Behind Enemy Lines

By: TG

Summary: When Jack Frost, a disillusioned Lieutenant in the United States Navy, is shot down behind enemy lines, he begins to realize that his yearning for adventure might be his downfall. Luckily he's got Tooth, North, Aster, and a whole boatload of people trying to get him home, and he might just make it…if the mysterious tracker doesn't get to him first.

Warnings: Language, sex, scenes of war, misused history, character death.

Author's Note: Happy Valentine's Day, you're all going to kill me.

Enjoy!


Emil Kasun, better known as General Winter, takes a drag from his cigar and leans back into his chair, eyes trained on the Serbian president who is droning on about the military presence in Serbia and how he intends to comply with NATO's requests to stop the violence.

Behind him, his second in command frowns and gestures angrily at the television. "Disgusting man. Is he so cowardly that he has to bow down to the might of the American and NATO forces that occupy our country? Tch."

Winter chuckles and the smoke unfurls from his nose and mouth. "He is a politician, Jasna –ah, excuse me, Snow Queen," he corrects. "It is his job to look like he is obeying NATO's commands while it is ours to make sure the real job is finished."

Jasna Zupan, the Snow Queen as she is called, opens her mouth to reply but is cut off when the door bursts open, revealing a Serbian soldier panting in the doorframe.

"Yes?" Winter asks lazily, taking another puff from his cigar. Behind him, Snow Queen has pulled out her sidearm, obviously startled by the sudden intrusion.

"Sir! NATO jet flying over Hač!"

"No, you must be mistaken."

"No, General. It was definitely a reconnaissance flight, but it was not on the published NATO reports."

"No one's supposed to be in that area," Snow Queen grouses as Winter stands and rips the cell phone from the chest pocket of the soldier's uniform and dials a number. He shoves the soldier aside and starts down the hallway, pushing past anyone who gets in his way.

Someone picks up almost immediately on the other end.

"Pitch. NATO jet over Hač. Take care of it."

"Sir," Pitch confirms. The dial tone rings in his ear and he flips his phone shut as the NATO bird in question flies over their encampment. With just a signal of his hand, the surface-to-air missiles are prepped and launched. He pulls a scope out of his pocket and tracks the missiles, wanting to see for himself as his hard work and loyalty pays off as he waits for Winter to show.


"Think they saw us?"

As soon as the question leaves Sandy's mouth, the master control warning goes off and some missile shaped blips labeled 'SAM' pop up on Jack's navigation screen.

"Fucking shit, we're being painted!"

"What –damn!" Sandy cries as the SAM warning goes off. "Not just painted, Jack!"

"North Pole, this is Dream Sand. We are under attack. I repeat, we are under attack. We've got a SAM on our tail –ah, make that two," Jack says, cringing when the SAM warning goes off again, filling the cockpit with discordant beeping. "Do you read?"

"We read," an upbeat feminine voice says into his ear. Jack can hear Toothiana telling someone to find Aster before the connection crackles out.

"Where are they where are they?" Sandy mutters into the headset. "Do you see them?"

"No joy, no joy."

"I'm pullin' up." Sandy noses the plane up and opens the throttle, sending the duo speeding into the open sky, almost perpendicular to the ground. The g-force pulls at Jack's body and he grits his teeth, head twisted to try and spot the missiles. They manifest themselves in the form of two dark shapes, coming at them fast from the right rear of the plane. A glance down at his dash tells him he's seeing things accurately.

"I see them! Coming in fast at four and five! Turn left, turn left!"

Jack's body strains against the safety harness as Sandy throws the left wing of the plane down toward the earth in a sharp turn, trying desperately to shake the missiles, or at least gain some distance. The SAMs fly past them, slower to turn, and they are both finally able to get an eye on them. There is Serbian Cyrillic painted on the sides.

No matter what kinds of maneuvers they try, the missiles stay right on their tail. The only thing Jack can think to do is drop the fuel and pray they had enough to get back. He relays his thoughts to his pilot and holds his breath as Sandy flips the switches.

The air below them erupts into molten orange –at least one of the dropped tanks has exploded.

"We've got a fireball!"

Sandy yanks on the controls and the plane jerks up into another steep climb, trying to steer clear of the inferno growing below them. Jack watches as one of the SAMs, attracted to the heat source, explodes in the midst of the cloud of flames.

"One down!" Jack shouts, grinning savagely as they clear the top of the fireball and begin their descent. He glances down at his dash and notices that the other has passed through and is once again on their tail. "Second's on our six, go for a head-on pass. Maybe we can confuse it."

