Ground Rules

by Haven126

The first time a mission goes seriously sideways on Jack and Mac. Set in the Turkey Day universe, but far too big to be a Trimming.

2. Chapter 2

Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own any of these characters, please don't sue.

TOC – Tactical Operations Center. FAK – First Aid Kit. CAS Evac – Casualty evacuation. VHF and UHF – types of radio. SWAG – Scientific Wild Ass Guess. LZ – Landing Zone.

-M-

Jack Dalton would be the first to admit that he wasn't a particularly book learned individual. He could read a topography map because someone had taught him how, and there was a handy key that told you what was what. The map did not, however, show anything below the surface. It was there to give altitude indicators to aircraft and ground troops, and help them plot courses for vehicles.

But it also showed him how the rocks lay. And you didn't grow up in the great state of Texas without learning a little bit about rocks. You sure as hell didn't operate in a country like Afghanistan without learning a whole lot more.

It wasn't an exact science, but he got a hole in two.

Dalton came at the opening into the sun, so he didn't cast a shadow, and he bounced a pebble into the entrance of the little cave from above, as if he was standing on top of the rocks. Then he hunkered down and waited.

Nothing happened.

A second pebble got him about the same response as the first, and Jack considered using one of his two flash bangs. It would leave him just one, and as anyone who'd gone through Basic knew, 'one was none'. On the other hand, if he walked into that nook and got shot all to pieces, one woulda been plenty.

He sat outside a little longer, listening, but he didn't hear a damn thing. Not so much as a whisper of fabric. Jack counted it down in his head, then rolled in, trying to get his silhouette the hell out of the opening as soon as possible.

It was dark, a little cooler than he expected, and definitely on someone's radar.

His tac light showed a nice little cooking fire ring, complete with a piece of radiator grill as a cook stand and a small tea kettle, dry and quite cold. There was a teacup set off to the side, as well as a one-man sleeping mat and a small pile of dried up camel shit for fuel. No weapons, no visible brass on the floor.

Jack pushed further into the cave, finding a second chamber that contained another couple handwoven bags of dung, and an empty chocolate bar wrapper, licked clean. There was air coming through a very small aperture, the cave obviously linked to a larger structure, but it was way too small for even a kid to crawl through. There didn't seem to be any other way to access the system from these two little rooms.

Jack left it exactly as he had found it, and spent the next twenty minutes trying to find another way into the cave system. When his radio crackled, it legitimately startled him.

"Sweeper Sweeper, bridgework is complete. Rally to Sweeper Three, over."

Jack took a different route back, still trying to find another way into the caves, and came up empty. By the time he'd made it back to Adams, the rest of Sweeper was gathered in the shade. Smiley was beside Ramallama and both of them were bent over a couple pieces of paper. The lieutenant glanced up, then held up one finger.

Smiley had situated Mac next to Higgins, feet up, but in typical MacGyver fashion, the damn kid had his head propped up on his own pack, and he had his swiss army knife in hand, fiddling with the radio pack. He was wearing his concentrating frown.

Dalton stared at him a moment, then shook his head, unclipped the Barrett, and squatted next to him, settling back against the rocks. Mac didn't acknowledge him other than a slight turn of his head – but not his eyes – and kept working.

Jack reached up to his left shoulder, dug out the camelbak mouthpiece, and took a long drag.

"You . . . unnerstand that gonk?"

Jack waited a beat, but Mac didn't answer, so Jack craned his head around and saw that Higgins was awake and looking at them.

Dalton thumbed towards the kid. "He does. Regular gonkulator."

A slight twitch of the frown told him Mac knew enough Air Force speak to understand what 'gonk' was. It was any tech the Air Force didn't understand. And a pilot should sure as hell understand how a radio worked.

"It's not the radio that's the problem," Mac finally answered, grimacing as he drove a screw into a hole that looked a little too small for it. "Power supply's the issue now."

Power. Yeah, that'd be a problem. "I take it we can't just . . . take all the batteries outta these," and Jack tapped his radio, "an', I dunno, tape 'em all together or something to make one big one?"

The frown turned up a little, and this time he got the eyebrows engaged too. "No, Jack, we can't just . . . make one big one." Then he sighed, and let his head fall back against his pack pillow for a second. "I mean, yes, we can, but it won't be nearly big enough, and that plan has the same problem mine does. So unless you have a soldering iron in your kit . . ."

He trailed off, then glanced at Jack. And he had The Look.

Jack lifted his chin a little. "Oh no you don't. You're about to ask me for somethin' and I'm not gonna get it back-"

Mac very carefully set his multi-tool in the sand, instead of on his chest, and even had the gall to hold out the hand. "I am, and you will get it back. Can I have the scope off your rifle?"

"You want . . . you want the scope off my rifle," Jack repeated flatly.

Mac nodded, then winced, which made Jack feel like an ass for the second time that day. "Yeah. I'd use the lens on your watch, but what I'm planning to do would cook the photoluminescence and it'd be useless after that-"

"Oh, so let's trash the optics instead?" He didn't just want the scope. He wanted to take it apart.

Of course he wanted to take it apart.

The kid's eyes closed for a moment, and Jack decided it wasn't worth arguing over. "Alright, fine, but playin' the injured card's low, even for you." A sniper without optics wasn't much of a sniper, and the one is none rule sadly didn't apply to your primary weapon.

But a single sniper was not going to save them, whereas a single radio might could do the trick.

Jack released the thumb screws and took the optics off the rail. "Just got her zeroed back in too," he grumbled, passing the narrow, surprisingly heavy cylinder to Mac, and he wasn't sure if the relief he saw in Mac's eyes was because he didn't have to keep arguing, or because he finally had the tool he needed to do whatever it was he was going to do.

Jack hissed on Mac's behalf when the kid curled his legs off the pack and rolled to a sitting position. "Hey, dude, what happened to sittin' still –"

"I need the sun." He tried to pick up the radio battery pack but Jack beat him to it, and other than a resigned – and maybe slightly grateful – look, Mac let him carry it. He seemed relatively steady on his feet, and true to his word, Mac sat down on a rock as soon as he was in full sun, squinting up at the sky a moment before he changed his position slightly. Jack set the pack down in front of him, and Mac nodded in thanks, then promptly pried the lens off the front of the scope.

Jack very carefully didn't throttle him. "Gonna toast some ants?"

". . . yeah. Kinda." He pulled the lens off the other side of the scope, then gave him a weak smile and handed the rest of the cylinder back to him. Jack gave him a dark look and snatched it out of his hand.

The kid stacked the lens together, then held them up in the sun, studying the white light on the sand. He flipped one of them around, which significantly tightened the dot of sunlight, and then he rotated one of them, which made it slightly brighter. Then he reached for his vest – that he wasn't wearing.

Mac sighed. It sounded exhausted. "Jack, can you grab the electrical tape out of my vest?"

Jack did as he was instructed, and started the edge so Mac could manipulate it without letting go of the lenses. MacGyver carefully joined the two lenses, then used his teeth to rip the tape.

"Dalton!"

Jack wasn't even sure Mac noticed that he walked away, and the kid bent painfully over the battery pack with the world's most primitive soldering iron.

Smiley had taken her feet and offered him a piece of paper. It was a hand drawn map, showing him where they'd stashed all the explosives, and what kind they were. They'd taken them well beyond the bridge, and put a few outliers where paths were convenient but not necessarily in their direction, just to create doubt. By the time Dalton figured out what he was looking at and started folding it to tuck it into his vest, Smiley's attention had turned to Mac. "How's he doing?"

"Kid's a damn wizard. If the radio can be fixed, he'll fix it."

She nodded. "Yeah, I know. We barely even let the vendor touch our TALONs anymore." Then she frowned. "I don't want to make him run. Did you find anyplace we can lay low, or at least stash MacGyver and Higgins?"

"Yes and no." Mac hadn't changed positions, and Jack sighed, pulled off his eye protection, and rubbed his eyes vigorously. "Found a cave. It's connected to a whole system, never did find another way in. Problem is, someone's set up a nice little picnic spot there."

"So they know about it." It wasn't a question.

Jack shrugged, and replaced the glasses. "Someone does. Hasn't been used in a while. Doesn't look like a stocked outpost, more like a lookout station. Long as we stayed quiet and laid a false trail for anyone that gets past your little minefield, might get us through the night."

Smiley's expression was grim. "And then?"

Jack blew out his cheeks. "Then, if they got the manpower, they'll send a group the long way around and pin us between 'em. After that, it's hide and seek."

