Chapter Two of: Breath of Evil.
Rios does a bit of reminiscing while waiting to see Elliot in jail. Some names are taken from the comics, the dates are as close to cannon as I can figure, but a bit of AU is probably there. I don't own them I just like playing with them.
F.O.B SOMEWHERE IN NORTH AFRICA 1993
"Rios!"
The big man looked up from the M416 rifle he was cleaning and squinted into the mid- morning, dust flecked sunshine at the pair of men approaching him.
"Yea, Sarge?"
"Come'ere."
Staff -Sergeant Tyson Rios tossed the cleaning rag aside, covered the disassembled weapon with a towel, stood and met the two men several paces in front of the shade shrouded table; making no effort to disguise that the interruption and trek into the glare of the scorching African sun annoyed him.
"Loose the scowl, Rios. Meet Corporal Elliot Salem, he's down outta Ramstein, did time with UN troops up that way; mostly covert shit, he can fill you in."
"So?" Rios asked swiping his forearm across the sweat beading on his forehead.
"He's yours, enjoy."
"Mine? What am I supposed to do with the little ass bitch?"
"Yours, Tanglewood's replacement; your call how to use him. Spotter or shooter; don't matter by me; work it out between yourselves. He comes well recommended. Captain Freemont, remember him, he thought he'd be a good fit for you. Apparently the boy's damn good."
"Bit green for damn good," Rios noted, studying the unkempt new man with concern, "and there is the small part to consider, Sarge." he said snickering derisively.
By his estimation Sgt. Rios figured that Corporal Elliot Salem stood five feet-eleven inches tall and that was being generous, weighed no more than one-hundred and thirty-five pounds, maybe one-ninety soaking wet and loaded with gear and was not older than twenty-two at best. Time would thicken him up a bit but nothing would ever catch him up to Rios' six foot- three inch, two-hundred and eighty-five pound bulk. By far that made Corporal Elliot Salem the youngest, smallest, lowest ranking man on the close knit team.
"He's young, he'll grow and besides he just spent five weeks cut off, flyin' solo behind Serbian lines; starvin' what little bitch ass he had off. Then they patched him up and packed him straight here. Fuck, I'm not even sure they let the poor bastard shower. Get him squared away. Show him the infirmary first; he's got appointments, then the chow hall. Feed him six times a day if you need to; just bring him online fast. We still go in eight weeks and that ain't much time for you to integrate him with the team let alone for you two to mesh."
Rios squared his shoulders and locked eyes with Salem. Oddly the young man hadn't moved a muscle. He just stood there; full pack lodged squarely on his ridged back, one heavy duffle slung on his left shoulder, a second in his left hand and three rifle cases in his right. The well-worn gear, too well worn for a man Salem's age, confused Rios and he crunched numbers in his head. Three years active tops if he came in at eighteen; he figured for Basic training, Advanced Individual Training, Ranger school, Sniper school yet despite the amount of time spent just training the young man had obviously seen a great deal of time operational.
Struck by Salem's stillness Rios took time to really study the boy's face. The weariness etched there told a tale of great struggle. The man's sunken eyes were glazed, red rimmed and framed in dark circles. He was not just thin, size wise, but on further inspection malnourished thin. His filthy uniform hung loose, accentuating his weight loss. The harsh, Northern European, winter had severely chaffed what little of his high cheek bones his shaggy, tawny hued beard didn't cover and the left bore a nasty two inch long gash that butterfly bandages and about forty tiny stitches tacked together just below his still puffy eye. Corporal Salem's nose had been broken at some point in his life, and his unsmiling lips, tucked beneath an untrimmed moustache were parched and painfully cracked. Rios squinted at the young soldier, blinked and looked away from Salem's exhausted yet defiant hazel eyes as the light breeze blew the kid's unkempt honey colored bangs over them despite the thread bare soft cap he wore backwards.
"Look Benedict," Rios began, trying to appeal to First Sergeant Gabriel Benedict as a friend and not a superior, "I mean, I just don't see him," he pointed at Salem, "draggin' my ass to cover or yankin' me up a wall; fuck, Gabe. You honestly expect me to mesh with…that? With him. He's…the hell with what Freemont thinks! That sorry bastard hated me. He's probably just trying to get my ass capped. Damn it, Benedict, I can tote the little bitch in my rucksack. Gabe, I'll train Mendelssohn?"
"Mendelssohn couldn't shoot himself in the face. Eight weeks, Rios. No, six really, docs in Germany figure it'll be at least two before he can train hard. Here, these are his feeding instructions."
