March 12th,
Trust your instincts...trust your gut...
My aunt always bade me listen to that niggling little voice inside my head when it starts whispering vague warnings. I don't know why I ignored it today, but the disregard nearly cost me my life.
I am presently lying on a hospital bed somewhere in DeMoine. The pain was unbearable for a while, but the drugs they are feeding me through the IV must be kicking in, as all I feel now is a dull ache in my chest. My breathing remains labored, however...and every searing lungful of air requires a supreme effort on my part.
I really shouldn't complain...I could be in the morgue. If it weren't for the Kevlar vest I was wearing Chuckles would be arranging to transport my body back to the Vineyard instead of spending his time filling out insurance forms.
I could have been killed. For all intents and purposes I should have been...Bloody HELL!
Stop shaking...STOP SHAKING!!!!
You aren't a coward...you've been shot at before...you've BEEN SHOT before! Pull yourself together, girl! You're a soldier, ACT LIKE ONE!
God...I can't let anyone see me like this.
Not that anyone is around to witness my moment of weakness. The room itself came complete with two police officers who are presently flanking the door, insuring my privacy. The halls are filled with FBI agents and local law enforcement, so much so that when I came too and saw the wall of 'blue' around me I was certain I was under arrest. Shockwave assured me they were here to keep the press at bay...
"...Unless there is something you aren't telling us! You do seem a little too familiar with that morphine drip!" he laughed as he handed me a drink of water.
Chuckles is outside in the lobby, as is Shockwave. Hit 'n' Run is busy at the crime scene, but did drop by a few hours ago to check in and drop off my bag. I was still out of it at the time, or I would have gotten down on my hands and knees to thank him. There is nothing worse than a hospital gown, and I was never happier than when I discovered my pajamas lying on a chair beside the bed. The bag also contained my journal...neglected of late...and now that I am alone I thought writing would help sort out what happened and maybe calm my shattered nerves.
What a bloody disaster...
Hit 'n' Run and I were flown into Iowa just hours after a group of terrorists opened fire at the airport, taking out seventeen civilians in a hail of gunfire before making a clean getaway despite the virtual stockade of police and federal agents scattered throughout the building. Fearing public backlash if the perpetrators weren't brought down quickly, some 'brain' at the Pentagon decided to bring in 'specialists'. In fact, by the time we touched down the gunmen had managed to take a family hostage and the media was already swarming all over the story, forcing myself and the others to keep a low profile lest we draw unwanted attention to GIJOE.
I met up with Chuckles and Shockwave a couple of miles from the small farmhouse where the criminals were holed up. Saxon, an FBI agent familiar with our team briefed me on the situation, frowning as I narrowed my eyes in irritation.
"So what you are telling me is you have nothing. You know there are three of them but you don't know what they look like. You don't even know what kind of weapons they are carrying..."
"We have worked with less..." Saxon cut me off with a gesture, obviously not used to being questioned.
"I haven't...and definitely not with innocent lives at stake..." I growled, "...I say we wait and..."
"We can't afford the delay!"
"We can't afford NOT to delay..."
"Enough!" Chuckles finally cut in, "Arguing is useless, and we are wasting time. Jaye, I agree with you but at this point in time we have no choice. We have to go in."
Needless to say, being told off by Phil didn't improve my temper but thankfully I had enough sense to keep my mouth shut. The months since I had last worked with him had not softened my resentment regardless of the fact that I now worked for Hawk directly. The move was a promotion no matter which way you looked at it, but the complete takeover of my first love...Covert Ops...remains a sore point and Chuckles knows it.
To tell you the truth, I am surprised Hawk sent me on this one. There are many Joes imminently more qualified to work with the feds in a situation such as this, and definitely less hostile towards the head of the team. I suppose the General thinks it builds character. I could just picture him growling something along the lines of 'Suck it up, Burnett. You go where I tell you to go..." had I attempted to wheedle my way out of it.
