Thanks to everyone who's been sticking with this story, and I appreciate the follows/favs. Most of all thanks to everyone who takes the time to review. They really do fuel me to keep at it.
Thanks to PP for continuing to be my second set of eyes on this story. Means the world to me, my friend. Mahalo.
Been anxiously awaiting the season finale- all those tidbits of info/pictures are driving me crazy. I want May 13th now, and the muse has many scenarios playing out.
Disclaimer: Still no money being made. Just enjoy the thrill of writing it.
"There," Afzal pointed out to a tired As'ad as he gestured up ahead. A long, black object protruded above an upcoming dune. The remains of a rotor blade. It had broken off when the Mi-35 had hit the earth, the thick sand that grabbed the large airfoil having mercilessly ripped the metal as if it were mere paper.
As'ad quietly thanked the appearance of the crash site, hoping that they would find evidence that would end Afzal's greed-driven mission, and he could go back to his family and return to business as usual.
They had lost the trail that the injured American had left some time ago, and it took all As'ad had to convince Afzal that they needed to temporarily forget the manhunt and find their helo as Abdul Al-Rashid requested. They could resume looking afterwards, and, he'd cleverly added that the wounded man probably found this helicopter if he'd kept going in the same direction northward.
Afzal had been reluctant at first, but after mulling over what his friend had suggested, he'd eventually agreed. Finding the American was also on Al-Rashid's list of requirements, and he would see to it that it was carried out. Cautiously they drove up to the helo, should the wounded man be taking refuge nearby. He'd learned from past experience that wounded soldiers could be like injured animals. Very dangerous.
The jeep crawled to a stop and Afzal cut the engine, silence filling the air. There were no sounds of movement, or life of any kind. The two men jumped out, rifles in hand.
They walked up to the dead pilot's body, Afzal's cold, dark eyes scanning the wreckage. "It appears our friend came this way," Afzal observed with slight unease, noting the neat, round bullet hole in Hamad's forehead. Clearly this person was skilled, and likely formidable.
By their hand or the enemy's, Hamad's fate had already been determined by Allah. The pilot had failed and paid the price for his inability to produce results. As'ad's head moved quickly as he looked nervously around, reminding Afzal of a small bird constantly on alert for a predator.
"Relax, As'ad," Afzal calmingly reassured his friend. "We are alone here." He crouched down, kneeling next to Hamad's lifeless body, hands probing.
"His pistol is missing." This new find confirmed his theory. "If our friend wasn't armed before, he is now," Afzal added, gaze taking in the entirety of the crash site.
Despite Afzal's reassurances, As'ad remained on high alert, his nerves taut like piano strings. "I don't like this, Afzal," he voiced worriedly. "We've found Hamad. The American is injured, and the desert will claim him. Al-Rashid will be pleased, and you will get what you want. I think we should-"
"No," Afzal cut in abruptly, almost vehemently. "It is not enough. We must hunt this man down, and get any information from him that we can. We will witness his death with our own eyes, perhaps by our own hand. Nothing else is acceptable."
His voice was strong with greed and conviction. "Al-Rashid would not settle for less. And neither will I."
As'ad's hope-filled expression shifted to one of reluctant agreement.
"You know this to be true, As'ad. There is no other choice," Afzal prodded further. He needed his friend to be on the same page again. No concessions.
"Of course, Afzal," As'ad replied flatly. There was little point in arguing with the man.
"Good," Afzal replied, pleased. He ran a hand through his thick beard, as he always did when he was confident in success. He walked to the rear of the Mi-35, eyes probing the terrain. He smiled as he noted the resurgence of footprints in the sand, the impressions continuing north.
"He looks to be continuing north, likely towards Khash- and out of the desert. He will not make it. We will see to that," Afzal announced, smiling malevolently.
-H50-
The journey north in hopes of coming across Tac and Steve, or perhaps even the enemy seemed futile in the face of the hand they'd been dealt in this game so far. Like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, the likelihood of finding the prize felt like a myth.
Danny wiped at his face, the sweat dotting his forehead in minute rivulets that eventually pooled and trailed a line down his sand covered cheek. The cloth over his face that was meant to keep the sand from Fox's jeep from getting into his nose apparently was not the foolproof method, and he felt like the grit had even found its way into his mouth. The moving air around him offered little respite from the heat, and he searched his pockets for the white cloth Brick had stuffed in his hand before they'd left, with a gruff 'You'll thank me later.'
