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.

Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians/Guardians of Childhood, the USS Carl Vinson, or the movie Behind Enemy Lines

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

AN: More fun stuff in this chapter ^_^

Enjoy!


"I fell into a mass g –grave, Aster."

Aster had lost it the moment Jack had uttered those words, voice reedy with pain and hysteria. He'd furiously worked his lip between his teeth for a few seconds, barely able to think through the sudden drop of dread and rage in his stomach. Not even a second later he'd handed the radio off to Tooth and walked stiffly out, barely pausing to tell her to remind Jack of his orders before he left.

He is the kind of pissed off that makes him calm and quiet –dangerous. Jack has fallen into a mass grave. That is an experience that the white haired man will have to live with for the rest of his life. He is going to wake up from dreams filled with decomposing limbs grabbing at his clothing, faces of the dead pleading for closure that Jack can't give. And it is all because Admiral Lunar had refused to pick Jack up when he'd first gone down. All of this pain and fear is because of Admiral Lunar.

Aster knows he is being selfish, knows he is about to do something incredibly stupid, but he can't bring himself to stop –every time he tries, he hears Jack's voice, whispering words of horror into his mind.

He keeps himself from busting the admiral's door down, but it is a near thing.

Admiral Pitchiner turns, surprised, and Aster feels his rage abate. "Commodore Bunnymund, what –?"

"I've just spoken with Jack –er, Lieutenant Frost. We need to get a rescue team ready as quick as possible, he'll be at Hač tomorrow –"

"Commodore Bunnymund!" Lunar's voice is so angry that Aster's jaw shuts with an audible click, automatically following the unspoken order to shut up. "What do you think you are doing?"

Aster bristles, his frustration coming back to him like a tidal wave. "Sir, because of your negligence, my navigator just –"

"My negligence? Commodore, I am not the one trying to throw away peace for one downed pilot who has been trained to find his way home again. I am not the one who is doing the neglecting here."

Aster stares at him in disbelief.

"Jack has been running for his life –literally! –for days, without rest, food, and with minimal water. He has been shot at, he's been injured, and he's been emotionally traumatized. None of this would have happened if you'd just gone to rescue him in the first place!" Aster's voice started off at a respectable level but by the end he is no longer able to keep himself under control. "How can you possibly think that you aren't to blame for this!"

"Aster!" The look Sera Pitchiner gives him is equal parts stern and understanding, and Aster looks away, angry at himself. She turns to Lunar and says, "I'm sorry for my subordinate. His only fault is that he gets too attached to those who follow under him. Lieutenant Frost is not just a boy under his command, but a good friend to the commodore. It is only natural for Bunnymund to be concerned for his safety, but that does not excuse his behavior today."

"No, it does not. See that it doesn't happen again."

"Sir. Now, if you will please excuse us, I think I need to have a chat with my subordinate."

"Indeed you do, Admiral Pitchiner. See that he is kept on a tighter leash."

Aster growls and starts forward, but Pitchiner grabs him by the arm and drags him back. She marches him out of the room and down the hallway, trying to find an empty room. Once she finds one she shoves him inside and shuts the door behind him. Not for the first time, he finds himself almost scared of her.

She crosses her arms over her chest and frowns at him. "Aster, what you did just now was very stupid and reflects badly on me as your commanding officer. We cannot afford to be on Admiral Lunar's bad side, do you understand?"

For the second time in as many minutes, Aster's ire cools, and he is left feeling hollowed and lost. Pitchiner sighs and uncrosses her arms, posture becoming a little less cold and intimidating.

"I won't pretend to understand what Lieutenant Frost means to you, but I have observed your interactions and I know that you care about him, perhaps more than a superior officer should." Aster flinches and she sighs. "I'm not here to condemn you, Commodore. I just want you to know that I understand your frustration with the situation, perhaps more than you knew."

Aster bites his lip and glances up at her through his fringe, hopeful. "Then you can help me get him back."

