"Pilot! Shut down your engines, and open your rear cargo ramp!" The sound of a soldier's voice through a megaphone did little to calm Dash's nerves as she, MacTavish and Price waited at the end of the C-130's cargo bay. They'd been escorted by the two Australian fighter aircraft all the way to their operating base in the United Arab Emirates, meeting up with an Australian KC-30 tanker aircraft along the way for the much needed fuel.
Upon landing, the escort switched from fighter jets to a set of Bushmaster armoured vehicles, each armed with remote weapons systems that were trained upon the cockpit and engines of their aircraft. They were met at the parking apron by more vehicles and a contingent of heavily armed soldiers, all waiting for them.
As Dash waited for the ramp to drop, she recalled a rather appropriate rule from a list that was a common joke shared around by soldiers, sailors and airmen alike: Murphy's Military Laws.
Friendly fire; isn't.
The ramp started to open, and Dash began to lift her hand to shield her face from the harsh sun, but quickly forced herself to stop as it might've been seen as her holding some kind of weapon. Instead, she squinted her eyes and trusted herself not to stumble down the ramp like an idiot.
"You three on the ramp! Hands behind your heads, walk down slowly in single file!"
Price grumbled to himself but complied, taking the lead as they all walked down the ramp slowly and carefully. As her eyes adjusted, Dash could begin to see the approaching soldiers a little more clearly. They didn't look like your run-of-the-mill infantry, as while they were clearly Australian they were still armed with M4s and HK416s.
They didn't get the chance to properly step away from the ramp before they were seized by the soldiers and forced onto the ground rather roughly, hands tugged away from their heads and down towards their back, where they were bound together by a rather bulky cable tie.
"Rebecca Myers, Master Sergeant, United States Marine Corps, Zero-One-Three-Five-Seven-Six-Six-Two," Dash said out of reflex, and she could see both MacTavish and Price turn their heads to look at her. Even the soldier that was restraining her paused for a moment.
"Shut the fuck up, nobody even asked for that shit," the soldier finally said, and Dash rolled her eyes.
"John MacTavish, Captain, British Army, Two-Zero-Seven-Three-Five-Two-One."
"John Price, Captain, British Army, One-Six-Five-Nine-Nine-One-Four."
"Jesus christ," another soldier said, the exasperation clear in his voice, "that only fucking matters if you're a prisoner of war, alright? This detainee shit is more for your safety."
Dash tilted her head to the side and up at the soldier who was speaking, his face halfway covered by a camouflage wrap. "There's another one of us in there, but he's badly wounded."
The soldier looked down at her and cocked his head, "Guess you'll rattle off his info too, right?"
"Jayson Cooper, Sergeant, Australian Army," Dash smirked to herself when she noticed the soldier stiffen in shock, "One-Two-Six-Seven-Four-Eight-Two." The soldier guarding her look over to two of his fellow team and gestured with his head to go into the aircraft. The two soldiers rushed in, weapons low but ready, and there was a pause as they moved past the stowed jeep.
"I need a medic in here fucking yesterday!" A shout was heard from inside, and the soldier guarding Dash knelt down beside her head and got into her face, glaring at her.
"You're going to tell us who the fuck you people are, and what the fuck happened, alright?"
Dash blew a strand of hair out of her face and matched the soldier's glare, "It's a long fucking story…"
What felt like hours later, Dash found herself sitting in a small nondescript office room. The setup was vaguely reminiscent of a police interrogation room, though the shackles on the table, the voice recorder and one way glass were missing. She was bound to the chair with cable cuffs by her wrists and arms, and she'd been stripped of all of her field clothing short of her undershirt, combat pants and boots.
Rook had been rushed off by a group of medics, and the Australian soldiers that were escorting herself, MacTavish, Price and Nikolai barely restrained their animosity towards them with the knowledge that one of their own had been grievously injured in their presence. And she hadn't seen where the others had been carted off to. They'd all had bags shoved over their heads as they were led away from the aircraft, and any contact between them during transport was non-existent.
The door to the room opened, and one of the soldiers from earlier walked in. He was still wearing his plate carrier and other equipment, but his cap and mask were missing. He had short sandy blonde hair, green eyes and tanned skin. He looked vaguely familiar to Dash, as if she'd seen him before somewhere.
"So… Master Sergeant Rebecca Myers, right?" The soldier began, taking the seat across from her. "Mind if I call you 'Bec?"
"I do, but I don't think it'll stop you," Dash shot back with a smirk, to which the soldier chuckled.
