Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum
By Portrait of a Scribe
"The thing about family disasters is that you never have to wait long before the next one puts the previous one into perspective."
–Robert Brault
Chapter 28.
2042 A.D. - RRTS Barracks, Twentynine Palms, California - 1800 hours
A loud oath rang through the area.
For a second after her back hit the ground, all Tank could do was stare up at the sky in dazed confusion. Then she sucked in a breath and rolled to her knees with a groan, rubbing her back.
"Ouch, that's gonna bruise," she muttered.
"You okay?" Tank looked up to see Reaper standing over her, some concern in his hazel eyes. Tank sighed, and nodded.
"Yeah," she replied. "My foot slipped."
Reaper's lips twitched with the shadow of a smile. "Come on, you'd better catch up before Sarge decides to lay into you."
"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, but got stiffly to her feet nonetheless. Then they jogged off, gradually building to a run.
It had been three weeks since their wedding. They'd flown back to Twentynine Palms two weeks after the ceremony to be met with a God-awful amount of teasing and a number of pranks, both good-natured and malicious. Tank was still plotting against Sarge and Hellraiser for their comments during their speeches at the reception.
Tank scowled at the memory. Reaper glanced over at her and saw this.
"What's the matter?" he asked, his words clipped by the pace of their run. Tank growled.
"I still can't believe that they said those things!" she fumed breathlessly. "It was our fucking wedding reception, not some... some...!"
She trailed off with an inarticulate cry of frustration while Reaper just chuckled at her.
When Tank looked over at him questioningly, he shot her a pointed look before he turned his gaze back to his footing.
"I still can't believe you shoved cake up my fucking nose," he said. Tank lost her anger at that comment, and laughed out loud.
"At least it tasted damn good, right?" she teased. Reaper briefly turned a disgusted look on her.
"Not after it's been in some poor bastard's nose, it doesn't," he retorted. Tank grinned.
"So you admit to being illegitimate, then?" she asked, reaching out to poke him in the side. Reaper squawked- yes, squawked- with indignation.
"I never fucking said that!"
"You practically did," Tank chortled, jumping up a series of rocks. "You called the sentence's subject a poor bastard, and since you were referring to yourself, that means that you called yourself a bastard."
Reaper sighed breathlessly as he vaulted over a crevice to land safely on the other side. Tank was not far behind, but when her foot hit the edge of the narrow crack in the earth, the dry soil crumbled beneath her weight and sent her tumbling down into it with a surprised yelp. Her hands and arms scrabbled for purchase at the lip of the crevice, but she was unsuccessful.
Reaper whirled around just in time to see Tank's head disappear beneath the surface of the earth.
"Fuck!" he swore, diving for her hand. He just barely managed to grab her wrist before she fell, but her glove came off in his hand and she plummeted with a shout. A second later, Reaper heard the impact of her body on the floor of the crevice.
"Tank!" he screamed down into the ravine. "Tank! Tank, answer me, damnit!"
There was nothing for a moment, nothing save for the sound of the wind blowing through the dry terrain of Joshua Tree National Park. Reaper felt his heart pound. He scrambled for his flashlight. It almost slipped out of his grasp, but he managed to catch it just in time, and he flipped it on, aiming the beam down into the dark ravine.
Tank was sprawled, spread-eagle, at the bottom, some fifteen feet down. From what Reaper could see, she wasn't moving, wasn't breathing. He couldn't make out any blood, but that didn't reassure him.
"Tank!" His voice was getting hoarse from the tightening in his throat. "Tank! Amanda!"
There was no response.
Reaper swore violently, turning his attention to the ravine wall. It was craggy, broken from an eon of weathering.
Reaper's hand was shaking as he switched on his comm. "Sarge! Sarge, do you copy?"
There was a second of silence. Then, "Loud and clear, Reaper. What's the situation?"
"Tank is down, repeat, Tank is down," Reaper said. It was a struggle to keep his voice level and objective.
"What the fuck happened?!"
"The edge of the ravine crumbled when she landed on it," Reaper reported. "I grabbed her, but her glove slipped off and she fell into it."
He angled his moonbeam down to Tank again. "She's not moving. It doesn't look like she's breathing."
Reaper took a deep breath to calm himself, and then laid himself prone to crawl to the edge of the ravine. "I can climb down to her."
"Do it," Sarge ordered. "I want a full report when you get to the bottom. We'll be there in five minutes."
"Copy that," Reaper said, already starting down. He swung one leg over the edge of the crevice, sought and found a foothold, and then he lowered himself down, moving cautiously. He found another foothold, lowered himself another few inches. Stretched his hand down for a handhold. Moved his other foot.
And so it continued for several tense minutes.
Then a groan from the bottom of the ravine startled Reaper. He whipped around to look down at Tank. However, his sudden motion caused the rock underneath his hand to crumble.
