A/N: this is the first time I've written any sort of fanfiction in a while. I definitely wasn't planning on writing one, and then I caught the HTTYD bug after watching the first season of TV show on Netflix. This took me a couple days to write and a couple more to think about and then not actually do any writing. Meanwhile, I was trying to balance work and the course I am taking (those two things combined usually takes me from 5AM to around 7-8PM). Suffice to say that if the story gains traction then I'll continue it, if not I won't. Not because I'm trying to get as much personal attention as possible, I honestly don't care about internet fame. However, because of my schedule if other people find it interesting/important to them, then I can carve time out of my day to keep it going. If not, I enjoyed writing this and I can appreciate the rest of the story I have very loosely planned out in my head. But there are other, equally enjoyable ways I would also like to spend my free time on. Which is why I unfortunately have to prioritize. Unless someone makes a time freezing device or something. Whatever, enough rambling. Here's the story.

"Wake up, Hiccup!" A loud voice called out, waking Hiccup from his slumber. Someone sharply slapped the side of his precariously balanced helmet, which he had perched on his head to block out the sunlight. As soon as the helmet was freed of its position it dropped to the floor, rattling loudly. Hiccup blinked his eyes in annoyance at both the sudden, loud wakeup, and at the unmerciful sun which shone right into his eyeballs.

"What in the hell was that for?" He said, squinting up at the man who woke him so rudely.

"We got a mission. Sgt Gobber wants us all packed and ready to go in two hours,"

"Fine, I'll get my shit packed… in an hour," Hiccup replied, reaching for his helmet again. The man kicked his leg again.

"Sgt Gobber says do it now." Hiccup let out a stream of epithets.

"Fine, I'll do it now. No need to be such a dick about it, Snot." The short, stocky SAW gunner who woke him stiffened at his recently acquired nickname. A name that he did not like, but nonetheless had 'achieved' during a recent training exercise that happened to coincide with a particularly bad cold. Nearly everyone in the team had to wipe off their gear because of Snot's namesake being out of control. It was as impressive as it was disgusting.

Hendrick "Hiccup" Haddock got up from where he had tried to get a quick nap in, and now that he was fully awake, he took in the full sights, sounds, and smells of 2nd Platoon. Err, Bravo platoon. Berk platoon, as they called it. As one of the scout platoons in Dragon Troop, a reconnaissance troop in the 1st Cavalry Division, Berk platoon had taken upon themselves a Nordic naming convention that ran with the letter 'B'. The commanding officer of Dragon Troop apparently liked Nordic shit, so Dragon Troop became Nordic themed, and someone looked up Nordic locations. Apparently, 'Berk' was the home of an old Viking warrior tribe or some shit. And it was supposedly associated with dragons or something? Hiccup honestly didn't care too greatly about the origin of the name Berk, all he really cared about was that his platoon was the best goddamn platoon in the Troop. I mean, possibly. Probably. They worked together well, and were a close-knit team, and that's what mattered.

