Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown's characters. They are owned by Christy Hui. Portuguese translations comes from BabelFish. Dictionary terms come from dictionary-dot-com.
Warning: Though this is rated PG13, this is going to be a very HIGH rated PG13. Reader descretion is advised.
Full Summary:
It is the year 2016. The country of Brazil and Afghanistan have found themselves in the midsts of an unforgivable act. America and its Western Allies (plus Israel), sends several brigades of troops to Brazil and Afghanistan. It is well into the war: Brazil is on the loosing side in the West and Afghanistan is winning in the East. The people of Brazil are starving and America is closing into the capitol.
I own my plot and my opinions.It was the year 2016. A giant tanker slowly crept along the Brazilian street. The streets of this section were empty. The blonde soldier knew better. The more quiet it was, the more reason for fear there was.
The sun was beating down on the Americans and Brits. Sweat beaded down his darkened face. His blue eyes scanned the area in front of him. It had to be here--had to be here somewhere.
He adjusted his hold on the black weapon. His Divine Protector was always close at hand, ready to shoot down whatever got in his way. The tanker crept along more. They had him; he was here somewhere.
---
He saw the tanker roll its way down the street. Cars parked along the sidewalk called for perfect camouflage for their Weapon. All the tank had to do was roll a bit further.
His green eyes lit up with excitement. Those sunsabitches were going to die. He praised God for the opportunity to see these Reds-n-Blues die before his eyes. I serve for God and God alone, God be praised.
The humidity was almost too much to bear. Sweat collected at the end of his wild brown mop. The red bandana he wore kept most of it out of his eyes. A sick smile overtook his lips as the tank was mere centimeters from the flint.
---
There was something uneasy in the air. It was different than the usual uneasiness of war. Something deadly and important lingered in the air. She adjusted the cotton band on her arm and wrapped her black hair back. She hoped the feeling would dissipate soon.
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and stared at the clock again. She was itching for something to do. There had to be someone in the field that needed her help! She hated being logged in the office. It was her hell.
As soon as the thought entered her mind, she dismissed it. She was not so sadistic to the point that she desired other's pain for her entertainment. The white cotton rubbed into her skin, irritating her. She wished to rip of the red cross, but that would be her death.
---
His young eyes danced across the e-Book. His most recent patient had been in a nasty encounter with a breaking gun. It practically exploded in his arms, lodging several shrapnel pieces in his arms. The doctor nodded and moved into the surgical tent.
This would be fun, he mused. He washed his hands in the sink and adjusted the hairnet and scrubs. Young soldier, Australian, twenty years old. Had a family back home in Sydney. He'd probably loose all mobile ability in his left arm.
Carelessness, he thought. That's what the new soldiers' problem was. They thought they were invincible. He was not as war-hardened as his mentor, but he knew there were certain things that you did and didn't do in war. Play was one of them.
---
The tank rolled over a small wire and time fell into sequence.
First there was silence. Then there was a blaze as the entire underbelly of the mechanical beast was ripped off. Next came the screaming and the accusations. Finally came the tank's stop.
Bodies charred under the intense heat. Shrapnel flew in all directions, latching themselves into whatever extremity they could find. Blood cascaded through the area as limbs were ripped apart. Those on the ground could not escape the explosion either. Ignited figures fell into the dirt, trying to rub away the flames. Several were thrown into the cars standing by, dying instantly as their skulls smashed through the windows.
---
The blonde one barely had enough time to roll away. He escaped the flames, but not the flying scrap metal. He saw it as it flew into his right thigh. He let out a scream of pain. Warm blood trickled down his leg. He let out a curse and crawled behind a building. He hoped that someone would find him soon.
---
The brunette grinned with mad delight. He relished the victory. Seeing the enemy die like that--oh how the smile tugged further across his lips. There were no survivors. Defeat lay in their hands. Victory rested in God's hands. God be praised.
---
The black-haired woman's eyes shot from her computer screen. She heard the ripping sound of metal. She heard the screams and the sirens running through the Red Cross tent. She grabbed her supplies and ran outside with the rest of her crew.
---
The bald man continued to work at his station. He had successfully taken out a large chunk of the gun. The hard part came with flushing out the area to avoid bacterial development. He glanced at the screen, seeing his targeted area. There were several pieces of black and dark grey in the muscle. He smirked to himself. I've gotcha, you're not goin' anywhere.
