Kandahar, Afghanistan
October, 2011
1345-ish
Jack
The coordinates they were given was a location a few miles outside of Kandahar's city center. Structures were older, most houses were simply shells, and there were scarcely any merchants on the streets. Sand blew relentlessly without as many buildings to block it.
Jack squinted against the gritty onslaught, feeling it smack against his protective eyewear and gather at the edges of his mouth. He saw Mac reach up once or twice to wipe at the cut on his lip, the sand gathering there and irritating it back into bleeding. After a few attempts to block the sand, Mac just rolled his lip against his teeth, pulling the cut into his mouth as much as he could.
They heard shouting as they approached the buildings that surrounded the bombed-out hotel. The crowds dissipated the closer they got to the hotel until they were alone on the street. Jack scanned the rooftops as they pressed themselves as close to the wall of one house as they could get with their ruck sacks on their backs. He could see two men in overwatch position, and at least one RPG resting against the edge of the roof.
It was unclear how many were in the surrounding houses or hunkered down behind the abandoned vehicles that littered the road, but by the shouted taunts and insults, Jack counted at least six distinct voices, most of them calling out in Farsi, except—
"What're you douchebags waitin' for?"
The shout echoed across the empty street, bouncing off the concrete of the surrounding houses. The decidedly East-coast American accent made Jack smile.
"Ya motherfuckers gonna just pick us off one by one?"
The voice was coming from what was left of the parking structure of the hotel. From Jack's vantage point, he could see several large chunks of cement and one large beam had fallen from the destroyed structure to create a sort of barrier around the soldiers. Jack could see three of the four soldiers were covering each side of the make-shift barricade, leaving the back of the barricade exposed to the empty parking structure.
He couldn't see the fourth man.
Mac smacked Jack on the arm, drawing his attention. The kid had pulled his Oakley's down around his throat again, protected from the sand by the proximity of the buildings. A paragraph of words was held in his blue eyes; the only problem was, Jack understood about half of them. Sighing, Mac rolled his bottom lip against his teeth, worrying the cut there, then leveled his eyes on Jack once more, pointing to a break between two burned-out cars that led straight to the parking structure.
Jack nodded, easing his AR-50 from his shoulder and pressing his hip against the side of the building.
"On three," he breathed, Mac's eyes on his lips. "One, two—"
Mac took off, his long legs eating up the distance between their cover and the parking structure. Jack saw one gun on the rooftop track him and he fired two rounds, toppling that man from the roof. Several weapons turned loose on the barricade and Jack cringed against the building, taking cover as the soldiers in the barricade fired back.
"Jack, now!" Mac shouted, and Jack ran.
He kept his head down and pumped his legs faster than he remembered running in years, sliding to a stop against one of the fallen cement pillars, and rolling beneath the sagging parking structure floor, rebar reaching anxious fingers to snag his ruck, his rifle, his helmet. He felt hands on him, pulling him forward and then he was behind the make-shift barricade and the gunfire ceased.
Wide, bright blue eyes were staring down at him, slim hands on either side of his face.
"Are you hit?" Mac asked frantically.
Jack did a mental check. He didn't feel any pain. "I'm good," he panted. "You?"
Mac simply nodded, helping Jack sit up. He looked around at the three soldiers staring back at him, their faces streaked with dirt and sweat, a mixture of fear, determination, and rage making them look older than he knew they had to be.
"Any you boys see an aircraft carrier around here?" Jack quipped, catching his breath as he pulled down his own eyewear.
A young soldier with blue eyes and close-cropped black hair looked at him, incredulous. "Dalton?"
Jack blinked. "Flynn?"
Specialist Henry Flynn crawled over from his cover point in their barricade, keeping his head low, and grabbed Jack's hand in a greeting.
"What are you boys doing here?" Jack asked, craning his neck to look over the barricade. He couldn't see anyone immediately, and they were tucked close enough to the parking structure they weren't easy pickings for the rooftop shooters.
"We got cut off from our unit," an African-American Private with a deep, rumbling voice explained. He looked to be in his mid-twenties—in fact, all three men appeared to be about four or five years older than Mac. "And then they took our radio operator."
"Took him?" Mac bleated, nodding at Flynn. "Hey, Henry."
"Mac," Flynn greeted. "You guys our cavalry?"
"Looks like," Mac replied, eyes skimming over the third man in their group.
Jack didn't recognize anyone else besides Specialist Henry Flynn—and that was only because he'd been unofficially elected as the barracks cook back in Kabul. Pretty damn good cook, too. Someone who could somehow make Army grub tolerable was not someone Jack was likely to forget.
"What do you mean they took your signaler?" Jack asked. "They didn't kill him?"
"Naw, man," chimed in the third man, turning from his perch at the edge of the thick concrete pillar, and staring hard at Jack. "Sonsabitches took him. Just fuckin' grabbed him right outta our hands and hauled him away."
Ah, so this was the voice Jack had heard before they'd made their gauntlet run.
The kid had white-blond hair, cut high and tight like the others, and eyes so brown they were almost black. And he was angry. Jack saw it simmering off him in waves. Jack knew the type—a hard one to get to fall in line for sure.
Mac looked at Jack, a line bisecting his brows. "Why would they take him?"
Jack had no idea, but everything about this situation was hinky as far as he was concerned.
"Okay, look," Jack said, shifting his crouch so that his rifle was braced in his left hand. "I'm Sergeant Jack Dalton, Delta Combat Support. This is Specialist Angus MacGyver, EOD. We're here to rescue you."
Flynn lifted an eyebrow. "Aren't you a little short for stormtroopers?" He shook his head when Jack grinned at him. "You're seriously telling me the entire US Army only has two guys to get us the hell outta here? What, everyone else too busy catching up on Game of Thrones?"
"These guys took down a Black Hawk," Mac started.
"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," the angry soldier spat. "We pretty much had a front row seat."
"So, then you know why another can't get to you here," Mac continued, patiently, unflappable in the face of the soldier's ire. Jack always admired that about this kid; he never reacted to the moment, he reacted to what was causing the moment. "We have to get you guys to a different location and get a ride out of here."