No...I had to bow to Chuckles authority on this matter. Further argument would only have resulted in my having to find a good JAG to help save my career. Ironically enough, NOT stressing the salience of my opinion has put me in the hospital.
In any case, a mere two hours after I arrived I found myself driving up to the farmhouse in a brand new BMW, dressed as a door-to-door cosmetic saleslady. I was to make contact with the hostages and provide a distraction for Shockwave, who would make his way towards the side of the house. In the meantime, Hit 'n' Run would attempt to approach the back door via an old storm drain.
Chuckles lay hidden in my trunk...waiting for the signal to spring.
All in all it was a pretty straightforward plan. I have to give it to Aloha-Boy; he has a knack for this kind of thing. Unfortunately, in situations such as this even the simplest of operations have a tendency to blow up in your face.
Especially when you are going in blind...
Putting my qualms behind me, I got into character and approached the house with all the confidence and air-brained naiveté of your typical Mary Kay rep. No one would have been able to tell I was anything but what I seemed, I doubt even my mother would have recognized me. Some of the cops who came around later commented that even they did a double take when they saw me emerge from the car and head towards the door.
No...it wasn't my acting that gave me away. It was my own stupidity.
The woman who answered looked innocent enough. Obviously nervous, she seemed distracted and quite tense...but given the situation one could hardly blame her. Even so, I found myself hesitating. There was something 'not right' about her...I couldn't put my finger on it, but given the brief window of opportunity I had no time to delve further into the source of my unease. The 'hostage' had begun to withdraw into the house...preparing to send me on my way...and out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Shockwave was still in the open, making his way towards his position. I had to act and fast!
Ignoring my worries I smiled and handed her my card...on it was written in big bold letters "PLAY ALONG WITH ME. WE ARE HERE TO RESCUE YOU".
She smiled then...and my heart fell. It was not a smile of relief, but one of evil triumph.
Before I could react, my 'innocent' looking hostage had pulled a gun and fired, hitting me square in the chest with such force it knocked the breath right out of me. Even as I stood there teetering, she continued to unload her weapon into me, every bullet sending a searing pain through my body until I was praying she would run out of ammo.
I blacked out before she stopped to reload...or maybe Chuckles finally managed to bring her to bay. I don't know. I can't remember.
I did come to for a few moments and found myself beside Chuckles, who was crouched down behind the car, firing at the house in an attempt to give the others cover. The sound of gunfire filled the air and bullets were peppering the poor BMW. I was in terrible pain, so much so that I didn't want to move lest I black out again. When he saw my eyes open, Phil leaned over and asked me if I was all right...told me to hold on cause help was on the way.
"I'm fine...Kevlar..." I said, but my voice was strained and the effort to speak caused me to cough uncontrollably. My lungs were on fire and my chest felt like it was in a vice...I gasped for air as blood began to trickle from my mouth.
"Jaye...LADY JAYE...hold on...the paramedics are coming. Where the HELL are they?! OFFICER DOWN!!!! OFFICER DOWN!!!! Stay with me girl...stay with me...Jaye...ALISON!" Chuckles' desperate shouts sounded as though they were coming from miles away and then everything went black.
I awoke in the hospital several hours later, much to everyone's relief.
The doctors tell me that the Kevlar saved my life...that I would have been dead on the spot had those bullets not been blocked. Despite this, the force of their impact shattered some ribs...not broken...SHATTERED. An Ingram packs a wallop at the best of times. At point blank range it would be comparable to getting hit in the chest by a minivan.
That said, broken ribs alone didn't send me to the emergency via chopper. No...painful though it is, I could have borne it quite stoically. Unfortunately, the sharp bones that formed the devastated remains of my ribcage ripped into a lung, the damage made worse by the rough handling I received being dragged out of the line of fire. Weakened and battered, the organ collapsed...causing me to go into respiratory distress.
