Anyone excited? Our favorite team is almost home! Then the real action begins. Until then though, still plot pushing.
Really sorry this took so long by the way; I had a lot of difficulty getting through this one. It was like pulling teeth!
Twitter - Objectivemiss
B&B
Day 334
B&B
"Dr. B! Are you coming?" Daisy yelled from the dock.
With exactly one month left in her year abroad, the team had just finished packing up on the island. The heavier machinery was sent back, the remains carefully packaged and escorted to a new facility, and the huts dismantled. The island looked like almost nothing had ever happened there. Now, with just one month to go, it was time to take the same journey the team tad taken to get here, only in reverse. That journey would begin with the boat ride back to Dili, Timor-Leste, and she wasn't looking forward to it. Even with the favorable forecast, she knew that the ride would be as seasick inducing as ever.
I would have to spend some time in Timor-Leste, finalizing travel details and making sure that equipment could make it safely back to the states.
"Yeah Dr. B! Dr. Mikel is threatening to leave you, but we all know he won't!" Keith chimed in.
Brennan took one last lingering look at the island. As an adolescent in the foster care system, moving around was something that she had to become accustomed to quickly. No matter how terrible and abusive the household was, she always took a moment to look back before she stepped down from the curb into that child services car. It was like taking a mental photograph; a snapshot, in which she could cleanly file away her memories.
"I'm coming," she turned from site, not just another field.
She strode the last few yards up to the dock and up over the gangplank on to The Second Confidence. Boat nomenclature had never made much sense to her, but her confidence was admittedly shaken by a boat, the second of its kind, named falsely the Confidence. Had the first ship wreaked due to overconfidence? Now she was simply becoming irrationally fearful, so she looked back to the island again.
It would be impossible to forget this place. She and the team had shaken the very foundation of what it meant to be human beings by challenging the "out of Africa" theory. She had made new acquaintances, or rather, friends. But more importantly, here, she came to terms with her own feelings. Yes, this certainly was a very, very productive year.
Aboard, she stood along the stern, watching as the island became a smaller and smaller dot upon the horizon.
"So, what do you think about the weather?" Keith walked up to her side.
"I am not a meteorologist."
"I was making conversation," he chuckled.
"Oh," the sea air whipped her hair into a torrent. "Before I go in, I have a question for you."
"Ask away."
Booth had taught her that asking advice not only benefitted the asker with an added perspective, but also was a show of trust. Considering that Keith would be staying with her for a month or two, he seemed an appropriate person to ask.
"If you were seeing someone for the first time in a year, what type of romantic gesture would you perform to inform the other party that you were still interested in pursuing an intimate relationship?"
"If this is about Daisy and her fiancé, she's already asked and I told her it was awkward to answer."
Brennan merely looked at him with an amused look on her face.
"Oh, you were talking about yourself…" he made a funny face. "Ummmm," he seemed to be racking his brains. "I'm really not the romantic type."
Suddenly, the boat lurched with great force. There was both horizontal and vertical displacement as the large wave rolled beneath the ship. Even with the seasickness patch behind her ear, seeing the motion itself still managed to make her queasy.
"I-I'm heading inside," she groped for the hand railings and she guided herself down to a bench. She lay down on the hand wooden seat, closing her eyes to try to will away the nausea.
In six hours, she would be safely on solid ground; as solid as plates floating on magma could be. Then, just a flight to Jakarta, to Tokyo, and then back to Washington Dulles. One thing she didn't miss was the terrible traffic in the city.
It all goes by so fast; you don't want any regrets.
Pops told her that over a year ago. It was hard to believe that it was that long ago; time was relative after all. Throughout her entire year, she immensely enjoyed her work. Now, for the first time, she felt eager to be home. Not just to sleep in a bed with fresh sheets an actual mattress, but to more importantly, see Booth. She took a few proper deep breaths, her diaphragm pulling down, sucking nitrogen, carbon dioxide, oxygen, and other trace elements into her lungs.
"Are you okay Temperance?" she heard someone walk into the small cabin.
Brennan cracked a single eye open. It was Mikel, ever the concerned man. "I-I'm…simply motion sick. Nothing that won't pass with time."
"If you're sure…" he sat down across from her. "You know, Adi is now about to be considered a new species," Mikel smiled proudly. "Only one problem-"
"If you're concerned about the dwarfism theories still, I wouldn't worry as our tests have conclusively ruled that out as a possibility-"
"It's not that. You see, our new species doesn't have a name. Suggestions?"
"With all due respect, I am not an expert in taxonomy," she sat up, realizing that this conversation was no longer simply small talk and conversation making.
"I had a name I thought up. Would you be willing to give an opinion at least?"
"Certainly. I do that new species are typically named after characteristics, geographic region, or a colleague."
"A good observation. You see," Mikel paused, as if ponder whether or not to speak his mind. "I was thinking that we name Adi Homo Temperani."
"A-After me?" Brennan was utterly flattered. With all of her work in anthropology, never had it even crossed her mind that she might have (or want) the honor of a human ancestor bearing her name.