He tucked the white fabric under his hat, the material providing the perfect shelter for his neck and the sides of his face. Now he understood the functional reason for much of the loose fitting attire here. He could feel his hair plastered against his head, and he felt like he'd need to shower for at least a week when this was all over. His thoughts drifted to Steve and Tac, having to endure this heat while stranded. His bad hair day paled in comparison to their predicament.
The midday sun was relentless in its intensity, and Danny found himself longing for home and the cool Hawaiian surf. Who'd have thought he'd ever admit to that? If Steve ever found out...no, scratch that. He would give anything to spout that type of nonsense to his friend right now, and happily accept being the subject of his partner's jibes.
With little else to occupy his troubled mind, he found himself absently watching his two teammates in the other jeep alongside his. Lou was shifting around uncomfortably, and Danny heard grumblings about saunas filter through the comms. He opened his mouth to comment when Lou's irritated voice flooded the channel. "I don't know how you guys can live with this heat. I'm sweating like a pig here. I feel hotter and drier out here than a steak cooked for a day in the oven."
"Technically we don't live in the desert, Lou," Brick prodded, the smirk on his face evident in his voice.
"Close enough, wise guy," Grover retorted, wiping his brow. He rose to the verbal sparring challenge. "Have you been taking rapid courses from McGarrett or are all you military guys this witty."
Brick chuckled in reply. "Secretly we moonlight as stand-up comedians."
"I can only imagine how Steve and Tac must feel then," Chin interjected, his voice serious. "Must be hell out there."
Grover sighed, all joking shoved aside. He felt a little like a heel for complaining. "I know what you mean, Chin. I really hope they are ok."
"I hear you, brah," Chin agreed in earnest. "Steve is resourceful. If anyone can keep them alive, it's him."
The mood turned somber, the comms falling silent as everyone remained quiet, each alone with their thoughts. Some hopeful, some fearful for the outcome. The air around the jeeps was filled with a new tension, the feelings raw and very real.
Kono was the most quiet, her troubled gaze unfocused as she stared off in the distance. Danny was sure she still blamed herself, wishing she had done more. In truth, there wasn't anything that she could have done. Knowing it was true and actually accepting it were two different things, however, and Danny was fairly certain that acceptance, in Kono's case was still a long way off.
"Got a helo crash site ahead. Ours," Fox announced suddenly across the channel. "Look alive team. Approach with extreme caution. We don't know what unpleasant surprises might be waiting for us. Trap. IED. Anything," he advised.
"Understood, Fox," Brick replied, his demeanor all business.
The two jeeps came to a stop, their engines dying as they were switched off. The air was still, almost as though a dome had been placed over the crash site. It was eerily silent, and Danny felt like he was inside the vacuum of space. He clenched and unclenched his grip on his rifle in heightened anticipation, feeling like the quiet was the calm before the storm.
The team filed out of their vehicles, those that had donned the bandanas over their faces pulling them down to rest below their chin. Worry- filled gazes took in the overall scene, and seeds of doubt began to pull at the tenuous threads attached to their hopes.
Brad held up three fingers and motioned for Brick and Echo team to take the right side, while he circled left with Vulture, M4 at the ready should someone be lying in wait on the far side of the fuselage. Kono and Lou filed in behind, maintaining a respectful distance from each other's space.
Chin waited for Danny and Brick to lead, and he waited until they nearly reached the tail before he took up the rear. Nothing seemed out of place to him but IED's could be created from just about anything. It would be easy for someone to take out their entire team, and be nowhere near ground zero.
Brad lowered his rifle, once he'd visually scanned the exterior. This place looked untouched. Only carnage and death's hands lay a finger on this crash site. He stared at the open door of the helo, and sadness crept up inside him like a bad case of acid reflux, threatening to overwhelm him. He took a steadying breath. "Clear," he yelled hoarsely, once he'd found his voice.
"Clear here, Fox," Brick announced as he approached from the rear. "Aw, hell no," he spat in denial, his dark eyes having spotted the object of his commanding officer's pained gaze.
