Missing You
Pairing – MK
Rating – PG13
Summary – A preshow look at Mike and Kate six months after Watson's Bay and then just before Kate was posted to Hammersley
Author's note – A zillion thanks for Cami beta-ing my story.
Disclaimer - I don't own them but I promise to return the crew to the boat when I've finished.
Missing You : Chapter 1: Mike part 1
Near Kwahr Abd Allah, Persian Gulf, Late March 2003
Mike Flynn didn't have to look up from his battered copy of the Odyssey to know that his team were restless and bored.
Half way through the watch, his boarding party had been waiting in the room just off the boat deck, fully kitted out with nothing to do and unable to leave in case they had to launch the RHIBs ASAP. The DVD movie had finished an hour earlier, magazines had been flicked through over and over and the chatter among the team was returning yet again to the relevant merits or not of the different football codes, teams and players.
Tolerating the down time better than most of his men, Mike escaped into Odysseus' ten year trek to reach Ithaca. He'd led so many boarding parties that he knew how to manage the stress and fatigue of continuous cycles of long periods of boredom interspersed with short bouts of great tension. The Navy had transferred four experienced XOs from Border Protection Command, which had included Mike, to act as boarding officers to increase the capability of the ships involved in Operation Bastille.
Although the thought of testing himself in real battle was appealing and he liked working with the different navies in the Gulf, he missed the close knit team environment of his patrol boat, and was disappointed that he'd probably lost the likely promotion to captain of a patrol boat if he'd remained in Cairns.
With his feet up on an esky Lieutenant Jeff Barnes reclined in his chair. He was Mike's 21C, his best mate, and a fellow recruit from the patrol boat fleet.
Jeff finished reading the latest letter from his wife, enjoying the news from home and on how his son was doing before carefully folding it up and putting it in his left chest pocket. His hand lingered on for a few seconds as if he was hugging his real family. They were always close to his heart, despite the actual distance they were apart. He'd read it again and again until the next mail call.
Glancing over at the lounging Mike, Jeff wondered how he'd answer Maxine's questions this time. In this letter, and in most of her previous ones, she'd asked about how their mutual best friend, Mike, was doing. They'd all known each other from ADFA, and both had seen the change in him, personally, when he'd returned from Watson's Bay six months before. A quieter and more solemn Mike had no longer been interested in socialising with them, or with anyone else. It hadn't really surprised them that Mike wouldn't talk about it, as he'd always played things close to his chest. Sharing a cabin with Mike meant that Jeff had discovered the problem's name was Kate … but that was all. Mike only ever muttered her name in his sleep. There were only photos of his mother and sister in the cabin they shared and the letters he'd received were only from his parents and siblings, or friends that they both knew. They provided Jeff with no clues as to who she was.
Mike peered over his book after hearing Jeff put his letter away. 'How's Maxine and my godson?"
"They're great, Mike. Ryan – "
"Hands to boarding stations, hands to boarding stations, hands to boarding stations." The XO's voice boomed over the PA system.
Sailors jumped up, grabbing their weapons from the rack and raced off to the RHIBs.
In the dark, the two RHIBs powered at full speed toward their target.
On HMAS Kanimbla, the radar had detected a suspicious Iraqi boat, hiding in amongst the tall reeds that littered the coast. The Iraqis had been carrying out anti-shipping operations for months, either laying mines or snares against Coalition ships or attacking Kuwaiti trading dhows and fishing boats.
Fourteen heavily armed sailors scanned their arcs, their mouths dry and palms sweaty as the adrenaline increased with every passing minute.
Tucking the Steyr behind his back, Mike Flynn checked their heading. They were slightly off course. "Bravo five one, come to port, five degrees. ETA five minutes, secondaries off, over."
In the other RHIB, Jeff Barnes answered briskly, "Echo five one, head port, five degrees, secondaries off, out."
Mike pointed, indicating to his helmsman, Martin Black, to follow the other RHIB.
Martin turned the wheel. "Sir, coming to port, five degrees."
"Good." Mike looked to port, watching the other RHIB cut through the water before turning back to his front.
The heavy Kevlar body armour dug into Mike's ribs and armpits and he yanked it down to momentarily alleviate the discomfort. He scanned the coastline ahead through his binoculars. The new moon and starlight provided just enough light to see the outline of the coast but not much else.
