You all asked so nicely...and I'm happy I can oblige!
Don't you love three-day Holiday weekends when you decide to stay home and have free time on your hands! Woot!
Everything happened simultaneously. Clay fired, a body dropped, the campsite erupted in activity, and men rushed Charlie, bursting from the undergrowth from three sides. Chase and Mick hit the path down the hill at a dead run and Clay was able to get off a second shot, drop another body before he was attacked.
Flat on his belly, the heavy weight landed on his back with a bone-jarring thud…..so, they'd dropped on him out of the tree from above, shit, he'd missed that. An elbow dug into the vulnerable spot between his shoulder blades. That brutal, hard jab and the force of the body landing on him forced the breath right out of him and he lay stunned for several seconds, losing the momentum to roll over and fight back.
It took him longer than it should have to shake it off, take a breath and try to roll over, hands reaching between his knees for a foot, which finding, he twisted until the weight on his back went slack. Now able to roll to his back, thankful he wasn't wearing a vest that would prohibit free movement, he drew his knees up to his chin, wedged his feet against a belly and pushed up and out, flipping the body over his head. He rolled with it, a backwards somersault, was on his feet, and in a fist fight.
He was well trained in hand-to-hand combat, sparred with all of Bravo, wrestled daily with Sonny when on missions, and it didn't occur to him he might not gain the upper hand in this fight. Damn, the man coming at him was quick, he didn't slow down and he didn't go down.
Clay bided his time, danced, jabbed, took several punches and realized though the punches were hard, they didn't rock him back on his heels. Didn't rattle his teeth or whip his head to the side…so either his opponent was young or…
He snatched the black knit hat from the dudes head and sure enough, long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail tumbled down. Blonde hair? In Thailand? He heard Jason's voice in his head: There is never a reason for a man to hit a woman, a solider however, fights to win. He heard Sonny's voice in his head: don't hesitate, don't pull your punch, don't be a gentleman. And finally, Trent's voice: A woman coming at you with the intent, means and ability to kill you deserves to be cold-cocked. And they all agreed on one thing…..if she was trying to kill you, knock her the fuck out.
Still Clay hesitated to land that last punch. She was young and small and… the bitch struck him in the temple with a rock. He staggered, reeling backwards. A kick in the crotch followed by a head dive into his stomach and they were both on the ground. Stunned, vision seeing bursting stars, he rolled with her, able to pin her down on her back, drew back a fist….and still, he hesitated. She swiped at him with a knife, catching his thigh.
Damn, he panted, pain flaring. Once Jason found out he'd been beaten up by a girl because he was too shy to fight back and render her unconscious, he'd kick his ass. She swiped again, able to worm her way out from beneath him while he was busy imagining what Jason would say and do once he found out. This time, she caught his lower belly, just above his belt where his pants didn't offer his belly the same protection they did his thighs.
He'd had enough.
Grabbing her hand with the knife, he forced her arm down, twisted and easily snapped the bones in her wrist. He tossed the knife aside when her hand went limp. He gave her credit though, she didn't make a sound when the bones broke. She brought her knee up into his back, dislodging him and she scrambled away.
If she were attacking a man not trained to fight, she'd easily have won.
Clay thought to let her go, thinking he'd caused her enough pain to chase her off, but she easily came up into a crouch, pivoted and launched at him, rock in her other hand. He rolled away, came up on his knees but couldn't straighten up. Doubled over, hunched over his thighs, not yet having his breath back from the nut-cracking, he waited until she was close, and with one final swing, rendered her unconscious with a fist to the jaw.
He hoped he hadn't broken her jaw….he'd feel bad…..hell, he was going to feel horrible for breaking her wrist….but, right about now, he hoped the bitch drank her meals through a straw for the next eight weeks or so.
"Aww….fuck." he groaned and indulged in a bit of little boy pouting, clasped his hands between his thighs and rolled around on the ground. He breathed through it, fought down the nausea and when he heard gun shots, scrambled to his feet; fell, tried again to stand, tripped. On his knees he grabbed his rifle, crawled to a tree and with its support against one hand, rose only to stumble forward, striking his shoulder against the tree, hitting the bark with his full weight when he lost his balance.
"Ooooffff." He went down again, and stayed down, waiting for his breath to return. "Shit." He gulped, and after crawling back over to the tree he had somehow managed to roll away from, once gain braced his hand against it and struggled to his feet.
He really should tie the bitch up, but chose to stagger down the hill to assist Charlie instead.
By the time he reached the bottom of the hill, half sliding, half crawling, sometimes walking, he'd shaken off the cobwebs from having his bell rung with a rock, subdued the pain from the kick and was able to shoulder his rifle, take up a safe stance and fire accurately.