"Let's say Hollywood can't unfuck the radio."

He glanced at his watch. "Well, we were supposed to land around this time, so with any luck, in a couple hours someone with an actual brain'll realize we didn't. Sooner if someone else needed that bird. They'll try to get satellite, may or may not spot the crash site, and then send out a team and some air support. It'll be a grid search after that. Good news is, us being this high, even UHF'll get us in touch with the pilots if the birds are close enough. They'll be squawking on our operating freq."

The way Jack saw it, they had one option now. Stow the injured and have the able-bodied lead the Tallies on a wild goose chase. Once they were penned in well and good, it was gonna turn into the Alamo. They might be able to blast their way into the rest of that cave system, and pop up outside the enemy's perimeter.

Or, their enemy might do exactly the same.

"Okay. Let's get some grub, hydrate, and see what happens with the radio. If MacGyver or Higgins deteriorate much more, we'll have to move."

Jack ended up pulling a little bit of a rat fuck by perusing the MREs before Smiley actually told anyone it was chow time. He was hoping for clam chowder, but all he could find was cigarette soup – otherwise known as onion soup, which looked a lot like adding water to the contents of an ashtray. It wasn't fabulous, but at least Ramallama could drink it. He also pulled some mashed potatoes out of a chicken entrée and resigned himself to the fact that he was probably going to have to eat the rest of it, since the garlic mashed potato side was the only thing that made it edible.

Mac passed those on to Smiley – her engineer, her job – and grabbed a spaghetti and meatballs for Mac. The kid only budged when the sun moved, having chased him to another rock, and his bandana was finally starting to show the sweat.

"Hey Mac."

The blond didn't respond, scowling at the battery pack, and Jack watched silently a moment as a thin thread of smoke rose from a green wire.

"I know," Mac growled suddenly. "I'm working as fast as I can, and bugging me every ten seconds is not going to make this go any faster."

Jack blinked, a little taken aback. "Whoa, now, hoss, why don't you wipe off that war paint. I'm just here to offer ya your very favorite Meal Rejected by Ethiopians."

The blond sucked in what he probably considered a deep breath, not taking his eyes off the board he was frying.

Jack decided to take a seat and shoved his chicken into the heating sleeve, letting it do its thing. Pain always turned him off his feed, and he wasn't going to insist that Mac eat the whole thing, but they needed to get fluids and sugar into him, if nothing else. Sitting up was clearly causing him pain; his right leg was trembling though his hands were perfectly steady.

"Besides, you can take a breather. Ain't heard one peep from that minefield, and it'll take 'em the rest of the day to go around."

Mac's scowl deepened. "Sorry. I'm just . . . not in the mood for another "EODs are so slow" diatribe."

"Hell, brother, why would I give you one of those now? You and Smiley whipped through that land bridge," Jack pointed out, and they settled back into a slightly less hostile silence.

At some point the green wire melted enough for Mac's purposes, and the blond used the can opener attachment on his knife to mash it into another one. He shook out the hand that had been holding the lenses, and then shakily rubbed his eyes.

Okay. Enough was enough. "Alright, Mac, come on back to the shade and let's just take a break. You're no good to anyone wearin' yourself out."

"That's the point!" he snapped, finally looking at Jack. He was more pale now than before, and sweat beaded on his upper lip. "We need this radio to work, or we can't call in our coordinates. It could be days before we get found in a grid search. I have to get this done before I'm – I'm just dead weight-"

So this was what the kid looked like when he was close to panicking. Jack had never actually seen him do it before. And given the scrapes they'd gotten into, that was saying something. The attitude change had started right after Mac realized he was actually injured, not just banged up, and Jack wondered if he was legitimately scared. "How's about you don't go tossin' that word around so lightly-"

"You give this spiel to the pilot?" It was quieter, and bitter.

Jack felt his eyebrows crawl upward. "Bud, do you and me got a problem?"

Mac finally looked away, back at the battery pack, and a little bit of the anger and frustration melted into distress. "Jack – it's . . . it's damaged. Even if I can bypass the broken board, the battery cells themselves took a hit. I don't know how much signal strength you'll have, even if I get it working –"

"Angus." He said it very gently.

Mac stopped mid-word, apparently surprised, and Jack pinned him with his eyes. "Chief, the radio workin' or not workin' is not on you. Okay? You're not the one who fucked it up. We're all in this together, and we're gonna get out of it together, with or without that hunk'a junk."

Mac's eyes slid past Jack, toward the rest of Sweeper. ". . . Jack, if I can't get the radio working, the odds of everyone surviving to evac–"

"And if you don't get smarter about the way you're doin' it, what are the odds of you survivin' to evac? You done that math yet, brainiac?"

Something crossed those blue eyes then, something calculating, and Jack realized with a lurch that Mac hadn't done that math. Not until he just told him to.

Well, shit. "Mac, you are bleedin'. If it was any of the rest of us, you'd tie it off and tell us to stop wrigglin' around. Now eat your own damn dog food – or whatever the hell you can choke down from that bag nasty – and lay your ass on the ground." Jack got to his feet, and stepped around to the other side of him, so that Mac was sitting in his shadow. "Shove over."

The annoyed look was back, masking something else. "I can't work on my back –"

"Why the hell not? Gimme that thing." He snatched the taped lenses out of Mac's left hand, not at all pleased at how easy it was. "I been paintin' targets since you were eatin' paste in the first grade. Think I can point a laser where you tell me."

Mac's mouth snapped open to retort – and then closed with a little click. It took another couple seconds of silence, but the tech finally slid off the rock, and Jack took his place, with the battery pack between his feet. His shadow wasn't long enough to cover the kid, but at least it got his face, and Mac propped his head up on the rock so he could still see what was going on.

The kid's tone was still clipped, but the instructions were clear enough, and Jack held the beam where he was directed, forcing down chicken in snot sauce with his other hand. He was pleasantly surprised to find a consolation prize in the bag – cherry-blueberry cobbler. As far as MRE desserts went, that, the maple muffin top, and the fudge brownie tied for things that were legitimately tasty enough to actually pay money for back stateside.

Jack passed it blindly down to his left. He'd heard Mac swallow a little water, but the MRE had been set beside him and otherwise not touched. When the dessert pouch wasn't taken from his hand, Jack shook it vigorously.

"Look, man, I know you're in pain, but you needa eat somethin', or those painkillers Smiley's givin' ya are gonna tear you up."

The pouch was eventually accepted. "Only thing I can take is Tylenol. The rest are NSAIDs – blood thinners."

Jack was pretty sure morphine wasn't, or they wouldn't hand it out like candy to men who were likely to get shot. But he didn't push it; Mac would fight them on anything he thought would hamper his ability to think clearly.

Jack offered his eating utensil. "Bud, you got a little more than a headache goin' there."

Mac didn't say anything else, but eventually the pouch was pulled open, and beneath Jack's little beam of sunlight, a thin little line of smoke swirled up from a thick black cable.

"Sit on that for a while. If it catches fire, blow it out."

The shade gradually crept towards them, inching up the kid's legs, then his chest, and Jack was beginning to think they were going to have to up and move again before his partner rolled to his side and mashed down on the joint of the black wire and a metal knob with his knife. "Ow, Jack, move the beam-"

"Right, sorry-"

Mac used his right elbow to drag himself a little closer to the box, fanning the smoke away with his left, and then the kid let loose with a blistering string of words Jack had never heard him use before, and slumped back to the sand. His lips were pulled thin, whether in anger or pain Jack couldn't tell.

"Try it, but do it fast. I just cracked the damn plate, it's gonna start leaking-"

Jack grabbed the battery pack, hauling it back to the radio kit, and had it all hooked together in less than thirty seconds. Technically Ramallama was their com officer, but he wasn't going to sweat duties and manning a backpack radio had become muscle memory more than a decade ago. He dialed in the right frequency and grabbed the headset.

"Sweeper One Six, this is Sweeper Six, do you copy, over."

The rest of the team had looked up the second he'd dragged the battery pack back over, and Smiley came to crouch by the backpack. Dalton gave the TOC a five second count to come back.

Nothing happened.

"Sweeper One Six, this is Sweeper Six, nothing heard. How copy, over."

The only thing he was pickin' up on the headset was the usual static of random shit bouncing off the atmosphere. Jack frowned, and flipped open the pack flap, running his finger down the laminated list there to find the emergency frequency for the region.

"-eeper Six, you are weak and in-zzrt-mittent, say again, over."