His team in Berk Platoon was probably the weirdest group of people he had ever worked with, and that's saying something. Come on, after basic you think you've seen all the weird people in the world, and then you show up to Berk Platoon. Other than the short, strong, sinus-ly challenged Snot, there was Fishlegs, Ruff 'n' Tuff, and Hoff. Fishlegs got his name because of someone dared him to eat the tail of a fish and he said didn't want to eat the fish tail—or at least that's what he was trying to say. The rest of the platoon would remind him of his failure to use the English language properly for the rest of time. Ruff and Tuff were siblings, twins even. Their sibling rivalry and pranks could often grow to absurd levels, leaving Sgt Gobber to label them as the 'roughest and toughest' brother and sister he had ever known. That nickname also stuck. Astrid 'Hoff' Hofferson hadn't really done anything crazy enough to earn her a nickname. She was by far the most aggressive though, she really went hard on the combatives training days. That's probably why the nicknames never stuck. Usually Snot would try to come up with something clever to say and Hoff would wipe the floor with him. So nobody really tried to give her a new nickname, which suited her just fine. Hiccup didn't really mind his nickname, it wasn't the worst thing in the world. He had gotten it day one in Berk Platoon when he reported to his platoon sergeant and he was so nervous he got the hiccups. His platoon sergeant had said something along the lines of "Well, Hiccup, follow Sgt Gobber, you're in his team," and the whole platoon started using it immediately. Speaking of which, Gobber is technically a nickname, although in reality it's the only way the platoon could figure out how to pronounce his name. Sgt Gobber had some kinda crazy-ass polish name with twenty syllables and no vowels, so everyone just called him "Gobber" because the first three letters of his name were 'Gob.' And those people were just the ones in his team, the rest of his platoon was filled with an equally zany cast of characters, straight out of sitcom, it seemed like sometimes. But no matter how insane they seemed, when they went outside the wire they were extremely efficient, didn't waste any unnecessary time. And that's what made Hiccup so proud to be in Berk platoon.

Hiccup paid attention to the platoon leader and platoon sergeant as they briefed Sgt Gobber and the other team leaders. As the Lieutenant went on, Hiccup adjusted his ruck, bringing more of this, less of that. Apparently they got some great intel that a terrorist mid-level leader would be in the area to 'inspect the troops' or some bullshit. So in about 48 hours the whole battalion would be out in force after this guy and his 200+ man terror network. As scouts, they would be going into the nearby mountains, scouting out the routes in and out of the area, because rumor had it, that infantry battalions were known to take up a lot of time and space, and if the whole battalion raid was held up because the roads were unsatisfactory… well heads would roll.

The next few hours were a flurry of things to mundane to keep track of. The usual standard fare before a mission. Ammunition was drawn, water bottles filled, backs were slapped. The usual joviality and bravado of a front line unit about to stare down death for the millionth time, because if they were to pause and truly consider the innumerable ways they could easily die in the next two to three days, they would all become combat ineffective from fear.

Hiccup stood ready with the rest of his squad a few minutes before they were going to leave the relative safety of their forward operating base. He watched as the Blackhawk helicopters slowly descended from the heavens, their taxicab into peril. The steady 'whop-whop-whop-whop' of the rotor blades did little to ease the rock in his stomach. He had been patrolling a billion times already, but this time just felt different. They were going further out than they ever had before, and the consequences of being caught—being attacked by a 200 man militia—felt daunting. He heard Sgt Gobber yell something over the sound of the rotorwash. He couldn't quite make it out, but the unmistakable 'follow me,' hand signal left nothing to the imagination. He lifted his ruck on his back, half crouching half running after Sgt Gobber towards the helicopter, grimacing the whole way as the rotorwash from the helicopters blew wave after wave of sand at him, covering him from head to toe in grime.

He gripped his weapon even tighter as he boarded the chopper, finding an uncomfortable bucket seat between Sgt Gobber and Snot. As soon as the whole chalk boarded, the helicopters flew up about a hundred feet vertically and shot forward at their fastest speed. Hugging the terrain, the trip felt like a mild roller coaster with uncomfortable seats and a really large backpack sitting in your lap. Glancing over the top of his ruck, Hiccup could see everyone had the same approximate look on their face.

A combination of nerves and determination, everyone's face was set in a blank expression, staring at the terrain as it flew past them. The occasional jaw movement or muscle flexing in their neck betrayed their anxiety. No one dared look each other in the eyes, they could not deal with the possibility of letting anyone know that they were afraid of what could happen on this mission. This impromptu scouting mission of an enemy position with hostile army in the vicinity, how could it possibly go wrong? Hiccup tried not to think about it.