"It's not as easy as that, Commodore. I can't make any promises to you, but I want Frost back as well. I've watched him…become. He and his pilot have been under my command since they first set foot on this aircraft carrier, and I have come to respect them on both a professional and personal level. Mansnoozie's situation is sad, but something we cannot avoid –but we can do something about Frost's.

"I'll deal with the politics, you just ready your men for a rescue."

"Yes Ma'am."


Pitch frowns. He can't believe the level of incompetence that the General's men had displayed. He'd practically giftwrapped the target for them and they still managed to lose him –how they are apparently not able to differentiate a live body from ones that have been dead for years is honestly beyond him, but that is what happened, and now he is back on the brat's trail. Luckily for them, it looks like the kid is circling back toward Hač –he must think that town is still a safe zone.

The American –Jack, if Pitch's hearing is as good as he thinks –is injured, tired, and in need of food, water, and rest. The poor, sweet boy is going to be in for a sorry surprise when he reaches Hač and finds out it's not nearly as safe as he thinks it will be.

Pitch digs his phone out of his pocket and dials General Winter.

"Sir, the target is headed back toward Hač."

"Good. I'm sure the civilian populations will thank him for giving us a reason to come knocking."

Pitch grins and thinks about pretty white hair and how much prettier it will look with a little red in it.


Jack stops a little ways off from the edge of the forest to rest. In his panic he's forgotten about his injury, and he needs to at least attempt to treat it before he leaves the cover of the trees. Besides, he knows that even if his mind won't –can't –rest, his body probably needs some time to recuperate its strength.

All US soldiers carry a small first aid kit that consists of a field dressing, a compress, sterile pads and bandages, pain relievers and fever reducers, antibiotics, and alcohol (unfortunately not the fun kind). He pats at his chest and pants, trying to find where he's put the first aid kit, but then he realizes that it has been in the pack and that he's left at the crash site and groans. Without it he has nothing to clean his wounds with, let alone bandage everything up and keep it all protected.

He could search for a stream, but the water will likely be impure and he will not risk starting a fire, in case the smoke alerts his enemies to his location. He eyes the banks of snow warily, realizing that it is his only option at this point –because leaving his wound untreated would be a mistake he can't afford to make. It could get infected…or worse.

Jack sighs and with one last glance at his surroundings he unzips his flight suit. It is basically a heavy-duty onesie, so when he gets his arms free he leaves it hanging at his waist, sleeves tied around his front to keep them from dragging across the ground and hindering his mobility. He immediately shivers –he is only in a white muscle tee, and it is cold. By the time he kneels down to get a handful of snow, his teeth are chattering, and he knows he'll have to make this as quick and perfunctory as possible or risk freezing.

Jack tilts his head to get a good look at his arm and grimaces. The blood is still oozing, but sluggish. He looks down at his flight suit, noticing for the first time how much blood has been soaked up by the material. He is lucky. Really lucky, considering several inches to the right and it might've been his heart.

This probably isn't going to feel all that great, but it has to be done. The snow he's had in his hand has mostly melted, so he scoops up more snow and without hesitating cups his wound with it, hissing as pain flares to life beneath his frozen palm. The shock and adrenaline from earlier had served to dull the pain, but the harsh cold of the snow awakens it now, sharpening it to an acute burning sting. His arm muscles tense against the pain and more blood trickles out, turning the snow to a slushy red. He lets it fall between his fingers and scoops up more. Jack snarls under his breath as he rubs the snow into his wound and brushes it away, watching sparkles of red fall back to mar the ground.

He repeats the action until he feels that his wound is as clean as it is going to get for the time being, and once he is finished he rips off a strip from the bottom of his tee and uses it as a makeshift field dressing; the blood had been a mere trickle earlier but the cleaning made it flow again, and he doesn't want to lose much more. He can't exactly get a transfusion out in the woods, after all.

