Reese took advantage of the Mercenary's distraction and smoothly unhooked the straps from across his chest and stomach. With his hands free, the pistol strapped to Mathison's left leg was a very tempting target.
As the ambulance rocked, Reese rolled left pivoting up while landing a simultaneous punch to the Merc's face. An immediate knee to the ribs left the weapon unguarded.
Reese pulled the Lieutenant's gun from its holster, but the solider was well trained and quick, latching onto John's wrists before he could aim the gun.
The battle was awkward, ugly and lacked any style as the tight and cluttered confines restricted their balance and movement.
The men crashed into the gurney and against the walls. Mathison repeatedly jammed the back of Reese's hand into the wall trying to dislodge the gun. John growled with the impact as the solider laced his fingers over Reese's reflexively squeezing causing the weapon to fire. The bullet pierced the front wall into the cab.
The vehicle suddenly jerked, fishtailing right then left. Both men lost any semblance of balance, being slammed from one side to the other with bone jarring intensity while the van uncontrollably whipped into a violent chain reaction.
A hard impact against the right guard rail sent the massive ambulance careening back across the road, heedless of the upcoming corner and on a collision course with a steep embankment.
Suddenly it was as if everything switched to slow motion. Everything smoothed. For an instant, Reese felt as if he were hovering in midair as the ambulance launched up and over.
"...What the...!? Was that an ambulance?!"
It was like watching a giant whale leap and twist out of the ocean, but with no beauty and no graceful reentry. The vehicle crash landed on its side, leaving a wake of littering debris down the road for hundreds of feet before the mangled hulk came to final screeching halt.
In seconds, they were at the site. Carter and Fusco flew from their cars approaching the wreckage, armed and on high alert.
Carter's heart was racing, one part terror, two parts hope as they moved on the van.
Carter kept Fusco in view while he cautiously checked the cab, "NYPD - anyone inside, put your hands were we can see them!" but a shake of his head, indicated there were no survivors.
The rain had slowed to a spitting drizzle as they moved to the rear. Carter counted down as she reached for the bottom door handle. Inches from touching it, the door burst open breaking what was left of the glass upon impact and causing both Detectives to tighten up on their guns. "Come outta there! NYPD!" Fusco ordered.
"Working.. on it.. Detective. Kinda... sore here..." Reese bent under the other hanging door, awkwardly using it the steady himself. Things weren't working right just yet.
"Whoa, easy there 007." Fusco was quick to holster is gun and lend Reese a steadying hand. "Figured this for your work. In a tux no less!"
"Little much for an abduction, right?" Reese through out.
"Smart-ass." Carter felt indescribable relief with his flippant response.
He gave her a slight wink, but his levity quickly faded to worry when he noticed Carter's blood soaked sleeve. "You hurt?"
"Just a graze. Bastards tried to turn us into swish cheese. We need to call for a roadblock and get a tact-team in place. Any idea where they're headed?"
"I didn't get to finish to my conversation with the Lieutenant, here." Reese motioned inside the ambulance. "Only heard them say the clinic wasn't far from here..."
John gently placed his hands on her shoulder parting her ripped shirt to inspect the wound for himself. "You also need to send a team to the underground facility at the shipyards. It's a virtual buffet of heavy-hitters."
"Already done. Finch sent the layout so they could smoke them out and catch them as they when they ran to ground."
Fusco called from inside the ambulance. "Hey! You're guy's still breathing, but out cold. Guessin' he can tell us where they're going."
"Among others, but we need to hurry. It sounded like the Mercenaries were in a rush to bug out. From the way they were talking, since this didn't go as planed, they're expecting trouble from whoever's on the receiving end."
"Why do we care? Let them take each other out." Fusco questioned.
"Except the Mercenaries aren't actually behind this. Only why to be sure the right bad guys get put down, is do it ourselves."
Fusco hefted the mercenary out of the ambulance. "Just once be nice if things were that simple. And! I wish you'd nab a midget or at least a really skinny guy... What's with these ginormous jar-heads anyway!"
"Put him in your car." With a dirty look from Fusco, John unsteadily followed him to the car letting his eyes travel passed to the thrashed car parked beyond. Even from afar, he could see the excessive damage illuminated from the headlights of the ambulance, and appraised it with impressed amazement.
"Damn Carter..!" The out-and-out cowboy-heroics were blatantly evident across the vehicle and definitely more his style than the by-the-book Detective. "I'm impressed." He declared as she joined him.
"You must be rubbing off on me." She smiled up at him, quick to wrap a steadying arm around his waist, despite knowing he didn't need her help. It was more a matter of her needing to touch him.
John glanced at her with appreciative understanding, enjoying her contact as they moved toward the cars. "I heard the grenade launcher.., how'd you manage to drive and shot with your wounded shoulder?"
"What? No, Finch drove." A sudden look of concerned spread to her face. "Finch. He was right behind me!"
Everything forgotten, Reese ran the last length to the car finding a very pale Finch hunched in the drivers seat. "Finch!"
"Johnnn.., heyyyy,' Finch slurred his answer with a smile. "Glad you'rrre ok... Wasss worried."
John knelt next to Finch immediately noting the shiny wetness over his left shoulder. "Might not be me you should be worrying about, Harold. Here let me see." Reese gently took hold of Finch's collar and slowly peeled it to the side with a cringe of discovery.
"Sorry mmm ssso tired. Uhhh oh. I know...thaaat loook..." Finch pinched his lips with a disgusted look. "Bear chew yrrr holsters again? Don't be mad... He was worried too..."
John was not pleased by Finch's delusional state. "Carter you have a first aid kit?"
Remorse ridged his brow as he grabbed and pressed a towel to stanch the bleeding from the through-and-through gunshot wound in Finch's upper shoulder. It was a clean shot; the bullet had thankfully missed his collar-bone, but was still freely bleeding.
Dammit. This was his fault. He'd put Harold in this position, forcing him to take these extreme measures. It was his job to take the risks, not Harold.., or Carter.
John clenched his jaw in anger. They'd been flying blind from the start of this whole thing, tripping into the answers instead of planning a damn thing. He forced himself to quit this line of thinking... it was pointless and counter productive. Plan or no, he still had work to do. "Just relax, Finch. You're gonna be fine." He spoke to them both.