He released a breath he hadn't known he was holding, and pulled off the headset so Smiley could hear. Dalton rattled off their coordinates, near as he could calculate them from Ramallama's map. It took three tries before he finally got back the two magical words they all needed to hear.

"-ood copy, Sweeper Six. What's your crrkt-ation, over."

Smiley took the headset and he let her, heading back to Mac. His face was in sun, now that his shadow-maker was gone, and his eyes were closed, but his expression was the very picture of relief.

Jack retook the rock, to shade him as much as to pick up the trash and tools. They could both hear the lieutenant calling in a dustoff.

"It's gonna take 'em a couple hours to get here." Which was a hell of a lot better than a couple days. "Think it's about time we gave ya the good stuff and found better cover."

Mac didn't say anything either way, though he adjusted his position with a grimace. Jack kept one eye on him while he unwound the tape from the lenses, then pulled the scope cylinder from his vest. The optics' lenses were made to be removed, and they were keyed, so it wasn't difficult to figure out how to reassemble it. Once done, Jack picked out a random northern ridge and peered through it to make sure he'd gotten it right.

And found himself staring at a person.

It was a local, and he had a rifle hanging from his back. Couldn't have been older than fifteen. He wasn't looking their way; he seemed to be picking a route along the ridge west of the land bridge.

Trying to find a way around.

"Good luck with that, pal," Jack muttered, and scanned the ridge. There was another youth trailing him, about thirty meters back, doing the same thing.

That they didn't know the lay of the land surprised him. If this was a training center, these ridges would be their stomping grounds. They'd know every inch of the place for miles around, running scenarios, practicing maneuvers. It could be they were new recruits, or not terribly interested in getting blown to pieces and using their 'initiative' to avoid the situation –

Or they could be getting into position as overwatch to call in the enemy's location.

Jack took the scope away from his face, and wasn't surprised to see Mac had his eyes open, watching him.

"What do you see?"

Jack frowned. "Break time's over. We need to get movin'."

It turned out Mac's SWAG of usable radio life was depressingly accurate. It gave out before they actually got confirmation of incoming support, but Jack was highly confident losing communication with the TOC would speed things along, not slow them down. Smiley used their empty MRE containers to line the radio pack so they wouldn't leave a trail of battery acid, and Sweeper did a decent job of cleaning up after themselves. Adams woke Higgins when it was time to move out, and Jack watched Smiley flatly ignore MacGyver's protests, and pull an auto-inject pen out of the kit.

Mac actually caught her hands to stop her, his expression urgent and even a little frantic, and Jack stepped closer.

"-a vasodilator, it'll open up the blood vessels. If the bleed's stopped, it could start up again, or get worse."

The lieutenant hesitated. "We treat trauma victims with this stuff every day, MacGyver-"

The blond nodded, not taking his eyes off her hands. "If you can control the bleeding, like with Higgins, it's fine. You can't give me that. Trust me, I wish you could." He didn't relax until she pulled back to the kit, and after a few seconds he shook his head again. "Fentanyl too. Same problem."

Smiley huffed out a sigh. "Listen, Mac, that's all we've got. I can't give you any more tylenol, not for a couple hours."

The tech nodded, still watching her warily, and she glanced up at Jack. "How far is this cave?"

He knew he was frowning at the tech, because Mac gave him one of his dead set stubborn looks. "'Bout two and a half klicks, and we got a couple hills in there. Dude, this is gonna be a big ol' pile of suck. You sure about this?"

Mac nodded shortly. "About the drugs? Yeah, I'm sure." He grimaced, and then pushed himself into a more upright sitting position. "I can make it."

Smiley gave him another long look, then pulled the kit closed. "You stick to me, Hollywood, and you tell me the second you need a break, you copy?"

Whether he agreed or not, Smiley enforced her will. She divided them up on the trail, putting Adams and Higgins in the lead. She followed, between MacGyver and Ramarao, and Jack brought up the rear. They kept to as much cover as possible, accommodating the wounded where they could, and they very nearly made it.

It was Mac's right leg that gave again, and Smiley caught him by the belt and managed to keep him on his feet. Jack was beside him in two strides and grabbed his right arm. He didn't try to pull it up over his shoulder; anything that stretched out Mac's chest was gonna be bad news for whatever was torn up in there. Mac was breathing hard, but he never cried out, not even when his left leg wobbled on him, and Jack had to change his grip, snagging the back of his trousers.

By the time they made it down the little slope that hid the cave entrance, he and Smiley were basically carrying Mac by the seat of his pants. They kept him upright as Adams cleared the cave – which was thankfully just as empty as it had been before, seemingly untouched.

"Let's put 'em in the back. That way they only gotta move once." If the Tallies had another entrance into that cave system and blew out that back wall, whether Higgins and Mac were in the front chamber or the rear wouldn't make much difference.

Adams half-supported, half-dragged Higgins into the cave, and Jack went ahead and ducked down, helping Mac get his legs up over the small ledge before catching him around the waist as Smiley sort of lowered him in. Together they got him into the second chamber, right next to Higgins and tucked out of direct line of sight of the main chamber.

It was just as chilly as Jack remembered, and while Adams propped Higgins' legs up on a pack, Jack wriggled out of his, pawing through it for his jacket. It was significantly bigger than Mac's, and he ever so carefully draped it over the tech, trying to avoid putting any of the weight of the fabric on the kid's middle. Mac's eyes were screwed shut and he was trying hard to catch his breath.

"Hang in there, bud. You're gonna be fine."

MacGyver gave him a tight nod, obviously not trusting his voice, and Jack pulled back to the entrance of the cave, waiting for the rest of Sweeper to get situated.

It didn't take long. Smiley popped back out into the sun, squinting back the way they'd come. "What's the word, Dalton?"

He had a plan, but he didn't like it. "There's somethin' I wanna check out. I'll clean up our trail, make a new one. Gimme an hour. Those caves might fuck with our radios, so leave someone near the door in case I get lonely."

She didn't bat an eye, turning back towards the cave. "Adams, we're gonna take a walk. Stay near the entrance and monitor coms."

Jack raised an eyebrow as the lieutenant turned, making sure the M9 was snug in her holster.

"I wasn't plannin' on gettin' that lonely."

She gave him an unimpressed look. "I'm going to set us up a doorbell, if that's okay with you."

Doorbell was probably a good idea. "Yes ma'am."

Jack took them back up the path they'd just come, doing what he could to cover the evidence of their passing. The 'doorbell' Smiley set up was clearly meant to be non-lethal, just loud, and it didn't take her long. The scope was back on the Barrett but not zeroed in, and Jack found a relatively good position and tried to find those two kids he'd spotted earlier.

There was no sign of them, and Jack's spidey sense started tingling.

He was making his second pass along the ridge when he heard the louie approaching from behind. "Got anything?"

She timed the question perfectly; the sound of an explosion echoed across the ridge.

They didn't have line of sight back to the land bridge, and Jack gave the northwest ridge another quick scan. Those two lookouts were either already in position, or they'd pulled back to their companions trying to find a way across the minefield.

Unsuccessfully, from the sound of things.

What he wanted to do now was get spotted, preferably in an area as far from their actual position as possible. What he didn't want to do was make the lieutenant sniper bait.

"How's about I walk you back. Neighborhood can get a little rough after dark."

She was also watching the north ridge, and her reply was distracted. "Such a gentleman."

Dalton still felt uneasy, even as they picked their careful way back to the cave, and he kept as many rocks between them and that northwest ridge as possible. Once they were in sight of the cave, he split off, continuing southwest for about two kilometers. He didn't make the trail too obvious, but he did leave a full bootprint here and there, and once he felt like he'd put enough distance between him and the rest of Sweeper, Jack climbed to the top of the nearest ridge, found a position he liked, and settled in.

If he was remembering Ramallama's map correctly, one of the two closest by-passes the Tallies could take around the land bridge was right over the cliff, and he was right. More vehicle tracks. There were no vehicles on it currently, and he zeroed the scope as much as he could, then picked out a small rock, about the size of a fist.

He squeezed off a round, adjusted accordingly, and waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

It was horses, this time, instead of trucks. Both the men were fully grown, and both were carrying mortar tubes. He waited until they were almost directly below before he sighted the man at the rear. Targets on horses were always a little trickier, and he didn't want to hurt the animal – not like it had much of a choice which side it was on.

And he was counting on it to run on back to the barn and let everyone know where the big bad sniper was set up.

Jack took both the men quickly, and he actually had to spend a round kicking up dust before either of the horses would leave their fallen riders. Once a bullet mimicked a snake in the sand, that was all she wrote, and Jack watched the two Arabians sprint back in the direction they'd come, tails like banners in the breeze.

