DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN TOM CLANCY'S THE DIVISION. THAT RIGHT BELONGS TO UBISOFT. EVERYTHING MENTIONED IN THIS STORY IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY.
Enjoy!
-Jake
"Hey, look! There's a Coast Guard boat wedged under dock."
A group of civilians had gone to the houses and apartments under the Brooklyn bridge to look for supplies, and had spotted the craft with its bow wedged under the concrete pier.
"Wasn't there yesterday." Their leader noted. "Let's check it out."
From the building they were in, they made their way across the two lane street dividing the housing from the docks and river. The concrete and steel structure perched over the river was littered with trash, and a more than a couple mooring lines had snapped, other fishing and speed boats floating away and pushing against each other. Quickly making their way through it, they reached the stranded Coast Guard patrol boat in less than two minutes. One of them, a woman of about thirty years hopped onto the boat's gunwale while the others stood guard. She climbed down and into the cabin, rummaging through the cabinets and finding a few flares, a flare gun and whatever was left in the first aid kit, all of which she passed to her people on the dock.
"That's all there is up here," She called.
"Check the bunks." The leader replied.
The woman ducked down again, this time it was for less than thirty seconds. "Hey! There's someone down here!"
"What?"
"Wrapped in blankets on the bunks, they're wearing coast guard uniforms."
"Are they alive?" The leader asked, stepping aboard. He followed the woman down to the bunks below the deck. Mine and Anna's unconscious forms were curled up in one corner.
"What do we do with them?" The woman asked.
At the sound of voices, I stirred, but only getting the chance to move my head slightly before again passing out from blood loss.
"Something's wrong. He just woke up but fell out again. Get them out of the blankets." He ordered, then returned topside. "We got live people here, two of you come help."
As the woman peeled away a couple of the blankets, blood stains began to show on the cloth near my chest. When the second last blanket came off, the last one was soaked in blood. Hesitantly, she pulled it off, showing the extent of the wound. She gasped. The bullet hole itself was relatively small, but a lot of blood had soaked through while I'd been unconscious.
"We need to get them out of here." The leader said as the other two men came down the steep stairs to the bunk room. They didn't wait, but upon seeing the injury they carefully lifted Anna and I to our feet and carried us to the bow of the boat. They laid Anna on the deck and one hopped onto the dock and the other passed us down.
Still standing, I started to regain my thoughts, the first being that I was in incredible pain. I looked around, dazed, realising that the boat's GPS had correctly sent me to Brooklyn bridge. I looked at Anna as she regained consciousness.
"Whhh… where am I?" She mumbled.
"Safe. Don't worry." The man holding her said. I slowly and carefully stepped forward and out from the arms of the two men, trying to maintain my balance while my head spun. I fell back again almost immediately. One caught me. "Thanks." I muttered.
"Don't sweat it." The one who caught me replied.
"Or bleed it." The other pointed out.
I slowly remembered why I was here in the first place. The Division, my friends, were still being held captive at Rikers. "We need to get to the JTF."
"Good luck with that." The leader said from behind me.
I turned around, meeting his gaze. He was older than I was, probably about fifty, but a hair shorter than me.
His brown eyes met my blue ones with a calm glance, before looking around at the trashed dock. "The JTF got pushed back to the west side of the island. There's only a few patrols and a safe house left here, but they tend to stay as quiet as possible. They're outnumbered, and don't wanna lose any more people. This area's mostly run by rioters and cleaners."
Speaking of which…
"Well, well. Look what we have here." A condescending voice said. Four men emerged from behind docked fishing boats, all holding semi automatic pistols. Rioters. The group that saved me didn't even have time to draw their own weapons.
"A group of Good Samaritans saving the poor people from a terrible death. Too bad it was for nothing. Hands up." The voice revealed itself to be one of the rioters, quite obviously the leader.
The two men holding us up slowly put us down, and raised their hands along with the other three members of their group.
I managed to snag one man's gun when he turned. I hid it behind his legs and checked it over. A new Glock pistol, quite possibly looted. I didn't care at this point.
"Military boy, show your hands." The rioter demanded.
I stuck one hand in the air.
