Chapter Text
“Listen up, gentlemen.”
Twelve operators fall silent at the entrance of the Lieutenant Commander of Bravo into the cramped room that serves as their briefing room here at their base in Kandahar. Right behind the LC, Mandy and Lisa enter and take their positions in the front next to him.
Clay watches from his position in the back of the room. Being the rookie has sent him to the back of the bus again, but he can work with that. He has had to start from scratch enough times in his life, knows that he has earned his place amongst those Tier One operators, knows that with time his team will get to know his value, too.
He listens to Blackburn and Mandy describe the mission objective. Apparently, three American aid workers – one of them the daughter of a Senator – have been kidnapped by a local terrorist group, and they are being held captive in an abandoned village. As this group is relatively new, there is no exact number of hostiles on site. Therefore, Alpha has been called in to double their numbers and ensure mission success.
As soon as all the available details are communicated, all operators gather around the little model of the village on the table provided by Lisa. Jason and Full Metal agree quickly, that Alpha will do the actual hostage liberation, while Bravo clears the building, gathers intel and posts security. Brock and Cerberus will join Alpha to check for any explosives close to the hostages, and Trent is assigned to that group, too, to help Jeff, Alpha’s medic, looking after the three hostages. Having already been in captivity for over a week, they are bound to be in need of medical attention.
“Spenser?”
Clay looks up from the topographical map he’s memorizing to see Jason looking at him. “Yes?”
“I will need Ray down there with me, so you will have two jobs. First, you’ll sneak to that empty building over here and plant some explosives. Then you’ll retreat to that overwatch position here and on my mark blow that building as a distraction, then cover our six. Understood?”
Clay nods slowly, returning his gaze to the topographical map, trying to find the reason for the nagging feeling that just set in. Jason turns back to the others, but Metal eyes Clay curiously.
“Something on your mind, rookie?”
Jason turns back to him at Metal’s question, arms folded over his chest, waiting if he dares to speak up in their first mission with another unit. But Clay has finally found the reason for the nagging feeling, and he points to another location than the indicated overwatch position, one a little closer to the building in question and the exfil point, but farther away from the actual hostage area.
“This position here would be better for overwatch. Closer to the building I’m supposed to blow up and closer to exfil, more efficient.”
Metal nods, but Ray interrupts. “True, but it’s farther away from where we are. Too far away for accurate shooting without your sniper rifle.”
“Farther away, true, but not too far. It’s possible,” Clay argues back.
“Possible, yes. But there are maybe a handful of people in the world who are able to do it. Just take the closer position. You don’t have to proof anything here.”
“I’m not trying to.” Clay takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm and argue his position. “I’ve done this before.”
“Sure you have. Maybe on the shooting range. Or in Call of Duty.” Ray’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Listen, Clay. This is no video game. Our lives are on the line. Take the closer position and cover us.” And before Clay can argue some more, Ray adds. “That’s an order, Bravo Six.”
“Yes, sir.” Clay nods, keeping a steady face. He hates when people don’t trust his judgement or in his abilities, don’t listen to him when he knows he’s right. But once again, he is the lowest man on the totem pole, so he sucks it up and keeps quiet for the rest of the briefing.
As soon as all the details are discussed, they move out of the room to get their gear. Sonny steps right next to him and starts telling him what and how much explosives he will need to bring that building down. Clay is still unsure about the Texan, but despite the constant nicknames and the teasing that is bordering on bullying, he kind of likes him. But if he uses this amount of explosives on a building that old and dilapidated, he will probably bring down the whole village.
“I don’t think that’s right, Son. If I really use that much, by my calculations…”
“Your calculations?” Sonny interrupts him. “What is it with you today? Huh, Mr. Know-it-all? I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you, so you better listen to me. ‘cause I know better.”
Clay stops abruptly, staring at Sonny. “But…”
“Just shut up and do as you’re told.” Sonny stomps off, angrily cursing him as he moves to get his gear.
Clay stares after him, unsure how to proceed. If he disobeys Sonny’s orders and uses less, it could have serious consequences for him and his career. But if he does as Sonny tells him, he risks blowing up his whole team and the hostages.
“Sonny can be a dickheaded asshole.”
Clay looks to his side and sees Brock, who has stepped next to him quietly, smiling down to him. Unsure how to react to this statement, Clay just hums.
“Please, don’t follow his advice to blow us up.” Brock gives him another encouraging smile, claps him on the shoulder and moves out to get his and Cerberus’ gear.