He contemplated heading down and grabbing one of the mortar tubes, just in case, but that nagging feel hadn't left, and Jack gave the landscape a good hard look before he backed carefully down the slope. He took an extremely roundabout path back to the cave, and was pleased to see that Adams had been bright enough to find himself a little shelter outside it, watching the northern approach.

The private nodded to him, and Jack nodded back, then ducked into the cool darkness of the cave. Ramallama was on his back with a rock resting against the side of his face – closest thing to an icepack he was gonna find. Smiley was making use of one of the MRE heaters to warm the tea kettle, and she handed a steaming teacup up to Jack as he passed.

"See if you can get some of this into Hollywood."

It smelled like the spiced tea that was ubiquitous for the region - there must have been a tin of it somewhere in the cave. Jack moved into the second chamber, which was lit with one of the LED lanterns from the helo's egress kit. Higgins and Mac were side by side, both with their legs elevated, and both of them seemed to be asleep.

It was a trick of the light, but Jack didn't see a trained pilot and an ordinance technician. He saw two nineteen year olds, their dirt-streaked faces greasy with pain. On closer inspection, he could see MacGyver was shivering a little, and his eyes were moving restlessly under his lids.

"Hey, kid. You 'wake?"

Jack pulled the rifle sling over his head, leaning the Barrett against the cave wall, and sat down Indian style next to Mac. His eyes had half opened, and in the dim his pupils were huge.

Jack had gotten hit in the solar plexus more times than he could count. Every time, it knocked the wind out of him. There was a nerve cluster right there, and a little thing called your diaphragm, which was kinda important for breathing. A solid strike was enough to take down a grown ass Delta, and Jack couldn't imagine what it must feel like to have it torn up. Plus all that blood, if it couldn't find a place to drain, was just gonna keep pushing on that nerve cluster.

He could only hope the hike to the cave hadn't done more damage. He sure as hell wasn't going to start peeling the kids' clothes off to see. Nothing he could do about it anyway.

"C'mon, bud. Got some of that tea ya like."

Mac squinted a little, then turned his face away from both Jack and the lantern. "Feel sick," he mumbled.

"Yeah, kiddo, I know." If the pain and the damage itself wasn't causing that, blood loss certainly would.

"I don' want it." Mac's eyes opened again, looking at the man bundled up next to him. A pained expression crossed his face, and he turned back, squinting again at the light from the lantern, then started to push himself into a sitting position.

"Whoa-"

Mac didn't get more than his head off his pack before he bit down on a yell, and Jack watched him helplessly as he sank back to the cave floor and fought with the pain. The blue eyes finally opened again, restless but somehow not alert, and Mac tried to roll to his side. Jack put a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him down.

"Whoa now. Just where the hell you off to?"

"The radio," Mac ground out, pulling ineffectually at Jack's wrist. "Gotta fix – the radio-"

"You already did, bud. Remember?" Mac stared up at him, sucking down air, and Jack gave him an easy smile. "You got it up and workin'. Cavalry's comin', be here before you know it. You did good, kid. Now how about you just lie back and try a sip of this tea. It'll settle your stomach."

That probably wasn't true, but his bomb nerd didn't look like he was firing on all cylinders at the moment and either way, arguing about whether cinnamon had natural anti-nausea properties was better than letting him crawl all over the cave looking for the now fully fucked radio pack. Jack made a mental note to make sure it was tucked safely out of his sight.

Mac's hand was still on his wrist, his fingers like ice, and as soon as he started to catch his breath, Jack tipped the cup to his lips. Whether the kid wanted it or not, he choked down a mouthful, but then he made a face, and turned back towards Higgins. "'S too hot."

"That's kinda the point. Gotta warm you up a little bit."

He managed to get about half the cup into his tech, but every sip was a fight, and pretty much as soon as Mac stopped shivering Jack called it good enough. Eventually he seemed to drift off into an uneasy, dazed sleep and Jack let him. He returned the cup to Smiley, who dumped the remaining liquid back into the tea kettle. Jack raised an eyebrow and helped himself to the M4 he'd given Ramallama, checking the weapon before he set it back down at the cave entrance.

"Kinda hopin' we get outta here before you have time to reheat that stuff."

The lieutenant nodded, then rubbed her eyes wearily. "It'd be nice."

But the afternoon drug on with no further radio contact. Adams reported hearing a few more blasts from their minefield, but then it went quiet and stayed that way. Jack never lost that slight unease, and eventually he couldn't take it anymore and relieved Adams just so he could get out of the cave and at least try to pin it down. There was no motion from the north, and located where they were, halfway down a slope, he couldn't see dust or anything else indicating movement in the landscape around them.

The first evening stars blinked in the deepening sky before his radio finally crackled to life.

"Sweeper Sweeper, this is Dragon One, do you copy, over."

Jack chucked a rock at the cave entrance, just in case the broadcast hadn't made it in there, and grabbed his radio.

"Dragon One, this is Sweeper Six, good copy, sure did take your sweet time, over."

Dragon wasn't a callsign he recognized, and Jack's unease ticked up another notch as Adams stuck his head out. Jack pointed to his earpiece, and Adams gave him the OK sign and ducked back into the cave.

"Sweeper Sweeper, gimme a sitrep, over."

Smiley and Adams exited the cave, but Jack didn't wait for the lieutenant. "Dragon One, we are two men down, three men wounded, one critical. No VHF capability. Enemy contact confirmed north north-west and west of our last transmitted coordinates. Tell me you're our evac, over."

Dragon didn't immediately respond, and Jack locked eyes with Smiley. Something was definitely up.

He watched her grab her radio. "Dragon One, this is Sweeper Actual. Where's my goddamn dustoff, over."

"Stand by, Sweeper."

Dalton turned and watched the south horizon. He saw it long before he heard it, the jet was subsonic and would be overhead in forty seconds. There was a faint dot trailing, too fast and high to be a helo.

In fact, it looked like a pair of A10s. Lotta firepower for a couple dozen insurgents, even ones with anti-aircraft capabilities.

"Sweeper, we've got two birds headed to your coordinates, pop smoke, over."

Smiley looked like she was going to respond, and Jack shook his head at her sharply. Not a chance. "Negative on the smoke, Dragon One, unable to mark position. We can see your birds, over."

He abandoned the rock he was using as cover and jogged over to the cave entrance. "We got A10s comin' in, and I don't think they're here just to clear an LZ." It was true they were way north of Kabul and needed aircraft with a decent range, but those A10s looked like they were lining up for a bombing run. And he sure as hell wasn't going to use a smoke grenade to mark their position and invite the Tallies in for tea if they had a real fight on their hands.

"Sweeper Sweeper, be advised, AO is too hot for evac. You're right in the middle of a charlie foxtrot. We have two inbound support units, callsigns Keystone and Hammer, eight klicks south of your position. Once foothold is secure, they'll direct you to the LZ for evac. How copy, over."

Smiley's mouth was set in a grim line. "Dragon One, good copy, two support units designated Keystone and Hammer will secure an LZ for dustoff. Our wounded will not make eight klicks, you gotta get closer than that, over."

"Good copy, Sweeper, we'll get as close as we can. Air support's cleared to engage hostiles in your area. Get your heads down or pop smoke, AO's about to get lit up, how copy, over."

"Good copy, Dragon. Your first bird just passed us, over."

The first jet sailed overhead, not quite low enough for a gun run but close, and the trailing bird was about sixty seconds behind. Jack grabbed his radio.

"Dragon One, second bird is fifty seconds out. Anything north of my mark is fair game, over."

The radio crackled with a new voice. "Sweeper Sweeper, this is Blue Two, good copy, forty-five seconds out. Waiting for your mark, over."

Hallelujah. They had decent pilots.

Smiley let him count it down, and Jack watched the second A10 approach. "Blue Two, good line. You are eight seconds out . . . fiver . . . three . . . mark."

He couldn't even hear himself over the roar of the engine, but the radio was true, because the jet pulled out of the run and banked hard east.

"Dragon, Blue Two, I have friendlies marked, over."

"Blue One Blue Two, anything north northwest and west of us is confirmed hostile. Let it rain, fellas." Jack wasn't even finished broadcasting before he gestured for Adams and Smiley to back it up. Those jets were carrying cluster bombs, and they didn't want to be anywhere near out in the open when they hit the ground.

"Pull everything to the rear chamber." If the opening was compromised, they could still try to blow out that back wall and find another exit.