The crew chief yelled two words at the top of his lungs, holding up five fingers. Five minutes, got it. Hiccup once again looked out at the terrain, watching as he saw a goat herder tried to maintain control of his terrified animals as the helicopters roared overhead. What if he was part of an early warning system? Were they flying into an ambush? He gripped the handle of his weapon a little harder. The nose of the bird suddenly jerked upwards, slowing the chopper landed roughly on the side of a mountain. His left hand unbuckled his seatbelt and he threw himself out the right side of the helicopter, tossing his rucksack before him. He plopped down into the prone, steadying his weapon on his bag. Fifteen seconds later, the rotorwash increased in intensity to nearly gale-force as dirt and debris flew all around him. And like that, the helicopters were gone.

Hiccup grabbed his rucksack again, hoisting it onto his back. Ah, that old, familiar ache. He dutifully trotted up the front of the formation, assuming his position as point man. Right behind him was Hoff, the navigator. Then came Snot, then Gobber, finally Ruff 'n' Tuff bringing up the rear of the team, and the rest of the platoon behind them. For the next 16 or so hours consisted of the same few noises, smells, and actions. The rucksack squeaked with each passing footfall, every step hit the ground with a dull thud, and every few moments you could hear a weapon tap a plastic buckle on their vests. The smell of sweat and earth permeated the entire area, so much so they could hardly smell anything else. Every few hundred meters they would stop and the platoon leader would take furious notes on his map. That went on all night long until the morning.

Hiccup noticed the sky over the crest of the hills was beginning to fill his night vision goggles with a brilliant greenish light. He paused, popping the monocular up on his helmet, scanning the mountainside with his eyes. As only his right eye was adjusted to the nighttime environment, the left half of his vision was significantly darker than his right side. Still, he thought there was enough light out to see without the use of his NVGs. Hiccup crested the top of the hill-like feature that protruded from the side of the ridgeline, pausing as he saw down the slope. He knelt down on one knee, giving the hand signal that there was a road ahead. This was specifically something they were supposed to scout out, make sure that the roads were actually in the spots that the maps said they were, and that they were driveable. So far, this was the first road Hiccup had seen.

The platoon leader issued quick orders and the platoon moved out silently, Hiccup and Hoff moving several hundred meters uphill to serve as a security 'checkpoint,' sort of. They didn't have enough firepower to stop any sort of sizeable body of enemies, nor did they want to. They wanted to be completely unnoticed. However, if someone were to come down the road, the platoon wanted to at least have a warning so they could scatter into the bushes and hide until they passed.

Hours passed as the platoon thoroughly inspected the road, checking everything from where the depth of the streams that it crossed to the steepest part of the slope, all to make sure that Humvees could drive along the road without soldiers having to get out and push. All the while, Hoff and Hiccup lay down fighting off the ever approaching sleep monster who had been gnawing at the back of their brains since they had first laid down after walking uphill all night. Hiccup settled his Kevlar helmet on his weapon, letting his neck relax for a bit. An elbow began digging into his right shoulder.

"Ow, quit it, I wasn't asleep," he protested in a whisper.

"No, shut up, do you hear that?" Hoff whispered back. Hiccup stopped moving, listening carefully. Vehicles. Engines and the sound of tires on a dirt road, specifically. Hoff made a few quick adjustments to her position, pulling out the hand mic to her radio.

"Berk One, this is Berk Two Romeo, over."

"Go ahead Two Romeo."

"Vehicles heard moving towards our position from the East, over."

"Roger, Two Romeo. How far, over."

"Two… maybe three hundred meters, over."

"Roger, Berk One out."

The two soldiers tried to get even further into the ground, hoping that the convoy would pass them buy unnoticed. About a minute or so later, the first Toyota truck rumbled into view. It was kind of what you would expect from an Afghanistan militia convoy. Beat up old truck, machine gun mounted in the back, lots of dudes with beards in the bed of the truck toting AK-47s. Hiccup and Hoff lay absolutely silent fearful that any movement they made would give up their location. The first truck drove past their position as another one came into view. Hiccup could feel his heart stop as he felt sure that he had accidentally made eye contact with one of the militia soldiers. But the man didn't flinch or make any indication that he had seen Hiccup. Hoff halted her breathing, as if they could hear her over the noise their vehicles made. All in all, they counted four trucks going past them, all equally equipped. A whispered radio call later, and the rest of the platoon knew what was coming their way. The sound of the vehicles grew fainter, and the two breathed a sigh of relief.