"We clear?" Clay yelled, moments later. God, he hoped so. 'Cause hitching a shoulder to wipe the blood out of his eye wasn't working anymore, his sleeve was soaked through.
Beau stood in disbelief as the chaos that littered his campsite. He called to his men to count off, all reported back and he had to sit down when the relief he felt staggered him and his knees refused to support him.
The campsite was destroyed. Every sleeping bag and backpack was shot up or knifed through, kicked aside. Except one. That one was a distance away, under the protection of low hanging pine branches. And that just pissed him off.
He'd burned his feet dancing around the strewn embers from the fire. Five dead bodies were here and there and over yonder, because according to Mick, Spenser had taken out two before he and Chase had even reached the campsite.
This was all Jason Hayes's fault. If Beau hadn't been trying to piss him off, this never would have happened.
Speaking of that sonofabitch…..Beau best lay eyes on the man's rookie.
"SPENSER!" Beau bellowed, picking up a foot to inspect the damage done to it.
"That's why we sleep with our boots on." Clay walked forward, rifle in his right arm but aimed toward the sky. He came with a limp, stopped against a tree to support his weight.
"Jesus Christ, look at you." Beau snarled. "What the fuck happened?! Bobby, you okay to see to him?"
"I'm okay." Clay waved Bobby away. "See to his feet."
"You're bleeding." Bobby stated.
"My feet are fine." Beau grumbled.
"Mmmmm," Clay nodded. "Head versus rock." But he slid down the tree until he sat on his hip near what was left of the fire, seeking the warmth. All of a sudden, he really wasn't feeling all that good
"Here, gimme that." Karl took possession of the rifle. Clay let him.
"Left one alive up the hill. Was out cold when I left." Clay went down on his side. "Just watch her, mean right. Just gonna close my eyes a second….."
"Her?" Mick repeated. "Did you say her?"
"Oh no you're not." Beau stood up. "Chase, take Karl, go up the hill, see if you can find the guy. Bring back the two he shot if you can find them. Greg, get a fire going. Mick, check these guys, see what we can find. Bobby, take care of him."
Bobby retrieved his medical kit and knelt beside Clay, who, used to Trent, fidgeted when Bobby snapped on rubber gloves and reached with a cloth to wipe the blood from his cheek and eye.
"You're the medic?" Clay asked, hissed, jaw clenched. Trent never wore gloves when taking care of him. He just teased him about another boo-boo while the rest of the team hung over his shoulder and watched.
"Yup," he had a flashlight in his teeth. "What year is it?"
"2017. I don't have a concussion."
"I'll decide that. Can you hold this?"
"Sure." Clay raised a hand, held the cloth firmly against the gash over his left eye. "It'll bleed a lot, but won't need stitches."
"And how would you know that?"
"I can see straight." He said, as though that explained everything. It didn't. But it would have to Trent.
Bobby shook his head. Whatever the hell that meant.
"You hurt anywhere else?"
"She had a knife."
"She?" Bobby chuckled. "Aaah, no wonder you left her alive. She kicked your ass dude."
Clay groaned at the LED light flashed in his eyes.
"Where'd you take it?"
"Thigh, belly, think I'm okay, just swipes."
Bobby pushed Clay onto his back, raised his shirt, thumbed his belly, probed the 'gaping wound'.
"Stitches or staples?" Bobby asked.
"That bad?" Clay raised his head to look down, felt dizzy and put his head back on solid ground. "Whichever is easier for you. Don't matter. Trent likes staples. Faster. 'Course, he hates to sew."
"Not bad, but don't want you losing too much blood up here." He was a bit surprised Clay was so calm and compliant, letting him do what he wanted. Kid didn't even flinch when Bobby pulled on his belt to loosen it and unzipped his pants. "Lift your hips."
The pants and shirt both being black, if Clay hadn't admitted to the knife wounds, Bobby wouldn't have seen the bleeding or known to look for the tell-tale signs of injury by tears in the material.
"OW!" Clay yelped as the material pulled against the gash in his leg.
"Sorry. Yeah, gonna need a couple staples here too. Will need to clean them both out first. Any other injuries?"
"Don't think so." Clay swallowed hard, beginning to shiver. Bobby frowned. That was odd.
"Greg, get a move on with that fire!"
Bobby knew Clay was cold and wet from lying in the mud and wet grass up on the hill for several hours, and didn't need him taking a chill. He didn't think shock was much of a chance, but he didn't like Clay's bottom lip trembling.
"Something wrong?" Mick paused in his process of going through the pockets of the three dead men.
