Chapter 16:
"Encounter Base"
Day 5 – 16:54:47
Pvt. Mckinley 'Queen' Front
Task Force 141
Undisclosed Location, Russia
"Queen, wake up. We're almost there."
Someone began gently shaking her shoulder. Mckinley groaned and laid her arm over her eyes in an effort to prove she was reluctant to comply.
"Queen…" the voice murmured. "C'mon and get up. You have to. We're going to contact Shepherd at the base, and he'll want to speak with you."
Yawning, Mckinley stretched her arms and sat up. She had been sleeping on the floor of the Pave Low as it flew across Russia to the Task Force 141's secret base. A handful of hours had slipped past, mostly because of the sedative MacTavish had previously given her. Once she sat up, a throbbing pain in her legs and side made her grimace. She clutched her arms around her waist and cursed under her breath.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" MacTavish went over to a small First Aid kit at the other end of the Pave Low's belly and extracted some anesthetics from the bottom of the case. He shut the box and returned to Mckinley's side, injecting the painkiller into the skin below her shoulder. That was when Mckinley realized she wasn't in her black wetsuit any longer. Instead, she was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt, black sweatpants and grey boots.
"Holy shit, Soap!" Wincing once at the tiny sting from the shot, Mckinley looked furiously around the inside of the chopper for any signs of her wetsuit. "What happened to my wetsuit? And who in the hell changed me?"
Just then, Captain Price exited the cockpit of the Pave Low and made his way to the left bench against the wall.
"It's not comin' back to you, then?" he asked, sitting on the bench and crossing his arms. "You did."
She gave him a bewildered look. "I… I did?"
Price chuckled. "Yep. After we administered you the medicine, you changed into what you're wearing now and then fell asleep."
"You must've been too sleepy to know what you were doing," MacTavish noted. "I guessed that. You were tired as hell. Out for six entire hours."
Mckinley massaged her neck and moaned groggily, feeling the sleep rushing back to slap her in the face. "What's my diagnose, then, doc? Why do my legs and my stomach hurt so damn much?"
"Multiple second-degree burns on your legs and a bruised rib," stated MacTavish plainly. "But don't worry, when we get to the base, you'll go to the infirmary and they'll fix you up."
She nodded. "Sounds good, sir."
Price suddenly leaned forward and offered her his hand to shake. "I'm sorry, I don't think we were introduced on such good terms." He smiled. "I'm Captain John Price, from England."
Mckinley took his hand and shook it. "I'm Queen, and I'm from the States."
Price dipped his head kindly. "I could tell by your accent. Where in the states are you from, Queen?"
"Pensacola, Florida," she replied, instantly feeling homesickness swell inside her heart. The fast-paced life of a 141 soldier was enjoyable, but truthfully, she missed her normal life. She missed the serenity of it all; the moments where she just couldn't find anything to do. She longed for her bedroom, where she'd lock the door and blast Aerosmith and The Who all day. Mckinley also missed using her hairbrush as a microphone and becoming a rock star in her vanity mirror, singing to crowds filled with celebrities and adoring fans. Here, in the middle of the war, she did have wonderful friends, and she was never bored. But Mckinley began wondering if she'd be willing to sacrifice what she had here for her regular life in the real world. She wondered if she'd be able to sacrifice her feelings for Ghost—
"Queen?" MacTavish was waving his gloved hand in front of her face. "Come back to earth, mate. The pilot just said we'll be landing in a few moments."
She shook herself out of her daydream, but then suddenly noticed that something was wrong. Weren't there supposed to be four people inside the Pave Low? "Hey, Soap… where's Worm?"
MacTavish and Price promptly lowered their heads; chins resting against their chests in grievance. Mckinley gasped and let her hands fly to her mouth when her jaw dropped. No… that can't be possible. I'm must be imagining things… I'm taking this out of proportion… I must be…
"He's… dead?" she breathed hoarsely.
MacTavish sat down on the ground next to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He let a heavy sigh slide between his teeth, proving he was unready to reveal Worm's fate.
"You were asleep when it happened. He got some third-degree burns all over his body, since he was the last one on the SPIE rig to exit the gulag. I guess he was caught in the explosion when the UXO bomb went off. We brought him up to the chopper, and he wasn't breathing. Price performed CPR on him for twenty minutes straight…" his voice cracked and faded.
"It was no use," finished Price. "We lost him."