When the first bombs hit, Jack wasn't entirely sure that second pilot had accurately marked them. It seemed like the rumbling was coming from all around them, and a puff of cold air shot through the small hole in the back wall with a sharp whistle. For some reason, Jack expected the light to flicker, but the LED lantern was unaffected, and both Higgins and Mac cracked open wild, disoriented eyes.

"Easy, guys. You're okay." Smiley moved so she was at their feet, face illuminated clearly by the lantern. Though she focused on the two most injured men, her words were directed to all of Sweeper. "Air support's clearing us a path, and we'll all be home by morning."

Ramallama had settled against the back wall, and his right eye was a liquid slit in an otherwise immensely swollen face. Still, he pried open his broken jaw and spoke. "What did they mean, a charlie foxtrot out there? How many men are we talking?"

Jack was pretty sure even EOD knew that a 'charlie foxtrot' was the semi-polite way to refer to a clusterfuck. And if it hadn't been one before the A10s arrived, it sure as shit was one now. "They said satellite indicated a lot of activity. We suspected this could be a training camp. Guess we were right." Jack glanced at the lieutenant. "Think they pulled together a whole damn op in our honor."

It explained the callsigns he'd never heard of, and the sheer amount of time it had taken Camp KAIA or the FOB to deploy support. A quick reaction force should have been to them hours ago. Once they gave coordinates, someone must have requested satellite of the area, and they'd seen –

Well, they must have seen a hell of a lot of something. More vehicles, the Tallies sweeping south to cut them off, something. And enough of it to warrant the precision guided whoop-ass raining down above their heads. Much as it probably reassured the rest of Sweeper, Jack knew this wasn't all to rally to the defense of a downed EOD squad. Likely rescue was one of the objectives, but not the main.

The primary objective would be taking out the training camp, and stomping all the little roaches that came scuttlin' out. Rescuing them was secondary.

Jack's gaze slid of its own accord back to Mac. His tech's eyes were rolling around in their sockets, clearly searching for something.

Probably the goddamn radio. Kid had a one-track mind, and apparently when it was impaired he went full on stubborn. Higgins was holding it together a little better, but the co-pilot had stopped bleeding hours ago. Mac hadn't.

"Yeah, well, good, because these fuckers need to meet Jesus right away," Adams growled from his position in the opening of the two chambers. "Damn dirties are usin' kids."

A terrible thought occurred to Jack, and he shot Adams a warning look that the private didn't see, because Higgins chose that moment to pick up his head.

"M'not a kid," the airman slurred defensively, his voice as annoyed as MacGyver looked.

"Naw, man. School-aged, like freakin' fourteen years old. Musta seen half a dozen of 'em before that mortar hit and Dalton blew the bird." Adams finally caught the universal 'abort' gesture Jack was throwing at him, and he trailed off, but it was too late.

For a split second, Jack thought maybe Mac was still distracted with the word kid, or with Higgins wiggling around next to him. He stilled, eyes on the ceiling. But then realization crawled across his face in slow motion, so much like physical pain that Jack wasn't sure the rest of them even knew the difference.

Mac seemed to shrink into himself, and then he choked and curled onto his side, away from Higgins. The lieutenant was still at his feet and moved to his side in an instant, and the cave rattled with his ragged gasp. There wasn't room to go to him, and Jack settled for glaring at Adams as his tech gave puking – and then hyperventilating - a shot.

Whether Smiley knew what was going on or not, she murmured to him, helping him finish curling up into recovery position, and smoothed back his hair as he heaved in short, sharp breaths. His first reaction might have been psychological, but this one certainly wasn't, and Jack crossed his arms and physically held himself back from moving. He wasn't sure if he intended to push Smiley out of the way and take her place, or beat the living shit out of Adams, but that was his EOD in agony on that cave floor, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Jack honestly couldn't believe it when Adams started talking again. "Oh . . . shit, MacGyver, it . . . it wasn't like that –"

"Shut. Up." Jack didn't look at Adams again, and after a few more seconds of listening to Mac's ragged attempts to breathe, the private muttered half an apology and then simply turned around and retreated into the other chamber.

Normally Jack would have hauled his dumb ass back to safer cover, but he was far too furious. Instead, he pinned his hands under his arms and concentrated on his tech. If it didn't sound like Mac was gettin' his shit back together, they were gonna have to try something else. His heart rate had to be spiking; Jack didn't want to have to knock the kid out but he needed to calm the fuck down before he made whatever was bleedin' inside his chest any worse.

It took a little while, but Smiley started stroking his hair, then his back, and little by little she managed to quiet him down. By the time she sat back on her heels, his face was screwed up tight, and he was sucking air through his nose in a very deliberate rhythm. He didn't acknowledge her or anyone else, and Smiley's shoulders sagged in a little sigh.

No one spoke for a long time after that.

Jack finally managed to calm down enough to sit, his back against the cave wall facing his tech, and he passed the time by listening to the bombing runs. It was always damn hard to tell exactly where things were by sound in a mountain range, depending on how the sound was bouncing, and he eventually pulled his 9 mm and ejected a bullet from the chamber. He fished a small pebble out from under his ass, along with a few of its closest friends, and when he found one in a shape he liked, he balanced the bullet on it, and then watched.

The closer a bombing or gun run was to their location, the more the vibrations traveled across the rock floor. Nearby ones were enough to upset the bullet and knock it over. Further out, not so much. While they could all hear the thunder, within about twenty minutes Jack could tell that some of the rumbles they were hearing weren't cluster bombs at all, and the activity had moved significantly north.

That was good. The further they could drive back the Tallies, the closer Hammer and Keystone could get to them.

When the bullet hadn't been knocked off its perch for a good four minutes, Jack scooped it back up. The LED lantern cast the light in such a way that he could see every facet and detail on the round, and he balanced his right hand up on one of his bent knees and turned it slowly, over and over.

He didn't even realize he was doing it until his radio crackled, the transmission unclear, and his fingers tightened reflexively around the bullet. His eyes automatically focused on the next closest thing, and he found himself staring at his tech.

MacGyver was watching him, raw pain and fury in his gaze, and as soon as Jack made eye contact with him, Mac resolutely closed them.

Smiley had heard the broken transmission, and she got to her feet the same time Dalton did. He gestured for her to head out first, his eyes lingering on his tech, but Mac didn't open them again, and his expression hadn't changed.

Adams was near the mouth of the cave, head bent as he listened, and he flinched a little when the lieutenant put a hand on his shoulder. They didn't have to go fully outside for the radio to penetrate; it was a lot more powerful now that they had multiple units in the area.

Jack ignored the chatter for a moment, it was the ass end of a string of coordinates, and instead watched the private tracing them out on Ramallama's map.

Way the hell further out than they should have been.

Jack keyed the radio, then paused. "Private, who the hell just called that in?" He tried to keep his voice perfectly neutral.

Adams wouldn't meet his eyes. "Uh, Hammer, sir."

"Hammer, Sweeper Six, say again, over."

This time he and Smiley got the full string, but it didn't change where Adams' finger was. Three klicks from their current position. That was almost two miles.

Smiley was clearly thinking the same thing. "Hammer, this is Sweeper Actual, you gotta do better than that. Our crit will never make three klicks, over."

There was a brief pause. "Sweeper, we've blown the shit outta those mountains and air support's still dodgin' RPGs. You are surrounded and we can't a bird any closer to you. Confirm your non-crits can make the trek, over."

"Hammer, what about my crit?"

Jack was tempted to start frequency scanning to see if he could figure out where the main op chatter was happening, but that critical patient was near and dear to his heart and they weren't leaving without him.

"Sweeper, if you can get your two non-criticals here, part of Keystone element will escort you back to your current position with a litter and provide cover and support. We got a bird comin' in for dustoff in twenty mikes, next one's an hour out. You need to get to this LZ, over."

Twenty minutes to get Ramallama and Higgins three klicks. Apparently while walking directly through enemy positions. Just so they could turn around – with more men – and make the same trek two more times, once to get Mac and once to bring him back.

It was dark out there, but a clear night – Jack remembered seeing the stars. They might be able to navigate without night vision equipment, but that meant so could the T-men. And they knew the terrain a hell of a lot better.

Then again, they'd been getting their asses handed to them by the US Air Force for the past couple hours, and were more likely to be watching the sky than the ground. And there was no getting Mac out without that litter. There was no way he could walk, and they couldn't carry him any other way, not with that injury.

"I can make that trek, get the litter, pick up a few of Keystone's boys, and come back," Jack stated firmly.