The doctors here have managed to patch me up, but I remain weak and unable to breath well on my own. Oxygen stands at the ready, and there are several IV tubes stuck into my arm...antibiotics, opiates for the pain (woo hoo), fluids...you name it, I've got it. They are worried about infection or even pneumonia and want to keep me here a couple of days before risking a move.
Yeah...like that's going to happen. I actually feel quite a bit better. I am going to be out of here as soon as...
Ow...
Ow...ow...ow...
Ok, maybe moving is not the most brilliant idea at the moment. I just want out! I am not at all comfortable in hospitals. Never have been...to me they reek of death. As soon as I can I am going to have Chuckles sign me out...I can be very convincing when I want to be.
When I was finally able to string more than two words together I 'ordered' Phil to keep my situation to himself. I was fine and would report the injury in person when I returned to base. He was reluctant, but finally agreed after seeing me wince in pain as nurse 'Mengele' shoved yet another IV needle into my arm.
I think he feels guilty, responsible. As he well should! Next time maybe he will listen to me...
Yes...I said next time.
Ok...I admit it. I am not as irritated with him as I was earlier. It's hard to remain angry with a man who risked life and limb to save your sorry ass, and it certainly doesn't help that he is a genuinely likeable guy. Truth is, every mission he has been given has been completed with flair in the face of some pretty overwhelming odds. Could I have done better? Maybe...but that shouldn't stop me from giving credit where credit is due. I'm mature enough to do that, aren't I?
Speaking of maturity, I have an ulterior motive for keeping my injury from GIJOE.
Humiliation.
Yes...call me an idiot...but to me this injury is nothing but a sign of weakness and failure. It doesn't matter that my teammates would never see it that way. It doesn't matter that the others wrapped things up nicely...not without some difficulty mind you, but the family is safe and the hostages dead. All that I care about is they did it without me! I went down for the count! I didn't even have the sense to draw my sidearm!
...Like a lamb to the slaughter...
Not to mention the last thing I need right now is Flint bursting in here like a bloody madman. I still remember the time on Staten Island when Roadblock had to physically restrain him in the lobby after I was shot in the shoulder by that Crimson Guard...and we weren't even an item at that point!
Since Thanksgiving we have been away from each other more often than not, assigned to duties that carry us to opposite ends of the globe. We did manage to spend Christmas together, although we were both on duty at the time. New Years was a different story altogether...he was somewhere in South America while I was on a carrier in the Persian Gulf...and Valentine's day was much the same.
It's hard...but its nothing we can't handle. It's not any different from before...well, ok...it IS different from before but what can I do about it? His career is taking off and the increased responsibility mean less free time, while my role on the team has shifted to the point where we rarely find ourselves working together.
I am certain the separation is deliberate. He is a commander now, third down from Hawk...and as a result the brass can only see his relationship with me as an unnecessary and potentially dangerous distraction. The professional in me understands.
The woman in me misses him terribly.
Ah yes...the two sides of my psyche...even now they fight their battle for supremacy inside my head.
Lady Jaye wants to be left alone to recover like the soldier she is...wearing her scars like badges of honor. She wants to walk out of here proud, tough, unflinching...laughing in the face of danger.
Alison wants to curl up into a ball and escape from the grim reality of the situation. She is shaking and wants nothing more than to fall into Flint's arms and cry. She is confused, in pain, and terrified at this brush with death. She needs his strength...needs him to keep her safe.
Thing is, I NEED to be Lady Jaye right now. I can't let my fears and weakness rule me...I have to pull myself together and walk out of here a soldier!!! This kind of thing is part and parcel of the life I have chosen. One cannot avoid ones own mortality...
...the problem is, being a Joe brings death a little too close for comfort.
I can just hear Flint quoting John Donne in his soft, rumbling baritone.
"Ask not for whom the bell toll, it tolls for thee..."
Wait a minute...
WHAT?
That IS his voice. What is he doing here...How did he...? Was that a crash?!
A shìorraidh! The police are restraining him at the door...I had better go.