---
The gunshots rang through the streets next. The next platoon of troops was close and saw the explosion happen. They abandoned their posts and sought revenge. They sprinted down the street, jumping over the charred, dead and dying bodies. The screams of their fallen only fueled their anger.
---
He could hardly breathe. He pained to inhale and exhale. The ripping pain in his leg only clouded his thoughts. He knew blood poisoning was fast, but he didn't think it would be this fast. He recognized the symptoms right away. His temperature rose and he lost grips on reality. No, I have to fight it. I have to.
---
Their leader motioned them through the back roads. He lead them and instructed them to enter the marked house. Something caught the brunette's eye. He fell back from his formation and went to check it out.
---
The scene was the epitome of pandemonium, she thought. She and several Red Cross volunteers began to salvage the remaining bodies and help the wounded. As the black smoke rose, a small horde of soldiers emerged, screaming profanities and shooting. One pointed to a building and said that they'd seen G's enter it. It was an old building, nothing too important about it. The building's sign was faded and old. She could just make out the name. She gasped in horror.
---
The surgery was complete. It had taken longer than expected, but it was complete. The nurses were cleaning up the surrounding blood. Two wheeled the man out of the operating room to another tent. He wiped the sweat off his forehead. It was pretty hard, but at least now he could relax. He looked out the tent's window. The sky was a deep blue holding a few wispy clouds. The air was crisp with…what was that? It was coming from the south. He paused and took a longer whiff. That was smoke. Somewhere something got blow up. He sighed. It was going to be a long night.
---
The world around him was spinning violently. His stomach lurched, threatening to heave his earlier lunch. He twitched violently in response to the madness that settled in his mind. Screaming, screaming, there was too much blood. Black…thick as smoke, rising to the heavens. Smile, a figment from far away. Infant, his and someone else's…a child, not much larger than a loaf of bread…so young…
He saw a figure come towards him before he completely fell into delusion.
---
The darker man smirked and adjusted the toothpick in his mouth. Here was this lone Red all to himself. How could he kill this man? As he went through scenarios, the grin on his mouth widened. After all those Reds-n-Blues had done to him and his family, there was hell to be paid. He shirked his weapon off his shoulder and adjusted the scope. He hummed to himself, enjoying every moment of this. Here he was, a lowly guerilla fighter, former circus member. He spat at the memory and began to circle the downed American. He wasn't even sure if this one was still alive. He wasn't one to "beat a dead horse," but he was always willing to compromise due to situation.
---
She sprinted down the dusty road, following the revenge-maddened soldiers. They were heading towards an orphanage! She had to stop them before more innocent lives were lost. She bounded down the street, desperately trying to pull oxygen into her tired lungs. She inhaled a mouth full of smoke and gagged. She turned sharply left, trying to avoid the sudden sand/smoke storm.
She watched the scene unfold before her eyes. The soldiers blasted open the door and charged inside. She heard the screams of the children and the roars of gunshots. She heard rustling and destruction. She saw a small group Brazilians exit the building. Several were holding flesh wounds. She stared in agony as three remaining American soldiers took out each one of them with a series of gunshots.
---
He was thrown into hell. The number of charred, screaming, bleeding, dying, dead bodies thrown at the young doctor was almost too much to bear. The tents were virtually too small for all of the casualties. There was no way surgery could be preformed outdoors either. Panic seized his heart. Uncertainty fell upon the area, clouding everyone's judgment.
He had to play God today. He had to separate the dying from the dead, from those who could be saved, and those who couldn't. He along with his mentor administered doses of pain killers and penicillin to keep the infection down. He would never forget the look in that soldier's eyes right before he died.
---
The Brazilian heard the gunshots. He snapped his head in the general direction and saw his teammates die. The color drained from his face as anger bubbled inside him. Their bodies…dead on the ground. He whipped away from the scene, aiming for his prey's heart. He applied pressure on the trigger.
---
"Batente(1)!" she screamed, throwing her hands in the air. The Brazilian cocked his head in her direction. She had never seen a human face hold such hostility and rage. "Batente, por favor!" Her voice cracked with a sob. The silver case at her side dropped due to fatigue. "Por favor não dispare(2)." He pointed the machine gun straight at her. She swallowed hard. She was going to die…
---
"Morphine! I need some morphine!" he screamed. A small glass bottle of clear liquid was shoved into his hand. He moved to the next burnt soldier. This soldier was pale and had flaming red hair. Whimpers and pleas of life emerged from the soldier. "You're not going to die…Spicer." The doctor read the nametag sewn on the BDU jacket. "You'll be just fine." A small prick of morphine would help the dying process go with less pain.