"Listen," Flynn interjected, his words directed at the other two soldiers. "These guys are here to help. It's not their fault the ragheads took Tommy."
"Tommy?" Mac asked.
Flynn nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked beat, Jack observed. In fact, they all did. He pulled out the extra camelback and handed it to Flynn, then dug into his ruck for any MREs he had on hand.
"Private Charlie Thomas," Flynn explained, taking the camelback and drinking deeply before passing it over to the black solider. "Our signaler," he elaborated. "This is Private Scott Willis," he pointed to the soldier with the deep voice, "and that guy swearing like a sailor is Corporal Lucas Gates." Each soldier nodded at Jack and Mac as Flynn introduced them. "We've been pinned here by these guys for about ten hours now and…well, you can imagine."
Gates took a drink from the camelback then traded with Jack for one of the MREs. The three men tucked into the food as though they hadn't eaten all day. Who knows, Jack thought. Maybe they hadn't.
"All three of you been on watch since they took your…took Tommy?" Jack asked. When they all nodded, he sighed. "Shoulda taken shifts. Gotten some rest."
"Sleep is a crutch," Gates tossed back automatically.
Jack huffed a laugh, bobbing his head in acceptance.
"You reported some kind of ordnance?" Mac interjected.
Willis shook his head, pointing to the interior of the parking garage. "They planted IEDs all in the interior there," he explained.
"How'd you know they planted IEDs?" Jack asked.
Flynn lifted a shoulder. "They told us."
"They told you?"
Willis nodded. "The minute we hunkered down here, they started shouting that they were going to blow us up if we tried to get away."
"American Bar-B-Que," Gates added, glancing back at Jack. "Sounds better in Farsi."
"Anyway," Flynn continued. "We didn't know what we were looking for—and we weren't sure if any of them were pressure plated—so we've been staying away."
Mac nodded. "Smart."
"Yeah, well," Gates shifted back around so that he was staring over the edge of the block, "that just means we're stuck here way too close to the open and those sonsabitches are just waiting for us to stick our heads out so they can shoot 'em off."
"I saw an RPG," Jack reported. "Wonder why they aren't just blasting us out?"
"They're messing with us," Willis growled, and Jack found himself shivering at the tone. "They know we're stuck and they're just waiting until we do something stupid."
"So, let's not do anything stupid," Mac replied. "If our only way out is through the parking garage, I'll get us there."
"You?" Gates scoffed, glancing at Mac over his shoulder. "You look about as old as my kid brother."
Mac tilted his head, unphased. "I may look young," he said, "but that's only because I am."
Jack chuckled. "Look, fellas, my boy here is the real deal. I've personally seen him disarm over a hundred ordnance—one of them while I was standing on it."
"And, what," Flynn interjected, "we just leave Tommy?"
"Do you know where they took him?" Mac asked, turning to face Flynn, everything about his posture sincere.
He didn't want to leave someone behind any more than these three. But…there was only so much they could do. Flynn shook his head.
"They grabbed him about four hours ago," Flynn reported. "Just before the RPG took down the Black Hawk."
Mac looked over at Jack. "I can do a sweep of the structure," he said. "Find a path out of here."
"Copy that," Jack nodded, pulling out his radio and calling back to Base. He made Mac point out on the map where he thought they'd be getting out on the other side of the parking structure and requested a rally point.
When they received confirmation, Jack twisted around to face the street, his big AR-50 on the portable stand, covering the rooftops.
"We'll keep these guys busy," Jack eyed the surrounding structures. He knew there was at least one on the rooftop—and who knew if someone had gone up to replace the man he'd taken out on their run. "I counted, what? Six hostiles?"
"Eight," Gates returned, eyes peering out through a break in the concrete barricade. "Not counting the asshole on the roof."
"Nine against five," Jack shrugged. "I've had worse odds."
Mac shrugged out of his ruck and set his IFAK next to it within Jack's reach. He grabbed his EOD kit from the top of his pack and slid it into place where his first aid kit had rested. He rubbed at his bruised jaw.
"Too bad Hawking isn't here," he sighed.
"Who's that? Another EOD?" asked Willis.
Jack grinned. "You could say that. It's Mac's RCV."
"It's all good," Mac grinned at Willis, then Flynn. Gates had his back to them, keeping an eye on the buildings across the way. "I've got this."
Mac straightened, starting to move into the interior of the parking structure at a crouch, but Jack reached out and grabbed his arm.
"You be careful," Jack ordered, his eyes serious. "We can always find another way out of this."
"This is the best way," Mac argued. "They aren't watching this way—we can get these guys out."
Jack frowned. "Getting them out isn't worth you getting blown up."
"I'm not going to get blown up, Jack," Mac gave him one of those disarming grins that made Jack's heart ache.
"You better not," Jack said. "'cause you know…you go kaboom, I go kaboom."
Mac huffed a quick, surprised laugh. "What?"
"I'm your Overwatch, kid," Jack told him. "What happens to you, happens to me."
"Even if I get blown up?" Mac drew his chin back, a skeptical look on his face.
"You just said you're not going to get blown up," Jack pointed out.
"I'm not," Mac affirmed.
"So, we don't have anything to worry about," Jack tilted his head, challenging Mac to say otherwise.
Mac just nodded, that half-grin on his face that screamed young and immortal. He turned from Jack, all lanky grace, and took a couple careful steps toward the interior of the parking structure. Jack couldn't see his face, but he knew the kid's eyes were skimming the room, left to right, looking for any tell-tale sign of a trigger or explosive device.
It was because Mac was so focused on the room and Jack was so focused on Mac that neither of them saw the shadowed figure moving slowly toward them from the back of the parking structure.
"Oh, shit," Jack heard Flynn breathe from behind him. "Contact!" he shouted.
He pulled his focus back from Mac and saw the figure approaching at a hesitant pace. Jack brought his rifle up to his shoulder, focusing on the shadow.
"Stop right there," he called out. "Don't you move."