The RHIB bucked violently into the air.
A maelstrom of white water drowned out the sound of metal ripping apart as an underwater snare tore a huge hole in the RHIB's hull.
In a perfect demonstration on the conservation of momentum, men pitched forward, violently, travelling at the same velocity as the boat had been going before it had hit the trap. The five sailors in the front were tossed head over heels and dumped unceremoniously in to the sea. Mike and Martin hit the RHIB's steering console at top speed with terrible force, before being flung backwards.
Knocked unconscious, Mike laid sprawled, on his side, half hanging over the stern of the boat. The binoculars had gouged into Mike's forehead, and his blood flowed freely down the sides of the inflatable. His lower left leg was bent at a horribly unnatural angle. His body armour had provided no protection to his chest, and the impact had broken three of his ribs. With the hull breached, water gushed in, submerging all but Mike's shoulders and head. Only the inflatable sections kept the crippled RHIB afloat and prevented him from drowning.
Martin hadn't fared any better; his chest had taken the full impact, breaking his sternum, several ribs, arm and jaw. Face down, his unconscious body floated, next to Mike's legs.
A mixture of Mike's and Martin's blood slowly turned the water sloshing water in the boat, to red.
Another Iraqi speedboat powered out of the reeds toward the crippled RHIB, reaching the boat in seconds. Pleased with their ambush, the marines ignored the five helpless sailors in the water as they were more interested in the RHIB. When they saw the body floating in the wreckage with the binoculars strap around the neck they were ecstatic. They'd killed an officer. Hearing the second RHIB turn around, the Iraqis retreated to fight another day but not before the Iraqi warrant officer sprayed the men in the water with a quick burst from his AK47.
"Charlie five one, this is Bravo five one. Contact! Out." Jeff yelled into his radio, as he waved his arm to his driver to come along side the stricken RHIB. "Bones, get in the there then we'll pick up the other guys." He was worried for Mike, and all the other guys but his training took over and reminded him to follow his head.
As soon as the medic jumped on board, Jeff directed his boat to pick up the other men. Luckily, they'd escaped relatively unharmed except for two minor bullet grazes and a few bruises.
Steve 'Bones' McCoy, the medic, faced an appalling scene. Using his red light torch, he could see the blood red sea water. Swallowing the acid bile in his mouth, he got on with it, carefully flipping over Black. He felt for a pulse, pleased to find a weak one but no indication of breathing. Martin was still alive, just. There were no other life threatening injuries that he could see. "Buffer, get in here and start CPR. Watch his jaw." Not waiting for a reply, he dragged Black's limp body to the side of the boat, placing his leaden arms over the side which helped his head to stay above the rising water. Steve gave him five quick breaths before the Buffer took over.
Steve approached the unmoving body of the Mike. He leant over him, feeling for a carotid pulse. Steve swore, "Shit!" Those Iraqi bastards had shot Flynn between the eyes. The small entry wound continued to bleed, dripping down his face. Amazingly, Flynn was still breathing and there was a thready pulse. It didn't mean anything though. The large AK47 round could have blown half his brain cortex away but if it hadn't destroyed the brainstem, Mike could still be technically alive as he could still breathe and his heart could beat on for hours.
Swallowing hard, he felt under the back of his helmet for the expected huge exit wound but found none ... and was relieved beyond words when he found there was no sticky bloody grey matter mess or bony skull shards on his hands. It was only then that Steve realised that Mike's facial injury must have been caused by hitting the RHIB's console. Offering a silent prayer to whatever deity was looking over the lieutenant Steve carefully turned him over and inspected the rest of him.
Jeff was shocked at the amount of dark blood covering Mike's face. "Bones?"
"They're alive for now. Medivac now, sir." Steve wrapped a large battle dressing over the wound and around Mike's helmet. He wasn't willing to take his helmet off because of the threat of significant head injuries. Steve was also concerned about the amount of blood loss and that they both might go into shock.
"It's coming. ETA five minutes," Jeff replied. He'd called for an immediate Casevac and an AME Seahawk helicopter from a nearby US ship was immediately despatched.
TBC