Evade and Wait

From his higher vantage point, Clay heard the loud, distinctive swoosh of the wind first. It was his keen hearing and tendency to act on impulse that saved his life. Cerb heard or sensed the storm before Clay and was already alerting Brock and heading toward the kid just as Clay was grabbing his weapon and turning to run back toward his big brother.

When the brutal power of the hot wind and stinging sand knocked both boys to the ground, Bravo was nowhere in sight. Clay was behind them providing cover, with Brock and Cerb ordered to hang back and make sure their sixteen-year-old sniper and rookie made it to the exfil in one piece. If Jason had not made it standard procedure for one of the men to stay back, ensuring their underage kid had his back covered, Clay would have been left alone, buried in sand and struggling to breathe while his adult teammates were moving toward exfil.

But the kid was not alone. Almost immediately after hitting the hot ground on his hands and knees and being engulfed in the dense, blowing sand, Clay felt Brock on top of him. His brother pulled off both of their helmets and held the inside of Clay's own helmet over the boy's face to block the sand from entering his eyes, nose and mouth. Once Clay figured out what was happening, he moved to hold the helmet himself while reaching back blindly to push Brock's helmet toward his own face. Bravo's two youngest both felt Cerb pressed up against them, his nose burrowed into the side of his handler.

When they felt a slight lessening of the wind, Brock pulled his pack from the quickly piling sand and pulled out his safety blanket which he pulled over the two man, one dog pile. Following his training on auto-pilot, Bravo Five pulled the blanket over himself, wrapping their bodies and holding the ends tight, allowing his little brother and canine partner to huddle beneath his own body offering protection from the rapidly growing wind that was driving the brutal storm.

The sound of the wind was deafening as the storm blew over making talking impossible. Brock knew that their only option was to hunker down beneath the safety blanket and wait it out. He had been through one other sandstorm before Clay had become their rookie, but Bravo had all been together on base in Afghanistan at the time. Unable to speak or hear, and barely able to breathe, it felt like he and Clay were completely alone on some faraway planet. Lost in the middle of a hostile environment, cut-off from any other human contact.

Clay tried to control his breathing and not panic. He knew there was no way he and Brock could talk, but he was relieved almost to the point of tears when he reached up from under his big brother's body to grab hold of his shirt and he felt Brock wrap his own hand around Clay's wrist, squeezing to let the younger boy know that he wasn't alone.

Bravos Five and Six were in this together. And they both were determined to survive the storm and make it back to their team together.

The storm raged on for several hours, but as soon as there was a brief lessening of the howling wind, Brock stood, pulling Clay up with him. They followed close behind Cerb who was already leading them toward a small opening in a formation of desert rock and boulders that was located about a hundred feet behind where Clay had positioned himself to cover Bravo before the storm engulfed them.

The hole was about seven to eight feet long and a few feet wide. Brock knew they would need to find something bigger and further away from their original location in order to hide and evade capture while waiting for Bravo to come looking for them. Neither Brock nor Clay had any doubt that Bravo would come for them, but they knew it could take awhile, and they needed to find the safest location possible to hole up and wait for their brothers to arrive.

Inside their temporary shelter, Bravo's youngest did their best to assess the situation. The wind continued to howl and blow the hot sand making moving any further temporarily impossible. Clay went to work using the safety blanket to cover the opening to the hole in the mountain of rock preventing the sand from blowing inside their new home. Brock was shaking the sand from their packs and taking inventory of everything that might be of use to them.

Unfortunately, attempting to use their coms was not an option because any signals could be identified and used by their enemies to track them down. They each had three bottles of water that Brock knew needed to be conserved and used wisely. The dog handler understood that it could be hours, days or weeks before their team was able to locate them in this terrain. There were a few granola and cereal bars, the safety blankets, their first aid kits, their weapons with limited ammunition, and not much else. Bravo had not intended to be away from their temporary base for more than a few hours, and the storm had blown in seemingly out of nowhere.

