3 PM, airspace over Buckswest.
UH-60 "Black Hawk" helicopter speeds southeast towards the Baghdad Green Zone, against the heatwave at an altitude of 600 meters.
Beneath the fuselage, the desert baked by the scorching sun all day releases warped halos, with occasional flashes of resilient camel thorns in the view.
The cabin is filled with a pungent mixture of disinfectant, blood, and scorched human flesh.
The medical monitor emits regular and monotonous "beep-beep" sounds, every slight fluctuation on the screen pulling everyone's nerves inside the cabin.
Song Heping's gaze falls on the bandaged figure on the stretcher.
Old Masood's condition is more perilous than when he was found two hours ago by the roadside in the desert.
Typical flame burns, accompanied by the cyanosis characteristic of inhalation injuries.
Each labored and strenuous breath by the old man brings forth an ominous wheeze from his chest, like a badly damaged antique bellows.
