Burn Notice: I don't own it, I just like to play with it.
A special thanks to my hubby (ex-Army MP) for answering my questions about ranks, protocol, and other details that were essential to getting this story off the ground.
Chaos and Sandstorms
By WritePassion
As Staff Sergeant Michael Westen walked across the sandy yard toward his commander's office, the sun beat down and threatened to sear him with its rays. Go right ahead and try. I'm from Miami, I'm used to it. He smiled with a cocky tilt to his lips. Funny how he wanted so badly to get away from home, specifically his abusive father, so he joined the military and wound up in a place that reminded him of what he left behind. At least they didn't have sandstorms in Miami. Like that should make him feel better. Get your mind off home, Westen. You're here to do a job, that's it. He glanced toward the west and saw clouds forming, gray clouds that promised a little relief. Maybe they'd get lucky and get some rain, only not enough to turn the hard packed sand into rivers of sandy sludge.
"Sergeant Westen," the female attache greeted him with a thin smile when he entered HQ.
"Sergeant Anderson," he returned the greeting with an absent tone, barely acknowledging her. His mind was on why he was there, not on the Colonel's assistant. She dressed in fatigues just like the guys, leaving everything else to the imagination. Her sandy blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun and she wore no makeup, and with her serious expression, he couldn't imagine she had much of a social life off duty.
"Colonel Tucker will be with you shortly. He's with Commander Jensen, the SEAL team commander, at the moment." Anderson went back to typing and spoke over the rat-a-tat of the keys. "Have a seat." She tilted her head toward a short row of folding chairs.
With a sigh, Westen selected the one closest to the door and farthest away from the Sergeant's desk, hoping he could hear the conversation on the other side of the flimsy wall. He heard the Colonel's voice, but he couldn't pick out the words. If he'd been alone, he would have taken one of those styrofoam cups sitting next to the coffee pot on a table near Anderson's desk, ripped off the bottom, and held it up to the door hoping to hear. He didn't like the idea that his commander was plotting things with the people he would be working with, while he sat outside in the figurative dark. Another voice rumbled in response to the Colonel, but again, he couldn't hear a thing.
A hot breeze swept in as the door opened and Westen turned toward it. He was expecting to see the rest of his team. Instead, a figure about his height stood in the doorway, his frame weighed down with a flak jacket, packs of ammunition and supplies wrapped around his belt along with a sidearm and a wicked looking knife in a sheath. The door slapped shut behind him as he stepped inside. The newcomer held his rifle in his right hand and removed his helmet with his left, hanging the chin strap over the knife handle. He ran his hand through a shock of dark brown hair, shook out the sand, and turned to give Anderson a charming smile.
"Lieutenant Sam Axe. I was told this was where I could find my CO and Colonel Tucker."
With a gasp and wide eyes, Sergeant Anderson stood at attention. "Sir! Yes, Sir. Commander Jensen is in with Colonel Tucker at this very moment, Sir," she responded stiffly. "Feel free to take a seat with Sergeant Westen, Sir."
Lieutenant Axe turned toward the short line of folding chairs. "At ease, both of you."
"Thank you, Sir. Would you care for a cup of coffee," she asked.
Westen noted she never bothered to ask him if he wanted anything. Rank had its privileges.
Axe replied, "No thanks. Just some water if you've got it. And get one for Westen. He looks like he could use it." He winked at Westen and sat as Anderson brought them both bottles of water. "Thanks." He rested his rifle against an empty chair, took the cap in his left hand, and cracked it open.
Westen joined him, and neither spoke while they soothed their parched throats. He watched Axe as he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and stretched his arms out on the two empty seat backs flanking him. He glanced toward the door.
"How long have they been in there," he asked.
Westen glanced at his watch. "About ten minutes at least, Sir."
"Sir, Colonel Tucker and Commander Jensen have been in a meeting for almost an hour. They should be out soon." Anderson was on top of things. She gave both men a warmer smile than she greeted Westen with, and she hesitated going back to her work, her eyes assessing them.
She's probably wondering how the Rangers and the SEALs got mixed up in a mission together. I've been wondering that myself. Westen coughed, just to make sure he hadn't absent-mindedly said that out loud, and to rid himself of some of the grit he breathed in while out on patrol that morning.
"Oh man, what I wouldn't give for a good mojito right now," Axe muttered.
Westen stared at him staring at his water bottle with longing. Axe must have felt his attention on him, because he looked back at Westen with narrowed eyes before downing the last of his water. He screwed on the cap, balanced it in his left hand, and tossed it like a football across the room. It hit the wall of the stucco hut that had been transformed into a command center, and with a plunk fell into the collection of other empty water bottles. Axe smiled in satisfaction.
"That's the arm that sent Analy High to the Michigan State Quarterfinals, Soldier. I still got it." He grinned and sat back in his chair again. "So, where are you from?"
"Miami, Florida," Westen replied. "Born and raised. I left when I was old enough to join the Army, or at least, my dad signed the paperwork."
Axe laughed. "Oh, so you're one of those. A holy terror, the folks couldn't wait to get you out of the house." He shook his head. "Please, tell me you're not on the Ranger team we're working with."
"I am," Westen replied, grinning. Axe may have outranked him, but that didn't mean he had to like the derogatory things he said. He doesn't know me, he's just making assumptions. If he only knew what I left behind, he'd realize it was a miracle my dad even agreed to let me enlist. With Westen out of the house, Frank Westen had no control over him. Yet somehow he gave in. He would never forget his mother's eyes when she gave him the papers and told him to leave before Frank changed his mind.