Mac froze, finally bringing his gaze up to see the figure now only a few yards away from him. The figure stopped, obeying Jack's order. Jack felt Flynn and Willis crowd in closer behind him and stepped forward again, approaching Mac's back.
"Jack, wait," Mac called softly. "It's okay."
"How is it—"
"I think it's Tommy," Mac continued.
"F-Flynn?" the figured called, his voice trembling violently.
"Oh, shit," Flynn breathed again. "Tommy?"
"I don't…don't know what to do," Tommy called back.
"Jack, step back," Mac ordered. "Take them with you."
"Mac?" Jack questioned, not moving. Something about this whole situation had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
"Guys," Gates called. "Something going on out here."
"Flynn, go check it out," Jack ordered without taking his eyes off Mac. "Talk to me, Mac."
"I can see him," Mac replied. "He's wearing a suicide vest."
Jack felt himself go immediately hot then cold. His vision blurred, his heart slamming as though he'd narrowly avoided a collision.
"Walk backwards. Toward me, Mac," Jack ordered, his voice edged with tension.
"P-please," Tommy almost sobbed. "Please don't leave me. They t-taped my hand—"
"Jack," Mac said in a low, steady voice, taking a half-step forward. "It's a dead-man's switch."
The cold rush swept through Jack once more. If Tommy lifted his thumb from the trigger, the vest blew up—and took all of them with it.
"Dalton!" Flynn called from the make-shift barricade. "They're buggin' out!"
"All of them?" Jack called back.
"Negative," Gates replied. "Two more up on the rooftop. Lost the others. Can't see 'em."
Jack shot a look back over his shoulder. Willis and Gates were crouched behind the barricade, their rifles positioned to cover the street. Flynn was tucked up against the entrance to the parking structure, his rifle trained on the rooftop. A scattered pft-pft-pft of bullets striking the concrete barricade with little aim, more to keep the soldiers from escaping than hitting anyone.
"Mac, don't you move," Jack ordered, his tone brooking no argument. "You stay right there, you hear me?"
"I hear you," Mac replied, incongruously calm.
Jack turned to cover the three soldiers at his back, eyes skimming the street to find the insurgents he'd noted earlier. Flynn was right: they'd either retreated to the interior of the building or had gathered up on the roof. Which meant they were getting clear of the bomb blast.
"They were just keepin' you here…," Jack muttered in realization. "They didn't blow you up because they wanted your own guy to do it. Make it as horrific as possible."
"Well, that's just fuckin' swell," Gates growled, firing off three shots directly at an empty doorway to punctuate his sentence.
Willis sank down, his back to the cement barricade, his rifle at his side, and dropped his head in his hands. "This is not how I thought this day was going to go."
"Guys?" Tommy's trembling voice came at them again and Jack turned quickly, realizing the voice was now much closer.
The young Corporal was standing within arm's reach of Mac. To his credit, Mac had not moved, but that didn't much matter now. Jack sucked his breath through his teeth; Charlie Thomas was young—Mac's age. His helmet and protective gear were missing. Acne scored his cheeks and jawline and his ears stuck out ridiculously far without the benefit of hair to cover them. What struck Jack most, though, where his eyes—wide, terrified, and as blue as MacGyver's.
"Easy, Tommy," Mac soothed, his voice low and soft. "You're gonna be okay."
"They…they t-taped my thumb," Tommy repeated, holding up his right hand.
"I know," Mac nodded. "I know they did. But it's going to be okay. I'm going to get you out of that, okay?"
"Mac…," Jack warned, not liking the direction this was taking one bit.
"Jack," Mac half turned, pitching his voice toward Jack, but keeping his eyes on Tommy. "He got all this way."
And then Jack realized what the kid was getting at. Tommy had crossed the entire parking structure without hitting an IED. The others could follow that same path back. They certainly weren't getting out on the street side with multiple insurgents covering the rooftops.
"I got you," Jack replied. He turned to Flynn. "You three can follow Tommy's path out of here, get to the rally point."
Flynn pulled his head back. "What about you?"
"I'm not letting Mac outta my sight," Jack asserted. "And I already know he's not leaving Tommy until that vest is off."
"Yep," Mac replied.
"You're fuckin' high you think we're just walking outta here and leaving you guys with a goddamn suicide vest on our boy there," Gates stated, matter-of-factly.
"This is your shot," Jack said, eyes skimming from Gates to Willis to Flynn. "They're waiting for the big kaboom," he motioned to the rooftops with the barrel of his rifle. "They're not watching the back."
Flynn shook his head, shifting his rifle in his grip and looked resolutely back at Jack. "None of us leave until all of us leave."
Jack looked at Willis, who simply nodded in agreement. He sighed, turning back to Mac.
"Alright then, Carl's Jr.," he said, trying to purposefully ease the tension. "It's all you."
Mac didn't need any further prompting. He unstrapped his helmet and pulled his Oakley's free, dropping both to the ground next to him, visually aligning himself with the frightened soldier. Jack just wished it didn't make him appear so vulnerable.
"Tommy, I want you to walk toward me until I tell you to stop, okay?"
"O-okay," Tommy replied.
Jack could see the kid shaking from there, but when he stepped further into the light, stopping when Mac said to, he saw that he was also white as a sheet and was sporting a wicked bruise around his left eye. It was a wonder the kid hadn't passed out already.
Evidently, Mac had a similar thought because he grabbed a heavy piece of concrete—about the size of a spare tire—and started to drag it closer to Tommy. The noise echoed around the parking structure and the four men tucked into the barricade turned as one to guard the opening. Jack saw there were now five men on the rooftop, but still no one on the streets.
Mac eased Tommy down to sit on the block, then took out a small flashlight from his pack. Jack found himself holding his breath as Mac examined the vest, both front and back, and the wire attached to Tommy's thumb.
"Jack," Mac called, his voice tight and authoritative. "Turn off the radio."
Jack obeyed without question as Mac continued, "Don't want to risk them reaching out to us and ruining all our hard work, do we?"