Both Brock and Clay had been well trained for this kind of situation, and the older men who had become their family continually instructed them on how to survive in all kinds of environments. Regularly they were camped out or walking long hours through hostile areas around the globe - the Middle East, Central America, Africa, Eastern Europe, Asia. Bravos One through Four made it their business to school their rookies, always aware that the day was coming when their boys would need to do their jobs and survive without their guidance and protection.

The senior members of Bravo had been in and out of various parts of the Middle East since before Brock and Clay were born. They knew the unforgiving desert well. Shortly after Bravo had chosen the young dog handler, they had been sent to a different area of Syria with terrain similar to where they were currently located. When they had arrived two weeks earlier, Brock had commented to Trent in passing that the caves and cavities embedded in the rocky hills reminded him of that earlier mission.

Huddled in their current small cave, Brock remembered Jason walking beside him on the earlier mission. The team leader who had almost immediately taken the kid under his wing had climbed with him up into the rocky hills explaining that they had been formed from groundwater. They walked together into several of these caves running through the desert until Jason located a deep cavern that held small pools of water.

"You can survive almost anywhere if you are smart, resourceful and calm," Jason had told him then. "Once you have evaded immediate danger and located suitable shelter, your first priority in the desert is to locate a water source. Smart. Resourceful. Calm. You need to be all three to get yourself and your brothers out of the desert alive."

"Smart. Resourceful. Calm," Brock whispered firmly to Clay.

Night had fallen, but the blowing sand kept the air warm inside their burrow. Clay was currently trying to control his breathing with help from his big brother and temporary boss. Cerb was pressed against his leg offering additional support to his favorite underage human.

"Breathe with me Clay," Brock said calmly to the soon to be seventeen-year-old kid currently lying between his legs with his back pressed against his big brother's chest and his dusty blond head tucked under the older kid's chin. "You're doing good. I know it hurts, but we're gonna breathe through it. Just like if Trent was here."

"I wish Trent was here," Clay's voice wavered as he tried hard to control his breathing and remember his training. Clutching Brock's arms which were currently wrapped around him from behind offering security and protection, the kid continued whispering, tilting his head back against his big brother's chest in an attempt to see his face in the glow of their flashlight.

"It really hurts Brock," Clay said, trying so hard not to cry.

"I know it does, runt," Brock said calmly, doing his best to channel Trent. "How about you and I try a little mind vacationing. Let's try to take a walk with Cerb and Corey down the boardwalk back home."

"Where should we go?" Clay whispered, mimicking Brock's breathing. In. Hold for eight seconds. Out. "Can we go to the arcade? Corey and I will kick your ass in skeeball."

"Keep dreaming, kiddo," Brock scoffed, moving one hand up to rub his little brother's head while allowing him to keep hold of his other arm with both hands. "You may have a long shot at getting close, but Katie's baby brother has no skills for skeeball. I am the reigning champ."

Brock was relieved to feel the younger boy relax and melt back against him. Clay had a deep cut in his right calf that needed both cleaning and stitching. He had sliced it open on a sharp piece of rock jutting out from the opening of their current shelter when they had scrambled through several hours earlier.

At the time, the adrenaline level had been high and the burning sand had badly impaired their ability to see. Clay didn't even feel any pain until Cerb began to poke at the tear in his pants. By the time Brock was able to roll up the kid's pant leg and peel back the material which was stuck hard to the wound, it was already filthy and infected.

"Fuck, Brock!" Clay growled out, knowing he had to keep his voice low. "That fucking hurts."

"Don't be such a pussy," Brock teased lightly, trying to mask his concern at the condition of the wound from his little brother. "And you're lucky to be stuck here with your cool big brother in our kick ass man cave. Because we both know that if boss-daddy or Uncle Trent heard that language rolling off their baby boy's tongue, one of us would be facing the wall and holding a bar of Irish Spring in his dirty mouth. And it wouldn't be me, squirt."