"Hey, kid, you okay?"
Axe had a good ten years on him, but it was hardly right to call him 'kid'. Westen really wanted to give this guy a piece of his mind, but he'd been in service long enough to know that was a sure-fire way to get himself into big trouble. Instead, he lied.
"No, Sir, nothing wrong. Just thinking about home."
"Yeah. I can't imagine why you'd wanna leave that paradise and come here," Axe declared and shook his head as he glanced around the dirt smudged walls and hard packed sand floor. "Me, if I lived in Miami, I'd be hanging out at the beach sipping beers and mojitos instead of dragging my sorry ass all over the Middle East." He paused and must have noted the homesick expression still on Westen's face, because his smirk turned into a frown. "Sorry. Didn't mean to make you long for home."
"I suppose you've been in the service so long, home means nothing to you," Westen bit back. He winced inside, afraid of how Axe might interpret his candor.
"I don't even want to get into that with you, Sergeant. It's none of your damn business." He scowled as he got out of his seat and paced to the office door, inclining his head toward it.
"Don't bother, Lieutenant. I already tried that."
Axe gave him a cocked smile that created a dimple in his left cheek. "You're a smart guy." In a soft voice he spoke and tilted his head toward Anderson, who continued to work as if they weren't in the room. "If she wasn't around, we could take some of those cups and listen in."
Westen noted a wedding ring on Axe's left hand that he hadn't seen before. No doubt he had a wife, maybe a family, back home waiting for him, and the bravado was a cover for the ache inside. He'd seen the signs of homesickness way too many times, and he'd also seen too many of those guys get into trouble and die. He hoped that Axe wasn't the kind who let his guard down thinking of what he left behind; but then, not too many of those guys made it to Lieutenant. Yeah, he had nothing to worry about. Axe was all about the mission.
Westen couldn't help but snicker. "Already thought of that too, Sir."
Axe laughed and returned to his seat. "Yeah, this is going to be an interesting assignment. I can see that already." He rubbed his pronounced chin where a day's worth of stubble sprouted. Axe had movie star looks, and that chin reminded Westen of an actor from the golden age of cinema. He couldn't put his finger on who had such a remarkable feature, but if he thought about it long enough, maybe...
Westen's thoughts were interrupted by the door opening, letting in more sand and blinding sunshine. The rest of his team had arrived, and they addressed each other until one of them realized an officer was in the room.
"Ten hut!" The men, five in addition to Westen, stood at attention.
"At ease," Axe said in a lazy tone, and he moved his rifle to allow one of them sit in the chair to his left. One man was left to stand, and he stared at the others, feeling uncomfortable. Axe stood and said, "Take my seat, Soldier."
"Sir?"
"No problem. I'm getting tired of sitting around anyway." He glanced at his watch. "Sergeant, you said they'd be out in a little while, and that was about twenty minutes ago."
Anderson stopped typing and looked up at him. "Sir, I'm sorry. They've been delayed. I can check if you'd like me to."
"Nah, don't bother." Axe shouldered his rifle and stepped to the exit, looked out the window, and turned back.
At that moment, the office door opened and the Colonel and Commander shook hands. Commander Jensen exited the office, and Axe stood at attention, along with everyone else in the room. Jensen said, "At ease." The whole room went into a more relaxed posture. "Axe, where's the rest of the team?"
"Sir, they're still preparing for the mission," Axe responded with a stiff, no-nonsense tone. "We had a snafu with supplies, but the helos should be fully loaded by now, Sir."
"Alright. We'll meet them at the chopper pad." He turned and addressed Colonel Tucker. "Your men will be ready at nineteen thirty hours?"
"We'll be at the pad on the dot," Tucker replied with a nod.
"Excellent. We'll see you then." Jensen slipped his helmet on and lumbered toward the door. At six-seven, he towered over everyone in the room and had to duck in order to leave without banging his head on the frame.
Axe put on his helmet and followed without another word to Westen or anyone else. As Lieutenant Axe said, Westen had the same thought that this was going to be an interesting mission. Now, it was time to find out what it was. Tucker ushered them into his office and spent the next hour and a half orienting them to the terrain and what the mission would entail. He gave them the latest intelligence on insurgents in the area, the believed strength and diversity of their weaponry, and all the other standard details that went into preparing the men for an extraction and raid in Kuwait near the Iraqi border.
"Alright men, you have two hours before we leave," Tucker said. "Go get yourselves some chow and prepare. This is going to be rough, and we have to be ready in case this thing goes south. And remember, if things go bad, we wipe the slate. You and the SEALs are the only ones who should walk away knowing what went down. Leave no evidence behind."
"Sir, yes, Sir!" They answered as a group, stood, and filed out of the room with Westen among them. This was a heavy mission, and some of the team went to their bunks to prepare with prayers or writing letters home, just in case. Westen was scared, but he wouldn't let anyone see it. He simply gritted his teeth and moved forward. He refused to fall into the mentality that they might die on this mission, because in his mind, that was like willing it to happen. If he imagined himself to be bullet proof, as long as he did all the right things at the right time, he would survive. Hopefully everyone else would join him, even that cocky son of a gun named Lieutenant Sam Axe.
