"Trent," Jason called out, intending to summon the medic. But Jack stopped him. "Leave it to me. Trent can't handle two surgeries at the same time."
"The bigger problem," Trent said without looking up from his work on Rasso, "is that we only have two blood packs left. Rasso's internal bleeding hasn't stopped. I can only stabilize him temporarily and use transfusions to buy time."
Jason didn't hesitate. "Use both on Martinez. Wake Rasso up—I need to interrogate him!"
"No need. Just give me one pack," Jack interjected as he and Jason helped lay Colonel Martinez on a long wooden pew. Ignoring the team's puzzled expressions, Jack began speaking with feigned confidence.
"The bullet didn't fully enter his abdominal cavity. It's likely a fragment that ricocheted off the ground. Martinez is in hypovolemic shock, but I've already found the bleeding point. Trust me, I can handle this."
With Trent busy treating Rasso, Jack had the final word on Martinez's condition. Whatever Jack declared as fact became the truth, even here in a church. In matters of life and death, his words carried more weight than divine intervention.
After all, it wasn't as if anyone would question him.
"Boss, upstairs is secure. You better hurry up," Sonny and Clay appeared, shoving a shirtless middle-aged man down the stairs.
The man had sharp features, black hair, and dark eyes, with pale skin that gave him the appearance of an authentic Iberian.
"We found some alcohol and gauze. Hope it helps," Sonny said, handing over a few items to Jack.
Clay, meanwhile, dragged the man to Jason. Pulling out a phone he'd confiscated, he explained, "He claims he's the priest here. My Spanish isn't great, but it looks like the phone hasn't been used recently. There's also a landline upstairs."
Jason scanned the group. Among them, only two spoke Spanish fluently: Martinez, who was unconscious, and Trent, who was busy performing surgery. This left him at a loss.
"Have him sit over here. I can multitask," Jack said, gesturing to the pew beside him as he continued stitching up Martinez. He had already administered a blood transfusion, injected morphine, and discreetly used a healing ability to repair Martinez's damaged liver and bile ducts. By now, all that was left was closing the wound.
Martinez's ability to endure such excruciating pain and still refuse treatment, all to preserve Rasso's life and the vital intel he carried, was nothing short of commendable. His resolve inspired respect from the entire team.
The priest sat on the pew, glancing at Jack, who was kneeling beside another man and performing what looked like a surgery. As he buttoned his clerical robe, he asked, "Who are you people? I understand a little English, but I can't speak much."
Jason, of course, wasn't going to admit they were American soldiers. He gave a vague reply. "Think of us as friends, here to help."
The priest, still fuming from Sonny and Clay's earlier rough treatment, scoffed. "Friends, armed with weapons? Ha!"
Ray Perry, the team's deputy leader and a devout Catholic, stepped in, his tone solemn. "Father, we apologize for the trouble we've caused. We want to leave as soon as possible. Have you told anyone we're here?"
The priest's expression softened slightly. "No. You checked my phone, didn't you?"
Jason leaned in closer, his voice firm and deliberate. "Are you absolutely sure you haven't told anyone that there are intruders in the church? This is critical."
The priest glanced at Sonny and Clay before replying, "I only woke up when I heard someone going upstairs."
Clay, ever skeptical, pressed him. "So the gunfire and explosions outside didn't wake you, but the noise of us walking upstairs did?"
The priest grew agitated and launched into a rapid string of Spanish. Jack, still focused on stitching up Martinez, calmly translated, "He said gunfire is a nightly occurrence around here—he's used to it. What he's not used to is American soldiers showing up in his home."
The priest's answer left everyone momentarily speechless. Just then, Martinez stirred, his transfusion taking effect. Slowly regaining consciousness, he opened his eyes and saw the priest.
"Father… are you here to give me my last rites?" Martinez asked weakly.
"No, you're fine now," Jack replied with a smile. "You should be thanking Saint Jude, or La Santa Muerte, or maybe even the fat on your belly. Your injuries weren't as bad as you thought."
"Definitely not La Santa Muerte," Martinez mumbled. "I've lost count of how many of her statues I've destroyed while leading my men against the cartels."
His expression suddenly changed as he struggled to sit up. "Rasso… is Rasso still alive?"
Jack gently pressed him back down. "Stay still. I'm closing your wound. Trent's still working on Rasso. I only used one blood pack—he's not going to die anytime soon."
Jack then steered the conversation away from Martinez's worries, turning to the priest. "Colonel Martinez said earlier that Saint Jude and La Santa Muerte are both revered by the cartels. Do they visit this church?"
Sonny, still annoyed, interrupted with a sharp comment. "You're actually providing a holy place for drug dealers?" His outburst earned him a light punch from Jason.
While most of the team was unimpressed by what they saw as the priest's complicity with the cartels, they respected the sanctity of the church. Disparaging remarks were frowned upon in this setting.
Still grumbling, Sonny added, "I've been to a lot of churches, but this is the first one I've seen dedicated to scumbag drug lords."
"Yes, the cartels do come here. But I do not offer them love or forgiveness. I believe God doesn't, either," the priest began, switching to Spanish as he became more emotional.
Jack translated: "He says he despises the cartels. Doza has killed many of his friends—his term for his parishioners. But as a priest, he cannot abandon his faith or his duty to minister to sinners, no matter how vile. He also cannot stop them from bringing La Santa Muerte into the church. If he tried, he'd be killed."
The room fell silent after Jack's translation.
Finally, Jason broke the stillness. "No matter the circumstances, set up defensive positions. We'll have to hold out here until reinforcements arrive."
Clay's lips twitched as he glanced at Rasso, still undergoing surgery, and then at the weakened Martinez lying on the pew. He seemed on the verge of saying something but ultimately stayed silent.
Perhaps he wanted to suggest abandoning Rasso and focusing on getting Martinez out. If they were surrounded here, escape would be nearly impossible. Their only hope lay in reinforcements, whose arrival time was uncertain due to the QRF being ambushed earlier.
But Martinez's earlier actions—enduring his injuries and refusing treatment to ensure Rasso survived—made Clay hesitate.
The sights they'd seen in Mexico, including Lieutenant Lopez's ordeal, had clearly struck a chord with the soldier. For now, Bravo Team would stand their ground.
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Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 924)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
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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