Sandy grins and boomerangs the plane around. "Let's play chicken!" He cackles.

Jack rolls his eyes but smiles. "You got it, little man."

Sandy is quiet as he tracks the missile and calculates the distance, and then he gently tilts the left wing down very slightly –just enough for them to pass by the missile and hopefully leave it heading for the still-raging inferno behind them.

SAMs don't last all that long once they are in the air, so time had to be running out for this one. If they could just out-fly it for a few more minutes –

The world explodes into confusion as flames and fiery heat engulfs them and the plane rips apart.

Jack can faintly hear Sandy screaming "we've been hit!" into his headset, but nothing else registers except the ringing in his ears and the heat searing into his skin. They are free-falling now, the plane nothing but shards of metal and fiberglass. He feels dazed, almost like he is intoxicated. A pair of green eyes flashes before him before he finally realizes that Sandy has been trying to get his attention.

"Jack, open your eyes!"

He did.

"Come on, we have to eject!"

Sandy reaches back to help him find his ripcord and Jack yanks it, and suddenly he is alone in the wide, blue sky with nothing but the seat he is strapped to. Below him he can see the wreckage of the plane, falling further and further toward the ground. Sandy is still in it.

"SANDY!" He screams so loud he almost swears his throat tears open. A few seconds of silence, of stillness, and then finally he can see Sandy's chair, floating ethereally out of the flaming wreckage. A wave of relief rolls through him, and he lets himself free-fall a few more seconds before he opens his parachute. The earth is coming up on them fast.

He opens his chute a tad bit too late; while Sandy managed to glide into a clearing on the hillside, Jack is heading hard and fast toward a thicket of trees just to the north of a frozen lake. The impact is painful, but he hardly registers it. All he knows is that he has to unclip himself as fast as possible to get to Sandy. Being shot down behind enemy lines with your partner is bad enough; being shot down behind enemy lines and losing your only trusted contact is ten times worse.

He lands very ungracefully on his back, moaning brokenly as rocks and tree roots dig into his body. He can hear Sandy calling for him, so after a moment of lying miserably on the ground, he gets up (stiffly, slowly) and tries to follow the sound of his pilot's raspy voice through the trees.

Hadn't he been complaining just recently about not seeing any action? He'd been so naïve.

"Sandy, I'm coming!"

The white haired man picks his way through the trees and emerges into the clearing he'd seen Sandy drop into. And there he is, lying on the ground amidst the grass and snow.

"About time you showed up, I'm not getting any younger here!"

A rush of air leaves Jack's lips and he can't help but chuckle in relief. Sandy is there, perhaps a bit injured if the way he clutches his leg is any indication, but he is there.

"Yeah, yeah. Now shut up so I can dress your wound," Jack says as he approached. He kneels down next to the shorter man, fingers absently checking the makeshift bandage the other man had evidentially torn from his shirt. "Have you tried radioing for help?"

Sandy hisses between his teeth at Jack's probing fingers and murmurs out an affirmative. "But there's no signal. You'll have to go higher," he says, nodding further up the hill. "Any idea where we are, Mister Navigator?"

Jack brushes his hands against his thighs and stands. "Not too far from Srebrenica, I think. A few miles north of Hač. Think they saw us eject?"

"No clue. Now get your pasty butt up there and radio your loverboy."

"Oh har har. You'll be okay for a bit?"

Sandy gives him a deadpan look and gestures to his bloody leg, as though saying 'I'm not going anywhere.'

Jack looks skyward, jokingly begging the gods for help in dealing with the sassy asshole sitting before him, and looks back down just in time to dodge Sandy's canteen as it comes flying toward his head.

"Fine, fine! I'm going, geez!"

He is going to leave the canteen lying on the ground, but something stops him, makes him lean over and pick it up. He shrugs it off and begins his trek up the hill, checking for a radio signal every so often. Eventually he finds himself standing halfway up the mountain. He grumbles unhappily and mutters something unsavory under his breath, and with one glance back toward the prone pilot he slips in between the boughs.

"North Pole, this is 05. Do you read?"

The radio crackles in response. He is about to try again, thumb hovering over the talk button, when another sound creeps through his senses.

"No…" He murmurs, confusion giving way to shock and dread as the first tank rolls into the clearing. More follow –tanks, Humvees, pickup trucks, men in uniform –all armed and deadly and coming closer to the prone figure lying alone on the grassy ground. Jack isn't sure what to do; judging from the way the uniformed soldiers are acting, they must not have realized that a second person had ejected.

He hunkers down among the brush and watches.


