CHAPTER 3. EASY, LUCKY, FREE
When the car came to a stop, John felt himself instinctively take charge, all before his brain could catch up, he opened his eyes stinging from the smoke and dust, already his hands sought out his seatbelt, the dammed thing biting into his shoulder and chest.
In the confusion he thought he was in a military humvee, the grit of sand in his mouth accompanied by the familiar taste of blood. No that wasn't right, not in a humvee, he grunted and pressed the release falling face first onto the crumpled cab of the black car. A civilians vehicle, not sand, smoke and dust, glass shards bit into his hands, but he ignore that, it reminded him where he was.
Looking quickly at the two men who'd been in the front of the car, one was no longer in his seat, probably thrown through the windshield and the driver his eyes wide and neck at an odd angle, John didn't have to check his pulse. That's right, not the desert, a car, black car, a government car.
"Mycroft!" the world had seemed silent except for his own pounding heart, now it all rushed in on him. Shaking hands went to check a pulse. John let out a sigh of relief, strong pulse, bruises where the seat belt rubbed across Mycroft's pale neck, to be expected. The position the taller man was in couldn't be good for his back or neck. John needed to get him out; his head had a nasty gash, just above the right temple that needed looking at.
"Well this was one way to get out of telling you the story." He murmured, deciding he would have to get under Mycroft and release him gently, to avoid further damage.
The injured Government servant is coughing, John can see he's opening his gray eyes, looking around blankly. "Right, wonderful, concussion." The other man was trying to move, John could hear him wince and warnings of possible broken bones, fractured ribs, a prospect of internal injuries ran through the doctor's mind. The sounds of gunfire are nearing and John knows it's unsafe to remain in this vulnerable position.
"Mycroft, just sit still, don't move. You're going to be all right. I just-" so focused on the man who replied with a weak moan, that the Doctor hadn't even felt the hands grab onto his calves and pull. John didn't wait to ask who they were, he didn't have to, they had black gloves and dressed in black military field gear. Two men, wearing black ski masks. How original, he thought but their accents gave them away. One held a 9mm to him. John put his hands up feigning terror.
The sun bright just over head, a sunny day, a gentler sun, damp grass beneath him, not sand not a desert. The words being yelled he understood them, English all of it. Not Farsi, he wasn't back there, back were the orange sand drank up the spilled blood greedly, no not there. He reminded himself, Dublin. He pushed his thoughts of confusion down, not now PTSD, not now.
"Please don't shoot me." John begged, " I don't know what you want but please, I'm just a Doctor, I was hitching a ride. Everyone's dead in there. Everyone, just dead.-What do you want? Please-" John kept his eyes downcast, taking in the area no, he could see one of their cars completely charred and rolled over on its side, another hadn't made it much further, but at least it was somewhat intact, two security officers were trading fire with assailants on the road. This felt like a war, dead bodies already scattered about.
"Quit your blubbering!" John grunted a hard kick to his left side, snapping him back into sharp focus. All right he'd give the bastard that, while he assessed the best course of action.
"We are looking for Mycroft Holmes. Which car is he in?" John held back a laugh; these assholes bombed the motorcade without knowing which car Mycroft was in. Amateurs, or just a bunch of idiots either way lucky him.
"Who?" John groaned curling in on his side, keeping up a pretty believable act, and Sherlock said he was the worst liar.
"Don't play stupid!"
"Just shoot him! He isn't anybody. Look at him, not even security, what security officer would wear those colors." John frowned hearing that, it hadn't occurred to him that he wasn't wearing fatigues. Dammit, must of hit my head too, blurring things together.
That aside, what was wrong with his cream and brown-checkered shirt? And his slacks had been nice before the accident; no way he'd salvage them now already having ripped the knee. He waited the first assailant was talking into a radio his back turned to him and John's would be executioner standing over him. Perfect timing, John thought and without any more hesitation he kicked out, sweeping the goon's feet out from under him, the surprised killer, fell on his back with a grunt.
John was up faster than the man could react. He took the weapon and the man on the radio hearing his friend's sudden out take of air when he hit the ground, turned now. But John got a shot off perfect through the head; giving the idiot he'd knocked down first, enough time to surge forward. John didn't feel like dragging this out so he pulled his elbow back and brought up under the larger mans chin, another direct hit to the solar plexus, knocking the big thug off of him. An additional accurate shot with a steady hand and the 9mm, this one to the heart, and John collected both weapons from the dead men.
Edwards, a junior security officer stumbled from the black Mercedes he'd been a passenger in, the driver had a bullet in the head they'd crashed with two flat tires into the ditch off the road, lucky to not have flipped the car unlike the one a few meters away.
"The boss was in that car." The brunette women who usually held a blackberry in his perfectly manicured hands pointed to the turned over wreck where Edwards had been looking. Both agents ducked as one of their unknown attackers sent a shower of bullets in their direction. Edwards had his 9mm but it was dammed near impossible to get a shot off in his position, if he stood up he'd be a sitting duck. His cheek burned from where he'd managed to cut himself on sharp glass. His left arm ached; he kept it tucked tight to his inside.
"What a disaster." He muttered, trying to talk into his earpiece he received no signal nothing just dead air, he ripped it out in frustration. The bullets where getting closer, and before he could chance another look at the position of the enemy a shot rang out, he flinched ducking down, and a body now slumped over the hood of the car with a heavy thud.