"Cursing is allowed in the field," Clay bit back, arching his back and grinding his teeth while clutching Brock's shirt with one hand and Cerb's collar with the other. "I only get a mouth soaping if I get caught at home."

"Okay, tough guy," Brock smiled at him, pushing back his sweaty bangs to feel his hot forehead. "I forgot for a second that you live a double life."

"I'm like Jason Bourne," Clay tried to laugh when he really wanted to cry, his whole leg felt like it was on fire. And he wanted Trent so bad it hurt worse than his infected leg.

"I think you're more Miley Cyrus than Matt Damon," Brock teased.

"Miley Cyrus the singer?" Clay asked.

"Miley Cyrus as in Hannah Montana, shorty," Brock said, shaking his head.

"Who's Hannah Montana?" Clay said, legitimately confused.

"What?" Brock laughed, looking down at him. "You don't know Hannah Montana? From the Disney Channel?"

"I have zero clue what you are rambling about," Clay said, trying to sit up and get a look at his leg. "I remember Raven's Home and Bunk'd on Disney. What kind of stupid name is Hannah Montana? Did she live in Montana?"

"Clay, stay still," Brock said, pushing him back down. "I need you to hold still for me. I know it hurts, and it's going to hurt more. But I need to get this mess cleaned out and stitched or it's going to be a whole lot worse."

"Do you think they are coming, Brock?" Clay asked, laying back and trying to get a hold of himself. "I want Trent. Can't we wait for Trent?"

"No, Clay," Brock sighed, laying his hand on the kid's head and stroking his forehead. "We can't wait. This needs to be taken care of now before the infection spreads. And yes. They are most definitely coming. No way Jason would leave us behind, but it might take them a while. So we need to do our part and follow procedure. That means moving to a safer location ASAP, which we can't do with your leg like it is now. My job is to take care of you and get you sorted and ready to move. Your job is to go to your happy place, be as still and quiet as you possibly can, and let me do my job."

Brock dug through his bag to get the things he needed. Razor knife, lighter, suture kit, antiseptic spray. Looking down at the kid who looked to have de-aged from sixteen to maybe fourteen, Brock knew this was going to be bad.

"This is going to suck big time," Clay closed his eyes and held tight to his trusted brother's shirt.

"I know, honey," Brock said gently. "But we can do hard things, right?"

Clay nodded with his eyes still closed. "Copy that. We can do hard things."

"I need you to turn on your side for me so I can get to your calf," Brock said, helping the kid who had been laying back against his chest turn to lay his upper body over his big brother's leg allowing Brock access to his torn up leg. There was barely room for the two of them and the dog to fit in the hole let alone maneuver into a better position for giving medical aid.

Having watched his older brother, caregiver and protector work for the past two years, Brock did his best Trent impersonation and got right to work, not hesitating or flinching throughout the entire procedure.

After using a half bottle of their precious water to clean Clay's filthy leg, Brock used his lighter to sterilize the knife and held the kid's leg still with one hand while he sliced open the infected cut which was swollen and crusted over. He then proceeded to irrigate the open wound, before removing the top from the bottle of liquid antiseptic and pouring it over the cut.

"Shh, buddy. I know," Brock whispered calmly, soothing his kid when he cried out pitifully before turning and burying his own face in his brother's leg to muffle his own voice. "I know it hurts. But we need to be quiet. I'm sorry. But that was the worst part."

Clay was breathing heavily against Brock's leg trying not to puke in the confined space.

"Come on, runt," Brock managed lightly while still working on the kid's leg. "We were going to have some fun on the boardwalk, remember? Me, you and Corey. Close your eyes for me and take a breath. I can hear the ocean, the waves and the sounds of the people talking and laughing."

Once Brock was satisfied the cut was clean of sand, dirt and rock particles, he used sterile gauze pads to soak up and wipe away the extra blood before opening his suture kit and tightly stitching the wound closed to prevent any more dirt or sand from getting through.

