It was late afternoon by the time he stumbled into consciousness again. This time he found himself alone, bindings cutting into wrists, carelessly tossed on a rough unmade bunk.
He'd seen worse places, he thought foggily. He just couldn't remember where.
Groaning, he tried to roll to his side, overbalancing and hitting the unpaved floor with a hard thunk.
Pain exploded in his head, pinpoints of white light nearly blinding him. The sharp ache in his ribs from the explosion, snapping his memory back into clarity.
Oh, yeah. 'Nam. Back when he was on his own and got his ass kicked in that alley for stealing that piece of bread.
Great. Just like old home week.
Grunting, Roper shoved to his knees spitting dirt.
Fingers wrapped around the stick, Hawke dared a furtive glance at the younger man seated stonily beside him.
Finding Seb had been easier said than done, as it turned out. He doubted he still would've found him had it not been for Mike.
Since Jade's death, his younger brother had made himself remarkably scarce at Red Star.
Not that he could blame him. Having your girlfriend's blood spilled all over the carpet in your office was hardly conductive to getting your work done…
Marella had had the bloodstained carpet removed in a matter of hours, despite the damage Van der Berg had done at Red Star and the turn Michael had taken. He doubted however, the memory of finding Jade there would be so easily removed. The memory of holding Gabrielle in his arms as she died in the desert rose up to taunt him.
"Target twenty minutes out," Cait called out.
He glanced back to the instruments, wishing there was something he could say.
Seb nodded, reaching to check his gun one last time. Hawke frowned, watching him.
Unfortunately, sometimes it just sucked.
Scowling, Rivers perused the file one last time in frustration. Being left behind hadn't sat well with him. It never did.
The practical side of him understood the reality of Hawke needing another pair of strong shoulders if Roper and LeMond were hurt. Cait was a damn good pilot, but neither was she going to be able to toss somebody over her shoulder and run out of a burning building if she had to. No matter what you said, it put the mission at a disadvantage.
His breath hissed out in frustration. Oh admit it, Rivers, he thought. You're just ticked because you're the one left home sitting on your hands.
Truth of the matter was, he was no more capable of tossing someone over his shoulder right now than Cait.
And he might never be…
The reality that his days of flying might be over while his friends were half a world away clawed at him and he shoved it away ruthlessly, ignoring the sharp ache in his chest.
There had to be something he was missing.
There had to be…
The next round of questioning didn't go any better. Two big, burly men dressed in camouflage had come and hauled Roper bodily out of the packed-dirt floor cell.
He'd been foolish enough to put up a fight - and they'd been happy enough to oblige, slamming him face first into the bunk.
He was pretty sure his nose was broke, blood from it dripping across his chin. Not that that even vaguely compared to the fiery pain that ripped along his ribs with every aching breath he took.
"You will talk!" the tall, reed thin man snapped, his face mere inches from Roper's. The stale smell of his breath and the cigarettes on it roiled across his cheek and Roper fought the urge to gag.
Nostrils flared and he swallowed hard, the second before the blue eyes narrowed and he gave a lopsided grin, praying to gain control of his querulous stomach, if only for the moment. "You know, I'm not feeling too talkative today. Sorry. Maybe, some other time?"
The bite of metal baton caught him across the ribs before he even finished speaking. A glint of gold glanced across his dimming vision even as the breath whooshed out of his lungs leaving him gasping, struggling for air.
It didn't help.
Fear and panic clawed at him, as he fought for his next breath, the surety he was going to die if he didn't get air - now…this second…yesterday…
Pain slammed into him. The coppery taste of blood flooding his mouth.
And then, abruptly it was over as he sucked in air greedily, desperately into his lungs. Even the cigarette man's breath was bliss. He drew a fortifying breath, knowing what came next.
"Maybe not," he rasped, shrugging.
This time when the baton landed, he slid into oblivion without a word.
"Idiota!" the word was spat almost as if a curse. "Next, you will tell me you have killed him!" Angrily, a slender hand raised the ugly blue-tinted 9mm it held as if to backhand him with it.
"No!" the word erupted from the thick lips. The next came almost as a sneered afterthought. "Ma'am."
Sky blue eyes narrowed as the cigarette man stepped back. The safety clicked off the gun. "He'd better not be dead, Raoul."
The burly soldier eyed the petite blonde across from him with distaste. "We'd be better off if he was," he stated coldly.
"Not your call to make!" Katie contested hotly.
A veteran of more wars than he could count, Raoul Gutteraz eyed the delicate, baby doll blonde with a sneer of arrogance. Women, bah…
Rastovich was a fool getting mixed up with this one.
Reaching down, he knotted a beefy paw in Roper's shirt. Given a choice, he'd be hauling his body out about now… He ignored the blood that trickled across his hand.
The younger man's head lolled forward, hitting the table in front of him with a sharp thwack.
An unidentifiable emotion flashed across Katie's blue eyes and she took a half-step forward.
"Stay out of my way, puta…" he snarled. The wicked-looking knife he held sliced sharply through the last of Roper's cords, taking with it a decent scrape of flesh. Blood dripped to the ground.
Katie took a step back. "Raoul…"
Dangerous brown eyes angrily raised to meet hers, dark and deadly. "Did I not tell you…"
The retort of a 9mm echoed loud off the walls, blood splattering across the table and the floor behind him. A look of permanent surprise etched itself across the burly man's face as he stared blankly for a moment first at her and then at Rastovich, before sliding to the ground in a crumpled heap.
Katie ejected the used clip, letting it hit the floor with a metallic ting as she slapped a new one into place.
Pallid lips twisted into a grimace of distaste, but Rastovich said nothing watching her.
"Not a whore, Raoul. And who I sleep with is my business."
Two men stepped out of the shadows.
"Bring him," she muttered, shoving the gun into her waistband. She fell into step beside the tall, thin man.
He waved his hands and the two soldiers followed, dragging Roper's body between them.