Chapter One: You're Alive!
I watched as the nuke exploded with wide eyes. It almost seemed to happen in slow motion. The poor girl across from me clenched her hands closed, and I noticed that her fingernails dug into her hand and drew blood. A few of the soldiers sitting behind me broke out into sobs that had been held back throughout the day, mourning their comrades' deaths which they now knew would mean nothing. I watched as the pyroclastic flow coming off of the explosion engulfed everything below us, and as such barely noticed when warning alarms went off and the helicopter threw itself into a spin. I did notice the woman across from me slipping, however, and quickly grabbed her. I figured she would die anyway, but I didn't really care about what my sense of logic was telling me. My instincts told me that doing so would save her life, and possibly mine, so I followed them. The helicopter was taking a surprising amount of time to crash; the pilot must have been fighting gravity with everything he had. I vaguely felt a sharp pain shoot up my leg and sat back down with the girl; it seemed I had forgotten my injury in my bravado. The helicopter turned itself around one more time before we slammed into the ground. Then everything went black.
I awoke to a throbbing head and leg, repeating sharp pains in my cheeks, and an incessant noise that annoyed me greatly.
"-ake up! Wake up! Wake up, dammit!" The woman who had been sitting across from me was repeatedly slapping me on either side of my head, and screaming hysterically. My vision was fading in and out, but it cleared eventually, and I moaned when it did so. The noise alerted the woman that her unconventional attempts at bringing me back to consciousness had succeeded.
"Oh, thank God, you're alive!" she collapsed against my chest and sobbed. I raised my head slightly and looked over what I could from my position. It seemed that we were the only two who had survived the crash. We were lying inside the helicopter, the poor girl still crying into my chest, me lying in an awkward position sideways against the wall.
"Please… off me… leg…" I tried to speak, and luckily she understood the few words that I could manage. My tongue had swollen to the point that it nearly filled my mouth, and I was extremely thirsty. I watched as she wiped her eyes and stood up, and then held her hand out to me. I slowly raised my arm and to hold of it and she gently pulled me up to my feet. It was difficult to stand in the helicopter, but the tilt of the flying machine allowed us to stand nearly our full height. I walked as best as I could with my injured leg until I was outside of the heli. It was horrendous. Bodies littered the ground like discarded trash, and blood was everywhere. The woman behind me dry heaved at the sight. I took another step forward, and my leg stabbed with white hot pain again.
"Miss, you're… pilot? First Aid… in helicopter, right?" She instantly looked at my damaged limb in realization, and then hurried back into the destroyed vehicle. I realized that my tongue was shrinking back to normal size, allowing me to speak more clearly. I would be able to use full sentences soon. I limped over to a bench beside the road and sat. I took a look up at the sky, and scenes from earlier that day flashed through my mind. My hand drifted to my pistol holster, but it was empty. I sighed; that pistol had been a gift from the late Capt. MacMillin. I had met the man when speaking with the British Capt. Price. He had to be the best sniper that the British Military ever had. Price wasn't bad himself.
I swiveled my head to see the woman climbing back out of the heli with a First Aid kit. She ran up and handed it to me wordlessly. Concern was etched firmly into her face.
"Don't worry, I'll be fine. It's just a damn flesh wound!" I grinned slightly, both because I could speak properly again and to let her know I wasn't really angry about her underestimation of me. I slowly shoved the tweezers into the wound, and then with a growl wrenched the bullet out of my body. I set the projectile aside, then picked up a pre-threaded needle and began to suture it up. The woman watched as I did all of this.
"How do you know how to do all of that?" She asked. While first aid was taught to all recruits, the more advanced stuff was reserved for medics. Which I had been.
"I used to be a field medic. A pretty good one too, if I don't say so myself." She accepted my explanation easily. I noticed that she was really emotional for a soldier, worrying about me as she was. I supposed that it was because she knew that I had taken the wound saving her ass. The thought that my entire squad had died saving her ass popped into my head, but I suppressed it immediately. It hadn't been her fault; we chose to save her. We had known the risks.
I finished wrapping the bandages and stood up. Taking a tentative step forward, I relished the fact that the pain was more bearable with the relievers flowing through my veins. I looked over my shoulder, examining my companion. She was probably one of the most amazing looking women I had ever seen. She had a sharp but feminine face, and a bit of black hair poked out from under her helmet. The pilot's suit hugged her curves nicely, as I noted with a small smirk. She was looking off to the side, seeming a little spaced out. Her eyes flashed to me for a split second, and then she quickly looked away blushing, thinking she had been caught staring, when it was quite the opposite. I had a knack for things like that. I couldn't really explain it, but my gaze seemed to do that to people. I turned back around and shook my head when I noticed her blush becoming heavier. This was no time for romance.
I bent over and picked up a discarded G36. I pulled the extra clips out of the body's ammunition pouches. I sighed as I grabbed its survival knife.
"Alright," I called over my shoulder, "Pick up a weapon and some ammo, then we'll search for more survivors."