---
"Por favor não dispare," she pleaded again. She turned her shoulder and showed him the white band on her arm. He spat. Red Cross. Red Cross or not, she had interfered with his thought process. She interfered with this killing. She was going to die as well. He spat the toothpick from between his teeth, keeping the weapon even between her eyes. "Por favor. Por favor." She pleaded, sobs streaming down her pretty Asian face.
---
She couldn't get the words to come out of her mouth. She tried to tell him that the "prisoner" he had was already dead. She tried to tell him that she wouldn't hurt him and would probably never see him again. She tried to tell him that he had no reason to shoot either her or the wounded American. She tried, but all she could manage was a choked "please."
---
"Where do you work, Spicer?" The doctor asked, trying to alleviate the pain verbally.
"Comm," he said, choking on his tears. "Am I going to die? I don't want to die! I have to get home and help my sister. She's got a kid on the way. She works and she can't take care of it. Please don't tell me I'm going to die!"
"You aren't going to die," the doctor said, lying blatantly. "You just need to rest."
---
"Who are you to tell me I can't shoot?" the Brazilian said in Portuguese. "WHO ARE YOU?" His anger had never reached this level of intensity before. Here was this…woman telling him what he could and couldn't do. He was infuriated.
"He's wounded. Don't…don't do this," she said, never lifting her eyes from the ground.
"Why the hell not? He killed my family, my friends and destroyed half the country." Images of the War sparked through his eye.
"They do it in defense."
---
"Bull shit." He cocked the gun back to the American. "You can either witness it or leave first. Your choice, sweetie." He mocked her. His jade eyes alit with fiery passion and possession. She would not allow this guerilla to kill an innocent. How she wished for a gun. However, if she had one, she wouldn't be able to use it.
"Let this go, sir. You will gain nothing for shedding his blood. He's already dying!"
"I don't care. He is here now and is my prey. I. Will. Kill. Him."
---
"You have a sister?" the kind-hearted doctor asked. Spicer nodded and then winced. The small piece of metal was latched tight in his artery. It was suicide to remove it and murder to keep it in. "What's her name?"
"Catharine. She's nineteen. She…was going to go…to college but with the kid…it'll be pretty hard."
"I see. What about you? Were you going to school?"
"No. I'm here, aren't I? I went straight in." He grit his teeth as he tried to bring in oxygen to his lungs. "I got into Berkley, but I turned them down to protect people like my sister." He gasped. "It hurts…"
---
"Don't you realize what you're doing? You're acting on pure rage, you are becoming as bad as they are! They shot innocent children inside that orphanage because they couldn't handle seeing their comrades go down. You are no better than they are by acting like this!" Her words shot through him like small needles. He adjusted the gun in hand and contemplated her words. He gave a short prayer for wisdom to God.
"I am one hundred times better than these infidel dogs. A hundred times better!"
---
This was her one shot. She could save a man's life right here. Thank God for her curt tongue and sarcasm.
"Prove it."
---
"Shit, it hurts bad," Spicer said. He clawed at the metal piece in his neck. "Can you pull this out, doc?" His red eyes were gleaming with hope. "I can get better with this thing…outta here. Please."
The doctor could only look away and shake his head. "No. I can't."
---
"What?" He was confused at her words. She was sobbing a moment ago. Now, a grin was plastered on her lips, her eyes daring him to do what she requested.
"Prove that you're better. Prove that you can show something they haven't shown your people--mercy."
---
He was almost there…she almost got him. She just had to use the right words and pray that the man at the Brazilian's feet hadn't died yet. Her brain racked for more words to use. When she got home, she was going to thank her Debate coach until Kingdom Come. He was thinking about her words. His gun lowered.
"What do you want me to do?"
---
"Why? I--shit, I'm going to die, aren't I?" Tears welled and fell down his blackened skin. "Why didn't you just tell me! Why did you do that? Why? Why?" His voice faded and eyes dropped. "Fuck you," he managed out. His breathing stopped. The young doctor sighed and gave a short prayer to his god for the soul's acceptance into heaven.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Truly, I am."