It took Jack a beat to realize Mac was talking to Tommy, his tone light, almost conversational in nature. It was only then he registered that Tommy was their signaler—and he wasn't wearing their radio. The insurgents who'd taken him—and fitted him with the suicide vest—had kept the radio. Which meant that, in all likelihood, they not only planned to use that as a trigger mechanism, but any transmission they sent out from this location could be heard by the men in the build across the way.
"Okay, Tommy, here's what we're going to do," Mac said, crouching down to balance on the balls of his feet. "We're going to get the vest off you, but we've gotta do it in stages. You with me?"
Tommy's exhale was shaky, but he nodded. Jack kept his head on a swivel, shifting between monitoring Mac's progress and watching the rooftops. He saw that Willis and Flynn were doing the same, but Gates kept his eyes out, hyper-vigilant.
"You like video games?" Mac asked suddenly.
Jack felt the corner of his mouth pull up in an appreciative grin. This kid was good.
"What?" Tommy asked, his stutter gone in his surprise at Mac's question.
"Video games," Mac repeated, and Jack saw him pulling something from his pack. "When I was a kid, I was super into Mario Kart," he continued. "My best friend back home, he was more into the real player games, though."
"You mean like Assassin's Creed?" Tommy asked.
Mac took Tommy's trigger-bound hand and pulled it close to him. Jack felt his breath stall in the back of his throat.
"Oh, dude, he was all over Assassin's Creed," Mac confirmed. "You play that?"
"Yeah, sometimes," Tommy replied. "Have to go to my buddy's house, though. We don't have enough money for a system."
Jack winced. In that one sentence, he felt like he knew Tommy's whole story. The Army was this kid's only chance at the possibility of a better life. Jack scanned the rooftops simply for somewhere to look other than at the young, pale kid sitting with his life in Mac's hands.
"I get that," Mac agreed. "My granddad thought it was a waste of time. So, I'd sneak over to my friend's place."
Jack smiled at the thought of Mac being a young rebel.
"You knew your granddad?" Tommy asked, Mac's distraction technique having worked.
Mac pulled out his little red knife and Jack saw him cut two small strips of thick electrical tape. "Yeah, he…uh, raised me. Well, kinda. From when I was about twelve."
"I never knew my granddad," Tommy said almost wistfully, completely missing the fact that Mac had lost both parents at a young age.
"Okay, Tommy," Mac's tone shifted from conversational to focused in a breath. "I'm going to use this tape to replace your thumb. When I say, I need you carefully roll your thumb half-way off the button, then the other way. You understand?"
Tommy nodded. Jack held his breath. Willis crossed himself.
"Ready? Roll to the right," Mac moved quickly, though Jack could only see his back and shoulders shifting. "Okay, now left. Great, great job, Tommy. Okay, I'm going to cut the tape from your thumb, so you can relax your hand."
"Are…are you sure that's a good idea?" Tommy almost whimpered.
"It's okay," Mac said. "You see that guy back there with the biggest rifle here? Probably glaring at me right now?"
Jack saw Tommy shift his eyes over Mac's shoulder and meet Jack's gaze, then look back at Mac.
"Yeah, I see him."
"Well, I made him a promise earlier," Mac said. "I promised I wasn't going to get blown up."
"I like that promise," Tommy confessed.
Mac nodded. "Well, you're going to help me keep it, okay?"
Tommy nodded. When Mac clipped the tape across his thumb and instructed him to do so, he eased his thumb off the dead man's switch, Mac's replacement tape holding it in place. Mac then immediately traced the wire from the switch to the vest and cut it, setting the switch aside as Tommy massaged the cramped muscles in his hand.
"Jesus Mary and Joseph," Willis breathed as Mac nodded back at Jack that the first part was over. "I'm getting too old for this."
"You're twenty-three," Flynn pointed out, not taking his eyes from the street level.
"Exactly," Willis glowered.
Jack took a slow breath, eyes roaming the rooftops once more. The sun was setting earlier as October drew long and at half-passed three in the afternoon, it was already starting to slide inexorably toward the horizon, turning the shadows from the buildings into long fingers and tossing a glare up on top of the houses, making it harder for Jack to keep his eye on the men perched there.
"Hard part's over," Mac said, a smile in his voice. "Now, we just gotta get the vest off."
Tommy nodded, but Jack could see in a glance that Mac had won his complete trust. Mac had him lift his arms so he could see the clasps, flashlight clamped between his teeth.
"What else did you play?" Tommy asked.
"Not much," Mac confessed. "I was too busy building things."
"Like what?"
"Oh, you know. Self-propelled solar system models, telescopes, go karts, bombs—"
"What? You're shitting me," Willis chimed in.
"I shit you not," Mac replied, pulling a crimper from his pack. "I kinda accidentally blew up the football field at my high school a couple of years ago."
"Explains you being EOD," Gates offered.
"Okay, Tommy, we're going to clip two wires, and then we should be able to get this thing off you."
"Should?" Tommy asked, his voice trembling slightly. "What's the other option?"
"Well," Mac sighed, looking up at him. "If we don't get it off, the other option doesn't much matter, does it?"
Tommy looked over at Jack, then back at Mac, swallowing. "But you're keeping your promise."
"I never break my promises."
Tommy closed his eyes. "Okay, let's do it."
As Mac began to move the wire into position, the men on the rooftops—apparently tired of waiting for them to blow themselves up—suddenly shouted, firing a burst from an automatic weapon down toward their barricade. Tommy jerked in surprise and Jack saw Mac's hand flinch, the echoing gasp of air between his teeth standing Jack's hair on end.
"Shit," Mac muttered.
"What?" Jack demanded.
"Pulled a wire we didn't want to pull," Mac said, and Jack felt his entire body clench into a fist of tension.
"Oh, fuck me," Gates groaned. "Are you serious? After all that the vest is gonna take us out?"
"Shut up, Gates," Flynn growled. "Tommy, you just hold still, okay?"
Mac was frantically patting down his pockets; Jack had no idea how much time they had before 'wrong wire' turned into oblivion, but he wasn't about to distract Mac by asking questions. After only a few seconds, Mac pulled a paperclip from a pocket on his fatigues and hurriedly pulled it open, inserting one end into the devise strapped to Tommy's chest.
