Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider.
The Incomplete Thoughts of a Soldier
"Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die"
―Alfred Tennyson
The file was small. Thin.
Hawk eyed it wearily, afraid of what it might hold. On the top of the folder, the word "classified" was stamped in red, bold letters.
"What do you have there?" It was Cougar, his best friend and his unit leader.
Hawk shrugged, "It's an assignment."
Cougar's eyebrows knit themselves together, "Only for you?"
Hawk nodded, sighing, "Yeah. I don't get it either."
Cougar sat down next to him, "Well? Read it."
"I'm not sure if you're supposed to see this." Hawk replied, amused.
Cougar dismissed this with a grin, "I won't tell anyone."
Hawk grinned back and shrugged. He opened the file, retracting a single sheet of paper.
Target: Former *** agent A*** R**** (Classified: assassin)
Appearances: Classified. Further information will be given
Age: **
Assistance: Agent Dawson (MI6), Agent McCoy (MI5), and Hawk (SAS, S-Unit). For more information, see "Bradley Dawson" (Clearance Level 7), see "John McCoy" (Clearance Level 4), see "S-Unit" (Clearance Level 4)
"This doesn't say anything," Cougar said after reading it several times.
Hawk stared at the paper. What did they expect him to do without information? Shoot random civilians with the initials AR?
"Good luck, mate." Cougar said sympathetically.
THE*INCOMPLETE*THOUGHTS*OF*A*SOLDIER
Hawk rose early on the morning of his assignment. His nerves were jittering. This was his first mission without his unit. What kind of soldier went onto the field without backup?
No soldier. That's who. Only spies did that type of work.
Hawk curled his lips into a frown and got dressed. He slipped quietly out the door, making his way towards the office, where he knew the Sergeant would be up, probably being pestered by the MI5 and MI6 representatives.
Hawk raised a fist and knocked on the door.
"Come in."
As soon as he stepped into the room, he felt the tension. With a practiced eye, he spotted the two men in the corner. Hawk could tell they were spies. Relaxed slouches, crossed arms, shades on top of their heads…
He snapped to attention in front of the Sergeant.
"As you were," he sighed.
Hawk relaxed and stood off to the side a bit.
"You know your mission, correct?" The Sergeant asked Hawk, disapproval lining his voice. He had clearly read the file too.
"Yes sir."
"Good. Get into the car and get back here as soon as you can."
Hawk fought back the smile that was coming onto his face. Despite his rough exterior, the Sergeant really did care about his soldiers.
"Let's go." One of the men stood.
Hawk saluted the Sergeant and followed the men out the door. They made their way silently into the black car that was waiting for them.
As soon as the three were in the car, one man growled, "Don't mess this up for us."
He was a short man with light brown hair and beetle-like eyes. His features were young. The other man was older. His eyes were tired in a way that Hawk had seen too many times before.
"If the mission is a success, I'm getting a promotion." The first man grinned in a way that didn't convey that he was happy.
The second man shook his head, "Don't mind him. I'm Dawson. That's McCoy."
"Hawk," he settled on, "So, what's the plan?"
McCoy groaned and threw up his arms as the car began to move forward, "Great! He doesn't know the plan!"
Dawson hushed the younger man, "He just means he wants to know exactly what we're going to do. Hush."
Hawk watched with amused eyes.
"First, we're going to be tailing the target. You're going to be following behind. If you lose us, we have trackers. If they happen to go out-" Dawson sent a regretful look at McCoy.
Hawk felt a chill crawl up his spine, "Right. Yeah."
Dawson nodded, continuing, "Once you see the target, shoot him. Don't even hesitate. He appears harmless, but really, he's a bloody menace."
McCoy waved a hand, "We'll kill him if we have a chance, but honestly, it's better to get the guy in a place where his back is left exposed."
Hawk hadn't seen a picture of his target, "What does he look like?"
"Young," Dawson contemplated, "really young. That's why he throws people off. Strikes when you let your guard down."
McCoy was shuffling through some papers. Hawk supposed it was from his own file.
"Here," he said, "I have a picture."