The six of them stood, staring in silent regret at the scene displayed before them. The charred carnage made a visual ID impossible, but there was no mistaking that one of their own had perished. Kono swatted at the moisture that threatened to pool in her eyes. She felt Chin's reassuring hand land on her shoulder, and she looked over to him and saw her feelings mirrored back at her. She nodded at her cousin, thanking him for his support, and she used his strength to maintain her composure.
Danny was afraid to look, and he felt guilty when it dawned on him that he was praying it wasn't Steve that had died. He felt slightly ashamed, but he was sure that many people had those same feelings of attachment and emotion when loved ones were in danger, and it didn't mean those other lives didn't matter. The possibility existed that whoever it was in the chopper may have been spared the anguish of dying from dehydration.
Danny knew for a fact that neither man would have left the other behind, so he drew the conclusion that the person was already dead before the crash. He hoped. He didn't want to consider the alternative scenario.
Fox was the one who found his feet first, and he slowly approached, hand tentatively reaching out to grasp the sooty dog tag that was dangling lazily from the body. He knew right then who it was, as he'd not seen Steve wearing one. The tag fell easily into his waiting palm at the touch, the fragile chain having lost its integrity from the fire.
Brad rubbed a thumb across its surface, leaving a smeary line through the residue. He clenched his fingers around the tag, stubby fingernails digging into his palm. He cast a sidelong glance at Brick, his icy blue eyes glassy as he managed to maintain his composure over the loss.
So young. So much promise.
Brick read his commanding officer's eyes like they were an open book. He knew immediately who had died, and a plethora of emotions began to surge within him like an active volcano, just waiting to erupt.
Anger. Sadness. Vengeance.
All volleyed for his attention and he growled, large hand impacting the only thing nearby- the helicopter's charred fuselage.
Danny flinched at the sound of flesh hitting metal, and he was sure he heard bones breaking. Relief and sadness flooded through him. Steve wasn't here, and that meant he was out there somewhere, possibly alive. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. Poor Tac. He seemed like a great guy, and he was so full of life. He cleared his throat as if to speak, but he couldn't find the words.
"Tac was a good man," Chin voiced, brown eyes full of compassion. "I'm sorry for your loss."
Brad nodded his thanks, and he pocketed the tag. "He fought for what he believed in," he stated quietly. "He knew the risks. We all do. Yet we still answer the call to fight for peace and freedom." This wasn't the first man he'd lost under his command, and sadly he knew Tac would also not be the last. It was the nature of their chosen life.
Brick flexed his right hand. The skin on his knuckles had split open, and he stared at the small rivulets of blood, seeming to relish in the pain that radiated through him.
"Shawn," Hunter called out, but the man did not appear to hear him.
"Shawn!" he tried again.
Brick shook his head and turned to focus on Brad, who had been calling his name, a concerned expression on his face. "Sorry sir. Won't happen again," he apologized, angry with himself for zoning out while on duty.
Hunter nodded in understanding. This was an outcome that they all knew could occur, yet when it hit this close to home it was hard to prepare for, even for a strong individual like Brick. Despite the situation, he needed his man's head back in the game. Brick thrived on orders and the chain of command, and Brad chose to use that to his advantage, to snap the large man out of it.
"Radio these co-ordinates back to the compound, Brick. Have a team come and collect Tac and bring him home."
"Roger," Brick acknowledged, demeanor outwardly shifting right back to business as he moved to the nose of the helo to make the call. This was going to be hard. Tac was like a brother to him, and he decided to harness his inner turmoil and use the anguish to fuel his anger and determination to finish this rescue mission. He hoped to hell McGarrett was out there somewhere, alive. To lose two good men... he forced the negative thoughts aside and got on the horn to base.
Danny sighed. He was spent. His mental state was slowly being chipped away, like a stone slab under a sculptor's chisel. He didn't know how much more of this he could handle. "How do we know Steve left here on his own, and not in the dirty hands of those two goons? We don't even know how injured he might be."
"Hey guys. Over here," Kono called out as she kneeled down, her innate attention to details giving them the clue they desperately needed. "The Boss left here on his own. Look at these tracks. They were made by one person."
"Nice catch, cuz," Chin praised, eliciting a small smile from her, though it never quite reached her eyes.
"No doubt our terrorist Hansel and Gretel were here too late to apprehend McGarrett," Lou commented. "They'd have stashed him in their vehicle and been long gone from here faster than a cat being chased by a dog."