---
He couldn't believe the words he said, but she challenged him. He never backed down from a challenge. She dared him to do the unthinkable. Now, he would show her that no one, no one ever challenged Raimundo Pedrosa and got away with it. He did what she asked him to do. She elevated the American's legs. She opened her silver case and pulled out a clear case of something and a unwrapped a needle. He studied her movements, drank her facial expressions. As she worked diligently to save this stranger, this Red's life, she glanced at him. Her cerulean eyes held such a mix of emotion it threw him aback. He smirked smugly to regain his dignity. She scowled and returned to her work. For an Asian, she was pretty…
---
She cast him a scowl. She wasn't exactly appreciative of his eyes on her, no matter how endlessly green they were. She turned her focus on the body in front of her. The American was suffering from extreme blood poisoning. If he didn't get some real medical attention soon, he was probably going to die. She had administered a small dose of penicillin and morphine. If he hadn't slipped into a coma, he should wake within a few days or so.
"Is that all we can do?" he whispered. Thier nearness required nothing louder. She nodded briskly.
"We've got to get him to a hospital tent." She turned to the Brazilian, eyes lit with concern. "If he isn't already in a coma, he'll be in one soon and will probably die."
"What can I do to help?"
---
"Sergeant Fung! Tech Sergeant Fung! We've got another live one coming!" The redhead had been escorted away from the young Asian. A younger man, probably 18 or so, escorted another horde of injured bodies. Luckily, this batch hadn't been as badly injured as the other.
"Thank you private. Have you seen Chief Fung?"
"Sorry, sergeant. Last I heard, he was on the other side of the city, swamped as you were."
"Thank you."
---
Raimundo smashed his fist into the standing car's window. Blood seeped slowly into the bandana he wrapped around his fist.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" the girl asked.
"Girl, do I look like I know what I'm doing?" He raised the car's hood. He looked at it, concentration painted on his face. His hands immediately went where they were needed. He had done this so many times. After a few moments, he had it jumpstarted.
"Tohomiko," she said flatly. "Address me as Tohomiko." He raised his eyebrow, eyeing her again. Confused by her sudden formal speak.
"That's a weird name."
"It's my family name. You don't know me well enough to use my first name."
"Whatever." He said. "Since we're all getting acquainted, I'm Rai. Address me as Rai." He extended his hand to shake hers.
---
She returned the gesture. His hands were warm and strong. Her eyes traced the finely tuned arms which disappeared under a dirty white t-shirt. Her eyes met his gaze and he smirked.
"Like what you see?" She rolled her eyes, disgusted with his comment.
"Just get in the car and drive."
"Why can't you?"
"It's a stick! Have you driven a stick?" He laughed what seemed a real laugh. There was a flicker of remorse in his eyes, like he hadn't laughed like that in a long time. She delved into the sound and concluded that she liked his laugh. Almost immediately after the discovery, she tried to rid herself of the thought.
He gave no reply as he opened the passenger doors. They heaved the heavy American into the backseat. As requested, Rai took the wheel.
"You sure you know what you're doing?"
"No doubt." He revved the engines and pulled into the back roads, speeding into the horizon. She clutched to her seat in fear. He tapped her hand, causing her to relax a smidge. "Relax, girl. I know how to drive." He drifted and veered left. "See?"
"No nome do pai, do filho e do espírito holy(3)," she whispered, giving herself the Christian Cross over and over again. Anything to just calm her frantic nerves.
"So where's this place?"
"Just up the hill. Not too far. Not too--" Her words were cut off as Rai floored the accelerator and they pumped up the hill.
---
"Sir! Sir!" Private Anderson said. His face was paled and eyes dilated with fear. "Someone's coming! It's not a government vehicle! I think it's one of them!"
"Private, please calm down. It's sergeant by the way. What are you talking about?"
"Someone spotted a light blue Mazda coming this way. It's indefinable. They think its one of Them, that They've found us!"
"Private! Calm down! You're acting as if you have large insects trapped in your shirt." The young private paused for a moment, trying to translate the sergeant's poor slang.
"Ants in my pants?"
"That too. I'm sure that they're just a volunteer who found someone. It's much easier to transport via vehicle, don't you think, young Private?"
"I…I guess."
