Despite having survived a thousand battles, a thousand wounds, Jack had never felt as tired or old as he did at that moment. He didn’t even felt like that when he was captured and tortured in Tora Bora, and he thought he was going to die. His exhaustion went far beyond something physical. It was like a lead chain that was squeezing him like a python. Not only to his body, but to his own heart and to his entire spirit. He was completely unaware of that feeling, that unease that was completely overwhelming him and that had begun to torment him from the moment he landed with the Eurofighter Typhoon on the main runway of the Morón Air Base. The situation there was most chaotic. Fighter planes trying to land, some of them in emergency. The base was increasingly crowded and it was evident that it could not cope with such frenetic air traffic. Fire trucks were putting out fires in the engines and fuselages of several damaged fighters. Ambulances came and went carrying wounded people. On the other side of the base, it was the helicopters that did not stop landing and taking off, bringing wounded and dead, and then taking more soldiers and equipment to the city of Seville.
He thought he remembered that at another time, in another place, he had been ordered that he had to report to the command center. But when Jack stepped out of the cabin and felt the overwhelming weight of all the emotions he had held back for the past few hours, he could do nothing but sit on the floor. He let go of his helmet and put his hands to his head.