Mckinley dabbed at her eye with her t-shirt sleeve, preventing any tears from sliding down her cheeks.
"Wh-what did you guys do with him?"
MacTavish coughed to clear his throat. "We transferred his body onto another chopper. They're going to bring him back to the States to be buried by his family."
Mckinley's eyes grew wide. "And what about Bearcat? And Jester? And Ghost? Did they manage to make it out of there?" She was perfectly ready to start yelling at the pilot to turn the chopper around and head back to the gulag to find Ghost. She wasn't about to lose two friends today. Poor Worm was enough.
"They're all fine. We'll see them when we land at the base. They've been there for a while, since we had to make a stop." MacTavish exchanged unsure glances with Price, then returned to looking at Mckinley. "Are… you going to be alright? About Worm? I mean, you two were best mates."
She gulped, swallowing back another flood of tears from cascading down her cheeks. So the real Queen had been close friends with Worm. That made this situation much more difficult for her to act out. Pretending to be Queen was getting harder with each event that partook, and she doubted she'd be able to continue for much longer. Pretending that she was truly going to miss Worm, though she hardly knew him? It wasn't natural for her to do such a deceitful thing… but she had to, or MacTavish and Price would grow suspicious. Another thing she worried about was the entire situation with Ghost. She hoped falling in love with him was something the real Queen would be doing… if he was falling for her as well, then it was okay… wasn't it?
"I'll do my best to hold out, sir," she whispered, wondering if the tears she were about to weep were because of Worm's tragic death or because of the predicament she'd weaved herself into.
Her captain opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted before any words could come out.
"Captain MacTavish," said the pilot from the cockpit in a monotonous tone. "We've arrived at the base. Ready yourselves for landing."
"Roger that." MacTavish stood from the ground and helped Mckinley stand as well. "Notify General Shepherd that we'll be making contact with 'im shortly."
"Yes, sir."
It took a few more minutes before the chopper reached the landing pad. When it touched down, MacTavish and Price supported Mckinley as she limped out. Since the burns on her legs were so tender, she was unable to walk by herself and required the assistance of the two men.
"Welcome home," MacTavish said to her as they paused outside the base. "Encounter Base. We're here."
Shielding her eyes from the peculiarly strong sunlight, Mckinley began to take in the surroundings that would become her home-away-from-home for the next couple days. She recalled back to what Rocket and Chemo had told her before they attacked the oilrig. The two of them had spun delirious stories about the base, since Mckinley had claimed "it had been so long since she was there." They were happy to reiterate on the ins and outs of Encounter Base for her, not stopping to wonder why she was so oblivious to their temporary home.
The hidden Task Force 141 base was located within a substantial forest clearing in an undisclosed Russian sector. With two small mountain ranges on either side and a lake to the north, it was truly the ideal place to house wounded or resting soldiers. From off the lake, a gentle breeze carried through the lines of buildings, cooling the base to an agreeable temperature. Even on hot days, the lake managed to refresh the entire facility with long, crisp breaths of wind.
The base itself was also specially designed and built. On the left side of the base, all of the necessities for soldiers were grouped: barracks for sleeping, a mess hall for meals, and a row of shower stalls for bathing. Placed on the opposite side were any required physical training exercises that the men needed to stay fit and healthy. Things such as a rock-climbing wall, a pair of basketball courts, and even a training course made up that group of equipment for soldiers. Near the very back of the base sat the sleeping quarters for higher officials, and also a small building where debriefing took place.
Currently, the base was decked in a white blanket of snow that never seemed to melt. Though the sun was rather hot on most days, the milky carpet persisted to become a bothersome padding beneath the feet of the 141 soldiers. The groundskeepers coped with the added problems, like having thin sheets of ice encase the handles on the rock climbing wall (resulting in a few broken legs and arms) and the doors to the barracks and to the mess hall freezing solid. Somehow Mother Nature had weaved her way into the 141 base as well, though she often grew compassionate and let the doors unfreeze and the rock wall thaw out. She'd even allowed the basketball courts to be cleared off so the men could play a bit.
Mckinley was genuinely surprised to not see many men strolling around the base. She spotted two heading to the basketball courts, one having a smoke next to the barrack doors, and another starting the ascent up the rock-climbing wall. Where were the others? She knew there weren't just four members of Task Force 141.