"Precisely."
"B-But why me?"
Mikel merely smiled, as if he fully expected her response. "You, Temperance, were the team leader. No one would argue that you didn't do the plurality of the work as far as the actual remains go. I think it would be perfect for a member of the Homo genus to have your name."
"Why not name it after the region? That would undoubtedly be agreeable to the rest of the team."
"The team already has agreed upon Homo Temperani. Oh and remember that full hands photo we took last week? Cover of the American Anthropological Society Journal."
Brennan was aghast; sure, she and Daisy had excitedly fantasized of being on the cover of the Journal before. It wasn't like she hadn't been featured a number of times. But the whole experience was…unreal.
"It would be appropriate for you to hug me," Mikel stood with arms outstretched.
She jumped to her feet incautiously, almost knocking over the older anthropologist in her enthusiasm.
"I said hug, not crush with all your might," he laughed.
"Oh," she drew back jerkily. "I apologize."
"Nothing to say sorry for, but I do know you get seasick. So I'll let you wallow in your own sickness," he winked as he left.
This year had certainly been worth it. After all, it was only one solar cycle. Things did have to change, but they would be for the better, not the worse. It was preposterous to think that a year could be considered a measurement of distance, unless of course, one was speaking in "light years." Distance is a physical thing. But would emotional distance be between her and Booth? A very smart question to ask. Frankly, she hoped no; but it could be largely out of her hands. That was always difficult for Brennan to come to terms with; that events or actions may not be able to be controlled or even affected by her effort.
But largely, that distance would soon come to close.
Just 31 days until I get home…
B&B
-
"Do you remember where I told you the key was?"
"Yes," Moore chuckled. "Under the fake rock."
Booth just smiled. "Just don't wreak my place, okay? I have to go and live there in a month."
"Stop worrying so much," the doctor walked off towards the landing strip, digital camouflage bag on his back.
It was all too easy to believe for Booth that the year was almost at its close. The stresses of a warzone did that to you; not knowing where is safe, and who was going to take a shot at you. All a day in the life of an Army Ranger. He wouldn't get to see Moore for another month; not a long time when you consider that he hadn't seen Parker, US soil, or Bones for an entire year.
"Boss!" he heard Herring shouting frantically as he ran across the dusty base.
"Hold your horses, where's the fire?"
"We need you in the briefing room…now."
Side by side, the two jogged back towards the complex, not sure what potential terrors awaited them there.
"The objective of this mission is simple," the officer at the front of the room said. Booth was becoming so focused on the action to come, he hadn't even caught the man's name, "eliminate all targets. Hostiles are of known Al Queda affiliation, and well armed. We do not want to risk a full unit assault, as fighting may potentially spill over the Pakistan border. That, would be something that the hire ups want kept quiet."
Briefings always allowed Booth to subtilize; to allow his senses to become keen and ready for the danger to come. He could already feel his (as Bones would call it) warrior's instincts kicking in. He was ready for anything that they could possibly throw at him.
"First order of business is to eliminate this stronghold," the man pointed to a fuzzy rectangle on an aerial photograph, "with C4 plastic explosives. That task will fall into the hands of Sergeant First Class Daniel Stewart."
Stewart nodded in understanding.
"Second objective is to eliminate targets. Many of these insurgents are believed to be planning to carry out attacks outside the region. We need you to get rid of the threat they present once and for all. Third, is to be sure you maintain a low profile. The last thing we want is political attention and movement of other Al Queda operatives to your area of operation. Fourth, sustain low, is not any, casualties. Any questions?"
The six man squad simply allowed silence to acknowledge the officer.
"I know this seems like a difficult task, but we wouldn't send you in if it wasn't possible. Good luck and God speed. You will be dropped in by helicopter leaving in ten."
The six men got to their feet and headed to the armory. Booth didn't even have a chance to think. In battle, it was often best not to think; it was possible for the conscious mind to make mistakes that instinct would never. It was working by the gut; not by the mind.
He picked up the standard issue body, armor, strapping himself in. Luckily he had used the bathroom before he went into the briefing. Taking of the armor to take a piss was a major pain in the ass. He grabbed the M110 Semi-Automatic Sniper System and loaded a 7.62x51mm NATO round magazine into it. He grabbed a few extra magazines, strapping them to his vest. Snipers were never great at close range, so he selected a standard issue Beretta M9 with an extra clip.
In silence, the squad loaded on to a UH-60 Black Hawk, strapping into the harnesses. It was a breathtaking feeling, watching from within, a helicopter soaring into the air. His feet dangled over the edge, the dry Afghanistan air buffeting his feet. He didn't have time to feel nervous. He didn't have time to realize that he could die. He didn't have time to think that he would be home soon.
I flew for some time, but the hours were just a blur to Booth. It seemed like everyone else was just as keep in thought as he was. Afghanistan was just one massive, mountainous desert. He couldn't help the natural hatred he felt to this place. Bones would probably spout off some anthropological crap rife with cultural relativism. All he knew was that there were people out there that wanted to kill him and his buddies. He wasn't going to let that happen.
