen candles didn't ignite anything. They simply snuffed out upon hitting the ground.
"Argh..." Rasso groaned in pain, semi-conscious. Jack, who had briefly examined his wound earlier, hadn't dared use any advanced healing techniques, fearing that Trent's professional eye might spot something unusual. The man's earlier loud screams had suggested his injuries weren't immediately life-threatening, but Jack now regretted underestimating their severity.
"We're short on medical supplies. I lost a major trauma kit," Trent said grimly. The earlier RPG blast had caused significant damage to their equipment. Fortunately, Trent's surgical tools were in his personal pack, so they still had some options.
Jack didn't waste time. He tore open Rasso's silk shirt, revealing an abdomen that was swollen, purple, and slightly distended. The wound was deep, indicating that his upper abdominal cavity had been punctured, leading to internal organ damage and bleeding—a dire situation.
The abundance of blood vessels in the abdominal cavity made this injury particularly tricky. Without intervention, Trent could only slow the bleeding. The absence of the trauma kit meant they had lost their LTOWB (Low Titer O Negative Whole Blood), which required refrigeration to stay viable.
Or perhaps not all of it. Jack noticed Trent pulling out a thermal bag from his backpack. It seemed he had stored some blood separately as a contingency.
"Religious man, huh? You might want to start praying," Jack muttered, slapping Rasso lightly on the cheek in an attempt to wake him. The man remained unresponsive. His chest and stomach were covered in tattoos, the most prominent being a crucifix and a skull dressed in a wedding veil and holding a scythe.
The skull wasn't the Grim Reaper from Greek mythology but rather "La Santa Muerte," a figure revered in Mexico. Translating to "The Holy Death" or "Saint Death," this belief blends Catholicism with indigenous Mesoamerican traditions, much like Mexico's famous Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead).
Though the Catholic Church officially denounces "La Santa Muerte" as a form of idol worship, she is beloved among Mexico's poor and disenfranchised, as well as among cartel members. In some places, statues of "La Santa Muerte" are even displayed inside churches, standing beside Guadalupe, Mexico's brown-skinned Virgin Mary.
This church was no exception. In a corner to the right, a small altar displayed a statue of "La Santa Muerte" holding a long scythe in one hand and a crystal ball in the other. Beside the statue hung a painting of Saint Jude, the Catholic patron saint of desperate causes.
The altar was surrounded by glass-encased candles, some still burning, others extinguished. In front of the candles were photographs of the deceased being memorialized. Many of the pictures didn't show just one person—several depicted entire families of three or four, or young couples smiling blissfully.
Colonel Martinez stood in front of the altar, staring at the images. Jack approached and greeted him. "What's on your mind?"
"That's Saint Jude, the patron saint of the desperate. He's respected for listening to the prayers of both the good and the wicked, which makes him important to the cartels. Unlike 'La Santa Muerte,' people revere him not out of fear of death but because they hope their final prayers will be heard. It's ironic, isn't it? Looks like we came to the right place," Martinez said.
Jack understood why Martinez might be feeling this way. He placed a steadying hand on the colonel, noticing once again that something was off about him. Martinez's face had developed a yellowish tint, and his overly energetic demeanor hinted at internal injuries—likely liver damage or severe blood loss.
"Come with me, Colonel. Let me take a look at you," Jack urged.
"I'm fine!" Martinez suddenly shouted, trying to push Jack away.
"What's going on?" Jason entered the chapel, having just finished clearing the rear rooms. He had left Sonny and Clay upstairs to secure the second floor and returned to find the commotion.
"Martinez is injured," Jack replied, easily restraining the colonel, who was too weak to resist. He gently lowered him to the floor and pulled off his body armor.
The wound wasn't immediately obvious, but the symptoms of anemia and jaundice indicated significant internal bleeding. Jason's jaw tightened as he saw the gaping, bloody hole on Martinez's abdomen—right at the spot where his ill-fitting body armor had failed to provide coverage.
"Why didn't he say anything?" Jason asked, leaning closer.
Martinez's response was faint and slurred. "Don't… don't waste… supplies on me. Rasso… he must live… he's… our only chance… to find Doza…" His words trailed off as he lost consciousness.
"Trent!" Jason called for the medic, but Martinez had already passed out.
Trent knelt beside Martinez, quickly assessing his condition. The grim expression on his face said it all: Martinez's injuries were critical.
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American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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