The moment it was done, Mac dropped from a crouch to sit on his backside, grabbing a breath.
"You stopped it?" Tommy asked, his voice cracking.
"Yeah," Mac nodded, rubbing the heel of his hand against the bridge of his nose.
"Minute I'm home, I'm going to all the Office Depots and buying every paperclip I see," Willis declared.
Jack held out a fist without looking and nodded when he felt the young Private bump it.
"Want to get this thing off?" Mac asked Tommy.
"Does the Pope shit in the woods?" Tommy replied, voice cracking.
Gates barked out a laugh and even Jack found that he had to grin—though his heart was still attempting to climb his ribcage and fling itself out of his mouth. Mac leaned forward again, and with two more clips from his crimpers, he was able to pull the buckle free, sliding the vest off Tommy's head and shoulders and setting it aside.
Tommy slid to the ground—on the opposite side of the cement block from the vest—and laid on his back, a tear sliding out of the side of his eye.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice young and scared. Jack could easily picture this kid being afraid of the dark.
"You're welcome," Mac replied softly.
"That was incredible," Flynn declared. "You saved our asses, man."
Mac looked over his shoulder at them, a tired grin exposing his dimple. "Well, we're still stuck here," he said, but then looked around. "Although…."
"Uh-oh," Jack said, watching as Mac's blue eyes skittered and skimmed the buildings on the other side of the barricade. "What's going on in that big brain of yours, kid?"
"Kandahar is old," Mac started. "I mean, really old. Alexander the Great founded the original city in, like…300 B.C.E."
Jack saw Flynn and Gates exchange a glance. He held up a hand. "Just…just wait. Give him a minute," he said out of the corner of his mouth.
"And these buildings are built on top of…of hundreds of years of ancient construction," Mac continued, climbing to his feet and stepping closer to the edge of the parking structure, "which is probably why this building collapsed so easily when the bomb went off in the hotel…."
After another beat, he turned suddenly to Jack. "I've got an idea."
"I know that tone," Jack replied, his eyebrows climbing his forehead. "Does it involve explosives?"
"Yep," Mac nodded, eyes already tracking to the suicide vest.
"I was afraid of that," Jack sighed. "Let me radio base—wait, is it good to radio, or am I going to ruin our day?"
"You're good," Mac replied, already pulling the components of the vest apart.
Jack turned the radio back on.
"Base, this is Rickshaw 4-2."
"Copy you, Rickshaw."
"Listen fast. This is a party line and the neighbors have itchy trigger fingers," Jack warned.
Flynn shot a look over to Mac. "Did he just quote Die Hard?"
"I've learned it's best not to ask," Mac grinned as he pulled out his service pistol and removed the clip.
"We've secured the four and have a path out," Jack reported, watching as Mac ejected several bullets, then used the edge of a smaller blade in his Swiss Army knife to pry off the jacket, piling the gunpowder on one of the vest panels. "Need you to be at the rally point."
"Roger that, Rickshaw. A hawk and a warrior headed your way."
"Copy that," Jack replied, ending the communication and looking over at the five younger men. "Looks like they're going to send a Kiowa with the Black Hawk this time. Extra cover."
"'bout time," Gate growled.
"What the hell is he doing?" Flynn asked Jack, his eyes on Mac's hunched form.
"Getting us out of here," Jack replied.
Mac hurried to where he'd left his ruck and Jack saw him digging into the front pocket to grab something before heading back to the components of the vest. Five minutes later, he had two mini grenades, complete with fuses.
"How in the hell…?" Willis bleated, staring at Mac in awe.
Mac was too busy thinking about their next steps to notice, however. Jack could practically see thoughts slicing and sparking behind his eyes as he crouched at the inner edge of the barricades. Tommy scrambled up and made his way over next to Willis, accepting the other soldier's sidearm since his had been usurped when he'd been taken.
"So, here's what I'm thinking," Mac said. "If we take out the south corner of that building there," he jerked his chin toward the building he was talking about, "the structure won't be able to withstand the imbalance. It'll collapse enough that it'll send those guys to the ground," his eyes tracked up to the five insurgents on the rooftop. "One way or another."
"And we just, what…," Flynn asked, frowning, "run the other way?"
Mac lifted a shoulder. "Well…, yeah. There's a clear path back through—"
He never finished his thought.
In retrospect, Jack realized he should have seen it coming, but the relative safety of the cement barricade coupled with Mac's ingenious use of the suicide vest distracted him from the very real danger of an unprotected rear flank. Roughly mid-way through the abandoned parking structure, someone began firing toward them, cutting off Mac's words and sending the six men to the ground.
Tommy yelped, a pained cry, and Flynn and Jack turned as one to fire back toward the interior of the parking structure, Jack's AR-50 tearing through the figure in seconds.
Before he was able to take a breath, however, Gates' terrified shout of, "RPG!" ripped through the abandoned structure.
And the world exploded.
For a very long moment, Jack simply hung, suspended in silence. There was no pain, no noise, no panic. He was floating, oblivious to anything outside of this temporary peace.
But then reality crashed down on him, pressing angry hands against his chest, wrapping fingers of wrath around his throat, and screaming inside his head like a vengeful banshee. He choked, rolling to the side instinctively as he gasped for breath, his ears ringing painfully.
He couldn't hear anything, couldn't see anything, and it seemed that instead of pulling in air, he was breathing sand.
He groaned, wanting to slide back to that peace, if just for a moment. Everything hurt.
Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?
"Pop?" Jack rasped, still not quite able to open his eyes, his voice dry and grating as though sandpaper coated the inside of his throat.
Get up, boy. You got work do to.
"Yessir," he mumbled, prying his eyes open—his father's voice so crystal clear in that moment, he absolutely believed he would see the man crouching before him.
He was therefore surprised when instead he saw the blood-smeared face of Specialist Henry Flynn lying directly in his line of sight.
"Son of a bitch!" he groaned as the last several minutes came rushing back to him.