There are few sounds in the world that make the 'pucker factor' of a situation increase by a factor of 10. In basic training, it was the command that immediately proceeded lots of pushups. Back home at Fort Hood, it was the sound of the Battalion Sergeant Major chewing someone out for some perceived minor indiscretion. At the FOB, it was most definitely the near weekly mortar fights they got in. Out here, on this mission, at this moment, it was the unmistakable sound of machine gun fire.

"Shit!" Hiccup uttered angrily, punching the ground. He whirled, jumping to his knee, aiming his weapon in the direction of the gunfire. The gunfire rapidly grew in volume and intensity as Snot's SAW made itself known.

Hoff dumped her rucksack and leapt to her feet, sprinting downhill towards the firefight, each step kicking up clouds of dust as each step impacted the ground with unrelenting force. Hiccup stayed hot on her heels, nearly tripping a dozen times over branches and rocks that Hoff knocked over in her warpath. The two skidded to a halt, sizing up the situation in front of them. Each of the vehicles had their gunners raking the opposite side of the road with withering fire as the milita rushed downhill from the vehicles in flanking maneuver. Hoff dropped to a knee, taking aim at gunner of the closest vehicle. Hiccup clamped his against the side of a tree, aiming at the furthest gunner.

"On my mark, three, two, one, fire!"

Hiccup squeezed the trigger, smoothly pulling it past its breaking point. After a couple of nightmares where he tried to shoot and the gun simply refused to fire, the sharp recoil in his shoulder felt glorious. He popped another five or six bullets into the man, glancing at the next target in line. He quickly snapped his weapon over to follow his line of sight. His weapon crackled once again. One of the militia turned towards him, only now hearing gunfire behind him as the machine guns had gone silent. Hiccup and the man looked at each other for a split second, trying to figure out which of the two would make it out alive. The soldier aimed his AK at Hiccup, firing a burst in his direction. Hiccup adjusted his weapon again, squeezing the trigger until the magazine was depleted. The Afghanistani man lay slumped against the side of the vehicle, blood sprayed onto the side of the truck giving it a strange, streaked red and brown appearance. At that point everyone in the world seemed to know where Hiccup and Hoff were. Dirt spouted up all around the two as rounds impacted alarmingly close to where the two were crouched. Wood fragments showered down upon the two as the tree that Hiccup had been crouched behind exploded under a hail of gunfire. Hiccup and Hoff nearly threw themselves off a cliff in an effort to escape the hail of gunfire. The duo dropped ran down the slope as fast as they could, hoping to lose any pursuers. Eventually, the sound of gunfire grew fainter, as the militia pursued the rest of the platoon instead of the two lone scouts. Finally getting a chance to catch their breaths, the two turned to each other, noticing how scared they both were.

Hiccup reached down to his canteens, finally getting some water to his parched lips. He was drenched in sweat and all his muscles ached. He half sat, half laid against a rock hoping to get a moments respite before they moved again.

"Can I get some of that?" Hoff asked. Hiccup drained half of it, then tossed it over.

"Sure, but where are yours?" He said gasping for air after chugging the precious liquid.

"I left it in my ruck back at the security point," Hoff explained before downing the rest of the canteen. Hiccup chuckled.

"Ha ha, rookie mistake."

"Shut the hell up Hiccup," Hoff said with a laugh, half a smile creeping to her lips. It was moments like this when you were scared shitless that even the slightest bit of humor brought great relief. She tilted her head back, resting her helmet against a tree. "So what now?"