Hawk found himself staring down at a certain Mr. Alex Rider.
THE*INCOMPLETE*THOUGHTS*OF*A*SOLDIER
Hawk sat on a bench, his gun rubbing against his skin. He was supposedly reading something on his phone, but really, he was watching the blinking lights of the trackers. Dawson and McCoy were about a hundred meters away, heading away from him. Evidently, they had spotted their target.
Hawk waited for a minute before standing, stretching, and following at a slower pace. He had to put the phone down, just to make sure he wouldn't accidentally stumble into someone – worse yet, his target.
He quickly glanced down again to ascertain where the two spies were. Three hundred meters to the right of him.
Hawk looked to his right, noting the building. It was old looking, perhaps even abandoned. The walls were a dirty yellow, once white, and graffiti was sprayed all over it. Just the place where he would love to hang out.
Hawk made his way over to the building, his senses working overtime. He entered, his gun coming out of its holster. He looked down at the phone again, noting that the trackers were nearly directly on top of him. They must be on the floor above.
The building was filled with half-packed boxes. Paper was strewn all over the floor. Hawk took a closer look. Documents.
He debated on whether or not to wait for the two spies to come down. He was supposed to find a place behind the target to hit him.
Hawk ran a finger over the trigger of his gun lightly. When had soldiers become so closely aligned with spies?
Hawk glanced down to the tracker. He frowned.
The two dots that had previously been on top of him was now gone, leaving his own tracker alone. Fear crept up Hawk's body.
He gulped, making his way through rubble to the stairs. It was like a bad horror film. Every noise that was made sent Hawk whirling around, his gun raised.
Hawk reached the base of the steps. He looked up, his right index finger shaking as he saw part of McCoy's light brown hair peeking out from the corner of the doorway.
His eyes traveled down a little lower and he realized that blood was dripping down the first step in little splashes.
Definitely a horror film gone wrong.
Every bone in his body was telling him to run, but Hawk steeled himself. He was a soldier. He was trained for these kinds of situations. No matter the cost.
Hawk crept up the steps, his muscles tensed.
He didn't have to look far to find his target. Hawk's grip tightened on his gun as he remembered Dawson's warning, but he couldn't.
A young teenage boy stood in the corner of the room, his back pressed against the walls. He held his hands up to his head, muttering something under his breath over and over again. He held a bloody knife in his hand.
He appears harmless, but really, he's a bloody menace.
Hawk's grip tightened on his gun again.
The boy looked up, his brown eyes filled with distress. The broken look that Hawk had seen too many times on his friends' faces. On his own face.
"Hey, kid," he said softly, "It's okay."
He wasn't sure what he was saying, but the boy seemed to relax a bit after he said this.
"I'm Hawk," Hawk continued gently, "I'm SAS. I can help you, but you've got to put the knife down."
The boy looked at the knife in his hands like he hadn't noticed it was there before. He immediately dropped it, backing away from the knife. He stared, horrified at the bodies.
Hawk lowered his gun and made he was towards the boy, swiping the knife out of the way.
"It's okay," he soothed, "Can you tell me your name?"
The boy looked into Hawk's eyes. Maybe he was seeking the understanding that Hawk's eyes held. Maybe he needed the acceptance.
"We'll get you to some help, okay? I'll bet MI6 knows what to do."
It was the wrong thing to say. The boy's eyes hardened to shards of ice.
Hawk was afraid. He stumbled back, nearly tripping on Dawson's corpse. He wanted to run. He had to run. He needed to get away from the boy in front of him. The boy was a killer. Hawk could see it in his eyes. Why hadn't he listened to Dawson? Why hadn't he just sh-
Blackness.
A/N: Hydriodic acid! (Yes, I'm still going on about that). What did you think? I had this idea for a long time, but I didn't type it up until today sooo yaaa...
Guess what? I walked into a trashcan today! Yes, I am so observant. I was walking my dog... and I had my phone out... and I didn't see the trashcan on the sidewalk. Congrats to me!
Please review! I'd love to know what you think! (Hehe, yes. I am evil).
-Alice