"He's banged up a bit. Would like to get him dry and warm."
"I have dry socks." Clay quipped. "Lisa wouldn't let me leave without extra socks."
"Lisa?" Greg repeated. "Girlfriend?"
"Mmmmm." Clay groaned, feeling every ache and pain and complaint his body had suffered that day. "Supplies our gear." He tensed, wincing when a thumb probed the gash on his thigh. "OW!"
"I'm going to need hot water." Bobby looked around. The only container he could see that would heat water was the dented coffee urn. "Sorry, you're good, not too deep."
"Pan in my backpack." Clay offered, "And a collapsible five gallon pail to carry water."
"Jesus, you just have everything." Mick said, shaking his head. "Nothing on these guys."
"Lisa packed for me." He could feel the warmth of blood trickling down his wrist. Which was bullshit, blood wasn't warm once it hit open air, but yeah, the cloth he was holding to his temple had soaked through. "Think I need another cloth."
"Christ, you bled through that?" Bobby folded another and switched them out. "Apply pressure."
"Roger that." Clay slurred.
"Stay awake." Bobby ordered.
"Okay."
"Who trained this guy?" Greg wondered, returning with Clay's backpack. "Pretty fucking calm, not knowing how bad he's hurt."
Clay stirred. "Trent did."
"Stay still." Beau ordered. The condition of Clay's backpack pissed him off. It was untouched. Greg also had dragged Clay's sleeping bag over. It too, was untouched. And water resistant. Sonofabitch. Forget trying to steal Spenser for future missions. Charlie needed this Lisa person.
"Good, get him off this damp ground." Bobby nodded. "Count of three, we'll pick him up, you lay it out and we'll put him on it."
"Told you not to camp here." Clay let himself be picked up by Beau and Bobby, didn't fight them, welcoming the soft, cozy warmth of his sleeping bag. "Told you to scout high. Told you to set watch. Told you not to light the fire. Told you to observe the camp.
"Told you to shut up." Beau said. He couldn't help but think if Clay hadn't questioned him over his decision to stop and make camp here – over his every decision – Chase wouldn't have fallen off a cliff, Clay wouldn't be hurt, their camp wouldn't have been attacked, there wouldn't be five dead men, his feet wouldn't hurt, hell, none of this would have happened.
"Ever hear of SIXX A.M.?" Bobby was asking.
"Hasn't everyone? Happens every day." Clay let his hand drop, arm aching from holding it up and applying pressure to his head, which was throbbing. Maybe without his hand pressing so hard against it, his head would stop hurting so much.
"The rock band." Bobby added. "Bass player from Motley Crue? No bells ringing?"
"Oh. Then no." Clay was quiet. "Jason likes classic rock, Ray listens to Soul or Rhythm n Blues, some Motown." He shuddered, hitching a shoulder up to his ear. "Brock won't admit it, but he knows the words to some mountain climbing song by Mylie and he 'shakes it off' with Taylor. Sonny is all country, but yeah, he knows most of the music Jason listens to. Trent likes current rock….why?"
Bobby hadn't asked for a rundown of who listened to what kind of music but if talking kept Clay's mind off impending pain, he'd listen.
"Cause, this is gonna hurt." Bobby was opening packages, uncapping bottles, unrolling gauze, tearing tape into strips. "Awesome song."
"Just give me morphine."
"Got something better." Bobby said but Clay was shaking his head. "What?"
"Can't." Clay moaned. "Just gimme morphine…."
"But this will work better, it's faster and….."
"Trent will kick my ass." Clay pushed up on his elbows. "Clean it out, staple it, wrap it up."
"Trent? The not your medic Trent?" Greg asked. "That Trent?"
"That same one." Clay nodded. "I have morphine."
"Quick sticks." Bobby shook his head. "Temporary relief."
"No, morphine." Clay corrected. "I can inject myself, if I have to. There's a grey medical kit in my bag, big ole red cross on it."
"How's your tolerance for pain?"
"Depends on who you ask." Clay went flat on his back. Mick was now holding the cloth to the gash on his head. "Trent says fairly high, Sonny says I cry like a baby. Jason hopes I never get captured and tortured 'cause breaking me is gonna frustrate my captors into deadly violence and he worries he won't be able to get to me before that happens."
Beau exchanged a look with Mick. Huh.
So, high, Bobby decided to go with what Trent, the not-medic, thought and said.
"Bleeding is slowing finally." Mick said. "Hand me some wipes, I'll clean him up."