Reaper gasped in shock as he slipped, and then fell the remaining five feet to the bottom of the crevice. He grunted when his feet hit the sandy ground, and his knees buckled and he pitched backward briefly before he regained his balance. Then he was able to look around.
The floor of the ravine was about seven feet across from wall to sandy wall, and was mostly covered in loose dirt and pebbles. Tank was sprawled about five feet to Reaper's right. He took the remaining distance between them in two steps, fighting to remain calm.
Tank groaned again as he knelt next to her, and she weakly brought her arm up to press her hand against her forehead.
"Tank!" Reaper exclaimed. "Tank, why didn't you respond?!"
"Shut the fuck up, John," Tank moaned. "I think I blacked out, and my head is fucking killing me."
Reaper swallowed, and lowered his voice, but that didn't keep the profound relief out of it. "Can you feel your extremities?"
Tank sighed, and bent her legs up at the knees before using her hands to lever herself into a sitting position.
Then she looked pointedly at Reaper, held up both hands, and wiggled all ten fingers at him.
"This answer enough for you?" she snarked. She groaned, and bent over a little so that she could rest her elbows on her knees. Reaper breathed a silent sigh of relief.
"Tank, I need you to look at the moonbeam," he said. Tank glared at him, and he frowned sternly. "I'm not gonna tell you again, Amanda."
Tank sighed, and then looked at the flashlight when Reaper turned it on again. Her pupils contracted properly, though she winced a little at the sudden onrush of light.
"Good," Reaper muttered, and then put the flashlight away again.
"Reaper!" The shout came from above, and Reaper looked up to see Sarge silhouetted against the evening sky, red from the setting sun.
"Sarge!" Reaper called back. "She's okay!"
Tank flinched from the shout. "Keep it down, dickwad..."
Reaper looked at her. "Love you, too, jarhead. Love you, too."
"Get your asses back up here, then!" Sarge called down.
Reaper glanced at the crumbling ravine wall, and then turned to Tank. "You'd better cover your ears."
Once Tank had done so, Reaper looked back up at Sarge. "Can't, Sarge! Wall's unstable!"
"Then how the hell did you get the fuck down there?!"
"I fell, sir!"
Reaper heard Sarge's disbelieving scoff. "Well, stop lollygagging and get your fucking WM topside!"
Tank managed to look up at Sarge, and subsequently raised her hand in a one-fingered salute. "Don't be a shit-brick, Sarge!"
She cringed at the volume of her own voice. Reaper laid a hand on her shoulder as she ducked her head again, and then looked back up at Sarge. "Can you see if it goes out somewhere?"
Reaper saw Sarge turn to look at someone over his shoulder for a second, and then the older Marine turned back to Reaper.
"It's a mile in either direction!" Reaper swore quietly at this. "It's either that or you climb back up!"
"Fuck," Reaper muttered. "We can't fucking climb this, Sarge! We're gonna have to walk!"
"Meet back at the Humvee in an hour or we're leaving you!" The ultimatum was shouted down to them as Sarge disappeared over the lip of the ravine.
"Fuck," Reaper hissed again, knowing that Sarge was not joking. Then, as the sounds of Sarge and the rest of RRTS Six moving out met Reaper's ears, he turned to Tank.
She groaned. "We just got Sarged..."
He fought the urge to roll his eyes.
"You heard him, Amanda," Reaper said, stooping and pulling her to her feet. His hands were gentle as he tenderly brushed the sand off of her black uniform. "Let's get going."
Tank sighed, and then allowed Reaper to lead on, heading west out of the ravine.
They walked at as brisk a pace as Tank could manage. The ravine floor was tricky to walk on, with loose shale and scree all over the place. Several times, Reaper swore he saw a snake or two sunning themselves where the fading light actually reached the bottom of the crevice.
Eventually, the ground started to slope upwards. Reaper had to help Tank over some of the steeper inclines, since her footing wasn't as sure as his was at the moment. However, they eventually made it out to stand in the open starlight.
"Jesus," Reaper muttered, gazing upward at the heavens. "It's been a while since I've seen this many stars at once."
Tank followed his gaze, but grimaced after a second and looked back down. "They're beautiful, yes, but we need to make it back to the Humvee."
She checked the time from the watch on her wrist. "We've only got fifteen minutes left."
Reaper looked back down at her and nodded. "Can you run?"
Tank took a deep breath, assessing her condition. "I'll need a whole fucking slew of painkillers tonight, but yeah, I think I can."
She took a deep breath, and turned to go. However, Reaper's hand on her elbow stayed her momentarily, and he gently turned her to face him. She was about to ask him what the matter was when he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.
When he pulled away a second later, the words that left his mouth were an order. "If you feel like you can't go on, then tell me and I'll fucking carry you."