"Landing in two minutes," the pilot yelled over his shoulder. "I can't put you down any closer! Here, you'll at least have the high ground!"
The helicopter set down on the flattest ground they could find. The squad jumped out, quickly orienting to their new environment.
"Alright, our objective is to the northwest," Booth brought his squad into formation. This was it.
The squad trekked together in a staggered column formation; their keen senses scanning the landscape for ambushes or traps. Carefully, they approached the ridgeline; their target was just on the other side.
"Alright, here's what we need to do," Booth pulled out the map from his jacket. "Bartlett and I are going to setup on the ridgeline. We'll provide over watch, over, and intel. Hunter, Stewart, I need you moving in from the northeast. That's the quickest way to the objective. There, plant the charges then retreat. You'll detonate them on my mark."
"Roger," the two said in unison.
"Bowie and Herring, I need you moving farther down the ridgeline to the point where it directly looks over the camp with a thirty yard distance." Bowie was a SAW gunner; Booth knew he should put that to good use. "Setup your M249 there, the explosion will set the guys running out your way. We still want to minimize our impact, so use discretion."
Part of him felt misplaced out here. He was no longer an "active combat" sort of guy. He was an FBI guy who chased down only moderately dangerous bad guys with a forensic anthropologist on his arm.
"Let's finish this and get back home in one piece each."
Booth dropped into a prone position, flicking out the two stabilizers on his rifle. He wanted this to be over, but more so, he just wanted to do this job right…for his country. He squinted through the scope, closing his right eye.
"Alrighty then," Bartlett sat down next to him, binoculars and laser rage finder in hand. "Hostiles at your one o'clock, you see them."
"Got 'em," he made the proper adjustments, his crosshairs trained; ready to fire.
From here, he could see his plan take shape from amoeba, to ship-shape. Bowie and Herring had setup on the ridge…but wait.
"Hey look over there near Bowie and Herring," Booth motioned with his head.
Bartlett turned his attention quickly over. "I see three figures moving to their rear," he pulled the binoculars away from his face, eyes wide. "They don't see them…"
The Sergeant Major pressed his hand to his throat microphone, "Herring come in. You've got bad guys moving in on your six," he said with great urgency.
Nothing.
The mission had been so sudden…how could this even be happening?
Booth swung his rifle over, hoping to get a shot. But even as great of a shot as he was, there was no way he could dispatch these three guys quickly enough; they would just realize what was up and run for cover. That wouldn't help his two guys. But he could stop this.
"Bartlett! Give me your rifle!"
The corporal handed over his M4 carbine hurriedly. "W-What are you doing?"
He was being a hero.
It didn't matter that Bones told him not to be.
This was something he had to do.
If not for himself, then for Bowie and Herring.
He broke into a full sprint, reading the assault rifle in his hands. The three men were definitely terrorists; they were armed with an AK-47 each. Finally close enough, he dropped to one knee, stabilizing his hands.
He took a breath.
Booth tugged on the trigger, the automatic rifle pouring off shots.
He exhaled.
Booth let loose another burst of fire.
The three men hit the sand…he could see blood staining the floor.
"Wow," Herring muttered, his back against cover. "Did we attract any attention?" he said over his shoulder to Bowie.
"That's a negative."
Well at least their mission wasn't completely compromised. They could still finish…Steward would probably be planting the charges right now. He should probably get back up to Bartlett.
"Keep in your positions," Booth took off back to Bartlett.
This wasn't exactly what he would consider a "mission off to a great start." He had already left Bartlett alone with a rifle he wasn't qualified to use…he froze, a sharp pain through his abdomen. He pulled a shaky hand to his stomach.
Blood.
His vision swam; darkness threatened to take over.
He dropped to the ground.
He heard shots…shuffling. Someone grabbed his arms…he was being thrown over someone's shoulder…he was being moved…he felt his consciousness ebbing…
"Booth."
"B-Bones?" I-It was like he was in another coma.
"You promised not to be a hero."
"I-I couldn't…I had to."
"Scorpion and the frog."
"What?"
"Scorpion asks a frog to carry him across a river. The scorpion assures the frog that he won't sting him as it would result in them both dying. Scorpion stings frog in the middle of the river, explains, 'I'm a scorpion; it's my nature.' Though I never did understand how they spoke…"
"S-So you say that I couldn't help it."
"Wake up Sarge."
"W-What?"
"Sarge!"
Booth opened his eyes; Bartlett was leaning over him. "W-What's going on?"
"You were shot…we're on our way back to base…I thought we lost you there for a bit."
The Sergeant Major simply looked around dazed. "D-Did we-"
"Complete the mission. Yes. I carried you out of there as soon as Stewart detonated the charges."
"T-Thanks."
"You said it yourself. The Army is about brotherhood and today, I'm here for you."
Booth was just glad to be alive…
Just 31 days until I get out of this…
B&B
I really hope that didn't disappoint! Reviews! Leave one! It's like reverse trick-or-treating. You come and give me candy. :D
Twitter - Objectivemiss