Thanks to Judy S for the Beta -- all mistakes are mine.
But the guys aren't, they belong to Pet Fly who never treated them with respect. I meanwhile I make no money at this, so don't sue me unless you long for a 20 year old car and an old dog.
Crowswork
Lt. James Ellison shook off the restiveness that had been haunting him since he'd left the chopper. This mission was as simple as a black ops incursion into a rogue nation to rescue American hostages could be.
Get in -- collect the packages -- get out. Simple. Simple if he hadn't had the mother-grabber of all headaches since he'd touched the ground. A flash of light almost blinded him and now he was hearing things, too. It had to be some acoustic anomaly. The hills around the encampment must be catching the sounds and funneling them to him.
One of the college kids -- one of the hostages -- was getting slapped around. The kid, it had to be a kid since the voice sounded like it had just changed, protested when one of the captors made advances to the lone female captive.
"Blair!" The female professor's voice cut through the night. "Don't say anything. I can handle this." Jim mentally noted her identity: Charlotte Valen, Archaeology Professor, 40, unmarried.
Jim had to admire the kid's guts. He recognized the package's name now. Under eighteen, genius, Jewish sounding last name. Prime hostage material to these particular guys. Prime punching bag, too.
Reacting to Jim's hand signal, the squad moved, slipping through the shadows like wraiths. Jim went ahead and took down one of the guards, his focus shifting through the tiny window, to the people inside.
The flash/bang of a stun grenade inside the metal building caught Jim off guard. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't move.
He fell back against the rusty wall beside the door only vaguely aware of gunfire and his sergeant in his face. "Ellison? You hit?"
"Move! Move! Move!" Someone else screamed from inside. A rush of bodies barreled past Jim in a blur.
The pulsing lights behind Jim's eyes faded just in time for him to see a shadow in the dunes raise a rifle aim at the lighted doorframe. He staggered forward and took the rounds in his chest, feeling the punch of the bullets hitting the kevlar. His men returned fire as a small form tackled him and knocked him to the ground.
"Jeeze, Mister." The kid's face was opposite his for an instant and he saw a flash of big blue eyes, short curly hair and a baby face battered and swollen. "Are you okay?"
"Move it, kid." The sergeant grabbed the boy and they disappeared.
Gosford and Lopez lifted Jim to his feet, hooked his arms over their shoulders and broke into an awkward run. Gosford's hand, pressing on his side was agony and Jim realized that he had been hit below his body armor. "Crap! Don't worry about me. Get the packages to the chopper."
"They're on their way, don't worry. Already, on the first evac and in the air." Jim was almost carried to the second helicopter and barely clung to consciousness as they loaded him on board. The sound of the rotor deafened him momentarily, then it slowly became more muffled until it faded altogether to normal.
He wondered about the kid for a moment... safe now... that was good... kid had guts. The kid... the package... was gone, never to be seen again. That was good too because he made Jim feel things he'd thought he'd buried years ago.
Putting aside all thought of heightened senses and stupidly brave boys, Jim let the normal sounds wash over him as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Blair Sandburg sat huddled in the chopper and tried not to shake. Now that he was safe, the reaction had set in big time. He looked at his hand in the dim red light and cringed. Blood covered his palm. The big soldier's blood. One of the medic's tossed him a square of green cloth and he wiped his hand repeatedly before tucking the cloth into his pocket.
The soldier had saved their lives and gotten shot doing it. And Blair couldn't even say what he looked like. The man's head had been covered by dark fabric and his face streaked with thick camouflage. The only thing he remembered were pale eyes, the same eerie, blue color as a Siamese cat Naomi once had.
I wonder if the powers-that-be would tell me the soldier's name and how he was.
Blair doubted it. Naomi would tell him to leave this behind. To process and then forget the whole thing. He'd try -- as soon as things returned to normal.
Over a decade later:
Blair entered the exam room and the tall man inside turned as he pulled on a shirt. The usually cruel fluorescent lights illuminated stern, almost inhumanly perfect features. Coldly dismissive blue eyes -- the same color as Naomi's beloved Mao -- looked down, scanned him, judged him and found him wanting. "Dr. McCoy?"
THE END