Trust your instincts...trust your gut...
My aunt always bade me listen to that niggling little voice inside my head when it starts whispering vague warnings. I don't know why I ignored it today, but the disregard nearly cost me my life.
I am presently lying on a hospital bed somewhere in DeMoine. The pain was unbearable for a while, but the drugs they are feeding me through the IV must be kicking in, as all I feel now is a dull ache in my chest. My breathing remains labored, however...and every searing lungful of air requires a supreme effort on my part.
I really shouldn't complain...I could be in the morgue. If it weren't for the Kevlar vest I was wearing Chuckles would be arranging to transport my body back to the Vineyard instead of spending his time filling out insurance forms.
I could have been killed. For all intents and purposes I should have been...Bloody HELL!
Stop shaking...STOP SHAKING!!!!
You aren't a coward...you've been shot at before...you've BEEN SHOT before! Pull yourself together, girl! You're a soldier, ACT LIKE ONE!
God...I can't let anyone see me like this.
Not that anyone is around to witness my moment of weakness. The room itself came complete with two police officers who are presently flanking the door, insuring my privacy. The halls are filled with FBI agents and local law enforcement, so much so that when I came too and saw the wall of 'blue' around me I was certain I was under arrest. Shockwave assured me they were here to keep the press at bay...
"...Unless there is something you aren't telling us! You do seem a little too familiar with that morphine drip!" he laughed as he handed me a drink of water.
Chuckles is outside in the lobby, as is Shockwave. Hit 'n' Run is busy at the crime scene, but did drop by a few hours ago to check in and drop off my bag. I was still out of it at the time, or I would have gotten down on my hands and knees to thank him. There is nothing worse than a hospital gown, and I was never happier than when I discovered my pajamas lying on a chair beside the bed. The bag also contained my journal...neglected of late...and now that I am alone I thought writing would help sort out what happened and maybe calm my shattered nerves.
What a bloody disaster...
Hit 'n' Run and I were flown into Iowa just hours after a group of terrorists opened fire at the airport, taking out seventeen civilians in a hail of gunfire before making a clean getaway despite the virtual stockade of police and federal agents scattered throughout the building. Fearing public backlash if the perpetrators weren't brought down quickly, some 'brain' at the Pentagon decided to bring in 'specialists'. In fact, by the time we touched down the gunmen had managed to take a family hostage and the media was already swarming all over the story, forcing myself and the others to keep a low profile lest we draw unwanted attention to GIJOE.
I met up with Chuckles and Shockwave a couple of miles from the small farmhouse where the criminals were holed up. Saxon, an FBI agent familiar with our team briefed me on the situation, frowning as I narrowed my eyes in irritation.
"So what you are telling me is you have nothing. You know there are three of them but you don't know what they look like. You don't even know what kind of weapons they are carrying..."
"We have worked with less..." Saxon cut me off with a gesture, obviously not used to being questioned.
"I haven't...and definitely not with innocent lives at stake..." I growled, "...I say we wait and..."
"We can't afford the delay!"
"We can't afford NOT to delay..."
"Enough!" Chuckles finally cut in, "Arguing is useless, and we are wasting time. Jaye, I agree with you but at this point in time we have no choice. We have to go in."
Needless to say, being told off by Phil didn't improve my temper but thankfully I had enough sense to keep my mouth shut. The months since I had last worked with him had not softened my resentment regardless of the fact that I now worked for Hawk directly. The move was a promotion no matter which way you looked at it, but the complete takeover of my first love...Covert Ops...remains a sore point and Chuckles knows it.
To tell you the truth, I am surprised Hawk sent me on this one. There are many Joes imminently more qualified to work with the feds in a situation such as this, and definitely less hostile towards the head of the team. I suppose the General thinks it builds character. I could just picture him growling something along the lines of 'Suck it up, Burnett. You go where I tell you to go..." had I attempted to wheedle my way out of it.