While Mckinley was glancing around, she noticed a juicy, meaty scent wafting from the mess hall. As she took the delicious smell in through her nostrils, another harsh pang of homesickness rippled through her heart. The cooks were making sloppy joes… one of her absolute favorite dishes. Her mom had always made the best sloppy joes, and she hoped tonight's dinner would be able to meet her standards.
Mckinley also noticed a weird smell coming from a long grey building near the helicopter pad where they'd landed. It reminded her of that horrific hospital smell: a twisted mixture of blood, surgeon tools and meds. Obviously this building was the infirmary, where MacTavish and Price were dragging her. She shuddered and gulped, wishing the sloppy joe smell would overpower the infirmary smell.
But as MacTavish and Price led her towards the infirmary, something else caught her attention; something that was much more important to her than basketball courts or mess halls.
A powerfully built man wearing a tight black turtleneck, cargo pants and black combat boots walked out of the infirmary doors. He was holding a clipboard and discussing something on it with a medic who was strolling next to him. Over his face, he wore a black balaclava with a strikingly familiar skull on the front…
"Ghost!" Mckinley blurted instantly, sensing the corners of her mouth progressively climb higher up her cheeks.
The man glanced up from the clipboard. For once, his sky-blue eyes were without darkly tinted sunglasses, and they gleamed like iridescent pieces of glass in the blinding rays of the sun. When he found the person who'd called his name, a thick crease of a smile manifested on his mask. Quickly, he handed the clipboard to the medic and made his way over to Mckinley and the others.
Ghost stopped about two feet in front of them; the smile crease was still visible on his balaclava.
"MacTavish, Captain Price," he dipped his head in acknowledgement to his supervisors, speaking in a formal and obedient tone. Then, as he looked at Mckinley, the blue whirlwinds in his eyes danced with devotion, tinged with the faint traces of amusement. "And Queen, of course."
Mckinley took that as a signal. She really didn't care what was protocol and what wasn't, and if public display of affection was against the rules, so help her. She just wanted a hug. Lifting her arms from MacTavish and Price's shoulders, she hobbled over to Ghost and promptly pulled him into a warm embrace. When she tightened her grip around his neck to show that she'd been worried for him, Mckinley was beyond delighted when he hugged her back just as tightly.
"I'm glad to find you safe and sound," Ghost murmured in her ear. "When I heard they'd started the bombardment early, I…" he cleared his throat, "I mean, you were so worried I wouldn't make it out in time, and then they tell us over the radio that you're all trapped inside—"
Mckinley laughed and shook her head, taken aback at how much he was readily giving her. She never expected him to be one to display such raw emotions so quickly. Leaving her arms draped over his shoulders, she stepped back to inspect him. "Ghost, calm down. I'm right here—"
Completely out of the blue, MacTavish grabbed her arm and tossed it over his shoulder. Apparently he'd seen signs that she was about to fall; the injuries to her legs and abdominal areas would surely wear her out if she stood on her own too long. Mckinley had been too wrapped up in her conversation with Ghost to notice the swelling pain crawling up her legs and forcing them to wobble. She grimaced a bit at MacTavish's random actions and looked apologetically up at Ghost.
"What's wrong with her?" Ghost asked. His smile crease line in his mask curved itself into a frown when he noticed something out of order.
"Burns to her legs and a bruised rib," stated MacTavish matter-of-factly. "Our departure from the gulag wasn't a clean ride, like we'd hoped. The UXO bomb went off prematurely as we were exiting." He lowered his head like before. "We also lost Worm on the way out."
Ghost let out a sigh. "Sad to hear, mate. He was a good man." He paused, glancing off at the snow-covered trees lining the base. Then, coughing, he resumed speaking with them. "Queen, you should come inside the infirmary and get patched up. Who knows when we'll be assigned a new mission."
"Fine," she grumbled, realizing that it was a losing battle she was fighting.
MacTavish and Price began to help Mckinley towards the infirmary doors, but Ghost stopped them, holding up his hand. "Sorry sirs, but you have a briefing with General Shepherd that will take place in a few moments. He wants to speak with you about something via radio. I'll bring Queen inside to get mended."
Price nodded. "Sounds like a plan."
Mckinley flashed Ghost a puzzled look. MacTavish and Price had struggled to keep her aloft as they brought her inside the base. How would one man manage it? She knew Ghost was strong and all, but both of her legs were burned, and she could barely walk. He'd surely need the assistance of another soldier.