Smiley's lips were no more than a gash across her face. "Dalton, I don't disagree, but if we're surrounded, someone's bound to have noticed where bombs didn't get dropped. We can get half of Sweeper out in twenty minutes if we move now. And if god forbid you don't make it back, Keystone'll have a hell of a time finding us -"

Their radios popped. "Sweeper, confirm you're inbound with your two non-crits, over."

Jack shook his head. "I can get there without being spotted, by the time anyone sees Keystone comin' back with me, we'll be in and out before they have time to mobilize. If we do this Hammer's way, we've got larger parties moving back and forth both times, and they'll ambush that last group for sure."

"Or they won't see us at all," Smiley argued. "We don't know who's out there, and we'll have fewer injured the second trip so we should be able to move faster." The second she finished the sentence, she seemed to convince herself, and keyed the radio. "Hammer, this is Sweeper Actual, we are oscar mike with two non-critical surgical. Have Keystone ready and waiting for us, over."

Her eyes never left his, and Jack did what he did every time he was given an order he disagreed with. "Yes ma'am." Then he fixed it. "Best defense'll be if they think we all left. Adams, kill the lantern, stick to the back with Mac, and don't make a goddamn sound unless you have to. I've got IR in my scope, I'll lead with Ramarao. You follow with Higgins."

The lieutenant gave him a sharp nod, and they headed back to the rear chamber.

It didn't take long to get everyone up to speed. No need to take the packs; that could all be cleaned up after the op was done. Jack deposited Ramallama's – really, Serrano's – spare M4 mags on the ground where he wanted Adams to stay, tucking two into his own vest before checking that the weapon's magazine was full and slipping the rifle's strap over his head. He extended the sling on the Barrett a little, swinging it to his back for the moment, and then he took the last M9 out of the egress kit, and he knelt down next to MacGyver.

The kid's eyes were open again, watching the activity, and when it became obvious that ignoring Jack wasn't going to work, he got steady, cold blue eyes. Jack gave the kid a cock-eyed grin.

"We'll be back before you know it." With the kid lying on his side, there was no good way for him to hang onto the weapon that wouldn't have the barrel pointing at a friendly, so Jack placed it deliberately in front of his face, in easy reach even allowing for his injury. "Anyone comes through that door that don't have a US Army uniform on, you do what you need to do."

Mac's eyes flickered, as if suppressing a blink. "What, hoping . . . I'll take after Boone and save you the inconvenience?"

Jack felt his grin slip, but apparently that wasn't enough, because Mac kept going. "Keep it. The morphine you wouldn't . . . give the captain'll do the trick for me."

If there had been anger in it – bitterness, rage, even hatred – it would have been easier to take. But the kid's voice was eerily flat, his expression one of cold exhaustion.

Jack didn't know how to respond, and he realized how utterly quiet it had gotten. No bombs going off, no rumble of explosions. No sound from the rest of Sweeper, it was like they were holding their breath. And Mac's eyes just watched him, unblinking.

Jack pitched his voice low, but loud enough to carry. "I'm gonna give you a pass, because I know you're hurtin'. I did exactly what the captain asked me to. He didn't want any more pain, and I sure as hell wasn't gonna tell the man he hadda keep sufferin' for no good reason. And neither he . . . nor I . . . give a damn what you think about that."

Jack straightened, leaving the M9 right where it was, and Mac's eyes followed him until it was too hard to look up. They slipped with a roll back to the cave wall. He didn't say another word.

Dalton turned back for the cave entrance, finding the lieutenant standing there with Higgins' arm around her shoulders. The young co-pilot looked stricken, but he locked eyes with Jack, and then gave him a jerky nod. When he did, a couple tears tumbled down his cheeks.

Ramallama was to his left, his right eye the only one he could get even slightly open without holding it, and Dalton adjusted his weapons. "Keep a hand on my left shoulder, and try to stay behind me." Then he turned and glanced back at Adams, still in the second chamber with Mac.

"Stay hidden, stay quiet. And don't you rile him up again."

After that, he pushed everything out of his mind but the mission. It was exceedingly difficult to do.

The landscape looked a little different in the dark. Smoke and a few fires burned up on some of the ridges, making it hard to tell what was shadows and what was rock. There were several places Jack had to keep the rifle up just to get them around a gorge or through a goat trail, and his right arm was starting to burn a little by the time they hit a bit of a straightaway and he was able to check his watch.

Eighteen minutes. And a glance at Ramallama's map told him they weren't going to cover the next half-mile in two.

He hadn't wasted the time scanning for the op channel, and he wished he had when his own radio crackled, and Hammer asked for an update. Smiley replied, her voice much softer than Higgins' muffled gasps, and Jack again scanned the ridges around them.

There wasn't a damn thing out there. He didn't see so much as a flicker of movement that wasn't a fire burning itself out. They'd already hiked through two relatively decent landing sites for a helo – in defense of Hammer, not ideal, but a good pilot could get in, get their injured, and get out of RPG range in less than sixty seconds - and both were way the hell closer than their current destination.

For making the man basically jog on a broken leg, the co-pilot was holding up remarkably well, and they hit the LZ about three minutes late. Jack could hear the bird before they saw her, but not terribly well due to the landscape, and he figured the pilots were only cussing them a little. They'd been staying in the air for safety, and Jack made everyone take a knee when the wash hit. Smiley called in their position, and once they got permission to approach Jack started immediately for the Blackhawk, Ramarao still glued to his left shoulder.

There were three men holding the north perimeter around the bird, who Jack guessed were the Keystone element he and Smiley were taking back, and Jack was itching to hop into the bird just to get a quick word with the pilots when all hell broke loose.

He wasn't sure if Keystone had seen something, or they were fired upon first, but as soon as he heard the first shots he whirled and brought up the M4. Jack picked one of the three muzzle flashes he could see, laying down cover fire in short bursts, and he sensed more than saw Smiley dragging Higgins to the bird. Ramallama was no longer attached, and Smiley gave him a firm tap on the back of his right shoulder to signal that she was done and behind him when she suddenly ripped it across his back.

It was too dark to make out where she was hit, but she was on the ground, and it didn't really matter. He was only about twenty feet from the bird, and he made eye contact with one of the men on board, even as the Blackhawk started to rise up off its wheels.

He grabbed Smiley by the vest and bodily dragged her to the loading door, and the medic on board met him halfway. She wasn't helping much if at all, but the medic was screaming into his mic, and the Blackhawk steadied enough to allow the handoff. Jack saw two pops in the frame of the door, and presumably as least one round passed right through the cabin and out the other side. As soon as the lieutenant's feet cleared the door the pilot was out of there, and Jack hit the dirt on his stomach, taking a second to actually aim this time before firing a burst round at the furthest muzzle flash.

The other two were almost on top of Keystone, firing from opposite sides of the same outcropping, and as soon as the helo was gone Jack was up and racing towards cover. He slid in behind two of the three Keystone men, only one of whom was firing, and he didn't need radio or light to see the other guy'd been hit. He was down but moving, and Jack relieved him of a couple grenades.

"Cover fire! Cover fire!" he bellowed, and wherever the other Keystone guy was, he responded. Jack pulled the first pin and gave it a three count before he popped up and threw it, and then he pulled the second pin and threw it slightly further back of the first. Then he dropped.

Not fast enough. He felt the tag, like someone had sucker punched him in the left shoulder, and Jack fell back onto his ass. The uninjured Keystone man reached back, grabbed him by the pant leg, and dragged him closer to the rock, and then the first grenade went off. There was a sharp cry, and then the second popped.

The other Keystone soldier continued firing until it was clear no one was shooting back, and Jack eased his left shoulder in a tight circle, reaching across his vest. It stung like hell, but didn't feel like the slug had penetrated his vest, and Jack gradually became aware of the uninjured man in their trio getting on the radio.

The radio . . .

Jack pulled himself up a little, enough to cradle his left arm to his chest, and he reached over to the guy lying beside him, snagging the radio off his vest. He checked the frequency, then dialed in, and his earpiece exploded with chatter.

Jack let his head fall back to the sand and listened for a second, trying to get his bearings. He was right; the guys with him were part of Keystone, and the rest of the element had just been ambushed. Various pieces of Hammer were pinned but trying to assist. At this point there were too many men in the shit for air support to do much of anything, and based on the callsigns, there were a lot of men on the ground. Upwards of forty, pushing north towards where their Blackhawk had been shot down, what seemed like a week ago.

And it was only then Jack realized he hadn't gotten the litter off that helo.