No...I had to bow to Chuckles authority on this matter. Further argument would only have resulted in my having to find a good JAG to help save my career. Ironically enough, NOT stressing the salience of my opinion has put me in the hospital.
In any case, a mere two hours after I arrived I found myself driving up to the farmhouse in a brand new BMW, dressed as a door-to-door cosmetic saleslady. I was to make contact with the hostages and provide a distraction for Shockwave, who would make his way towards the side of the house. In the meantime, Hit 'n' Run would attempt to approach the back door via an old storm drain.
Chuckles lay hidden in my trunk...waiting for the signal to spring.
All in all it was a pretty straightforward plan. I have to give it to Aloha-Boy; he has a knack for this kind of thing. Unfortunately, in situations such as this even the simplest of operations have a tendency to blow up in your face.
Especially when you are going in blind...
Putting my qualms behind me, I got into character and approached the house with all the confidence and air-brained naiveté of your typical Mary Kay rep. No one would have been able to tell I was anything but what I seemed, I doubt even my mother would have recognized me. Some of the cops who came around later commented that even they did a double take when they saw me emerge from the car and head towards the door.
No...it wasn't my acting that gave me away. It was my own stupidity.
The woman who answered looked innocent enough. Obviously nervous, she seemed distracted and quite tense...but given the situation one could hardly blame her. Even so, I found myself hesitating. There was something 'not right' about her...I couldn't put my finger on it, but given the brief window of opportunity I had no time to delve further into the source of my unease. The 'hostage' had begun to withdraw into the house...preparing to send me on my way...and out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Shockwave was still in the open, making his way towards his position. I had to act and fast!
Ignoring my worries I smiled and handed her my card...on it was written in big bold letters "PLAY ALONG WITH ME. WE ARE HERE TO RESCUE YOU".
She smiled then...and my heart fell. It was not a smile of relief, but one of evil triumph.
Before I could react, my 'innocent' looking hostage had pulled a gun and fired, hitting me square in the chest with such force it knocked the breath right out of me. Even as I stood there teetering, she continued to unload her weapon into me, every bullet sending a searing pain through my body until I was praying she would run out of ammo.
I blacked out before she stopped to reload...or maybe Chuckles finally managed to bring her to bay. I don't know. I can't remember.
I did come to for a few moments and found myself beside Chuckles, who was crouched down behind the car, firing at the house in an attempt to give the others cover. The sound of gunfire filled the air and bullets were peppering the poor BMW. I was in terrible pain, so much so that I didn't want to move lest I black out again. When he saw my eyes open, Phil leaned over and asked me if I was all right...told me to hold on cause help was on the way.
"I'm fine...Kevlar..." I said, but my voice was strained and the effort to speak caused me to cough uncontrollably. My lungs were on fire and my chest felt like it was in a vice...I gasped for air as blood began to trickle from my mouth.
"Jaye...LADY JAYE...hold on...the paramedics are coming. Where the HELL are they?! OFFICER DOWN!!!! OFFICER DOWN!!!! Stay with me girl...stay with me...Jaye...ALISON!" Chuckles' desperate shouts sounded as though they were coming from miles away and then everything went black.
I awoke in the hospital several hours later, much to everyone's relief.
The doctors tell me that the Kevlar saved my life...that I would have been dead on the spot had those bullets not been blocked. Despite this, the force of their impact shattered some ribs...not broken...SHATTERED. An Ingram packs a wallop at the best of times. At point blank range it would be comparable to getting hit in the chest by a minivan.
That said, broken ribs alone didn't send me to the emergency via chopper. No...painful though it is, I could have borne it quite stoically. Unfortunately, the sharp bones that formed the devastated remains of my ribcage ripped into a lung, the damage made worse by the rough handling I received being dragged out of the line of fire. Weakened and battered, the organ collapsed...causing me to go into respiratory distress.