It was the question they had both been thinking of, but neither had wanted to ask. What could they do? It was a long walk back to their FOB, and by themselves—especially without the gear in their rucks—they wouldn't survive long. They hadn't heard anything on the radio since they began their trek of controlled falling down a mountain. They could call up their location and hope that someone was listening, but therein lies the rub, they hadn't heard from their platoon in forever. That meant that either a) the enemy had killed their whole platoon and had taken their radios, in which case revealing their position was a death sentence, or b) their platoon's radio transmission were being blocked by the mountain. Option B seemed the most likely, but the possible consequences of Option A were nothing to shake a stick at.

"I mean I guess we could try to call them, but it's risky," Hiccup said. "If they militia guys even have half a brain they could triangulate our position the moment we call for help. Do you still have the map?"

"Of course I do, I wouldn't leave that at the ruck."

"Right, it's only unimportant things like water that you leave behind," he said jokingly. Hoff rolled her eyes. "Well, we could always try to meet back up at Checkpoint 3, I think that's where we were supposed to go if we lost comms." Hoff's eyes lit up.

"You're right!" You could see the hope light up her face as she whipped out the map. "Let's see, it's a good ten-ish kilometers thataway." She pointed parallel to the mountain, generally back towards where they had been dropped off.

"Awesome, let's get going."

The trek back to hopefully safety felt the same as the walk that brought them to this predicament. Step, step, rattle, rattle, smell of hot man, smell of hot woman, step, step, rattle, rattle. The glare of the midday sun bore down upon them unmercifully. Since when did it become almost noon? Hiccup thought it was just a few minutes past sunup, but apparently the battle, the mad dash to avoid getting shot, and their break before setting out again had taken a lot longer than he thought it did. Time sure flies when you fear for your life.

The sun continued to batter the two throughout the day, driving their shadows further and further upslope until sunset lit the sky in a brilliant explosion of crimson hues. Hoff probably would have enjoyed the sunset if it weren't another reminder that she wasn't in the relative safety of her FOB. Hell, even being with her platoon right now would be far better than her current predicament.

Hoff slung her weapon on her back, pulling out the map to make sure they were going the right way. Just about a kilometer more to go. Glancing back up, she almost ran smack dab into the middle of Hiccup's back. Hiccup had stopped moving, holding his left hand up in a 'stop' signal. His head and eyes were fixed upslope. Hoff followed his gaze. No more than 100 meters up the slope there was a patrol of enemies. A flurry of questions burned through Hoff's mind. Were they stalking them? Did they know where she and Hiccup were? How many of them were there? Oh god, was she gonna die on this shitty mountainside?

Hiccup slowly began crouching down and moving closer to some high shrubbery that grew nearby them. She followed him quietly, slowly easing every footfall onto the ground so that it made no noise. The two sat there huddled, listening to the footfalls as they grew closer and louder. Soon, they were almost on top of the two. Hiccup sat there silently, dripping in sweat as the footsteps started coming around the shrubs that they were sitting behind. A man emerged from view, some low-level militia guy with an AK-47. He was probably the son of a farmer, given maybe $5-$10 to come and shoot at Americans. His AK hung loosely at his side, not even close to being ready for a fight. Hiccup guessed by his lack of significant facial hair that the kid was no more than 20 years old, but here he was on the mountainside. The man stopped just a few feet away from the pair, facing away from them.

Hiccup sat perfectly, silently, still. He couldn't hear any other footfalls nearby. Apparently this one man had wandered away from the rest of the patrol in order to… use the bathroom. Hiccup and Hoff glanced at each other awkwardly, unsure what to do next. Hoff quietly raised her weapon, just in case it needed to be used. The man finished his business, and half turned towards them. The loudest ever heard by man are those that we want to be silent. The unnatural metallic 'click' when Hoff switched her weapon from safe to semi was undoubtedly heard around the world. The man whirled, looking directly at the two. For a second, the two paused, neither wanting to make a move. Seconds passed in a stalemate of fear as both parties locked eyes. With a quick motion, the farmer's son brought his AK up. Hoff's weapon erupted in flame, sending a single bullet through the man's cheek and out the back of his head.