"You'd be right there… I'm Sergeant Jamie Lynch, if you were wondering," Jamie began, leaning back in his chair, "Look, before you ask, this isn't a formal interrogation or questioning or anything like that. We save that shit for the officers, y'know? My bosses are talking to your bosses, MacTavish and Price, that's their names, right?"
"Yeah…" she answered cautiously, and Jamie nodded.
"Cool, cool… hey, that Aussie you had with you, Cooper… he's on the table right now with some of our best doctors out here working on him," Jamie sat up straighter in his chair, "he'll more than likely pull through."
Dash sagged back in her chair in relief, a tell that Jamie didn't miss but chose not to comment on. "That's… great to hear, actually… about time we got some good news for once."
"Rough day, huh?"
"You don't know the half of it…" she shot back with a small smile, "like I said back on the tarmac, it's a long story."
Jamie nodded and stood up from his chair, walking around the table and retrieving a small blade from his rear pocket. "Sounds like one hell of a tale, one that I probably will never hear about it given the circumstances." He knelt down and cut away the ties from her legs and then moved up to her wrists, "Sorry about the restraints. Them's the rules, you know?"
"Well aware, believe me, but definitely not the worst thing that's happened to me in the last few weeks." Dash answered, rubbing at her wrists. "So, what's your deal? I didn't know you guys were working out here."
Jamie shrugged as he sat back down, "Someone had to pick up the slack and keep the peace while you Americans had to run and fight for your home. It's actually not all that bad. Once people saw Russia take the gloves off, everyone in this neck of the woods kinda fell back into line." He chuckled, "Maybe they realised that all this petty religious infighting and tribal shit pales in comparison to a global war between superpowers and decided to give peace a chance before we're all nuked like a leftover dinner."
Dash chuckled at Jamie's rather plain way of speaking, "Of course… can't blame them though, after what happened back in twenty-eleven…"
"That's probably what did it; they're all avoiding, or trying to at least, a repeat of history."
"Mhm… so what have we got here at least? I mean, I saw the fighters earlier…" Dash queried, and Jamie started to shake his head.
"Nah, not going to happen…" he began, "I know what you're trying to do… but I'm not talking…"
"Please… if you're worried about clearances, you can relax." Dash offered, then stopped as she noted a small patch on Jamie's right sleeve: a double diamond with a dagger above where they joined. "... Second Commando, right?" She pointed out, nodding towards his insignia patch.
Jamie sat up and looked to where she gestured, then sighed and pulled the offending patch off to hide it. "Fuck… how the fuck do you even know that?"
"You didn't happen to know a Sergeant Tom Williams by chance?" Apparently he did, if the way that Jamie suddenly froze up was any indicator. Slowly, he turned to face her with wide eyes. "Transferred out back in two-thousand and fifteen?"
"How do you know that name? How do you know that?" Jamie asked after a few brief moments.
"Because he transferred into my unit." Dash said levelly, and the Commando sat up from his chair and walked around to sit up on the table right next to her.
"Tell me everything."
"So we're headed to Iran?" Robot asked Shade as the latter took a seat in the back of the Osprey.
"That's what Gale said. There are a handful of old few NATO-operated bases there that are inside his fuel range. We're trying for one that isn't occupied by US forces, or anyone for that matter, as Shepherd might have an influence or be able to directly control the troops there and finish the job he started." Shade explained, "If the place is empty, we just raid it for whatever supplies we can, like fuel and medical shit. If it's occupied by a non-American but friendly force, we'll be practically untouchable as Shepherd would have to jump through quite a few hoops to come near us."
"So basically, we're pulling a Julien Assange?" Robot stated, catching Shade by surprise. "I mean, it's basically the same thing, isn't it: fleeing to a foreign base within a friendly country to escape extradition and persecution?"
"... yeah, we're pulling an Assange." Shade agreed after thinking about the parallels. "Though hopefully, if all goes well, we won't have to stay there for the foreseeable future…"
"And still no word from the others?"
Shade shook his head, "No, nothing on the aircraft's long range comms, not since we 'died' at least."
Robot tapped his helmet, which was balanced on his knee, in thought, "... would either Gale or NJ know how to transfer crypto?"
"I asked them earlier," Shade answered, shaking his head, "but they can't. Apparently, that's something that isn't taught to flight crews, despite them handling more complex aircraft radio systems."
"Sounds about right," Scarecrow chimed in. "So we're deaf, blind and for all intents and purposes, dead."
"You make that sound like a bad thing," Robot shot back with a smirk, "Means we can get some semblance of rest for a change… it's like what the instructors used to always say, 'you can sleep when you're dead'. Well guess what: I'm dead."