Coughing, Jack pushed up to one elbow, blinking around in the settling dust. The cement beams had been scattered, only one of them providing any kind of cover. Flynn lay prone next to him, blood covering one half of his face and painting his back rather thoroughly. Pushing himself to a seated position, Jack fumbled for his rifle, closing his hand around the barrel and bringing it up across his lap.
His ears were still ringing, but his vision was clearing. Across from him, he could see that Private Willis was conscious, but stunned—the young man's face displaying the same level of confusion Jack felt. Next to him lay Gates, and Jack didn't have to check the soldier's pulse to know that the warning about the RPG was the last thing he'd ever say.
"Mac?" Jack murmured, looking around.
He saw Tommy to his left, the kid blinking, stunned, up to the dust-covered sky. His right arm and leg were bleeding—it looked as though a bullet had demolished his knee.
"Mac!" Jack rolled to his knees, keeping his rifle close, and crawled toward the parking garage from the shattered barricade. "Answer me, dammit!"
The impact and resulting explosion from the RPG had collapsed the parking structure at mid-point. Jack found himself hoping that it had crushed the gunman who'd opened fire just before it hit. What it had done for sure, though, was cut off any chance they had of escaping that way.
"Mac!"
"J-jack…."
It was weak, but it was him. Jack would know that voice anywhere. He knew it as well as his own.
"I'm coming, kid," Jack called back. "Hang on."
He staggered to a crouched stance and moved away from the relative safety of the shattered barricade toward the remains of the parking garage. It took him a moment, but he found Mac leaning against a piece of the parking structure, his long legs splayed out before him, face bloody. One of his mini grenades was still clutched in one hand, the other hand wrapped around his middle.
"J-jack…what…?"
Jack fell to his knees in front of the young EOD, wincing as he saw the subconjunctival hemorrhage in the kid's left eye, the blue iris standing out in sharp contrast to the blood-shot red. There was a deep gash just above his left eyebrow, blood still flowing freely.
"Hey," Jack breathed, reaching out and gently clasped the side of Mac's head where his jawline met his neck. "Hey, I got you…I got you, brother."
He could feel fine tremors beneath his hand. He didn't know where else Mac was hurt; he couldn't see any obvious holes, but Mac wasn't moving and the way he held his torso spiked Jack's worry.
"D-did I do this?" Mac asked, blinking up at him blurrily, confusion in his blue eyes.
"What?" Jack drew his head back in surprise. "No, man. It was the RPG, remember?"
"RPG?" Man, the kid was wrecked. His voice trembled.
"It was the RPG," Jack asserted. "Came from the other rooftop."
"RPG," Mac repeated, blinking. "From…from the other rooftop."
"That's it," Jack nodded. "That's right. You with me, bud?"
"What about," Mac looked around, his eyes beginning to clear. "What about the others?"
"We gotta get them outta here, Mac," Jack said quietly. "You solid? Can you move on your own?"
He knew just by looking at the kid that he wasn't going to make it far, but if he could just get him to the extraction point….
"I'm good," Mac said, his voice sounding steadier this time.
He moved his arm away from his middle and used it to push himself to his knees. Jack tried to ignore the way Mac's face lost all color and reached for his arm to help him stand. They made their way back to the barricade and the four soldiers. It was only a few feet away, but by the time they got there, Mac was panting for air.
"Gates' is dead," Willis reported as they collapsed next to Tommy.
"I know," Jack replied, checking Tommy's wounds. It was bad; if they didn't get him out of there soon, he wasn't making it out at all. "Mac," Jack turned to his young Tech. "I want you to patch him up, okay? You focus on Tommy, copy?"
"Copy," Mac replied, blinking hard.
He reached for his IFAK and Jack turned to Flynn, checking the young Specialist's pulse. It was fast and thready, but there. The blood on his back came from a deep laceration that Jack easily found via the tear in his uniform. He reached for the spare IFAK to get a pressure dressing on it.
"Willis?" Jack called. "Talk to me, man."
"I'm solid," Willis called back. "I can move."
"Keep an eye on the street," Jack ordered, pressing the dressing against Flynn's back and wrapped the bandages around to the young soldier's front.
"Contact!"
Jack heard the report of a rifle behind him and amazingly didn't even flinch.
"Willis?"
"Clear," Willis reported, chambering another round.
"Rooftops?"
"I see four bogies," Willis reported. "Rifles only."
"Copy that," Jack replied, carefully rolling Flynn over, checking him for more wounds. He glanced over at Mac. "You still with me, kid?"
As if his radar was tuned just to Jack's voice, Mac seemed to sink into himself at the question, his head bobbing reflexively in response.
"He's bleeding…pretty bad, Jack," Mac replied, and Jack could see that he was tying off a bandage on Tommy's leg, the mini grenade sitting next to his knee. Jack wasn't sure what had happened to the other one, but one might just be enough. "We…we gotta get him…out of here."
Jack nodded once, registering the breathy tone wrapped around Mac's words. "You still got your little bombs on you?"
"I got one," Mac replied, which Jack knew, but he had to keep Mac in the game.
"Here's what we're going to do," Jack said, rotating on one knee until he could see both Willis and Mac. "I got Flynn. Mac, you help Tommy. Willis, you carry Gates." Both young men nodded at him, ready to obey without question. Willis's eyes were clear, focused, but Mac…Jack felt his heart clench at how hard the kid was working to stay present. To stay conscious. "I'll throw that MacGyver'd bomb you've got there, just like we planned. Then we run like hell."
"Is that gonna work?" Willis asked, already shifting his rifle to his shoulder so that he could free up his arms for Gates.
"It h-has to," Mac replied, blinking hard as though forcing his wounded eyes to focus. "I don't…don't have anything else."
Oh, kid, Jack's mind whispered. It's not all on you to save us.
"It'll work well enough," Jack said. "C'mon, boys. We got a ride waiting for us."
Two sets of eyes—one bloodied and shell-shocked, the other devastated and determined—met his, each nodding their acceptance. Jack set down his rifle—he'd been clutching it like a damn security blanket since he came to—and shouldered his ruck, making sure the radio was flicked to 'on'. He plucked the mini grenade from Mac's outstretched hand, pulling his Pop's Bic lighter from the cargo pocket on his fatigues and lit the fuse.