"Red Cross loves me. I bleed fast." Clay was feeling drowsy. Huh, maybe he'd been hit harder with that rock than he'd thought. "But here's the downside of that. I bleed a lot." he felt a sting across his eye. "Little warning next time." he hissed through clenched teeth. Now his eye stung and burned from the wet antiseptic wipe. It teared up and no amount of blinking cleared the moisture away.
And people called Trent rough and abrasive! Ha! He didn't try and blind you.
"Butterfly band-aides good?" Greg asked Mick, who nodded.
"Bottle of saline first, let me squirt it clean." Mick said. "Clay? Your head hurt?" he asked when Clay kept raising a hand to ground the heel against his forehead.
"Aches." Clay admitted. "But I can see okay."
"Try not to rub, okay? Don't want you pulling the bandage off or tugging on your skin, you'll make it bleed again." Mick said. "Stop."
Karl had retrieved a bucket of water with the pail from Clay's backpack and filled the pan, that while not steaming hot, had heated enough the water was warm. Mick dipped a cloth, wiped the blood and bits of dirt and dust from the rock out of the cut, squirted it with saline, dried it off and taped a bandage over it.
"Here, sorry about that." Mick held a thumb over Clay's lower lashes to keep him from blinking and flushed his eye with the saline. "Better?"
Once Mick had finished and Clay had relaxed, Bobby pulled a bottle from his bag and sprayed its contents over the gash on Clay's thigh. He waited a couple minutes, then with Mick and Greg's assistance, soon had the gash on Clay's thigh, high above his knee, washed, cleaned out, stapled.
"Raise your leg." Bobby said. "Put your foot flat. That's it, just gonna wrap a bandage around your leg." It wasn't as deep at the gash on his belly, the heavy material of his pants had blunted the swipe. "Only took four, not too bad, right?"
"Doing good." Bobby told him. Clay had been stoic, jaw clenched, hands fisted throughout his administrations. "Rest for a minute, okay? Then we'll start your belly."
"Can't believe he stayed still through that." Greg said. "Had to hurt."
"No debris to dig out, clean cut. Knife was sharp." Bobby answered. "Lidocaine was enough to dull the discomfort."
"No." Clay stirred, head rolling on the downy sleeping bag. He liked the softness, rubbed his cheek against it. "What?" he should protest something, but he couldn't focus on what. "You…...no, don't."
"Ssh," Mick shushed him.
"Belly's more tender. He won't like it." Bobby said. "We've all had staples, nothing to cry over."
"He's not in shock, is he? He's awfully quiet." Mick said. "Kinda groggy too."
"Yeah, we've had staples before. And they're a bitch." Greg made a face. "Hate them. Pull, itch, skins feels all hot."
"No. He's good. He's down, he's warm, and we can control his pain." Bobby swiped an antiseptic swap across the gash on Clay's belly, instructed Mick to hold the two edges together, wiped away the blood and set the first staple.
Clay winced, jerked with a hiss. His fist punched the ground and though he wanted to kick the ground as well, he quelled the urge and didn't.
"Okay, few more than your leg." Bobby sprayed more lidocaine. Clay didn't ask for it, but Bobby gave him a shot of morphine and Bobby worked quickly to finish up. The base doc would do a much better job, he told Beau.
"No." Clay rolled his head, lifted it to look down at the bandage on his belly once Bobby was done taping it into place. "We have a doc. Christ, Trent's gonna be pissed. Ugh."
"They have a doc?" Bobby looked at Beau who shrugged. "Does the doc travel with you?"
"Yuh-huh." Clay squirmed, gathering his resolve to sit up so Bobby could wrap an ace bandage around his belly to help hold the taped-on bandage in place. "He's cool, butts head with Jason all the time."
"Yeah? Name someone who doesn't." Beau snorted.
Beau's walkie squawked, Karl and Chase reported there was no live or dead body at the sight where Clay had fought with the woman. Yes, they had the correct location, yes they'd passed two dead bodies and would collect them on their return to camp, no, there was no sign of an unconscious person.
"Move him back from the fire a bit, tuck him in his sleeping bag." Beau said. "Over there, under that tree is good. Leafs won't offer much protection from the rain, but he's not in the open."
"Wait." Clay blinked, "Waaayate…" his throat felt thick, odd. He swallowed, rubbing his tongue along the roof of his mouth in an attempt to moisten his mouth with saliva. Nope, didn't work. "No. Not…..bad idea. Tree." There was something he needed to tell Charlie, something about the fight, about this campsite….something….his ears buzzed and he was out.
With Clay tended, settled and asleep, Bobby, Greg, Mick and Beau all moved the three dead men in their camp out of the immediate circle around the fire, then Greg and Mick went to meet Chase and Karl to help them carry the dead man in to camp.