"Both of them, dumbass."
I glanced at Anna, who spotted the gun in my hand and nodded. I slowly raised the other, the pistol dangling from my index finger. I kept the gun just above my chest.
"Drop the gun!" He cautioned.
I slowly lowered it towards my chest, then before they could even register what happened, I flipped the gun, took aim and fired three times. Three hits. Three of the rioters went down in rapid succession. I twisted to the side to shoot the leader, but he managed to get a shot off before I hit him between the eyes. I flinched. For the second time in twenty-four hours I'd been shot. The bullet passed through my shin, causing a spurt of blood to shoot out.
The civilian leader finally reacted. "Holy shit, was that you?" He asked me.
"Yup." I answered, passing the man his gun.
He holstered it, and helped me back up. "Bloody good shot." He commented.
"Thanks," I said, sucking air through my teeth when I accidentally put weight on the now-bad leg. "I was a sniper with the SEALs before the Coast Guard."
"Never mind that," The leader said, "We'll get you to the safe house. We got two cars just at the road. We'll drive there."
The two men were now virtually carrying me and the woman supported Anna to the red Toyota pickup and green sedan waiting on the road. The leader hopped into the dual cab's driver's seat, the woman in the front, and the two men carefully put Anna and I into the back seat. The two men hopped into the sedan parked behind.
I yelped in pain when my leg brushed the seat in front.
The truck started, and the well-practiced driver started down the trash-littered street. "I'm Tom, by the way." He said, looking at me in the rear view mirror
"Mike." I replied, nodding to him when our eyes met. "This is Anna."
"This is Sarah, and the two in the sedan are Jordan and Zach. My daughter and sons." He told me.
I tried to stop the blood flow with a piece of fabric I had torn from the uniform I wore. "Not to be rude or anything, but how far is it to the safe house?" I asked.
"Two, three minutes." Jordan replied.
"Do they have a radio?"
"Yeah, why?" Sarah asked.
"Have you guys heard of the Division yet?"
"Of course. Everyone around here has. No one has actually seen them, but the JTF has, and they've been spreading rumours like crazy."
"Good or bad?"
"Very good. They say they're a bunch of badasses. Although, not long ago they did announce that all of the first Division guys sent had been declared MIA, and they've started to just unofficially declare them dead. So now we don't talk about them that much. Why do you ask?"
"Because not all of them are dead."
He gave me a curious look in the mirror. "What do you mean?"
"Actually, most of them are alive." Anna told him.
His eyes widened. "Are you serious?"
"Yes. We need a radio, ASAP."
Tom sped up, reaching the safe house quicker than expected. The pickup screeched to a stop outside, and Jordan and Zach helped me out while Sarah ran inside to get a medic. She came back out with a doctor, who had Jordan and Zach lower me to the sidewalk. The doctor cut off my pant leg at the knee, examined the injury, and decided to wipe it clean with sterile gauze, and threaded stitches into the skin around it. He then turned my leg onto its side and did the same at the exit wound. After the stitches were in he taped a dressing around my leg and told me to keep as much weight off it as possible, then tended to Anna's back. By now she was wide awake and in a lot of pain. He gave her a shot of local anesthetic before heading back inside.
A JTF officer stood with a group of the safe house's guards. I waved him over.
"Are you guys alright?" He asked, seeing my leg, shoulder, and Anna's back.
"Fine, thanks. Do you have a radio?" I asked.
"Yeah. You with JTF?"
"Strategic Homeland Division. First Wave, Mike Westbrook, callsign Nightfall." I told him, then motioned to Anna, "First Wave, Anna Roche, callsign Striker."
He forked his radio over without any other questions.
Another guard ran from the safe house to the officer, and whispered into his ear.
The officer turned to me with a grave look. "If you're going to try to contact your commander, you might have some trouble. His bird's just been shot down."
A/N
Thanks to Andrei Rian for the follow and fav! I'll try and post updates somewhat kind of regularly. Somewhat. Right now I've got like three chapters nearly ready to post, but then it might be quiet for a while. I probably won't add author's notes to too many either, so you might not hear from me for a while. Anyway, thanks!