Tank sighed, but nodded. Then they turned back east and headed off at a ground-eating jog. Reaper got his flashlight out and held it so that they could see where they were going.
It took them almost ten minutes to reach the place where they'd parked the Humvee almost three hours earlier. When they got there, they could see the rest of RRTS Six gathered around the vehicle, waiting for them. Jumper was the first to see them. His face split in a broad grin as he became aware of their approach, and he turned to wave at them.
"Reaper! Tank!" he called. "Welcome back to civilization!"
Reaper heard Tank groan, and slowed his pace to keep level with her when her speed suddenly decreased.
"You okay?" he asked, seeing her bend over slightly as she ran. Tank's breath came heavy as she replied with a vague nod. He let it slide, and the next three steps brought them to the rest of the team.
"Made it with two minutes to spare," Sarge said, looking up from his watch with a raised eyebrow.
"Fuck you, too," Tank gasped out, bending double as soon as she stumbled to a stop. Reaper laid a hand on her back.
"You're not okay, Tank," he muttered to her, and then drew her upright and pulled her arm over his shoulders. "Come on."
Tank sighed. "Thanks for cuttin' me a huss back there, Reaps."
Reaper eyed her drawn features as they piled into the Humvee with the rest of the squad. "No problem."
He sat her down on one side of the Humvee's cargo area, and then sat down next to her, across from Pug and next to Jumper. Tank was seated behind the driver's seat, and she immediately ducked her head when the overhead light in the cab came on.
"Your head still hurt?" Reaper asked nonchalantly. Tank didn't answer. The light went out as Goat started the engine, and began to head back to the barracks. Reaper noticed that Sarge was sitting in the passenger's seat.
"Hey, what model is this, again?" Reaper looked over to Mac, who had asked the question. The normally taciturn Japanese man was seated across from Tank, behind the passenger's seat.
"It's an M998 HMMWV Cargo and Troop carrier," Pug said. "Pretty high-speed, huh?"
"Huh," Mac said, and then fell silent. There was quiet for a moment before Tank suddenly chuckled slightly, and everybody looked over to her. She had her arms propped on her knees, and had her left palm pressed to her temple.
"You know, Mac," she ventured quietly, "for an RRTS member, you seem pretty normal compared to the rest of them."
Mac just smiled. Everybody there knew that Mac was just about as screwed-up as the rest of them, even Tank, who'd had a good childhood and had only joined the Marines because it had been her lifelong dream. A person had to be fucked in the head to even think about joining RRTS.
They just all dealt with stress in different ways. Tank, generally, would play solitaire, write fiction stories, or go out to the shooting range. Portman was a pervert who liked a good romp. Pug would practice knife-fighting, or he would rant in German for a good hour or two. Reaper would disassemble, clean, and reassemble his guns until he was de-stressed enough to speak calmly. Destroyer liked to play baseball, knock over a few lamps every now and then, that sort of thing. Goat had his Bible, and prayed when he was stressed. Sarge... did whatever it was that Sarge did. Jumper had a tendency to "accidentally" drop things on people's feet. And Mac was a practical joker.
Needless to say, Tank and Reaper had made it a point to avoid Mac after missions.
Tank grunted, and straightened up briefly before she winced and turned to lay her head on Reaper's shoulder.
"Tank?" he inquired uneasily. "How's your head?"
"I have a massive-ass migraine right now, Reaps," she sighed. "I'm trying to keep as still as fucking possible."
Reaper raised his eyebrows. "I'd offer to go massacre whatever caused it, but I don't think I can kill a ravine."
"Shut the fuck up," she growled. "You're hurting my head."
Reaper's lips twitched in a tiny smile as she swore softly.
Yep, Tank would be fine...
...after a lot of painkillers and a nice, long nap.
2042 A.D. - RRTS Barracks, Twentynine Palms, California - 2030 hours
"Hellraiser?"
Hellraiser looked up at Tank from where he was packing his possessions into a seabag, and smiled at her.
"What's cookin', Tank?"
Tank rolled her eyes where she was standing, dressed in tan camouflage fatigues and a loose, black, ribbed cotton tank top, at the foot of his bunk. She had come over from cleaning her sniper rifle and her submachine gun.
"Nothing's cooking. I was just wondering where you're going," she explained.
Hellraiser shrugged as all the eyes in the room fell upon him. "I got transferred."
That got everybody's attention.
"What?" Tank asked incredulously. "Where?"
"They're sending me out to Paradise Island," Hellraiser replied. Tank's jaw dropped. It was practically a busting down.
"Why?" asked Pug from where he was lounging on his cot, reading a magazine.
Hellraiser shrugged again. "Something about combat stress reaction, or other. They think that being here under Sarge's command is gonna make me snap or something. They've got me on the grinder with the boots teachin' 'em how to gung ho."
Then Reaper spoke up from where he was sitting in the alcove on the north side of the room cleaning his guns. "Guess somebody's gotta teach those snuffies to make sure they're not gagglefuck."
