A/N: PLEASE READ! Word of caution, this chapter will contain some implications of torture, so please be very careful while reading this! If you don't want to read it, go past this * and start at the end of the other * Or just don't read the chapter at all. You've been warned!
Day? Time?
Maverick groaned, eyes squeezed tight, moving his head away from the painfully bright light that was shining down into his face. His head ached like heck; his thigh was throbbing with his quick, unsteady heartrate. Where was he?
Where was Rooster?
Maverick opened his eyes slowing, willing them to adjust quickly to the light. He wasn't sitting anymore, that was for sure. His eyes traveled down and he realized with a jolt that he was strapped to a cold, hard metal table. He couldn't move, couldn't talk, couldn't anything but never-ending pain. Thankfully, his eyes finally adjusted, and he could look around the otherwise dimly lit room.
He realized with another jolt that he was in a type of hospital or medical room. White cabinets lined the wall, there was a sink with a soft dripping sound of water. He could just make out medication bottles and cyan colored gloves. Blinking slowly, Maverick turned his aching head to the other side. There was a heart monitor of sorts and he was attached to several wires and an IV. Gosh he hated hospital rooms.
Where was he? He didn't know if he was with the good guys. He didn't know if he was with the bad guys.
Thankfully he still had his flight suit on him. He could faintly feel some things weighing down in his pockets; fortunately they, whoever they were, hadn't thought to take anything off him. Maybe he could reach for his radio? Did he even still have his radio? Gosh, he desperately hoped so.
Abruptly painfilled screams erupted through the halls of the dark place. Mav's already fast heartrate skyrocketed as he realized he recognized those screams. Those were Rooster's screams. He had to get out of here.
He had to protect Baby Goose. He'd promised to keep him safe.
Maverick ignored the pain flaring through his body as he jerked at the straps the bound him to the table. His body screamed at him to stop. He ignored it. He had to get to Rooster. Where were they doing to him?
Maverick felt a snap in his wrist and sharp pain shot up his forearm. Great. He's probably broken that. Mav kept on struggling. If the Military taught him anything, it was to never give up trying. So, he listened desperately for Rooster, and kept thrashing about.
Finally, finally, he felt the straps loosen, and one last tug sent him jerking up. Maverick quickly unstrapped his legs and slid ungracefully off the metal medical table. The sudden rush of standing when he hadn't had water or food in a good long while sent the world tipping and swirling around him. Maverick stumbled, willing the dizziness to stop as he made his way to the door.
The screaming stopped abruptly, and Maverick's heart practically plummeted to his stomach.
'No, not Rooster,' he thought frantically, 'Not him too. I can't lose anyone else!"
On the carrier
Cyclone stood with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, alert, steady. This was their sixth SAR mission flown in the past three days. Two missions a day; two pilots a mission; six hours each, with refuel. Everyone in the communications were listening intently to the conversations held in the sky.
"Yellow one to yellow two, do you copy?" Hangman's voice came over the comms.
"Loud and clear." Thorn answered in his deep, raspy voice.
"You see anything?"
"No sir, nothin'."
Hangman sighed heavily, glancing out the cockpit window.
Three stupid stinking days the Daggers had gone without a leader. Three days they spent searching for any sign of their friends. And what did they come up with? Nothing. Nothing at all.
He was getting frustrated and anxious. Hangman had to admit to himself he missed his roommate. Even if they would get into frequent arguments about stupid things, he missed him. Rooster was kind of like the brother he'd always wanted. Maverick was like the father he always wanted; he looked up to them, not that he'd admit it to anyone.
He had to keep looking.
That's when he heard it.
Some static sounding noises coming from his radio. Hangman felt his forehead crease in a frown, and he flew a little onward. The static faded into silence. Hangman frowned again, and his eyes flickered momentarily to his fuel gauge. Enough to fly a few more rounds. He tilted the aircraft around, back to where he'd heard static.
The static changed into a bunch of voices speaking in a different language.
Hangman quickly pressed his comms button down, saying nothing, allowing the sound to travel to the carrier. He listened to the people for a few more minutes, but then they stopped. Hangman let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"Yellow one to Head." He spoke, "Did you get all that?"
"Affirmative. It's being translated right now." A female answered him, "Recommend yellow one return home. Fuel is low."
"Understood." Hangman's heart was pounding loudly in his chest. It was the first thing they'd heard on this island, other then the gunshots. It was their first clue to finding the whereabouts of Maverick and Rooster. They were back on the trail.
Hangman turned his jet back to the carrier, towards the sun, followed closely by Thron. He sent a quick prayer to anyone who would listen to keep his teammates safe.
Golly, he hoped they were safe.
How very wrong he was.