"Aim for the…the corner of the building," Mac instructed, pulling Tommy up to a sitting position, the young radio operator whimpering in pain at the motion.
Jack nodded, then stood and with the grace of DiMaggio, lobbed the grenade at the corner of the building just as Mac instructed. In seconds, the explosive went off and Jack stumbled back as the building shook, the wall crumbling, the roof tilting dangerously to the side sending the four men still visible on top to their knees.
"Move!" Jack ordered, bending over and pulling Flynn up and over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. He had to leave his AR-50 behind; there was only so much he could carry at once with his head spinning the way it was. He pulled out his service pistol, holding it at the ready.
Willis mimicked him with Gates' body and Mac dragged Tommy's good arm over his shoulder, pulling the wounded radio man with him. Jack led the bedraggled group along the front of the ruined parking structure, the air saturated with the dust from two explosions and thick with screams in Farsi from the men who'd been on the rooftop. He braced himself for the burn of a bullet with every step, willing the two rattled soldiers behind him to keep going.
"Rickshaw 4-2, copy."
Jack skidding to a staggering halt, taking a knee and rolling Flynn off his shoulders so that he could grab the radio. The wounded Specialist didn't even flinch as his body hit the hard-packed sand.
"This is Rickshaw 4-2," Jack panted, eyes tracking back to where Willis and Mac paused with their burdens. Mac swayed where he stood, eyes blinking heavily; Willis squared up, his friend's blood soaking through his fatigues. "Tell me you've got a bird on the way."
"Two minutes out."
"We'll be there." Jack holstered the radio and lifted Flynn once more, turning to the men behind him. "Almost home, boys."
Three more steps and they were clear of the buildings, which sent Jack's pulse into overdrive. The lingering pain behind his eyes that had been threatening since he'd come around surged forward and he squinted against the dusty light that surrounded them. The sun was slipping lower on the horizon, turning the world sepia-toned and making it harder for him to check for hostiles.
But he heard the thwap-thwap of the helo blades clear enough.
He turned, eyes narrowing against the burn of sand.
"Move, move, move," he shouted to Willis, allowing the younger soldier to head past him with Gates across his shoulders.
He kept his eyes on Mac. The young EOD Tech was staggering, flagging further back than Jack had thought. As he watched, willing Mac to move faster, he saw to his horror that two men—possibly from the buildings, possibly additional insurgents, he had no way of knowing—were headed their way, rifles up.
"Contact!" He shouted. "Mac, behind you!"
But Mac had left his weapon back at the barricade. And Jack had Flynn across his shoulders, a living, breathing dead-weight.
Jack heard the Black Hawk land and darted a squinted-eyed look over his shoulder. Willis was handing Gates' body over to waiting arms and was climbing inside. The smaller Kiowa OH-58D helicopter was circling as the unmistakable sound of rifle fire came from Mac's direction.
Jack turned again, wanting to put Flynn down and run to Mac, yet knowing he was the unconscious man's only chance of getting to safety. He saw Tommy jerk in Mac's arms, red blossom on his chest from a bullet ripping through his back. He saw Mac stumble and go to his knees, coming up again, slowly, and dragging Tommy with him.
"Move, Mac!" Jack shouted. "Get to the helo!"
Mac didn't answer—couldn't answer. Jack could see that all his strength was channeled into pulling Tommy forward. It was clear to Jack: Mac was not leaving that kid behind.
Even if it killed him.
Growling, Jack turned, running as fast as his burden would allow, and got to the Black Hawk, handing Flynn over to Willis and the rescuers. He turned back toward Mac but was stopped by a strong grip.
"Get in, sir!" shouted one of the Black Hawk pilots.
Jack could hear the retort of more bullets behind him. Mac was taking fire and his Overwatch wasn't there. He wasn't there.
"Lemme go!" Jack demanded, tugging his arm free.
"We gotta pull out," the pilot told him, "it's too hot!"
"You wait!" Jack pointed at him. "You wait for them!"
"Pedro one six," Jack heard crackling over the radio. He looked up; it had to be the Kiowa. "We're coming right two seven zero, north of you."
"You wait!" Jack demanded, locking eyes with Willis as the young Private clutched Flynn's unconscious body to him.
Jack turned, running back to Mac. His heart dropped as he saw the young EOD Tech fall to his knees once more, Tommy held tightly against him. Jack raised his service pistol, aiming over Mac's head and fired as he ran. He emptied one clip, seeing one of the gunmen fall, then ejected the empty clip and slammed a new one home, continuing to fire as he reached Mac.
"J-Jack—" Mac rasped, his voice spent, his eyes barely tracking. "Take him…take him…."
Jack went to his knees, pulling Tommy from Mac's grip and pressing his fingers against the radio operator's throat. Nothing. He tried a different position. Still nothing.
"Arrrghh!" Jack growled. "Goddamnit!"
He raised his weapon again, roaring wordless rage as he fired toward the second figure, only stopping to breathe when the figure fell. Mac was slumped to the side, breath grating audibly as he clutched as his torso.
"Take him…," he begged again. "Please…."
Jack couldn't tell him that Tommy was gone, not after all he'd done to save him.
"Get up, Mac," Jack demanded. "On your feet."
Mac tried to push himself upright on trembling arms, but Jack could tell just by the ragged sound of his breathing that something was broken inside. He wasn't getting any further on his own.
"I'll come back for Tommy," he said. Knowing it wasn't true. Needing to get Mac out of there.
Mac shook his head. "Take him." He blinked up at Jack, his blue eyes standing out like neon against the broken blood vessels. "Please, Jack."
"Goddammit," Jack muttered. He shouldered Tommy's body, pushing shakily to his feet. "You stay with me, Angus. You hear me?"
Mac nodded weakly, blue eyes trained on his face as though memorizing it.
"You stay with me."
He meant it as an order for Mac to follow him, but he'd take the kid just staying awake until he could come back for him. He headed back to the Black Hawk, handing Tommy's body through the opening into reaching hands.