Tank smiled a little at that, but she looked at Hellraiser sadly, nonetheless. "We'll miss you, here. It's no fun being at the depot."
Hellraiser laughed.
"You kiddin'?" he cackled. "I'm gonna have so much fun torturing the FNGs I'm gonna be sendin' you fucking postcards made out of photos I take while they're doing incentive training."
Everybody had to laugh at that.
"Throw some Jesus shoes at 'em!" encouraged Mac. Jumper shot up from his rack excitedly to add his own two cents.
"Slip some Jell-o into some fart sacks!"
"Send the barracks queen a picture of Tex and write 'She's got you beat' for a caption," Tank suggested dryly with an evil smirk.
The room erupted with howls of mirth.
Goat snorted ungracefully and buried his nose in his Bible. Tank could see his shoulders shaking in what seemed to be silent laughter.
"Put some dog shit in somebody's BEQ," he murmured when the chortles had died down. "See how long it takes 'em to notice the smell."
Hellraiser laughed. "Sure will," he said, "when I'm not gettin' made fun of bein' called a big green weenie."
"Just give the brats hell from us with love," Tank said, "and we won't have to come and do it for you."
"Don't worry," Hellraiser chortled. "I'll give the broke-dicks hell, too."
"Good onya, mate," Tank said with a wink, imitating an Australian accent. Then she added, in her normal mode of speech, "Just don't forget the rest of us poor fuckers out here in Bumfuck, Egypt."
"Right," deadpanned Portman. "Send us a postcard of you and some naked babe that says 'Greetings from Paradise'."
Tank rolled her eyes while the men just laughed. She exchanged a glance with Reaper that soon turned a lot more heated than she had meant it to be. She looked away, cheeks slightly red.
She needed to get him alone, soon.
"I just hope you guys don't get death by PowerPoint." Hellraiser's voice drew Tank out of her musings, and she looked at him curiously.
"Why'd you say that?" she asked warily. Hellraiser grinned at her in an almost evil manner.
"I hear tell you guys are gettin' a new mission, soon," he said, "and that it's gonna be a gung ho multi-unit one."
The rest of the team all groaned.
"I fucking hate those kinds of missions," Tank grumbled. "It's like babysitting."
She sighed, and went to flop down on her bunk. Hellraiser chuckled, and went back to his packing.
A few minutes passed in relative silence. Then Tank sighed again, sat up, and scooted to the edge of her sack. She quickly tugged her boots on.
"If anybody needs me, I'm gonna go for a run," she said. Pug looked up from his magazine to stare at her.
"Why?" he asked incredulously. Tank finished tying her shoelaces, and stood up, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. She looked like an excited child.
"I had a cup o' joe earlier," she said, "not to mention a few pieces of chocolate. I got a sugar high I need to burn off. Anybody wanna join me?"
She looked imploringly around at the men. They all stared back at her in silent incredulity. Finally she sighed.
"Guess I'll go alone, then," she muttered, and headed for the stairs. It was after she disappeared up them that Reaper heaved an exasperated sigh and got up, heading in the same direction.
"Where you goin', Reaps?" asked Destroyer. Reaper cast the large man a glance as his boots clunked on the stairs.
"Tank's a trouble magnet," Reaper deadpanned. "Somebody's gotta make sure she doesn't break something."
He continued up the stairs, calling his last sentence over his shoulder. "If we're not back in three hours, send out a search party. Look for dead bodies."
Mac and Jumper chuckled at the morbid joke, while Portman looked fairly sulky.
"Yeah, sure," Portman muttered. "Goin' for a run, they say. More like goin' out for a good screw-"
This time, the whole of the remaining squadmembers spoke in unison.
"Shut the fuck up, Portman!"
Disclaimer: I don't own Doom, so fuck off.
Sorry for the lateness. I have no excuses to offer. The only thing I can blame in this instance is my own forgetfulness. I totally didn't realize (really realize) that yesterday was Monday despite it being the first day of my school week. I only figured it out just about five minutes ago. Hence the reason why this chapter isn't edited the way I usually like to edit the chapters. I'm in the middle of an essay and had to post this before I forgot again, so please excuse any errors you may find. Thanks!
Warning: Next chapter will be another lemon.
Thanks to Lady Nightlord for reviewing the last chapter! I'm really glad you like this story that much. XD I totally know how you feel about searching for good fanfiction, especially in the Doom section! Most of the stuff with Reaper in it has him and Sarge as being gay with each other, or (heaven forbid) it's sex between Reaper and Sam. Gag. And a lot of the other stuff (with the notable exceptions of Hidden Relevance and askita) is written rather poorly. I finally just got fed up with looking and wrote my own. ^.^
Next chapter should be posted 3-29-10.
-Portrait of a Scribe