"Why don't you return behind the desk? You've got to find these soldiers' info, so I don't accidentally give them the wrong medicine." Though his face held a smile, the doctor's eyes were sharp with aware. This unidentified vehicle was most disturbing. He left the grunt work to his colleague, Master Sergeant Guan, and exited the grounds. He was going to check this out himself.
---
"There it is," Tohomiko pointed to a shabby tent in the distance. They were about a good five miles away from it, Rai gauged. He ebbed off the gas and they slowed.
"Positive? I'm risking my life for you, you know, girl."
"Tohomiko," he heard her grumble. He smirked again. There was something about this girl. He enjoyed rubbing her the wrong way to make her feel uncomfortable.
"Well, Tohomiko, these your people? Do you wanna--holy shit!" He turned back to the road to see an American soldier standing in the road. He slammed the brakes, missing him by centimeters. Dust rose from the car's sides.
---
Holy shit was right. This soldier appeared out of nowhere. They were now within three miles of the tent. So close…why did things like this always happen to her?
"Who are you?" the Asian asked in English. Kimiko bit her lip. English had never been one of her stronger subjects in school. His young face chiseled into a hard scowl. "Answer me!" He pulled a handgun from his hip holster. Her blood ran cold. Next to her, Rai opened the door slowly and stepped out. He smartly removed the blood-red bandana that was around his forehead. Rai held his hands up in a surrender position. He jerked in her direction to do the same. When she stepped outside, she began to talk.
"I-I-I'm Kimiko Tohomiko. I work with the Red Cross. He's Rai…he's also a volunteer," she said, fabricating and struggling with the English. This was the second time in her life she stood at the other end of a gun. She was determined, if she got through today, that she was going to learn how to shoot a gun.
---
He gazed from the dark, ruffled man to the pale, timid woman. His small eyes grew smaller, trying to determine what the man's story was. There was no way he was part of the Red Cross. He was too…local looking. Too gruff. No, there was something else going on. She was with the Red Cross, there was no denying that. He could see it in her face; her city-grown look, still holding innocence. His dark eyes were hardened by war. No, he was a local fighting on their side. There was definitely something going on.
"Who are you?" he pointed the gun at the man. There was no response. "Tell me! Tell me, or I will shoot!" Again, no response. The doctor jarred his brain for the correct Brazilian phrase. "Que é seu nome?" The darker man's eyes lit with speech recognition. Finally, he spoke.
"Raimundo Pedrosa."
---
He gulped. It had been a long time since Raimundo had been scared. It had been a very long time since he'd been on the opposite end of the barrel. Years of training forced him not to change his facial expression. His hands clenched mid-air, dropping due to gravity. The girl, Kimiko, she said her name was (pretty name), had not been as experienced nor as trained as he was. She was shaking like a cerebral palsy patient. Her eyes widened and dilated with fear. Play the cards right, that's all you got to do. He mentally gave her encouragement. Play the cards, girl.
---
"There is a hurt person in the car!" she shouted. The fear had taken over so much of her brain, she had forgotten why they were there in the first place. The soldier turned to her, dropping the weapon.
"Injured American?" he inquired. The further he dropped the gun, the easier she breathed. The easier it was to translate the languages.
"Yes. Yes. His name is Bailey. He has blood poisoning--"
"Shit," the soldier said. He dropped the weapon completely. "Drive up to the tent. He needs to be treated immediately." She nodded and slid into the passenger seat as he resumed post as driver. She saw the sergeant (identifying his rank by the stripes on his arm) climb on the back and motion "go."
---
The Brazilian downshifted and drove slowly to the tent. The doctor hung onto the frame for dear life. Although it was going slow, twenty-an-hour felt a hell of a lot different outside the vehicle than inside. He looked into the back of the car. There was an American. He was blonde, six-two to guess and deathly ill. Even Caucasian skin should never reach that tint of white. At the tent, the car's engine was cut and he jumped off.
"Peterson! Airman Peterson!" He called in English. Peterson, a short brunette woman, heeded the doctor's call. She saluted and he returned the gesture. "Airman, I've got a patient in here with blood poisoning. Can you get a stretcher out here so I can work on him?" Peterson nodded and disappeared into the mayhem.
"Thank you," the doctor said, turning to the Japanese woman and the Latin American man.
---
Rai gave a short snort of satisfaction. "It was no problem…" he searched for a name and caught it on the man's uniform. "Fung."