"We gotta pull out," the pilot told him. "Eyes in the sky report two vehicles with hostiles headed this way."
"I'm going back for my Tech," Jack told him.
"You're in now or not at all," the pilot responded.
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Jack demanded.
The pilot's face was obscured by his visor, but Jack saw his mouth harden. This wasn't easy for him either. The pilot reached up to his radio and pulled the mic closer to his lips.
"This is Pedro one six," the pilot said into his comms. "We have two cat-A soldiers down here. Need warrior support. We're RTB."
Jack was breathing hard but nodded. At least they wouldn't be alone.
He backed away, catching Willis' eyes as the door was slid shut, then turned and ran back to where Mac was now lying prone in the sand. He crouched over him as the Black Hawk kicked up sand, then rolled Mac over to his back. The kid's eyes were closed, and Jack could hear him wheezing.
He tapped Mac's face gently. "C'mon, kiddo, open those eyes. I need you here."
Mac blinked his eyes open, fighting to focus. "Jack."
"Yeah, kid, it's me," Jack nodded, tucking his fingers behind Mac's neck and easing him up so that he rested on Jack's knee. "You need to stay awake for me."
He had to get Mac on his feet, get him over to where the Kiowa could land. It was their only shot of getting out of there before those vehicles showed. His hands shook as he cupped Mac's face.
"Hurts…." Mac choked out.
"I know it hurts, but you have to stay awake," Jack implored him, feeling his own body start to tick down, adrenaline that had carried him this far beginning to tap out. Mac's heavy-lidded eyes slipped shut. "Hey, hey Mac," Jack tapped his cheek. "Don't close your eyes, kid. Please don't close your eyes. I need you with me, okay? I need you here, so we can go home. You want to go home, don't you?"
Mac coughed, wincing, then blinked blurrily at Jack. "Home?"
The word was laced with such longing and confusion, Jack almost sobbed. "Yeah, kid. Home. I want to get out of here—how 'bout you?"
Mac nodded. Jack started to sit him up, but froze as Mac cried out, his shaking hand pressing against his chest.
"Lemme see, lemme see," Jack whispered frantically, listening for the Kiowa, for the vehicles, for the bullet that would end all of this in an instant.
He pulled Mac's shirt from where it was tucked into his pants and saw instantly what the problem was. He hadn't seen it before because of the way Mac had been supporting Tommy—and the fact that Tommy's blood was all over Mac's battledress. A piece of shrapnel—or a bullet—had creased Mac's side and, based on the bruising, Jack could see that he easily had one if not two broken ribs.
"Goddammit," Jack muttered. "C'mon, kid. I got you. I got you."
Mac grit his teeth, growling low with pain as Jack pulled him to his feet. He dragged one of Mac's arms across his shoulder and headed for the clearing, seeing the Kiowa circling. The small helicopters were built for reconnaissance and support of ground troops; they were in no way meant to haul wounded soldiers from a hot zone.
But right now, it was all they had.
He felt Mac sagging against him as he stopped, waiting to see where the small helo would land.
Suddenly, a burst of gunfire erupted from behind them. Jack flinched, looking back over his shoulder toward the empty expanse South of the collapsed parking structure. True to the report, he could see two vehicles headed their way—one of them a pick-up truck with a .50 Browning machine gun mounted to the roof.
"Son of a bitch," he growled.
His AR-50 was back in the destroyed barricade. His sidearm was empty. They were totally exposed.
Except for the Kiowa.
It swooped low over them, laying down a burst of cover fire that was enough of a deterrent the vehicles separated, the one without the gun mount turning to find cover near the parking structure.
"Yeah, baby!" Jack whopped, holding Mac up in a half-hug. "Take that you bastards!"
The Kiowa turned back for them, setting down in a hurricane of sand, causing Jack to duck his head, curling toward Mac to try to protect him as well. The minute the skids hit the ground, Jack was on the move, pulling Mac with him. Just as they reached the door, he felt Mac's knees give way, the kid collapsing against him.
"Mac!"
The door opened, and Jack squinted up to see the co-pilot reaching for them. He gathered Mac's slim frame close and lifted him as best he could to the waiting arms of the co-pilot. Mac was completely pliant, his arms and legs smacking weakly against the floor of the small helo.
"They're coming back 'round," called the female voice of the pilot.
"Get the hell in here, Sir," shouted the co-pilot.
Jack nodded, climbing in and pulling Mac into his lap, folding his body in the small space just behind the pilot seats. There wasn't time to close the door, so he curled forward once more, protecting his EOD from the blowing sand as the pilots pulled the Kiowa up as quickly as they could with the added weight.
As soon as they were clear of the city and the risk of being taken down by a well-aimed RPG, Jack reached up to tug on the co-pilot's sleeve.
"You saved our asses," he shouted over the sound of the blades.
The co-pilot nodded, then handed him a set of headgear and mic. Jack repeated his sentiment.
The pilot shot him a look over her shoulder. "Weren't about to leave you behind, Sergeant," she told him. "You got those boys out of there; one way or another, they're all going home."
Jack felt tears burn the back of his sand-blasted eyes. He curled Mac's limp body close to him, relishing the feel of the kid's breath against his neck.
"Yeah, they are," he said. "But not because of me."
The day started with an assignment to clear seven streets of IEDs and ended with the rescue of four soldiers. And none of them would have gotten out of there had it not been for the kid in his arms. Mac groaned slightly, shifting against Jack's grip.
"We get everyone out?" Mac asked on a breathless whisper.
Jack felt his own sob even before he heard it, tears tracing a path through the dirt on his face. "Yeah, kid," he sniffed, shifting his grip on Mac so that he could look at his blood-covered face. Mac's eyes were closed, but the line between his brows told Jack all he needed to know about the kid's awareness. "We got everyone out. You did good. You did real good."
Mac exhaled. "Thanks, Jack."
Jack simply nodded, fingers of emotion gripping his throat too tightly for any sound to emerge. He held on to Mac as the Kiowa returned to base, knowing that all too soon, the kid would be facing a pain that was unique to soldiers alone.