Clay chuckles a little, surprised by this unexpected support from Bravo Five, but feeling vindicated. He follows Brock and picks up his gear to meet the rest of the team on the tarmac.
The chopper ride to the drop zone is quiet. Everyone has their own thing to mentally prepare for the coming mission. Brock has taken the seat next to Clay, talking in low voices to Trent on his other side, but Cerberus has moved closer to Clay, rubbing his shoulder into Clay’s knee and looking at him with big puppy eyes. Clay’s unsure if he’s allowed to pat the dog this close to the mission. He doesn’t want to distract Cerberus from his job, and he definitely doesn’t want to be told off again. So, he leaves his hand on his knees, trying to ignore the soft huffs of air brushing over his fingers, but the dog just nuzzles his head under it, panting happily when Clay doesn’t pull it away. Brock looks over to the pair, giving Clay an approving nod and turns back to Trent. Encouraged by that, Clay smiles down at the dog and gives his ears a good scratch, eliciting a contented sigh from the dog.
The landing is quick and rough. Everyone exits the helo in quick succession and they’re off, moving towards the village. As they draw closer, Clay prepares to split away to his target zone.
“Remember to keep the radio contact to a minimum!” Jason instructs him just before he breaks off. “Check in when you’re at your target location, and again when you’re ready to blow the building.”
“Roger that.”
Clay moves away in a light jog. It doesn’t take him long to reach his target building. Before he steps out from cover, he scans the building and the ones next to it. No one seems to be around. The whole village seems to be deserted. It’s quiet. Maybe a little too quiet.
“Bravo Six to Bravo One. How copy?”
“Go for Bravo One.”
“I’m at the target location. All quiet. Moving in.”
“Roger that, Bravo Six.”
He moves out of the cover of trees and steps into the shade of the building, quietly and carefully making his way to the back entrance. When he passes one of the broken windows, he freezes. There was a voice inside. Deep and quiet, but unmistakably a voice. Clay stays where he is and strains his ears to hear more. And sure enough, he can hear it again. Two male voices actually, low murmurs in the local tongue. It’s too quiet for Clay to understand, but he knows they shouldn’t be here. This building should be empty. This whole side of the village is supposed to be empty.
Quietly, he moves back towards the cover of the trees. As soon as he’s out of sight of the building, he clicks his comms.
“Bravo Six to Bravo One.”
“That was quick, Six. Good job!”
“I’m not done here yet, One.”
“Then go back and finish it. Only mission related radio contact!”
“There’s an unforeseen problem at my location.”
“Then solve the problem. You’re Tier One now. You don’t need us to hold your hand.”
Clay sighs deeply. If there are only the two hostiles in that building, that’s no problem. But he can’t be sure. What if there are more than he can handle? What if they overpower him and he won’t be able to provide overwatch for the team? He needs to speak up. “But…”
“Just do your job! And do it quietly. Report back when you’re in position to blow the building.”
“Roger that. Six, out.” Clay takes another deep breath and moves back towards the building. There is nothing else to do. His assault rifle is equipped with a silencer, so he won’t alert any hostiles that may be close by. He just needs to get into the building, clear it of any hostiles and rig it, then move back out to overwatch without being noticed.
Easy-peasy.
Peaking around the corner, he can see along the alley towards the street at the front of the house. There doesn’t seem to be any movement there. But this house looked abandoned, too, and it clearly isn’t. He can’t do anything now but infiltrate his target house and do his job, hoping that he won’t be noticed.
He moves closer to the back door, stopping next to it. Pulling out a stun grenade, he pulls the pin, opens the door as quietly as he can, and throws the grenade in. He waits for the blast and the shouting, then moves in, weapon at the ready, shooting the two men that make a grab for their weapons, rubbing their eyes. They drop to the floor in a heap of limbs.
Clay moves deeper into the room, head on a swivel with no hostiles in sight. There is a shout from the doorway that leads to the front of the house. He looks up to see a woman, staring at him in horror, yelling at him in a dialect even he doesn’t understand. Clay tries to talk to her, tries to calm her in all the languages he knows, but she keeps screaming.
Suddenly, there is movement to his right, and pain explodes just beneath his vest. He turns to see a young man, a teenager really, already on the attack again, a bloody dagger clutched in his right hand. Clay doesn’t have time to think, only does what he has to do to save his life, does what he’s trained to do, and pulls the trigger. The boy crumples lifelessly to the ground next to the other dead men. The woman’s cry turns into a wail, and she starts running towards Clay, pulling something from the pocket of her coat. Clay stumbles backwards towards the back door, aiming at the woman and pulls the trigger again.