Shade chuckled, relieved to see that the team's sense of humour hadn't been a casualty yet. He looked up and over to where Chemo was sitting, watching over their four wounded friends with Archer. With careful footsteps, Shade made his way over and took the seat beside him. "How're they doing Chem?"
"As well as they can be," the medic said with a tired sigh, "Roach and Ghost are still relatively unresponsive, but their breathing hasn't changed for the worse… Ozone's in and out of consciousness, partly due to fatigue and partly due to the low dosage of pain relief he's on. Toad's my main cause of concern at the moment, as I'm worried that he's still slowly bleeding internally." Chemo leant over to show Shade the chest drainage tube that he'd inserted into Toad's side, and revealed that it was slowly dripping blood into a plastic bag. "I've been trying to recycle the blood he's lost in order to stave off further loss but it's not a long-term fix. Especially if he's bleeding out of something critical, which I can't tell because I don't have an x-ray." He sat back up and rubbed his face. "At the very least, I need an extra set of hands and a couple of hours to do some exploratory shit in order to see what else needs work…"
Shade reached over and placed a reassuring hand on the tired medic's shoulder, squeezing it firmly, "Hey, don't stress about that shit okay… focus on what you can do for him and the others, even if it's as simple as monitoring their pain… we all have your back, alright?"
"And I've got yours…" Chemo responded wearily. Shade nodded and stood up from his seat, making his way back up the cabin towards the cockpit. Taking his place between Gale and NJ, he tapped on the former's shoulder.
"Oi, what's the battle plan?"
"Well," Gale said as he flicked one of the LCD displays over, "We've got maybe another hour's worth of fuel, tops, and I have no idea if there are any potential candidates for landing sites within that range… I'm beginning to think we should've risked it and either gone broke for Kuwait or cut west and try Turkey, but all of those places are US-run."
"And we definitely don't have the gas for Al Minhad," Shade added, "which would've been the ideal place to go."
"What's at Al Minhad?" NJ asked, and Gale looked over at his co-pilot.
"It's where the ADF's basing all of their middle east operations out of, just south of Dubai; its predominantly air assets like fighters and patrol aircraft, but they have a small ground contingent there as well… ever since the declaration of war on the US by Russia, the rest of the coalition has had to pick up the slack in places like Iraq, Afghanistan and Syria."
"And because the ADF's a major player in the area now, they've got operational control over a significant region and any forces within it. Shepherd'll have a hard time trying to touch us if he hears that we're there." Shade concluded.
"Just need to get the gas to get close enough…" Gale muttered, loud enough for the pair of them to hear. "Hey, how's everyone else back there?"
"Crow and Robot are catching a much needed nap, Chemo and Archer are sharing the title of guardian angel, and the others are all in varying states of 'not quite dead'," Shade responded humorlessly, "though Toad's really touch and go right now… the sooner we get to some kind of base or even a fuel source, the better."
"I hear that…"
It seemed that every single insurgent in the region had opted to finally give up once news that Russia had openly declared war on the US reached this place, as was the opinion of the small team of mixed special operations personnel stationed at the rather remote observation and operations post. The amount of shellings, assaults and general harassing fire that they'd come to get used to disappeared practically overnight.
So much so that when word of this was reported back to their commanders, they were subsequently told to hold fast, watch their consumption of supplies like food and water, and maintain a scaled back presence in the area.
The last supply drop was a week prior to that advisory and while they weren't completely running low of the necessities, the niceties of life like current newspapers, a fresh selection of movies, and mail from home were all starting to be craved.
"Still no word from upstairs," Master Sergeant Mike Chastain said with a groan as he sat down beside his Battalion, Captain Arnold Miller. The Marine Recon officer shot a knowing glance to the NCO and shrugged.
"Not surprised, probably too busy with the shitshow back home to deal with guys like us…" he raised a hand to cut off Chastain before he could speak up, "... and if you say anything along the lines of 'we should be back there' one more time, I'll feed you to the dogs. I hear enough of that shit from the junior guys we have here as it is…"
"Not what I was going to say, but message received…" Mike answered with a bewildered expression at the captain's outburst. "I was going to say that if we time it right, we could be in the nearest village in time for dinner… nothing like some hearts and minds to help break the monotony."
Miller snorted, "Mikey, you really think that the boys are going to even try some of the shit the locals cook up?"
"I'm no Anthony Bourdain," Mike shot back, "but you'd be surprised at just how good some of the local cuisine could be."
"Alright… organise a party then, but I swear to god Chastain, if it looks like a fuckin-"
"Boss!" The shout from one of their Marines surprised the pair of them, and they both turned around to look at the newcomer.
"What is it, Tone?"