"What the?" The assailant had been hit, a bullet to the head. Edwards looked across, instead of seeing one of their own men, it was that man, the one the boss had stopped to pick up. Edwards would have missed him completely if the shorter man hadn't sprang up from his crouched position, and fired another kill shot just over Edwards left shoulder. An additional thud an assailant's body falling limp, the PA had her arms over her head trying to stay low. The blond man advanced towards them.
"Can you move?" Edwards felt himself temporarily speechless, who was this man, another agent. Dressed like a ordinary bloke, for gods sake he wore a cream and brown checkered shirt and beige slacks, but those eyes, quick, observant and calm, a great disguise.
"Doctor Watson, oh thank god." Edwards frowned hearing the brunette who'd said her name was Alma, talk. "Is the boss-"
"He's alright, just a slight concussion, he'll have one hell of a headache when he comes out of it. He's a bit dazed. You all right?" she nodded, shakily, the Doctor than picked up a discarded weapon from the unconscious assailant lying limply over the hood of the car.
"Radio working?"
"No sir."
"There a first aid kit in that vehicle?"
"Passenger side, should be one under the seat."
"Good, good. You two think you can make it back to that car there?" Alma nodded, but Edwards still had a dazed look on his young face.
"You-"
"Edwards sir."
"Alright, Edwards, you take this 9mm, and head in that direction, stay low in the grass, I'll be right behind you." Edwards didn't care to take orders from a man he'd never met before, but Alma had already headed towards the indicated location. More shots fired by the Doctor. "Go. Now." The blond man growled and Edwards staid low following the female agent. Just as he'd said they reached the turned over car, the Doctor followed a few minutes later, dragging an unconscious security officer, one he knew as Thomson, they'd started at the same time, the last two to join the Iceman's security detail.
John had seen the younger man take a hit to the back of his head, enough to daze him he crumpled forward. Swearing the doctor had no choice but to give away his position to take out another enemy. He moved now, quick for a man whose shoulder was starting to throb dangerously. His breathing he started to notice was sharp and somewhat painful. That damn seatbelt must of cracked a rib, and that nice little ride in a rolling car didn't help his shoulder. John looked up expecting air support, the sky was blue, clouds were moving in, rain?
"Not in Afghanistan." He reminded himself, "Dublin." But there wasn't a war in Dublin was there? No, no, they were under attack, this group wanted Mycroft. John hated this, his head was aching, and the smell of smoke and sounds of gunfire played tricks with his already frazzled thoughts. Focus soldier, focus. He moved, grabbing the dazed young man by the collar of his shirt, pulling him quickly to the safety of the group.
"Is he?" Edwards stayed low, going to his friend's side.
"Just a bit out of it, he'll come around." And just on cue Thomson, started to move, confused at first but he sat up looking around. The Doctor was cleaning the wound on a ghostly white Mr. Holmes. Once he pressed a bandage over the head wound, Mycroft started to say something, John smiled cutting him off. "You're alright Mycroft." John tried to hold the mans gray eyes with his own brown but they glossed over again. "Keep him awake." John instructed Alma, after he'd plastered and clean some of the deeper cuts, repeating this on the other two men.
The Doctor touched Edwards arm, the security agent hissed when trying to straighten it. "Not broken but most likely fractured, you'll need to get that x-rayed."
"I'll get right on that." The doctor didn't answer to the sarcastic comment.
"Sit still mate, you've had one hell of an injury, let me clean out that cut on your leg." Thomson looked down at the deep cut just above his knees, soaking his pants.
"We've got to get to the other car. My guess is that one there, judging by the dead driver, I'm going to say it still has the keys in it." John cringed watching the battle between the British Government's rapidly dwindling entourage and the aggressors. He counted 12 men and as another fell, it was down to six, six left to guard Mycroft.
"Doctor?" Mycroft mumbled. John went over to taller man, popping up to fire a few rounds. Just so the enemy knew that they were armed and to stay back.
"Mycroft you owe me an expensive lunch and possibly a dinner. You stay awake." John lightly tapped Mycroft's face. He looked over at the worried PA, and than the two young security officers, his eyes went to the only possible means of escape, his jaw clinching seeing two goons already overrunning two more agents. He could see that the driver of that car had been shot, and the passenger now followed.
"Stay here, with him." John stated moving towards the cocky bastards with the AK and a regular handgun. He shot the one with the AK, unnoticed once more from his position in the grass, his earth toned clothes perfect camouflage, he wanted the assailants weapons.
Edwards' eyes wide, as the blond man neared, he had an AK slung over his shoulder, "Who the hell is he?"
"He's not security or an undercover?" Thomson squinted watching suspiciously as the blond man fired again returning quickly to their position.
Later while speeding away Thomson would reflect on all of it. The junior security agent was experienced and trained well enough to know their fight would have been a losing one. Thomson had studied the small group of survivors all injured, pinned down behind this dammed car, it all had looked so grim, and the idea of escape unobtainable.
That was at least what his thoughts had been, now he was glancing in the rearview mirror, putting distance between the aggressors and their target. "Get on the phone Edwards! As soon as you get a damn signal call it in!"
"Got it!" Thomson heard his partners quick report, and than the sound of Helicopters above.