The moment she falls to the ground, he recognizes the thing in her hand.
A dead-man switch.
Clay turns towards the door, but it’s too late. The shockwave of the explosion sends him flying. His left shoulder connects painfully with the door frame before he can feel himself crash through the remnants of the wooden door. He lands hard on the packed earth behind the house, his shoulder screaming at him in pain. The building wavers momentarily before starting to collapse in itself, raining debris all over Clay. He tries to move away from the crumbling building, but it’s more a crawl and he isn’t fast enough, so he turns on his already hurt left side and makes himself as small as possible, shielding his head with his arms. His body is showered with larger and smaller pieces of debris, bouncing off of him, cutting at any exposed skin they can find. Clay thinks he can hear something crack as an especially large chunk lands on his right side, knocking all air out of him. Darkness claws at him, but he clings to consciousness, knowing that if he passes out, he can’t defend himself against the hostiles that will be swarming this place in a few minutes.
It doesn’t take long until no more debris falls, but it feels like a lifetime. Clay coughs painfully, trying to dislodge the dust and dirt from his airway, and with every cough the pain only intensifies all over his body. As soon as the air clears enough for him to take a deeper breath, he opens his eyes and tries to assess the damage.
His lids blink back sluggishly, grit and blood sticking to them and he groans as he tries to move his body. Moving hurts like shit, but he’s too exposed. He needs to get out of sight, beyond that tree line.
Before he can start to move, his coms come to life. “What the fuck was that, Six? I told you to wait for our signal to blow that building!”
Clay’s right hand sluggishly moves to his radio to tell Jason, that it wasn’t him that blew that building, that he might need a little assistance to get to the exfil point. But he doesn’t get the chance to say any of that.
“Never mind, Six. We’re moving in now. Cover us!”
“Actually, One, I…”
“Shut up and do your job!”
Clay sighs and lets his hand drop from the radio. It’s the old mantra. Shut up, suck it up and do your fucking job. Thankfully, no hostiles have been drawn to the collapsed building yet, but he can hear shouting in the distance. He needs to move. Now.
Slowly, he starts to turn onto his front, hoping to get his legs under him. Even though he turns over his right side, his left shoulder protests the movement loudly. As does his right side. A pain like molten lava flares up and runs down from his collarbone to his hip, making him stop and breathe heavily through the pain. When he thinks it’s bearable, he pushes off with both hands. His left arm and shoulder don’t comply to the orders from his brain though, making him nearly faceplant, but in the last second, his right hand saves the movement, and he manages to push himself into a sitting positon with a lot of quiet swearing and panting.
As soon as he’s sitting ass to heels, he tries to make a quick assessment of his situation. His rifle is still strapped to him, and his sidearm is securely lodged in his thigh holster. Thank god for that. His head seems fine which he takes as a win. His left shoulder is clearly dislocated, but hopefully not broken. Breathing hurts like hell and he’s sure that more than one rib is cracked. Or broken. But he’s still able to breathe. Every inch of his body hurts from cuts and bruises, but at least nothing else seems to be broken.
Wobbly, he pushes himself to his feet and takes a deep breath. He can do this. He needs to do this, and quickly, for the voices come ever closer, and there isn’t much left of the building to cover him from the front street.
He sways when he takes his first step, a sudden nausea and dizziness threatening to make him fall. But he pushes through, willing himself to make it out of sight of the building first, and takes another step. It doesn’t take him long, but it’s just in time that he steps into the covering shade of the trees when the first hostile comes running along the side alley to the back of the house.
Clay moves deeper into the trees until he’s completely covered, then stops and violently throws up next to a tree. He clings to the trunk for support until the retching stops.
Well, that was unpleasant. His whole right side burns from the strain of the vomiting and he needs to lean against the trunk of the tree to catch his breath.
He doesn’t have time for this. He needs to move to the overwatch position. The explosion might have given the teams a diversion to enter the actual target building, even though it was too early. But they will need overwatch when they come out. Through the radio, he just heard them make entry into the target building, and he knows they won’t stay undiscovered for long. But he also knows, with his injuries, he won’t make it in time to his designated overwatch position to be of any help. Before he realizes what he’s doing, his body moves to the secondary position, the one he knows he can reach, and that is much closer to the exfil point.