"How are you—" she began, but was interrupted when Ghost leaned down and swept her up into his arms, bridal style.
"Ghost!" she exclaimed, feeling her cheeks turn bright red at their closeness. The last time they were this close, he was dressing her wound at the favela, and she hadn't considered herself to be in love with him then. "What the hell are you doing?"
He chuckled when she cursed, and the smile crease reappeared. "Bringing you to the infirmary, of course." She watched him meet MacTavish's knowing gaze—giving him an amused glance—and then Ghost turned around and carried Mckinley through the infirmary's grey double doors. MacTavish and Price heading for the briefing tent behind them, murmuring to each other with smiles on their faces.
Inside the infirmary, the foul hospital smell reeked in every corner. Mckinley made a face when the revolting smell trickled down the back of her throat, trying to scan her eyes around the entire building while doing so. The walls were grey and dull; the doors, black and windowless. Even the medical staff—all men—was dressed in boring slate-colored outfits. They passed by Ghost and Mckinley like drones with no emotion; carrying clipboards and stethoscopes.
"So when did you get here?" Mckinley began casually, instinctively snuggling closer to his chest and letting his fingers massage the lower of her back in a compulsive manner.
"About an hour before you arrived." He paused to say hello to one of the medics passing in the hall, breaking the medic's drone-like stroll. "You had to make a transfer stop, so—"
"I know, I know," Mckinley interrupted him, staring downcast. Dammit, he reminded me! "I don't want to talk about that."
His eyebrows titled dismally towards his blue eyes. "Oh. Sorry. I forgot."
Exhaling, she shrugged. "Ah, it's okay I guess. I just need to…" she desperately racked through her brain for the appropriate ending to the gloomy sentence, "… let my mind leave that topic for a few days. It's not something I want to dwell on for long. That would be unhealthy."
He nodded stiffly, as if she'd struck a nerve in him. "Understandable."
To break the added tension, Mckinley playfully tapped him on the nose, which was currently hidden behind the balaclava. "So what have you been doing since you got here? Nothing risqué, I hope?"
It looked like that did the trick, for Ghost suppressed a chuckle. He turned a corner into an unoccupied room and deposited the woman in his arms onto the nearest cot.
"I was jus' going over the status of our injured troops to see who would be available at minute's notice," he explained. "Shepherd might have a new mission for us, and I wanna be ready. Nothing risqué, I promise."
Suddenly, Ghost stared down at her, unblinking. Mckinley swore she saw something abnormal glimmer against his blue eyes as he stood there, silent and looming. Was it concern for her health? Or was it what she vaguely feared… lust? An electric shock sizzled down the length of her spine, flooding her body with restlessness. Would he approach her? What would she do? How far would he try to go? Sweat began forming from the pores on her face, and her brain rolled out ideas a mile a minute. I'm not ready. I'm not ready for what I think he wants. He can't take it from me just yet. I'm not prepared. No matter how much I love him, I'm not ready.
Whatever was in Ghost's eyes, it vanished instantly when a figure appeared in the doorway.
"Queen?" It was Chemo, dressed in the ugly medic's uniform. "Ghost? What are you guys doing here?"
"She has second-degree burns on her legs and a bruised rib," Ghost informed him swiftly, stepping away from the bed when Chemo rushed forwards. Mckinley peered over the medic's shoulder and saw Ghost begin massaging his eyes and grumbling to himself.
Chemo rolled up Mckinley's pant legs up to her kneecaps and then began unraveling the makeshift bandages around her lower legs.
"Do you want Ghost to stay when I remove the wrappings?" Chemo asked, ready to remove the last bits of the gauze to reveal the burns.
Mckinley nodded vigorously. "Yes, Ghost, please stay." She locked eyes with him. "Will you?"
Again, the tension seemed to dematerialize from the lieutenant at an alarming rate. He laughed and sat down on the cot next to hers, laying his hands in his lap. "Sure, Queen. Jus' for you."
Chemo took the bandages off to show Mckinley's heavily burned legs. Her left leg was worse, but there was still multiple red patches dotting the ankle portion of her right limb. Mckinley winced at the sight; she looked like some deformed creature with polka dots.
"Well, you were partially correct, Ghost," Chemo noted, examining the burns carefully. "There are second-degree burns all over her left leg, but minor burns on the other." He went over to a cabinet and extracted a roll of dry, sterile gauze to replace the ones he'd removed previously. "Ghost, can you help me with this?"