"Can you smell the fried dough and pizza from Uncle Sal's Pizza?" Brock questioned as he worked. "I can smell the pizza and see the flashing lights from the arcade. Can you see it Clay?"

"I see it, Brock," he whispered, turning his head slightly to take a breath without opening his eyes. "I can see the skeeball tables, and I hear the pinball machines. Can you hear it?"

"Sure can, kiddo," Brock said, tying off the last stitch. "What should we do first? Are you hungry, or should I kick you scrawny little butts in skeeball before we eat?"

"Let's play first," Clay said, barely conscious of the pain in his leg. "Corey says we should hit the arcade first and then get some of those Boardwalk Fries down by the pier. Can we do that, Brock?"

"Sounds like a plan to me, honey," Brock said, relaxing slightly now that the hard part was over and Clay was clearly zoned out. "Let's head into the arcade. I see three tables empty down at the end near the basketball game. How about we get some tokens and go down there, away from the little kids, by the prize window?"

Brock washed and dried the blood from the neatly stitched wound before slathering the entire area with white antibiotic cream and covering his work with two gauze pads and a large, clear band-aid to keep it all clean. He removed the kid's filthy sock and dug through his own bag for a clean pair which he put on his little brother before shaking out Clay's sandy boots and sliding them back on his feet.

Pulling the younger boy back up so that he was seated between his legs and leaning back against his chest, both boys relaxed for the first time since they heard the sound of the howling wind moving across the desert sand. Brock shook out two Tylenol tablets from a small white container and handed them to Clay who swallowed them dry. After pouring a third of the remaining water from the open bottle into a small bowl for Cerb, Bravo's youngest rested against the back of their temporary shelter and finished the rest of the bottle, taking turns sipping small amounts until the plastic bottle was dry.

"Are you back with me, Clay?" Brock asked softly.

"I'm here," Clay responded quietly. "Do you think they're looking for us?"

"Probably not yet, squirt," Brock said honestly. "It's dark. They'll be chomping at the bit to get out here, but Blackburn will try to convince Jason it's better to make a plan and wait for the first light. And I bet back-up is flying in. The boss will want Alpha. They'll send a team with a dog to track us. Don't fret. They'll be coming soon."

"Are we gonna move?" Clay asked.

"Yep," Brock said. "We've got the night vision, so it's our best option to go in the night. I want you to rest for a little while. Then we're going to have another bit of water and head out. We need to move away from this area. The bad guys will be moving in first thing, probably before dawn, so we're going when it's pitch black. Lots of cloud cover tonight, so we got lucky."

"Where are we gonna go?" Clay whispered.

Brock could hear the exhaustion in his soft voice. "Earlier in the week, we passed by a group of caves bunched together about four or five miles to our east," Brock said. "You remember that, shorty?"

Clay nodded. "They were deep," he whispered. "Lots of good places to hide out. Higher ground so we can see who's coming."

"Yep," Brock smiled. "And if I know our grumpy old men, they will be thinking the same thing. And Kevin will be all over it. He's no dummy."

"I think you're right," Clay mumbled, nearly out.

"Jason took me walking once the first time I was ever here in the desert," Brock started. "You know what he told me about runt?"

"What?" Clay whispered.

"The boss told me that in the desert, after we find shelter, our first priority is to locate a water source," Brock said.

Clay turned his head, snuggling into his big brother's safe arms. "Ray says there's water in caves."

"That's just what Jase told me," Brock said. "So we are going to hunt us down a nice, deep, high clubhouse. In a steep, rocky area where we can see for a mile. A cool, cozy cavern with some nice pools of fresh water from the rainy season. And we are going to chill out and wait for our mean ol' uncles to come grumping along and bring us straight back home."

"You think they're coming, Brock?" Clay said before nodding off.

"Oh, I know they're coming, baby," Brock whispered, kissing his sleeping brother's head and burying the hand not currently holding his weapon into the thick fur of his loyal canine partner who was awake, alert, and as always, by his side.