"Omi," the soldier corrected. "Call me Omi." Rai was rather perplexed by the doctor's strange behavior. Omi extended his hand and shook the Brazilian's hand, turned to the Japanese woman and bowed. "I thank you for your kind offer. Now, if you don't want to get shot, I'd advise you to step out."
Rai gave a sharp nod and turned back to the car. Kimiko entered the passenger side. Rai started the car and revved away from the tent. His mind tried to connect all that had just happened. First he'd met a--well, quite pretty girl, who was a volunteer. Then he helped a Red. Goddamn, his boys would never forgive him if they found out about that. He'd helped a Red get to a hospital so he could live. He would have slammed his hand on the steering wheel, but decided against it. He didn't want to frighten the Asian woman any more than she already had been.
---
There was tension in the car. So much so, that she could reach out and touch it. She could only imagine what was going through Rai's head. He had just betrayed his squad and indefinitely, his country. It was an unforgivable act. She continued to stare forward. He was going to drop her off near the Red Cross building. She would leave and probably never hear of the man again. Perhaps if they had met on different terms they could have been friends. Perhaps they could have been great friends--maybe something more.
Too lost in her thoughts, she didn't realize that the car had stopped and the engine cut. His words jarred her back to reality. "You gonna get out?"
---
Omi had never worked so hard in his life. The man had already been victim to blood poisoning for a few hours. The would was well wrapped, thanks to the volunteer, but the bleeding never really stopped. Omi began to panic as he reached for the IV. With their limited supplies, it would be near impossible to save this man. Only on account of a miracle would he pull through. Shit, the man probably was going through kidney failure and would be in need of dialyses.
Omi prayed quickly and began to work on the infected leg. Much of the blood around this area had to be flushed. According to the records, he was O- blood type, a near impossible find. They pumped pain killers and antibiotics into the area, hoping to kill most of the sepsis. They cut out the damaged muscle tissue and fat particles that were already screwed (to say the least.) Applying the dialysis was going to be tough. Only in the medical field for four years, Omi had been spared inserting dialysis until today. It was going to be tricky.
---
"I'm dropping you off here. I don't want to die just yet. I'm sure if they saw me, they'd shoot me. Then again, because I'm with you maybe they wouldn't. Hopefully they'll think the bandana is 90s revival plot--" He was just rambling now. It was impossible to form the proper words or proper anything. He was nervous; he hadn't been nervous since he was given a gun three years ago. He drummed the wheel with his thumbs, making up his babble with silence.
"Thank you," she managed to make out, continuing to stare at her folded hands. She looked at him, straight in the eye. She has such gorgeous eyes; so odd for an Asian to hold blue eyes. Before he knew what he was doing, he had leaned in and placed a light kiss on her lips.
---
She wanted it, deepened it. She allowed him to enter as he parted her lips with his tongue. They fell deeper into some tantalizing form of ecstasy. Her mind swirled out of its body as his fingers cascaded gently down her arms. So good…so good…
It was war. She was confused. She was tired. She had been neglected by the male species for almost a year. She didn't want to think. She didn't want to know that he was the enemy. She didn't want it to end. She didn't want it to continue. She wanted, craved his touch. She ran her fingers through his silken chocolate hair and caressed his worn, dirty shirt. His fingers found the hemline of her shirt, and she knew it had to end there.
She touched his cheek and pulled away from his intense, melting kiss. At first she couldn't say anything. He rested his forehead on hers. "I…I have to go…" she said. Though she tried to deny it, there were certain events…certain boundaries that would keep this from happening.
---
"What type of blood are we talking about, sergeant?" Anderson asked. Things had slowed down to a moderate pandemonium since the man and woman left.
"O-negative," Omi said. The blood from Anderson's face left. "What?"
"Of all the blood types. Sergeant, I don't think we have that kind of blood."
"Bullshit! We have a collection of every blood type. Did you check the bank?"
"It's wiped clean. After that attack, we've hardly got anything anymore. We're gonna hafta call HQ back home and see if they can give us any."
"Like Washington is going to fork over a few quarts of blood and supplies for us. Two thirds of them don't even support this war!" Frustration and panic were beginning to root in the doctor. "What's your blood type?"
"AB-positive, sergeant. It's one of those rare types. You're gonna hafta search everyone in here for that. Even then, half might not be able to give blood."
"Why are you standing there then? Go! Get Master Sergeant Guan out here and get Peterson to help!"