"We've got visual on an aircraft, looks like a tilt-rotor, approaching the camp, and it's not responding to our hails." The news had both Chastain and Miller on their feet, and they followed the Marine back outside and to one of the camp's main observation towers. Inside, they were met by First Lieutenant Jake Salt, a Marine Aviator attached to the battalion as a Forward Air Controller.
"What's the word Salty?" Miller asked, lifting a set of binoculars to get a better look at the approaching helicopter.
"I don't know boss… that bird isn't answering any of my radio calls across any of the known frequencies…" Salt answered as he flicked through a notepad, "plus we aren't slated for any kind of supply drop in the next few days."
"Do we have anyone in the area that uses Ospreys?"
"As far as I'm aware, V-22s were only used in Afghanistan, not Iran… apart from us, there aren't any other known assets within flying distance."
The four operators watched silently as the aircraft drew closer and closer to the camp, flying a slow loop while it's rotors tilted backwards before settling into an approach path onto the single helipad near the rear. "Mikey, get your boys up and armed, we don't know who the hell's on that bird!" Miller had to shout over the deafening roar of the aircraft's engines as it settled down onto the pad not far from the tower.
Dash had to physically stop herself from falling off of her chair laughing, Jamie leaning back on his with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "... oh yeah, the boss was none to pleased about that particular night. Said that old Shady had some brass balls for trying something like that and that he 'admired his creativity and initiative' but still called him a dickhead."
Jamie, or Hangman, as he was known in his own circle, was giving his side of the story of how Shade had earned his name. There were so many more facts and details that Shade himself must have deliberately omitted for his own sake. Just as well, as Dash now had more than a year's worth of blackmail material over his head; he just didn't know it.
"You shoulda seen the dressing down we got when we set off a flashbang in the rec where all the guys passed out after a night out," She chuckled, "Still owe the LT a Crucible actually… they took it easy on us 'cause we were still recovering from Mexico."
"Mexico?" Hangman asked, his laughter coming to an abrupt halt, "Wait a second…" he pulled out his phone and messed with it a bit, before turning it around to show Dash a video he had saved on it. It was the same footage that both her and Shade had seen in the aftermath of that operation: the passing shot of her driving a Jeep with Shade in the back, shooting at the pursuing cartel gunmen. "This happened a while back… you mean to say that this was your team?"
Dash only had to glance at the screen before she nodded, "Yeah, that's us. I was driving, Shades took the hit. Dumbass shoulda moved when I told him to."
Hangman shook his head in disbelief, pocketing the phone, "Man, that's definitely Shade alright… was always one to take the initiative without thinking ahead. You know, you guys caused quite the stir down there." He sat back in his chair and shrugged, "I mean, civilian news was all the same story: cartel versus cartel violence. But our intel guys were also watching, and all we heard after a couple of weeks was that an American SOF team intervened. Didn't actually say how or when, but that they jumped in and that was the end of that."
"Stir might be a bit of an understatement, don't ya think bud?" Dash chuckled, "All I got to say is Plan S fuckin sucks."
"I hear that," Jamie nodded understandingly. The door to the room opened, and another Commando walked in followed by an older soldier wearing the regular uniform. "Sir," Jamie snapped to attention at the sight of the man.
"As you were Sergeant," the new arrival spoke up, "Master Sergeant, I don't know if Sergeant Lynch here has spoken for us and apologised yet, but if he hasn't then allow me to do so. I've been speaking to your companions and they've brought me up to speed regarding your situation."
Dash nodded, "It's been a rough day… Any word on Cooper?"
"Still in surgery, but from what I've been told it's looking good. He'll be out of action for quite some time, but he's alive." The soldier stepped forward and offered his hand out, "I'm sorry, I should've introduced myself. Major General Stephen White, commander of Joint Task Force Six-Three-Three."
Dash shook his hand in a firm grip, "It's good to meet you, sir. I'd introduce myself but you already seem to know who I am."
General White smiled at her remark, taking back his hand, "Indeed. Though, your little outburst on the tarmac did accelerate matters. But that brings me to a point that I've already informed your officers." White took the seat that Hangman had occupied, and rested his arms on the table. "We tried to look your personnel file up on the shared NATO database, to see if we could get in contact with your command offices. You, Sergeant Cooper, and Captain MacTavish were all listed as 'Missing-In-Action' as of seven hours ago."
Dash sighed and sat straighter in her seat, "It's a long story…"
"I've already been briefed on the situation by Captain MacTavish," White said, holding up a hand to stop Dash from going on, "and the sheer fact that you've gotten this far is a testament to your training and sheer luck. Now, before you ask, we aren't going to report your appearance to your commanders just yet. I will ask our intelligence officers to keep an ear out for any requests for information regarding your teams, both of them that is. But if your commander, General Shepherd… if he asks if we've seen you, I am bound by regulations to report it."