Ghost nodded submissively and took some of the gauze from Chemo. He began wrapping it slowly around Mckinley's less-damaged leg, while Chemo attended to her worse looking one.
"Wait, no medication or anything?" Mckinley wanted to know, her heart skipping a beat when she noticed Ghost's blue eyes fastened tightly on her face. "Just bandages?"
Chemo cracked a smile. "Sadly, there's not much I can do for you… well, besides advising you to remain here for the night to let the burns heal." He finished wrapping the bandages at the same time Ghost did. Then, he went back over to the cabinet and began rummaging around for something. "Now, you also said you had a bruised rib?"
"Yep." Mckinley leaned back on the pillow and huffed, not at all liking where this was going. Please let it be a shot. Not pills… not pills…
Chemo took out a small bottle from the bottom shelf and rolled two white tablets into the palm of his hand.
Shit.
Mckinley gave him an unsure glance, using her fingers to prop herself farther back on the cot. She'd never been fond of taking pills, even for pain-related reasons. From stomachaches to PMS, if she could avoid gulping down even the tiniest of medications, she would. They always seemed to make her feel worse, especially in the pit of her stomach.
"They're nonsteroidal," Chemo assured the both of them—Ghost was also looking doubtful at the small objects in his hand. "They'll get rid of the pain in your abdomen and even help a bit with the burns."
"Anti-inflammatory?" Ghost inquired coolly. Mckinley cheered inside her head. Ghost was also not fond of taking pills, from the sound of things. She was proud to have him on her side in this matter.
Chemo nodded. "I promise." He strolled over and dropped the tablets into Mckinley's hand. She stared dubiously down at the two snow-white pills, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue like a child in distaste. "Queen, I wouldn't give you something that could hurt you," said the medic. He winked. "I memorized your medical record, remember? You're not allergic to anything."
She brought the pills up to her mouth and looked warily over at Ghost. When he nodded, she shut her eyes and lobbed the two pellets onto her tongue. Making a disgusted face, she forced them down her throat with a single swallow.
"I hate meds," she groaned, shuddering. "So damn much."
Chemo patted her shoulder gently. "I think we all do, Queen."
Suddenly, Ghost's radio began beeping rapidly, and then MacTavish's voice blared from the speaker.
"Ghost, how's the situation with Queen?"
Ghost pulled the radio closer to his mouth. "Chemo examined her, sir. Said she'll be right as rain in a few days."
"Good. Can you bring her out to the briefing tent? We only have communications with General Shepherd for a few more moments, and he'd like to speak to her about something."
Chemo raised his hands up in front of his chest. "I wouldn't advise that, Captain MacTavish," he said loudly so the radio would pick up his voice. "She's still too weak to walk."
MacTavish didn't answer at first. He most likely was pondering a solution to Queen's predicament. "Well, can Ghost carry her here? It's urgent."
Mckinley and Ghost turned their attention to the medic, begging with their eyes for him to see reason. If there was something wrong, Mckinley wanted to be the first to know. Not the last person to hear about it just because she was benched in the infirmary.
Biting his lip, Chemo reluctantly nodded to Ghost. "Okay, but be careful when transporting her. Just because she can't feel the pain doesn't mean it's not there."
"Perfect," said MacTavish. "Ghost, I'll expect you and Queen in less than five minutes."
"Roger that, Soap." Ghost went over and scooped Mckinley back into his arms. "We'll be there." He faced Chemo. "And don't worry, she's safe with me. I'm not the type who drops people." He made his way over to the door, stepping lightly and taking fluid steps so as not to cause Mckinley any pain. The curved position she was in already supplied her abdomen with enough pressure.
"Bring her back here immediately after the briefing," Chemo instructed sternly, following them out the door and stopping just outside the doorway. "I need to keep an eye on her condition. It could progressively get worse."
"Of course," Ghost replied dully, rolling his eyes at Mckinley. She let out a small giggle, turning a bright shade of pink as a result.
They exited the double doors and headed out into the pathways entwining Encounter Base into an intricate system of travel. Ghost's boots made loud crunching noises against the fresh snow, leaving deep imprints in a trail behind them.
"Off to the briefing tent, eh?" Ghost remarked, rolling his shoulders. "I wonder what Shepherd is gonna tell us?"