Jack unties his sleeves and shrugs the top of his flight suit back on –he can't even feel the cold anymore, and he is pretty sure that is a bad sign. It isn't that late in the day –the sun is just beginning to set, and since it is winter, that means it is probably early evening. He considers for a moment staying there on the edge of the woods, but there is no shelter; the trees aren't as tall and their foliage doesn't provide much cover.

He glances down, guarded. He is alone for the moment, but that doesn't mean he will be for long. Continuing on would be his best course of action, even though it means leaving what little shelter the forest provides. He needs to get to Hač anyway, has to be there for his pick up the following day.

His rescue is something he tries not to think about. He wants so badly to hope that his rescue will go according to plan –that he will be returned safely to Tooth and North and Aster, that by this time tomorrow they will be laughing together in the infirmary –but there is so much that can go wrong. Hadn't he just barely escaped his own death? That is proof enough that hope is dangerous.


For an hour he runs without cover, having left the trees behind in order to make his way to the rendezvous point. –it's been one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of his life. Jack has never felt so exposed, and is cautiously thankful when he finally comes across something other than open field.

It looks like it had once been a working town. There are tall buildings, probably apartments, surrounding what looks like a warehouse or a plant. The buildings are all obviously abandoned –they are all old, rusted and crumbling, and the flora that grows through the cracks in the windows and metal is untamed. It looks like it was abandoned in a hurry, too. As Jack looks around himself, he can see snippets of the lives of the people who lived here –children's toys and broken picture frames, torn bits of what was once brightly colored cloth, all scattered across the ground, ruined by mud and time.

Jack walks a little further in and stops, ears straining. He thinks he hears –there! He ducks behind an empty drum that had fallen on its side and listens, heart pounding in his chest. He thinks he's alone, but he can just faintly hear the echo of…is that laughter? Children's laughter?

Okay no, he is officially creeped out.

It is nearly impossible to tell where the sound is coming from, so he creeps forward, using more debris as cover. Jack comes to the corner of the plant building and rounds it, and stop short. He's come to an open area between two of the plant buildings. Further down, away from the shadow of the plant, is a truck, and a man getting out of it. Jack ducks back, breath catching a bit in fear. The man hasn't noticed him –he is too busy yelling at an empty metal barrel about halfway between him and Jack.

Jack's confusion is short-lived as two children pop out from an empty metal barrel. The kids must have come here to play in the old equipment, which explains the creepy laughter. Despite himself he feels his shoulders sag a bit in relief at that. The man yells a bit more –Jack imagines he is scolding his children for playing in such a dangerous place –and gets into his truck. The children run to him, the older one holding onto the younger one's hand to help her hop over the wires and debris as they run.

The scene is almost familiar, and he can't help but think back on his own little sister, waiting for him at home. His heart pangs.

Jack waits until the truck's engine fades away before he moves. He stands up from his crouch to stretch his legs a bit. He takes a step forward intent on leaving this place as quickly as possible despite the shelter it provides, but stops. Something doesn't feel quite right. He glances over to where the children were playing and replays their movements in his mind. The hairs on the back of his neck and his arms stand up and his mouth falls open when he realizes.

Wires. They are barely visible against the dark backdrop of the ground, but luckily there is still some dew clinging to them, which makes them easier to see. He follows one with his eyes and gapes. They are connected to grenades buried partially in the ground. Trip wires, and there are a lot of them, covering almost the entire open stretch between the two plants.

He looks down at his own feet and breathes slowly. There, just an inch or two in front of the toe of his boot, is another wire.

"Oh my god Jack do not panic," he mumbles to himself. He eyes the wires, and then turns and eyes the open patch behind him. He is about to head in that direction –it looked much safer –when a sound cuts through the empty silence. Three cars pulls up several yards in front of him and six men in camouflage step out holding automatic weapons, all aimed at him.

Oh hell no.