He had nothing to carry Mac back to the LZ with.

His left shoulder popped painfully, and Jack reached up, waited for a pause in the chatter, and keyed his radio. "TOC, Sweeper Six, now designate Sweeper Actual. Keystone element sent for escort is down. I still have one critical and no way to carry him to the LZ. Request a dustoff and air support to new coordinates. Over."

The Keystone element that was not injured gave Jack a look, and he gave it right back. "We were just ambushed by a four man team just like your buddies up ahead of us. These guys are crawlin' all over the mountains and we can rain fire all night and not get a one of 'em. Without a stretcher you're useless to me. Secure your wounded, get new orders, and get back in there, son."

His earpiece popped. "Sweeper, CAS evac inbound, fifty mikes, same LZ, over."

Nope.

"TOC, Sweeper, inform Colonel Martinez that enemy tactics are shifting to small man teams. Repeat request for an actual goddamn ready reaction force to establish foothold, secure new LZ, and send new coordinates for CAS evac. How copy, over."

Whoever was manning the TOC tonight didn't sound terribly happy. "Sweeper, good copy, stand by."

Jack rolled out his shoulders again, confirming his left arm worked, however painfully. The grenades probably only got two, which left whoever had been shooting at the other Keystone guy, and the sniper that had tried to pick him off. He shoved the M4 over and brought the Barrett around, using the IR in the scope to try to find the asshole that'd tagged him.

And probably also shot the lieutenant.

It was a race to see if he could find the bastards before the TOC got back to him, and he finally caught motion where the third muzzle flash had come from. Dude was retreating, and Jack didn't want to give himself away so he followed the natural trail up to where he'd be if he was covering his own guys. Sure enough, when Number Three made it most of the way up the slope, a round shape seemed to ghost across the very top of the ridgeline, and Jack took him down.

Number Three scrambled to make it over the ridge, and Jack made contact, but he wasn't actually sure it was a kill, and he frowned and scanned the rest of the rocks.

"Dude, you're good to go," he said after a long moment, and then he slung the Barrett behind him again, and picked up the M4. The other Keystone guy was still in position somewhere off to his left, and Jack gave a nod in that direction before he picked his way up the slope, still wary of Number Three. He found the sniper, but the guy's rifle was nowhere to be seen, and Number Three wasn't where Jack had left him.

Damn.

He knew the decision was probably going to come back to bite him in the ass, but Jack radioed Keystone to let them know they still had an enemy in the immediate vicinity, and then he headed back for Adams and Mac. He took the long way around, and even moving quickly about half an hour had passed before he made those three klicks. He approached the cave from the northeast, careful of Smiley's doorbell, and when he was about twenty yards out he put his foot down beside a fist-sized rock and felt the pop.

It was way quieter than he'd expected; the explosion sent a sharp but not terribly powerful punch through his right boot. He froze, because of course he'd just stepped on an explosive and right foot was probably gone, and it occurred to Dalton that he was still on the op frequency, and if Adams had been calling him to tell him he'd set up additional security measures, dude had been talking to dead air.

Jack didn't look down. Everybody knew that until you actually saw the damage, it wouldn't start to hurt. Instead, he blindly adjusted his radio back to Sweeper's frequency. Sure enough, he caught the ass end of a transmission.

Jack took a slow, even breath, and then he hit the transmit button. "Sweeper Three, Sweeper, say again, over."

There was a pause that seemed to stretch into a lifetime.

"Sweeper Six, that you outside?"

Well, it sure as hell used to be. Most of him, anyway. "Affirm, Sweeper Three."

Oddly, even over the radio, the private sounded relieved. "Sweeper Six, be advised I deployed noisemakers."

Noisemakers.

Jack took another steadying breath, this time smelling gunpowder, and then he dared to look down.

It was pretty dark, and his sand-colored boot blended in with the sand-colored sand, so he shifted it a little. Nothing hurt. He heard the boot drag across the ground, and then he tapped it firmly onto the rock.

Still no pain. It took his weight just like it always did.

Jack took a knee, using a gloved hand to shove the rock over, and he heard the muffled metallic ring of a bullet casing rolling away. There wasn't enough light to pick up the shine of the metal, but it didn't matter. His relief was quickly morphing into anger.

Adams was infantry. No way had he figured out how to rig a bullet to go off when someone stepped on a rock.

Also, the damn thing could have shot him in the foot. And while the noise warned Adams he was approaching, he'd also just warned any Tally in the area that someone was nearby.

Jack avoided any other small rocks, dropping down from above and easing himself over the ledge into the cave, and though he hadn't noticed it on approach, there was a very dim glow coming from the second chamber, outlining a standing figure clad in ACUs.

God damn it!

"Adams, I gave you an order," he growled, and it was about that time he realized that he could actual hear Mac in the other chamber. It sounded like an asthmatic had just tried to run a 5K.

The private shuffled to the side as Jack bore down on him. "I'm sorry, sir, but Smiley said to keep him calm, and – I think it was the dark, he wouldn't sit still. I dimmed the light best I could, and he had it apart in like, ten seconds, I just turned my back for a minute –"

Then Jack was past him.

The LED lantern was definitely dimmer than it had been, and someone – probably Adams – had built a little wall of packs now that Higgins was gone to further shield the light from bleeding into the first chamber. It was still plenty bright enough to see MacGyver was still on his side, curled up in a loose fetal position, with his hands near his face. He couldn't seem to catch his breath, and his fingers were working feverishly. Jack could see something red in his right hand.

In front of him were remnants of the M9. Basically just the grip. The slide and magazine were missing, along with the barrel, the trigger mechanism, and the lower frame. It was well beyond field stripped – he'd taken the damn thing apart to the bare bolts.

There were bits of bullet rims and casings scattered around, along with a piece of smudged paper – so that's where the gunpowder had come from – and he was carefully boring a hole in a little square pouch he'd made of MRE plastic.

Jack's first instinct was to kick the entire mess away from him. As it was, he could barely keep his voice at a regular speaking volume. "Whatcha doin', Mac?"

At first nothing happened, then the kid flinched a little, like he's only just realized someone had spoken. His eyes shifted towards him, a little drunkenly, and he glared up at Jack from the cave floor.

And right then and there, Jack decided that enough was enough.

He swooped in and grabbed Mac's right hand to secure the swiss army knife, sending the little pouch of gunpowder spilling across the floor. The kid growled but Jack didn't let go; he steadily applied pressure until the tech dropped the multitool.

"It's a gun, not a goddamn erector set! I gave this to him for protection, what the fuck were you thinkin' lettin' him –"

"Get off me!" Mac gave his hand a weak tug, and Jack released him, swiping the knife out from under him and folding up the blade as he stood.

The private looked both guilty and terrified, and he just started to open his mouth when MacGyver answered for him.

"We needed an early . . . warning system. I ordered him, Dalton."

Jack rounded back on his tech, not missing the fact MacGyver had chosen to call him by his last name. "The lieutenant already set up a damn doorbell. All you've done is tell God and everybody for a mile exactly where the fuck you are!"

It was pretty clear Mac wasn't completely there; he couldn't hold up his head any longer, and let it fall back against his pack, still panting. "You did that. If you hadn't gone off coms . . . you would have known they were out there. Adams's'been trying to raise you . . . both for half an hour." Something seemed to occur to him then; his brow furrowed, and he picked up his head again, searching the cavern.

Looking for Smiley.

"I sent the louie on the bird," Jack snapped. "Which means we don't got a spare sidearm," and Jack turned back on Adams, gesturing at his tech, "- because you let this idiot take it apart!"

Adams had glanced back into the main chamber, and looked clearly reluctant to say anything else to a fuming Jack Dalton. "Sir, the – the stretcher, are we not-"

"Ready reaction force is inbound, they'll secure a closer LZ and provide escort." That wasn't exactly what was going to happen, but Jack didn't feel like arguing about it. "How many of those goddamn things are out there?" He kind of had his own answer, each mag held fifteen rounds so he had thirty max, and he was taking them apart for the gunpowder, probably, so –

"She's dead," Mac said suddenly.

He'd gone quite still, his hands lying limp where he'd dropped them, breathing rapidly but staring almost sightlessly at him. Through him, more like.

"The lieutenant's dead, isn't she," Mac repeated, and it wasn't a question.

For just a split second, Jack thought he was going to lose it. He was gonna throw a punch back, because he'd been taking quite a few that he damn well didn't deserve, whether Mac was in pain or not. But the sightless look wasn't blame, like it had been earlier. It was shock.

The kid was in shock.