Dash frowned, "And he was following regulations when he tried to kill me, and my team I take it?"
"You misunderstand me… if we've seen you. Didn't say anything about us sheltering you or the like. For all that Shepherd knows, we could've seen your C-130 as a blip on the radar headed for Kuwait." White smirked at her, "We've got your back here, Master Sergeant. I promise you, we'll keep you safe here."
Dash gave a relieved smile, "Thank you, sir…"
"No need. Go get yourself something to eat or drink, or maybe even a shower," he said with a small chuckle, "looks like you could go for all three. Rest up, you've earned it."
Shade walked down the side stairwell of the Osprey with hands laced behind his head, goggles over his eyes and a shemagh around his face to keep the dust from the helicopter's rotor wash out. He could barely hear the shouts of orders over the engines, and he kept proceeding slowly further and further out towards the voices until he was tackled to the ground harshly.
"What part of 'stop the fuck right there' do you not understand!?" An American-accented voice said close to Shade's ear, and he felt his stomach drop. Of all the random outposts to spot and pick to land at, they had to pick an American one.
"Couldn't hear you!" Shade had to shout back, half because of the engines still, and half due to having his face shoved into the dirt.
"Then listen better!" There wasn't a chance for Shade to snark back before he was hefted up to his feet and dragged off even further away from the aircraft. Now outside of the dust cloud, he could see the many armed troops that were surrounding his aircraft with rifles aimed at it, ready to fire. "Over here, asshole." He was pushed forward and shoved into a chair, and the soldier came around front and pulled Shade's shemagh down to reveal his face. "Alright, who the fuck are you and where the fuck did you come from?"
Not a soldier, but a Marine, based on the uniform, equipment, and language that Shade's interrogator was using. "Russia, or Georgia, depends on who you ask really." That was clearly the wrong answer, as Shade was quickly doubled over when the Marine planted a fist into his gut.
"You don't sound like a damn Ruskie… so try again."
"Is that what your mum told your dad when they made you? 'Try again?'" Shade said reflexively, earning another fist, this time to his wounded side. "Ah fuck!"
The Marine straightened up and cracked his fists, "Apart from the pilots, were you the only one on board?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Shade said, looking up with a smirk. The Marine frowned, sighed, and wound back to hit him again.
"Haverson! Cut that shit out right now!" A strong voice called out from the side, and both men turned to look at another pair of Marines approaching them. "Is he from that helo?"
"Yes sir, but he's being uncooperative." Haverson replied, dropping his fist.
"Is that what you say about all of your failed dates?" Shade couldn't resist getting the last word in, and to his surprise the second Marine failed to cover a laugh.
"Dude, you just got burned by a fucking prisoner."
"Enough, Jackson… Haverson, go back and get your team together to search that helo. I'll talk with our guest." The Marine commander said, and Haverson nodded before shooting Shade one last glare. Shade snorted and looked up at the officer.
"Frat boy didn't get his Gatorade fix, I take it?" The question took the commander by surprise, but he shook it off.
"I apologise for Lance Corporal Haverson's actions, but you were being somewhat of an asshole."
"Don't sweat it," Shade said with a shrug, "not the worst thing that's happened today… probably deserved some of that, actually…"
The commander nodded, then took a glance at the tilt rotor as it began to shut down. "Forgive me if I'm repeating an earlier question, but who else is on board?"
"Total of ten of us: two aircrew, eight wounded including me, all ranging from 'only lightly wounded' to 'seven shades of fucked up'. Hope you have a few good medics here." Shade answered flatly, "I'll give you the full story soon, but I just need my guys to be brought back from nearly-dead first… that something you can do?"
Authors' Notes:
(Spitfire)
So Dash gets a hell of a break, and Shade ruffles some feathers. Meanwhile Rook's getting taken care of and the future of the other wounded (Ghost, Roach, Ozone, and Toad) remains to be seen. Chemo needs a nap, Archer probably needs to chill (honestly there's no telling with him), and Dash finds some friendly faces and gets all the gossip.
Thanks for Reading, Fly High Aim Higher
~Spitfire out
(Shade)
Not gonna lie, it's too perfect for them to have encountered Shade's old unit. But hell, it works. I just wanted an excuse to bring them into the fold. I'm sure it won't just be on Dash's side that they'll encounter some very helpful allies in the future. They need all the friends they can get right now…
Not much else I can say about this here… so until next time!