"Agreed," Fox concurred as he nodded at Grover's comment. "These guys may be sloppy at covering their tracks, but we'd be remiss in assuming they didn't spot Steve's footprints."
"I sure hope he had enough of a head start on them," Chin added.
"Doesn't look like they left here in a hurry, either," Kono supplied. "I don't think they were in a rush to chase him."
Danny stared at his friend's footprints, noting the irregularity. He squatted down and scooped up a handful of sand, examining the grains as they fell through his grasp. "I got blood. There's several drops of it here, and judging by the uneven prints, Steve's definitely hurt." He stood up, dusting his hand across his pant leg. "We've got to find him," he voiced worriedly.
"Follow the scumbags, find McGarrett," Brick growled as he rejoined the group. No one else was going to lose their lives because of these people, he vowed to himself. He turned to Hunter. "A team is being dispatched and is on their way to our whiskey to extract Tac's body and demo the helo."
"Good work," Brad replied. "Let's get a move on. This heat isn't going anywhere for a number of hours, and we don't know how much of a lead Steve has on those two terrorists."
They climbed into their jeeps, each of them saddened by the loss of Tac, but encouraged by the discovery that Steve had at least managed to escape. The trail was there for them to follow, and it was the best news they've had in what felt like days.
The jeeps' suspension groaned as the deeper sand of the area made gaining traction difficult, and Fox set their course, Brick bringing his jeep alongside in a staggered formation as they headed off in search of Steve.
-H50-
Steve trudged along like a zombie that was aimlessly meandering in search of a meal. His meal however, was an exit out of the desert, and his hunger for that goal had turned to famine. His straight path had changed into a wandering pattern, with no real direction as his body grew weaker from his injuries and the exposure to the elements.
He squinted in an attempt to block the sunlight from his eyes as he tried to get a better look up ahead. There was something standing in his path- a dark blurry shape that appeared to get closer and closer with each wavering step. "D'nny?" he mumbled. But the dark blob he'd spotted wasn't moving, and he started to wonder why.
Steve rubbed his eyes as he tried to make the figure come in to focus. "D'nny?" he croaked once more, throat parched. He dry coughed, his throat feeling like eighty grit sandpaper. He began to wonder why 'Danny' wasn't rushing over to his side to offer aid. The blob made no moves as if in defiance, as though trying to prove some sort of point.
Steve continued to head towards 'Danny'. His side burned as though it were on fire, and his leg was in agony from the uneven trek across the desert. The continued stress on the fractured joint proved to be too much to take and he stumbled into 'Danny', who was nothing more than a human sized rock. He trailed his dry, sunburned fingers along the warm, rough surface, and he broke down, a desperate sob slipping past what remained of his composure.
No tears came- he was too dehydrated. This wasn't Danny. He was sure he'd spotted his partner, only to realize his mind was playing a cruel joke on him. He dropped to his knees, uncaring of the repercussions to his leg, his mind and body no longer remaining within his conscious control.
He couldn't trust what he saw or did. How did he know if this was even real? He did all that he could do, more than most people could have done and he was at the end of his endurance level. He felt like a dripping tap, slowly losing a small piece of his life one drop at a time, slipping away with no way to stop the leak.
Steve fumbled with the water bottle in his pocket in desperation, clumsily grabbing at the smooth surface with stiff fingers. He tilted his head back, bottle poised above his mouth. Only a dribble of water met his lips and he dropped the spent bottle, the plastic falling from his loose grip in reluctant defeat.
His pale, dry lips parted as he uttered a mirthless laugh, his voice cracking. He listed to the side, torso falling to the sand with a muffled thud. He rolled onto his back, eyes unfocussed as he stared at the clear and cloudless blue sky. He didn't have the energy. Not anymore. And he berated himself for it.
"No...su'pr SEAL here, Danny," he croaked, his mind a confused, defeated mess. He'd lasted much longer and gone further than most people could, yet he was unable to see it. To him, it was not enough. He'd failed. Steve looked to 'Danny', eyes glassy. His body refused to obey any command to get up. His eyelids felt heavy, and he could feel himself losing the battle to the unrelenting grasp of Dashti Margo.
"Srry, Danno... I tried," he whispered quietly, before unconsciousness claimed him.
TBC