"I don't know." He didn't quite manage to get all the edge off his tone. "We got hit loadin' the bird. She took a round. Medic got his hands on her right then. Helo got off safe, I don't think Higgins or Ramarao took any fire."

Adams looked almost as stunned as Mac did. "Is . . . is anybody actually comin' for us?"

Jack gave him a sharp look. "The best goddamn operators in the Army. What-" Then it all clicked.

When he'd gone silent, they'd assumed the worst. Mac had dismantled the gun to put together his little firecrackers because they thought they were on their own, and it was the only thing he could do to help Adams.

Jack glanced at the pack wall again, the one that was blocking the lantern light from the front chamber. Three of the four bags were EOD. Adams had put all the explosives well out of MacGyver's reach.

He re-evaluated his opinion of the private.

Slightly.

"Yeah, dude. They're comin' for us. We don't leave men behind."

"We already did," Mac contradicted dully.

Jack took a deep breath through his nose. "Adams, stay on our old freq in case Dragon has an update for us. Out there," he added, jerking his chin at the main room. The private took the hint and moved out into the other chamber.

Jack unclipped the M4 and took the opportunity to swap a fresh mag in, then leaned it against the wall. He did the same with the Barrett, but he pocketed the half-empty mag, just in case. Then he dialed down the volume on his radio to almost silent. In the light, he finally made out the hole in his vest, and since the wrapper on the energy bar in his upper left pocket had already been punctured by the sniper's round, he fished it out and finished unwrapping it. Then he slid down the wall opposite MacGyver.

This time Mac didn't close his eyes. He was still panting, even now that he was still, and Jack wondered if the bleeding and pressure were finally starting to squeeze his diaphragm.

"We're not leavin' anyone behind, Mac," Jack told him, in as level a voice as he could.

The tech made a half-hearted scoffing sound. "We're not . . . the primary objective –"

"You are my primary objective," Jack growled. "I am your overwatch, kid. And when I can't be here, I need to trust that you can keep your damn head from gettin' blown off. I know why you did it," he added, even as Mac opened his mouth to smart off. "You wrote yourself off and set up Adams a little warning system to try to keep him alive. An' I know a pistol ain't your MOS, dude, but you know damn well that gun was way more effective in one piece –"

"No it wasn't," his tech muttered, but without much heat. "Shooting everything that moves might . . . be the way you solve problems . . . but it's not mine."

"This ain't a crossword puzzle, partner. There are guys with guns out there," and he stabbed his fingers in the general direction of outside, "- who wanna fill you fulla holes. A couple bang snaps ain't gonna stop 'em, and they ain't gonna save his life or yours."

"And your solution is more guns?" For the first time, there was a little life in his voice. "Solve the problem by adding additional problem?" He finally caught his breath enough to swallow. "I guess I . . . I shouldn't be surprised . . ."

Jack shook his head with a chuckle that wasn't the least bit amused. "Look, dude, I don't know what's goin' on in that head'a yours, but you needa-"

"We're not on the same page!" Mac shouted, and his hands fisted towards his chest without touching it. Every word seemed to rip something inside him. "We're not in the same library! I disarm IEDs, Jack, I don't make them! I keep people safe! Now I – you made me – I –" He faltered a little, heaving in shallow breaths. "I killed kids. I killed kids."

"You did no such thing." Jack shot off the wall, staring the tech down. "You hearin' me? Get that nonsense outta your head right now!"

MacGyver's eyes were wide and blank, and he curled up on himself, gulping air. Jack couldn't help it. He grabbed his tech by the shoulders, forcing him to look at him.

"You did not put those boys in that ravine. You didn't spend the last three years in a classroom teachin' em hate instead of readin' and writin'. You didn't put a weapon in their hands and tell 'em it was on God's orders. You didn't stand by and watch it all happen and not do somethin' about it. That ain't on you."

MacGyver's eyes flickered, that same suppressed blink. "That how you . . . live with yourself?"

Jack almost hit him. "Yeah, Angus, it is," he snarled. "All you did was wire up a standard demo. I'm the one who pressed the button. I got rid of the officers, the adults. I chased those young men behind cover. I did everything I damn well could to convince 'em to get the hell outta that ravine, and they didn't wanna. So yeah, I blew the bird. If I hadn't, they'd'a come up over that ridge and every single one of us would be dead. I ain't apologizin' for it."

Mac looked at him like he'd never seen him before. ". . . I didn't come here . . . to kill."

Only then did Jack realize how hard he was gripping the kid's shoulders. Mac was gasping for air in his grasp. There were tears in his eyes, the kind that never actually fell, and suddenly Jack felt very, very tired.

". . . I know you didn't, Mac. I know."

He forced his fingers to loosen, gently letting Mac sink back to the floor of the cave. It didn't help; MacGyver couldn't seem to catch his breath, and the shock and pain in his eyes was being replaced with panic.

"All right, bud, let's just take this down a notch."

One of his hands came up, claw-like, and pulled at the material covering his chest. "Can't breathe-"

Jack caught his wrist. "Yes you can. Come on, kid, relax, you're okay-"

"- I -"

"In an' out. Just like that. You're doing good, bud. Slow it down just a little."

Jack knew the words didn't really matter; it was the tone of his voice and the touch of his hand. You didn't grow up in the great state of Texas and not learn a thing or two about handlin' a scared critter. He didn't pin Mac's wrist, he held it, giving him an anchor, and the blond slowly started to get a handle on the panic. His lips were so pale Jack couldn't tell if they'd turned blue or not.

" . . . sergeant?"

Jack turned his head, never breaking eye contact with MacGyver. "He's okay, dude."

"No, sir . . . a pilot's trying to reach us. He's twenty mikes out, gave me coordinates and asked if they were secure."

"How far's the LZ." He kept his voice calm and level.

Adams hesitated, and Jack listened to the map crinkle as the private held it towards the dim lantern. He could barely hear it over Mac. "Uh . . . almost two klicks."

Little over a mile. In this terrain, he could make that in ten.

"Tell 'im it'll be cleared for fast ropin' by the time he gets here."

The private withdrew, apparently waiting for a break in the chatter, and Jack gave MacGyver a long look. He was looking less alert by the second, still close to hyperventilating, but he wasn't out of it enough not to understand what was going on.

"You're alright, bud. You're gonna be okay. I'll be right back." He gave the kid's wrist a squeeze, then tried to lower it to his side, but MacGyver wasn't having it.

"Help me –"

"I promise you, man, that's what I'm doin'," Jack told him, in the same quiet voice. "You just sit back and breathe. That's your job. You hear me?"

He put the kid's hand down again, wrapping his fingers around the hem of the jacket his tech still had draped over him. MacGyver made a concerted effort to take a deep breath, but it hurt him too much, and his eyes screwed themselves shut and stayed that way.

Dalton wasted no time in grabbing the M4 and his rifle, strapping the equipment on quietly, and then he turned up the volume on his radio, dialing back into the chatter. Adams had come back in when he saw him moving around, and Jack took the map from him, confirming the coordinates. One of the two places he and Smiley'd trekked through on the way to the original LZ, that he'd already picked out as a potential location.

Good.

"Adams, I don't care what he says to you, I don't care if you have to sit on him, you stop him from movin' around."

The private hesitated. "You said we were going to secure the LZ –"

Damn. He really shoulda dialed back into Sweeper's frequency. Clearly his radio silence had scared 'em both. "I'm comin' back, Adams. Won't be more than an hour." Jack pointed at Mac again. "He doesn't move. You copy?"

The private reluctantly nodded, and then Jack edged towards the cave entrance. He pulled off his head gear and briefly stuck it out, careful to keep the Kevlar towards the outside, but no one took the shot. Once he'd crammed it back on his head he took a position just outside the cave mouth, scanning the ridges, to make sure Number Three hadn't managed to follow him up.

Nothing. He didn't see a damn thing.

His unsettled feeling had never really left, and Jack gave the slope one last pass, then headed out, careful not to step anywhere near any fist sized rocks that might be hiding more of Mac's little noisemakers.

-M-

And now we all see why this didn't make Trimmings – it's just waaaaaay too long. And, I'm a little afraid it's not quite in character. The third and final chapter is even more iffy, and I'm starting to understand what some authors mean when they say 'the characters weren't cooperating.' Because these two are not cooperating.

And I really am sorry about the radio chatter. I did my level best to make it as accurate as possible, but I have a feeling it is anything but.

BookNeed007, I know this isn't exactly what we discussed, and if it wasn't what you had in mind, I can take another run at it.