"Shit!" Hiccup yelled, jumping up. He dumped half of a magazine at the nearby patrol, sending them running for cover. "Run!" Hoff took off in a sprint for some nearby rocks.

"Set!" She hollered back, opening fire on the scattered militia. Hiccup fired one last shot before turning and running to where Hoff was.

"Got you covered!"

"Moving!" Hoff sprinted another ten meters away towards some more cover.

"Set!"

"Moving!" Hiccup jumped up, sprinting towards Hoff as amount of gunfire they were receiving increased dramatically. Ten meters away. Seven meters. Five meters. Hiccup's legs churned as fast as possible as rock debris and dirt showered pelted him. Bullets flew all around him as he sprinted for safety. A spurt of red mist erupted from directly below his knee and he careened forward into the ground, just a meter away from safety.

"Shit!" He crawled the last meter forward, hoping that he wouldn't get hit again. "Damnit!" He shouted again through his grimace. He glanced down at his leg. Where bone should have been, mere flesh and powder remained. A bullet had shattered his shin just below the knee, and his blood was pouring out onto the ground. He swore again. Hoff glanced down at Hiccup, doing a double take.

"Oh damn, Hiccup, I thought I told you not to get shot!" She leaned over him, grabbing a tourniquet out of Hiccup's vest.

"Honestly, I don't recall that," he said, squeezing off a few more shots as he rolled over to get a better angle.

"Hold still, Hiccup, or you'll bleed to death!" Hoff proclaimed after a few seconds struggling to get the tourniquet on.

"Why prolong the inevitable, Hoff? I'm not making it off this damn mountain, we both know that."

"Don't talk like that Hiccup, we'll both be home safe and sound at the FOB tonight, I'll make sure of that," she said grunting as she cranked down the tourniquet over his thigh. "Hold on," she said, spinning him over. A few quick strokes of her finger and she inscribed the current time on his forehead with the blood left on her hands. Hiccup reached up, grabbing her vest and pulling her down.

"Hoff, I've got about three and a half mags left. I'll give you cover fire. You run, you can make it away if I hold them off." Hoff locked eyes with him for a few seconds. You could see the determination set in his eyes. For a moment she considered his offer. But a second later she shook realized what a goddamn fool she was. She slapped his hand away from her vest.

"Hiccup, don't be an idiot, I'm not going to leave you behind."

"I'm serious Hoff, don't be a hero, I can't move fast with my remaining leg, but you could make it far away quickly."

"Hiccup, either we both get out or we both die here, but I'm not leaving you to become a prisoner of war, no way in hell." She raised her weapon, firing a few more rounds at an approaching militia fighter.

A man jumped up from the bushes just a few meters away. Hiccup spun, bringing the weapon to bear, squeezing the trigger as soon as he was aimed in the general direction of his foe. Hiccup's M4 and the enemy's AK both erupted in a series of vicious fireballs, like a pair of dragons battling it out in an epic duel of wrath and flame. The insurgent took three rounds to the chest, falling backwards as his AK let loose one final burst. A round smacked into Hiccup's ballistic vest, knocking the wind out of him. Hiccup tried to yell the word 'reloading' but his words were carried away in the winds of a sudden, downwards hurricane that materialized out of nowhere. A pair of Apaches flew overhead at their maximum speed.

"Any station this net this is Foehammer Six, over." Hoff's radio buzzed to life with the voice of a helicopter pilot, the 'whop whop' of the helicopter blades heard clearly behind his voice even through the radio transmission.

"Foehammer Six, Berk Two Romeo, go ahead, over!" Hoff shouted elatedly into the microphone.

"Berk Two Romeo, we've been searching for you all day, break. Do you have a current grid location, over." Hoff whipped out her map as Hiccup fired rapidly towards another team of insurgents. Hoff quickly spit out their location over the radio.

"Last mag!" Hiccup shouted.

"Roger Berk Two Romeo, we'll be back overhead your position in two mikes, over."