"Feeding instructions?" Rios spat out incredulously, snatching the large manila envelope from Benedict with his huge hand. "Does this shit storm get any fuckin' better, Gabe?"
Benedict ignored the question. "Yea, his feeding instructions, Sgt. Rios. It seems he's less than happy about following them so see that he does. You're his new commander, you're his new partner, so see to it he gets healthy and unlike your last shooter, try and keep him that way." Benedict sniped turning to leave.
Rios bristled at the accusatory remark, but before he could protest Benedict stopped and faced him again.
"And Sgt. Rios, do not call me Benedict or Gabe in front of new men. Show some respect, son. Oh and about respect, you see the little ass bitch's uniform?" He pointed at Salem's bedraggled clothes. "He is a Ranger, Rios. He is a sniper, Rios. He is now one of us, so treat him accordingly. Have a glorious day gentlemen."
Rios watched Benedict walk away then turned to Salem. "You; don't fuckin' move. Five years under Benedict and never, not one time has he ever reprimanded me, so fuck you."
For a moment he stared at the man before him. When Salem made no move Rios returned to the table sat down and lackadaisically continued to clean and carefully reassemble his weapon. Now and then he'd sneak a peek at the new man but saw only the same stubborn stillness. The big ranger knew Salem had to be hurting but his annoyance with him out weighed his concern. Finally the task complete he stood and walked back to him.
"Follow me." He ordered brusquely.
As they walked Rios listened to the sound of Salem's feet crunching on the gravel path in lock step with his own. He'd stepped off at a quick pace to see if the corporal could keep up; that he could, in his condition, surprised Rios. They finally reached the barracks and Rios led Salem up a flight of stairs, down a long hall before unlocking the door of a dingy two man room. He stepped in and aside, motioned for Salem to enter and tossed his keys onto a desk amidst scattered papers.
"Me, you." He spat pointing first at the lower bunk then to the un-made top bunk. "You, me." He continued, pointing at the two large lockers taking up the wall across from the bunks. Finally he looked at the desks, "That should be fuckin' obvious. Stow that filthy shit and I'll show you round. And remove that sorry excuse of a soft cap when you're inside."
Corporal Salem obediently took the cap off and shoved it into a torn cargo pocket. Then he opened the locker pushed the duffle bags in, unslung the heavy pack and started digging around in a pocket. He drew out a heavy duty padlock, took a key from yet another pocket, crammed the pack in on top of the duffels and slammed the doors shut. He hooked the lock through the rung and smacked it home with the palm of his left hand. Then sighing he faced Rios and slapped the cap back onto his head, bill to the front.
"So, Sgt. Tyson Rios, what happened to your last shooter?" he asked, his voice laced with controlled malice. "What's his name, Tanglesdead, Tanglesfucked; what was it?"
Rios eyed the smaller man warily. Could it be that Salem simply had not wanted a confrontation while loaded down with gear? Was he baiting him? If he was then the man was probably as crazy as he was skinny and exhausted.
"Shooter became the shot, lost his head." Rios replied tersely. "Like you might lose yours, you don't take that fucking hat off."
"Hmph."
Salem crossed his weary, bloodshot eyes looking up at the hat, grunted and smiled for the first time, splitting his weather tattered lips. He licked away the seeping blood, dabbed at them with the back of his left hand and shook his head.
"Go figure. Dumb fucker must've really worked at dying." He sneered; taking off his cap and running his left hand back through the mop of dirty, unruly hair before slapping it unceremoniously back onto his head, once again backwards. "Shit with a big ass fucker like you coverin' him an all; dyin' must've been plain hard to manage. But hey, Tyse, I can call you Tyse, right? Imagine my dumb luck. Seein' as you're a big ass fucker it means a little ass bitch like me ought a be god damned incredibly safe around you!"
He picked up his weapons bags, stepped past a stunned Rios, patted him on his thick shoulder and paused in the doorway leaning nonchalantly against the frame.
"As a matter of fact, Sgt. Rios, Tyse, I'm really glad I can simplify your life. I mean I'm thinkin' you got a real sweet deal here, buddy. Shit, Sarge, just my tiny little bitch ass six to cover and hell if you carry me in your ruck, fuck I'll have yours all kinds a secured. Wanna shake on it?" He finished holding out his hand while licking away more of the blood seeping from his lower lip. "No?" he asked shrugging, "Well maybe later. Anyway, it's tour time, Tubby." He quipped joyfully. "Arms Room first, then I guess we check out the docs and my feeding instructions."
HUBBARD CORRECTIONAL FACILITY NORTH GEORGIA 2008
"…Rios, Mr. Rios?"