---
He moved in for another taste. She was quite delectable--a treat he wasn't willing to let go just yet. He was scared. Scared that someone would come around the corner and blow his head off. Scared that she might run off into the distance and he'd never find her again.
Holding her in his arms had taken him away from the war: away from the car explosions and the soldiers and the home (there was no home, never was), away from everything. It was just him and her. She pulled away again. Don't go, he pleaded mentally. She thanked him once again and exited the car. With a slam of the door, he was back in his hell.
---
She left, broke out into a sprint. She had to get back to the Red Cross building. She had to forget what had happened today. She just had to forget. Run away…don't look back. Don't look back…
If she had turned back, she would have jumped back into the Mazda.
And that was as bad as turning away.
---
It had taken longer than desired, but Omi found someone with O-negative type blood. They fused the blood. The downed soldier's choppy, shallow breath lengthened. Somehow, he was going to pull through. He would always have to take intense antibacterial pills for the rest of his life. Omi wiped his brow. It had been an exciting day.
He felt something buzz on his hip. He looked at the display name: "MST FUNG." It was his guardian, the man that had raised him for eighteen years and was his mentor for these past four. He flipped the phone, to be greeted by the old man's concerned voice. The old man asked if he had been alright, if the victims had been alright, if he was going to need intensive psycho-therapy after today. Omi cracked a smile and responded yes to all but the last question.
"Yeah, Dad. I'm fine. So, what's up on the other side?"
---
Rai ditched the car before returning to the gang. They would probably wonder where he'd been. He'd tell them the truth--he had been out with an American and a volunteer. He returned the blood-red bandana to his forehead and walked to the small corner store/HQ building. They weren't going to be happy he was gone all day. However, it was quite the victory. There were probably so many drinks going around they'd be too drunk to notice. He almost made it down the stairs until…
"Pedrosa!" a sharp voice echoed. Rai stopped mid step, turning to see his leader. "Where have you been? We missed you at the party."
"Sorry, Young…sir." Rai said, not making eye contact with his superior.
"You know, I'm getting real fed up with your attitude, Pedrosa. Have you forgotten why we fight?" Young grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, slamming him into the wall. "Have you?" The elder man's amber eyes were alit with such fiery hate and anger, Raid couldn't look into them.
"No. I'm fine, sir. I found a Red."
"And it took you this long to shoot it?" His black hair was quaking with the surging anger. "Why?"
"I got hurt." He held up his bloodied hand. "See?" Young's eyes bared at the young soldier, trying to detect a lie. When the scan had been completed satisfactorily, they softened with a sigh.
"Get in there and don't make too much of a mess." He released the nineteen year old. Rai gave a silent prayer of thanks to God. Only He could have let him get away with that.
Rai opened the wooden flap on the floor and descended down a flight of step-stairs. The music was loud and he could feel the jolly air around him. Just as he'd thought: with today's victory, there were drinks galore around. Several soldiers had fallen into a drunken waste on the couch. He was offered something, but denied it. He retreated to his usual corner.
Her lips…so tantalizing on his own. The feeling of her fingers in his matted and tangled hair. Her voice. Her sapphire eyes. Her name…Kimiko Tohomiko.
He decided alcohol wasn't so much of a bad thing after all.
---
Kimiko had returned to her behind-the-desk job. It took all of her will not to think of Rai. The way he tasted--grime, pride, dirt and honor…how did pride taste? Bitter and strong, an unyielding tang of…of something. Honor was sweet and passionate. She remembered the way he felt. His hard muscles contracting under her touch, a hint of virgin whispering at her. He was young, she knew, but just how young. She remembered his eyes when she pulled away: so sad and full of hope when she pulled away…endlessly emerald--a deep rich tone.
If she hadn't then, things would have gotten out of hand. They always got out of hand.
"Kimiko-chan, you alright?" her boss asked in Japanese. She looked up at her boss, Stan Langley. Stan was a tall American male. His medium hair was tied in a ponytail. His hazel eyes painted with concern.
"'M fine," she replied. "Just tired." She stretched to prove her point.
"Today was kinda scary, wasn't it? Haven't had to deal with one of those since Baghdad," he said nostalgically. Kimiko didn't say anything. She knew her boss was a veteran--the graying hairs by his temple were testimony to that.