"Tell him we may not have two minutes," Hiccup shouted at Hoff. Hoff raised the mic back to her mouth. Hiccup heard a sickening thunk and felt a heavy weight land on him and his leg. He yelled in pain as the weight tore at his ankle even further. He tried to twist to get the weight off of him, each movement shearing his leg off even further as the muscle was trapped between the ground and the weight of Hoff on top of him. He finally spun around, and pushed her back, noticing a hole in the side of her helmet. Blood poured down the left side of her face, her eyes rolled back in her head.

Hiccup thrust his hand up her helmet, feeling for the wound. There was a lengthy gash in the side of her head and an exit out the back of the helmet. Feeling around the back of her helmet, he felt slightly assured. The bullet had entered the helmet, skimmed the side of her head and went out the back of her helmet. It knocked her out, but she wasn't dead… yet. Hiccup turned back towards the enemy, pulling the trigger five more times. Only two bullets came out.

"Foehammer Six, this is Two Hotel, over."

"Two Hotel, Foehammer Six."

"Foehammer, you better hurry up, Two Romeo is down, shot in the head, over."

"Roger Two Hotel, can you positively identify your location so we don't shoot you, over."

"Foehammer Six, shoot anything that has more than two people around! We're down the slope from an enemy force, so just shoot the damn enemy!" Hiccup tossed the mic down, grabbing a mag from Hoff's vest. He picked his shots very carefully, shooting at anyone he was sure he could hit.

He reached for another magazine from Hoff's vest, not noticing that a fighter snuck up on him. He locked the bolt forward on the new mag, spinning to aim at the patrol. Two burly hands reached out and grabbed the weapon, trying to yank it free of Hiccup's hands. Hiccup barely managed to keep his hands on it, starting to pull back on the weapon. He pulled himself to his feet, striving to gain the slightest bit of advantage over his enemy. He quickly realized that it was easier to fight standing when you had two usable legs, he collapsed to a knee, hollering in pain. The fighter noticed this, glancing at Hiccup's leg that was skewed out at an unnatural angle. He stomped his foot down on Hiccup's leg fragments, twisting and pulling his foot away.

Hiccup yelled in agony, every muscle in his body contracting in pain. There was a slight bit of relief as the shin and foot sheared off of his body, as at least he was no longer feeling muscle tearing and twisting.

Hiccup grabbed the M4 a bit tighter, shoving forward and over towards the left, pushing off of his good, right leg. He felt immense satisfaction as he heard the combination of the fighter grunting in pain and his flesh searing as Hiccup thrust the barrel of the weapon into the neck of the fighter. The fighter pushed the weapon a bit, trying to get it off of his neck. Hiccup grinned internally. He pulled on the weapon mightily, breaking free of the grip of the fighter. He landed roughly on his back, squeezing off rounds into the chest of the fighter. The man toppled forward, clutching at his chest in surprise. Hiccup crawled back into cover. Surveying the fight scene he saw blood… a lot of blood. And a tourniquet in the middle of the scuffle. He glanced down at his leg. It must have come off. He tried to sit up, feeling immediately dizzy. Maybe if he just rested here for a second he'd feel better. A few seconds later he could barely feel the impact of the explosive death the Apaches were dealing on his behalf.

Hoff struggled to open her eyes. What the hell had happened? How long had she been out? Her vision was a jumbled, confused blur. In fact, the world was most definitely spinning. Oh shit, she could definitely see some people running towards her, carrying weapons. Goddamn if the world would only hold still for a split second she could function at least partially. Where the hell was her weapon? Where? She frantically swung her arms about, feeling sweet relief as her left hand closed on the buttstock of an M4. She swung around, ready to pull the trigger. A boot appeared out of the side of her vision kicking the weapon away. She threw herself after it, clawing in the dirt desperately. A knee dropped on her back, pinning her to the ground.

"It's alright, we got you. Get an IV in that one, we gotta get them out of here, ASAP!"