Tyson pushed the memory of meeting Elliot aside and looked up at the diminutive female corrections officer. Fifteen years had slipped by but he recalled the meeting more vividly than many other more important bits of his life. The memory was so strong that he even recalled how the filthy battered man had smelled. An odd mix of body odor and dust, mixed with old blood.
"Yea." He grunted, cracking his neck and standing up.
"They're bringing him up shortly. I'll take you back to the interrogation room now."
Tyson sighed and nodded. It had been difficult to gain access to Salem. They'd stretched rules, pulled in favors and begged; but in what Tyson hoped would be a few minutes, after waiting for six hours, he was going to see Elliot face to face and not just on a video screen.
"Follow me." She said.
Tyson chuckled and she stopped and glared at him.
"Problem?" she spat looking up at him her hand on her side arm.
"No Lieutenant," he assured her. "Just, well a bit of old history repeating itself. After you please."
She led him down a maze of hallways with heavy doors slamming at intervals behind them. Tyson tried to shut down the part of his mind mapping out an egress route should they need it. But as he'd learned long ago old habits were impossible to cast away.
"Right in here, Mr. Rios."
Tyson sidled into the small room. Three of the walls were glass from the ceiling to about three feet above the floor, a battered grey table sat in the center flanked by two equally tattered chairs and cameras patrolled from all four corners of the space.
Tyson pulled out a chair and slid into it. He drove the heels of his hands into his eyes trying to push away another vivid memory. One of him finding Elliot, naked, chained and battered in a similar room in Turkey just three month ago. It was Turkey that had started the younger man spinning out of control again. Just as always the slide began with night time visits to Tyson's home, in a panic; followed by Tyson trying to stay close to Elliot day and night, a task his wife, Samantha hated, then escalating into drinking and overall manic behavior. This time it had come to a screeching halt here in Hubbard. The sound of voices distracted him and looking up he saw two guards leading Elliot down the hallway and toward the room.
The door lock clicked, slid back and they herded Elliot, shackled hand and foot, toward the second chair. The guards pushed him into it and stepping back flanked the door. Tyson catalogued the pair; weapons, training, positions and looked tiredly across at Salem. Then together, as if linked somehow, they whispered 'thirty seconds'. The time it would take them to eliminate the guards in needed. Tyson would have laughed if Elliot didn't look so horrible.
"Ellie" Was all the big brute of a soldier could manage his voice brusque with sadness and guilt.
Salem still looked banged up. Swelling nearly closed his left eye, dark purple and green bruising framed the right. A deep gash traversed his nose and his lips were split and dry. What scared Tyson the most though was the lack of the fiery glint Elliot's hazel eyes seemed to possess despite any hardship. The same glint that Tyson had grown to love even though it had gotten the two into trouble more times than he could count.
"Leave my sorry little bitch ass here, Tyse."
Rios reached out and squeezed Elliot's shackled hands in his. 'Little bitch ass', the phrase broke his heart. Elliot had turned out to be anything but a sorry little ass bitch and Rios flashed back to the many fights the younger man had fought to disprove the cruel title.
"No can do, buddy."
"Figured as much. Not like you to leave a man to die."
"Farriday's got it covered."
"Hate that sick bastard, Freemont." Salem mumbled.
Tyson cringed. "Not Freemont, Ellie, Farrriday." He reassured him.
"Monte was a turn coat in the end. Only good thing, well for me anyway, was hookin' us up."
"Yea, good for me too. But listen Salem; you see this doctor, psych type a fellow, name's O'Dell and he cuts you lose in my custody."
"Not talkin' to no shrink."
Tyson relaxed slightly, the defiant glint sparked in Elliot's eyes again if only briefly. But Rios was tired, frightened, and angry. He squeezed Salem's hands harder, leaned in closer and took his battered face in his huge paws. The guards bristled and Tyson snapped at them.
"Back the fuck off. If I want, I will neutralize the both of you toy store cops in thirty seconds flat."
Then he focused back on Elliot.
"Salem I'm in charge, I've always been in charge, and I always will be in charge. You will see O'Dell, you will play nice and I will take you out of here today."
Tears welled in Elliot's eyes and Tyson paused. He didn't know what caused the tears. It might be the pain in Elliot's face, or talking to O'Dell and what memories that might dredge up or both.
"Then I evac your ass and me and you, me and you alone; we go to ground for a while. We rest. We just pick up and go anywhere you want to go and rest."
Salem reached up; grasped Tyson's forearms nodded slowly then rested his forehead against Rios'.
"I promise I'll play nice. Promise."