The doctors here have managed to patch me up, but I remain weak and unable to breath well on my own. Oxygen stands at the ready, and there are several IV tubes stuck into my arm...antibiotics, opiates for the pain (woo hoo), fluids...you name it, I've got it. They are worried about infection or even pneumonia and want to keep me here a couple of days before risking a move.
Yeah...like that's going to happen. I actually feel quite a bit better. I am going to be out of here as soon as...
Ow...
Ow...ow...ow...
Ok, maybe moving is not the most brilliant idea at the moment. I just want out! I am not at all comfortable in hospitals. Never have been...to me they reek of death. As soon as I can I am going to have Chuckles sign me out...I can be very convincing when I want to be.
When I was finally able to string more than two words together I 'ordered' Phil to keep my situation to himself. I was fine and would report the injury in person when I returned to base. He was reluctant, but finally agreed after seeing me wince in pain as nurse 'Mengele' shoved yet another IV needle into my arm.
I think he feels guilty, responsible. As he well should! Next time maybe he will listen to me...
Yes...I said next time.
Ok...I admit it. I am not as irritated with him as I was earlier. It's hard to remain angry with a man who risked life and limb to save your sorry ass, and it certainly doesn't help that he is a genuinely likeable guy. Truth is, every mission he has been given has been completed with flair in the face of some pretty overwhelming odds. Could I have done better? Maybe...but that shouldn't stop me from giving credit where credit is due. I'm mature enough to do that, aren't I?
Speaking of maturity, I have an ulterior motive for keeping my injury from GIJOE.
Humiliation.
Yes...call me an idiot...but to me this injury is nothing but a sign of weakness and failure. It doesn't matter that my teammates would never see it that way. It doesn't matter that the others wrapped things up nicely...not without some difficulty mind you, but the family is safe and the hostages dead. All that I care about is they did it without me! I went down for the count! I didn't even have the sense to draw my sidearm!
...Like a lamb to the slaughter...
Not to mention the last thing I need right now is Flint bursting in here like a bloody madman. I still remember the time on Staten Island when Roadblock had to physically restrain him in the lobby after I was shot in the shoulder by that Crimson Guard...and we weren't even an item at that point!
Since Thanksgiving we have been away from each other more often than not, assigned to duties that carry us to opposite ends of the globe. We did manage to spend Christmas together, although we were both on duty at the time. New Years was a different story altogether...he was somewhere in South America while I was on a carrier in the Persian Gulf...and Valentine's day was much the same.
It's hard...but its nothing we can't handle. It's not any different from before...well, ok...it IS different from before but what can I do about it? His career is taking off and the increased responsibility mean less free time, while my role on the team has shifted to the point where we rarely find ourselves working together.
I am certain the separation is deliberate. He is a commander now, third down from Hawk...and as a result the brass can only see his relationship with me as an unnecessary and potentially dangerous distraction. The professional in me understands.
The woman in me misses him terribly.
Ah yes...the two sides of my psyche...even now they fight their battle for supremacy inside my head.
Lady Jaye wants to be left alone to recover like the soldier she is...wearing her scars like badges of honor. She wants to walk out of here proud, tough, unflinching...laughing in the face of danger.
Alison wants to curl up into a ball and escape from the grim reality of the situation. She is shaking and wants nothing more than to fall into Flint's arms and cry. She is confused, in pain, and terrified at this brush with death. She needs his strength...needs him to keep her safe.
Thing is, I NEED to be Lady Jaye right now. I can't let my fears and weakness rule me...I have to pull myself together and walk out of here a soldier!!! This kind of thing is part and parcel of the life I have chosen. One cannot avoid ones own mortality...
...the problem is, being a Joe brings death a little too close for comfort.
I can just hear Flint quoting John Donne in his soft, rumbling baritone.
"Ask not for whom the bell toll, it tolls for thee..."
Wait a minute...
WHAT?
That IS his voice. What is he doing here...How did he...? Was that a crash?!
A shìorraidh! The police are restraining him at the door...I had better go.