The mess hall is noisy, packed with thousands of sailors and marines happily eating their fill of Christmas turkey. Aster is enjoy himself as well; instead of sitting at the officer's table with the staunch Admiral Pitchiner, he'd chosen to sit with North, with whom he has developed a close friendship over the last few weeks.

"North…what can you tell me about Jack?"

"Why? Interested?"

Aster frowns. "No…well, yes. Shut up," he grouses. The big man just laughs and puts a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

"I'm just giving you hard time, friend! No need to be upset. And I will say that I am pretty sure he likes you, too."

Asters eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and he opens his mouth to ask what North meant by that, but both men are distracted when Tooth bursts into the mess. Most people ignore her as she strides to the officer's table, but Aster feels dread swoop low in his stomach at the resigned look on her face. She walks right up to Pitchiner and mutters something into her ear –whatever it is, it's serious enough to stop Pitchiner mid-bite.

"Shit," Aster murmurs. He and Nick watch Pitchiner push her plate away, mutter something back, and point straight at him. Tooth frowns and makes her way over as Pitchiner leaves the mess.

"What is it?"

"F/A-18 down, feet dry. Pitchiner wants you in the bridge as soon as you can be there."

"Bloody hell," Aster breathes. He and the Russian share a glance and it is obvious they are both thinking the same thing.

Jack.


Sandy doesn't move an inch as the Serbs approach him. The situation is tenuous at best. Even though the Serbians are supposed to be cooperative, they had just flown off their route and into a demilitarized zone…and just the same, they had been shot down by a group of uniformed soldiers who, just like them, aren't supposed to be there. He has no idea where Jack has gone or if he's realized what is going on, but he isn't about to alert the Serbs to the fact that there is another NATO pilot running around on the hillside.

One of the men saunters right up to him and nudges his injured leg with his toe. Sandy grits his teeth to the pain and tries to school his features. Another man pulls his sidearm out of its holster while he is distracted. The man says something to the group and they all laugh.

Then something in the crowd changes and the men start to move aside, allowing three others to make their way forward. One of the men –obviously of higher rank, possibly even in charge –kneels in front of him while the other two stand aside, guns raised and pointed threateningly in his direction.

"So," he says as an amused smirk spreads over his lips. "Why you flying? Reconnaissance mission, yes? Not bombing mission?"

The little man doesn't respond. Instead, he reaches slowly into his breast pocket and pulls out something that all soldiers carry with them –it is a card, in several different languages, stating that the soldier in question will not give away any information no matter what they are threatened with or with whom they are talking until it is proven that they are friendlies. The man reads it and hands it off to one of the others. Sandy gets the impression that he is just being played with and has to fight to keep the expression of anger and fear off of his face.

"You alone?" The leader tries again. Sandy smothers the instinct to look toward where Jack had disappeared, to make sure his navigator won't be spotted.

"…Yes."

The man stares at him a little longer and then nods, apparently satisfied with whatever it was he'd seen in Sandy's expression. He stands and murmurs something to one of the men he'd arrived with –a man wearing what looks like a black bath robe of all things –and stands back to watch as Mister Black Robes pulls out a sidearm from the waistband of his track pants (seriously?) and pistol whips him.

Sandy's eyes are open but he can see nothing but sparks of white. He is dazed; there is blood trickling down the side of his face that hadn't been there before. He can do nothing to defend himself as Mister Black Robes picks him up by his arms and forces him to stand. His injured leg wants to buckle, but he stands as tall and proud as he can, ready to accept whatever it is Mister Black Robes is going to deal to him.

Black Robes checks his sidearm and casually trains it right between his eyes and pulls the trigger.

Sandy's body falls to the ground in a heap and the man with the cigar, General Winter, turns to Pitch and nods.

"There's another one. Find him."


AN: Chapter notes -

1. Emil Kasun -Serbian, first meaning rival, and second meaning to order, command, someone who commands authority and whose words should be heeded.
2. Jasna Zupan -Serbian, first meaning clear, sharp, and second meaning community leader.
3. Pitch is not related to Sera Pitchiner in this fic.
4. SAM- Surface to Air Missile
5. "F/A-18 down, feet dry" refers to the plane going down over land. If Tooth had said "feet wet" then she would have been saying the plane had gone down over water.

Important note for next week -BEL will not be updated on Thursday because I'm going out of state to visit a friend. I will try to have it up before I leave, but I can't make any promises. Please don't kill me ;A;

Crossposted to my writing blog and my AO3 account! Follow me at americaengland. tumblr. com or trumpet-geek. tumblr. com!