"Head shots." Mick commented. "All of them."
"Spenser got them all?" Chase asked. "We heard shots coming down the hill."
"We didn't fire." Karl said. "We heard a shot, and they came in shooting."
"That was Clay." Mick said. "Taking out the first guy."
At no time, did everyone leave the campsite at the same time. Clay was never out of anyone's sight. Not even ten minutes had passed, but when Bobby turned around to check on Clay, Clay was gone. Sleeping bag and all.
"Where did he go?" Chase asked. "CLAY?"
"That's not possible." Beau said stupidly. "He was right there."
"You wanna know what isn't possible?" Bobby said. "He didn't pack up his sleeping bag and go home."
"What are you saying?" Mick asked. "He's capable of walking."
"I'm not saying he's not." Bobby snapped, frustrated. "But we would have heard him if he got up, a yelp, a groan, something. I'm saying someone took him."
"How?" Karl demanded. "When? Who?"
"You mean, just walked in here, behind our backs, right under our noses and just took him?" Greg shook his head. "There are six of us. We would have heard or seen something."
"Then you tell me where the hell he is." Beau demanded.
"You don't think he's playing a joke?" Chase asked. "Do you"
Bobby shook his head. "No. He's hurt."
"Bravo?" Karl guessed.
Everyone looked at Beau who stared in, well, dismay, shock, disbelief, take your pick because he had no idea how the hell he felt right now.
In less than twenty-four hours, Bravo's rookie had skied down a hill on his heels and ass, dragged a man's dead weight up a cliff, killed five men, engaged in a fist-fight, been stabbed - twice, had his head split open and oh yeah, gone missing.
It wasn't possible. It simply wasn't possible. It couldn't be.
How the hell was Beau supposed to call command and report Clay Spenser was missing? He groaned…..how the hell was he going to tell Jason Hayes he'd taken his rookie on a routine hike to simply survey the terrain and observe a camp and lost his kid?
Beau finally shook his head. "Hayes is an ass, and they're capable of coming up here and making off with the kid, but no. Hayes wouldn't pull a stunt like that with the kid hurt."
"What is that?" Mick asked.
"What?"
"That!"
They all heard it now. It was coming from Spenser's backpack.
Beau cursed when Chase unzipped a pocket and pulled out a sat phone that was ringing. How the hell did a rookie rate a sat phone on any mission? Flipping up the antenna, pissed and worried, expecting who he didn't know, he barked it into phone.
"Who the hell is this?" Beau growled.
"Fuller." Jason sighed.
Male voice. So, not the girlfriend or mom or Davis.
"Hayes." Beau spat. "Why does your rookie have a sat phone on a mission with me?"
"Cause he always carries one."
"Why?"
"He goes high on his own a lot." And comms have a habit of conveniently going out whenever we need to reach him. And we have this habit of losing him and I never now where I'm going to find him. But of course, he didn't admit any of that to Beau.
"Comms not good enough for your golden-haired child?"
"Why are you answering his phone?"
Beau wasn't about to tell Jason how Clay had insisted on staying behind on his own and setting up watch on the camp. Now he knew why Clay hadn't been at all hesitant to remain behind alone. He had a phone to call for help and there was no doubt that fucking Blackburn wouldn't immediately dispatch Bravo via chopper to come get him. But then, Jason already knew that...because Clay would have called in by now.
Yeah, how to tell Jason Clay couldn't answer, because….
"And why isn't his phone with him?" Jason added.
Silence.
"You lost him, didn't you?" Jason sighed. "Did you call command?" he knew Beau hadn't or Eric would have been notified and would have bee-lined right to Jason's side. "When? How long ago?"
"He's not lost." Beau snapped.
"Do you know where he is?"
Silence.
"So, he's missing. Which means, you lost him."
"We didn't lose him."
"He's not with you, you don't know where he is, he hasn't come back." Jason sighed. "He was your responsibility, you were supposed to look after him, that means knowing where he is at all times. Hell, Cerberus does a better job than you do babysitting."
"Fuck you Hayes. We're done."
Jason chuckled. "Oh, we'll see you soon." He promised.
"Yeah, well when that time comes, we'll deliver your boy right into your waiting arms." Beau snapped. God-damn the smug ass. Christ, he could not stand Jason Hayes.
"I doubt that." Jason said confidently.
"Oh yeah?" Beau was furious. Bravo would tell command he couldn't account for Clay's whereabouts. They'd ask for permission to come after the kid and good ole Blackburn would grant it.
"Oh yeah." Jason agreed. "We're ten minutes out. See you soon Beau."
Hold on kid, we're coming.