He turns around and runs. It is clumsy at first –he has to take shorter steps to avoid accidentally tripping the wire, and he is pretty sure he looks like a bunny shuffling its too-big feet and hopping away from its prey. He tries to divide his attention equally between the wires and the guns at his back but after the first shot fires he gives up and just runs flat out. As long as he doesn't step on a grenade, he will be all right so long as he keeps going…right?

In the end it doesn't matter though; the first person to trip one of the wires isn't him but one of the men shooting at him, and that starts a chain reaction of earth rocking, ear shattering explosions.

Jack pants as he runs. He manages to miss most of the debris and somehow manages to stay on his feet despite the aftershocks, but the fine particles of dust floating in the air makes it near impossible for him to see, and he curses sharply as he steps on a wire.

Heat. Heat and pain and for a moment he is flying as the explosions sweep his feet out from underneath him and he doesn't even have time to cry out. And then he's on the ground again, lying face down in the loose shale several feet away from where he'd last been. How had that happened?

Every muscle aches like he's been thrown against a wall or just gone through the most intense workout of his life. His ears ring, the sound of debris falling to the ground a tiny suggestion of a noise in the background of his thoughts. Moving hurts, but he knows he should get up, take stock of his injuries and get away from this godforsaken place. He is sure the noise from the explosions have drawn someone's attention and he can't afford the be caught now, especially when he is so close to Hač.

Yeah okay, moving definitely hurts. His groan echoes through the eerily silent complex –all the grenades have gone off, and no sound comes from the men who've been after him. He assumes they are dead, and he is lucky he isn't. His muscles scream at him and his arms shake as they support his weight, but they hold, thank god. It takes him a couple tries to get his feet under him, but once he does he is able to stumble away from the wreckage. He keeps a sharp eye out for any other fun little surprises, but luckily there are none.

Jack is tempted to stay, find somewhere to hide out and lick his wounds. This place would be good for that, hiding, but he knows he needs to move. He has a feeling Black Robes isn't too far behind him, and he doesn't want to risk another meeting with him just yet.

Just on the other side of the plant is a copse of trees, much to his relief. After the most recent events he wants nothing more than to get back under the shelter of the forest –buildings and open fields leave too much of him open, too many hiding places and too many unknowns lurking around the corners. And the trees will provide him enough cover to check himself over and maybe rest a few moments. He can't allow himself the luxury of sleep; he is already behind, given the day's events, and he will have to walk through the night if he wants to make it to Hač in the morning. He isn't sure when the pick-up is scheduled, but he wants to be ready when Aster radios him.

Oh, Aster. He desperately wants to talk to him, radio silence be damned. It is fairly safe to say that this is the worst day of his life and all he wants is a familiar, soothing voice to calm his nerves and help him focus, but he knows it would be a bad idea. If he talks to Aster now, he is liable to say something he might regret –the proper time for confessions is when he can do it face to face. He wants to be able to read the emotions flitting across Aster's face when he says it, wants to physically feel it.

Jack sighs and plods on, not wanting to linger too long in the open air. It doesn't take long to reach the trees, and by then he really is starting to feel the effects of the blasts. He sits down with his back against a tree and starts feeling his limbs, checking for broken bones. Everything checks out all right, and it doesn't hurt to breathe so he probably doesn't have any broken ribs. His hearing is coming back and his eyesight is clear. Some of the skin on the right side of his body feels a bit tight and he figures he either scratched himself up or maybe got a few minor burns, nothing that can't be taken care of at a later date.

Maybe now he can get a little of the rest his body so desperately needs.


AN: Just wanted to give everyone a heads up that this may not be updated next week. I've been struggling a lot with motivation and real life lately, so my writing has fallen to the wayside. I've put out most of the content that I had prepared and I don't want to accidentally leave you with no updates because I can't get my shit done fast enough, so I'm going to take an extra week to build my cushion chapters back up again haha. Posting should return to its regular schedule the Thursday after next!

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