"The world's going to hell and back," she said, not evading her eyes. "Peace has been killed, laid flat on the streets. It's all over." At the admission of these words, tears began to form in her eyes. "We're about to enter a World War III." He didn't say anything. "And you know it, don't you?"
"Of course. What was your first indicator? The destruction of the Sears Tower in Chicago? Big Ben's farewell in London? Or the counterattack in Anaheim, the complete and total annihilation of one of American's most treasured landmarks? The trouble in Asia between China and Russia was a big one. Not to mention Korea's is starting to heat up again and hooking up with Cuba for missiles."
"I hate it. I hate it, hate it, hate it."
"There's nothing we can do. We just go out there and fight for what we believe. We fight to maintain peace and security, no matter what the tolls are." She leaned into him, and he returned the hug. "I know you don't like war, but hear me out. Those boys fighting with the Americans, they're good kids. They've got soul and determination. They're fighting for what they believe in. They are fighting to remove this sunofabitch that's ruling this country. They're fighting so their children's children don't have to worry about future terrorists."
"I saw them…I saw them in the orphanage. They killed innocent children, Langley-sama! They killed innocent people!" He tried to calm her.
"I know. But listen, they're not to blame. The Brazilian's threw those children in front of them as shields. Now, tell me, who's the biggest bastard? The one who shot the child or the one who used the child as a shield?" She contemplated.
"Both."
"There can be no gray areas in war, Kimiko. What's worse is, that story is going to get out and the Marines'll get a bad rap like they did in 2005. They're just doing their job. It's war. There's going to be casualties."
"But…but…the children!"
"They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. There's nothing we can do."
"I want to give them a proper burial." Stan retracted from the hug. Confusion etched on his face, but it softened to understanding.
"Then prepare the requiems," Stan said solemnly. "Prepare the requiem."
xENDx
---
Requiem (re-KWEE-um)
1. a song or hymn of mourning composed or performed as a memorial to a dead person
2. a musical setting for a Mass celebrating the dead
AN:
Wow…I actually wrote something and put a little bit of my political opinion in it! Wow! I'm so proud of myself. :hugs: This fic was inspired by a number of events in our world's news. First of all, the Haditha scandal/crisis: the children in the orphanage and the rampaging soldiers after the cowardice terrorists. Second, September 11th: themultiple attackson US grounds including Disneyland if you didn't catch that last hint. Third, the War in Iraq: mentioned briefly, no one at home really supported the war and could care less about what was happening and how much supplies the soldiers needed. US borders: the fact that the Brazilian/Afghani terrorists entered through the southern border through Cali and Texas for those geographically-challenged. Religious war: Raimundo's constant referance to God and God as his reason for his actions. I have a strong military background, so to my knowledge, all rank namesand the actions associated with rank are correct.
I love the idea of rough-n-tumble-terrorist-bad-ass Rai, don't you? I fear strong Kimiko was a wee out of character, but she's a stranger in a strange land., struggling with the different languages. If you noticed, I managed to throw two other cannon character in there: Senor Jack Spicer and Master Monk Guan (though he's more of a cameo than anything, now isn't he?)! I was going to put Wuya in as like, the head of the terror group he was in, but figured Chase Young had a better demeanor. He's a shade out of character too, isn't he? I tried.
I promised to be nicer to Rai and I kept my promise! See? In this one, I focused all the physical pain on Clay. Besides, Rai got to make out with Kim. All you shippers/fan girls should be happy about that.
Once again, this OneShot isn't beta-d. And I've yet to see the whole series (though I did see Time After Time on YouTube: fantastic episode, by the way). Feel free to rip to shreds due to OOC-ness and bad grammar. Curse you, Microsoft Works! Though with its mistakes, I'm very proud of this piece.
Well, that's enough of my ranting. I apologize if anyone is offended by the material in here. But, hey, it's my opinion and the Internet is free domain. So, if you have a problem with it, suck it up. And I've got tough skin so you can flame all the hell you want.
Just in case any of you are wondering…I've got a Cardcaptor Sakura OneShot I'm planning to release later this month. The release date is set for: July 23, 2006. It's called Words, Hands, Hearts. Check it out if you please! It's got angst galore!
Press the mauve button and make the crazy writer happy! Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Happy readings/writings/rantings/ect and God bless America and our troops over seas.
Kai :D
TRANSLATIONS
1."Stop!"
2. "Please don't shoot."
3. "In the name of the Father, and Son and Holy Spirit."