It takes him longer than he likes, but eventually he reaches the spot. As he had predicted, it’s the perfect location with good visibility of the target building and the exfil path that Alpha and Bravo will take back to the LZ. His left shoulder throbs, and his fingers have started to go numb. With a dislocated shoulder, there is no way he will be able to shoot to protect his brothers from this distance. Sighing, he puts down his weapon, sits down and takes the strap from his rifle, using it to tie his wrists together. Trying to breathe through the pain, he moves his bound wrists over his bent left knee and rests them against his lower leg. Bracing against the pain he knows will come, he lets himself fall slowly backwards, stretching his arms until he can feel the scraping of bone against bone as his shoulder slowly pops back into its socket.
He allows himself a moment, lying on his back, fighting back the tears that threaten to fall, until the pain has toned down enough for him to roll over and get into overwatch. Still, as he moves on his belly to find the best position, pain flares up in all parts of his body, but he ignores it. Do your job. Be quiet and suck it up. So, he does.
Alpha radios that they have found the hostages but they are in bad condition, and they need more time to stabilize them for transport. Bravo calls back that they have cleared the building and will post security as long as Alpha needs. Clay scans the outside for hostiles, but it’s clear at the moment.
“Outside is clear, too, for the moment.” He can hear himself that his voice sounds strained, and he hates it, but no one else seems to notice, so he keeps quiet and waits.
Blackburn’s voice sounds over the coms a few minutes later. “Be advised. There’s a storm coming in fast. You need to move to exfil. Window for chopper pickup is closing.”
Clay lifts his eyes from his scope and sees the dark clouds moving in fast from the other side of the village. They are definitely going to get wet no matter how fast they move to exfil.
“Ready to move. Bravo Six, cover us!”
“Roger that, Bravo One. Have eyes on you.”
He can see them leaving the building, and as soon as they are outside, hostiles start pouring out of the other buildings and the shooting starts. Clay picks them off from his position, dropping them as fast as he can, which is getting more and more difficult with the wind and rain that have started as harbinger of the storm to come. But the teams make it out with their precious cargo, and as soon as the last member has vanished behind the tree line, Clay picks up his rifle and slowly comes to his feet. The adrenaline of the fight is still cursing through his body, and he takes advantage of it, moving as fast as he can to the LZ. The rain has soaked him through, washing away all the blood and the dust from the collapsed building, making his clothes cling uncomfortably to his body. But he knows it’s not far to the LZ, and as soon as he is in the helo, he can relax, can get medical attention.
Before he even reaches the landing zone, he can hear the whumping of the rotors. Through the trees he can spy the large Blackhawk hovering just above the ground, two figures standing guard while his brothers load into the bird. Even from his distance, he can make out one of them leaned over a prone figure on the floor of the helo, doing chest compressions. Ah, shit. That’s not good.
He quickens his pace, ignoring the screaming pain from his body, and enters the clearing. With difficulty, he makes it into the bird and the first person that greets him is Ray. Ice cold eyes that promise a storm of a different kind, glare at him.
“What the fuck, Spenser!”
Clay opens his mouth to defend himself, to tell Ray why he had to switch to the other overwatch position, but yet again, he doesn’t get the chance. Sonny pulls at his vest, maneuvering him into a seat in the far corner, to make room for Jeff and Trent, assisted by Brock and Jason, who are working desperately on the three aid workers. The second Clay sits down, the chopper lifts off.
Clay feels exhausted. As soon as he’s buckled in, his eyes close and he takes a deep breath. He keeps his left arm pressed over his chest and his throbbing right side, rubbing at the aching shoulder with his right hand. The adrenaline is leaving his system, and every inch of his body screams at him. He tries to compartmentalize. It’s only a short flight to the base. He can do it. It’s not that far. And seriously, it’s just a sore shoulder, a few bruised ribs, and cuts and bruises from the debris. He’s not broken. He just needs to suck it up.
Something wet touches the fingers of his left hand that press into his right side, and Clay opens his eyes to see Cerberus staring up at him, his eyes seemingly staring right into his soul. Those eyes seem to tell him that this dog knows exactly how he feels and wants to give some comfort. He gives the dog a tired smile and releases his shoulder from his grip, taking the hand to bury into the soft fur, ruffling it a little. Cerb accepts the attention and moves even closer, as if he wants to sit right on top of Clay but too afraid to hurt him. Instead of panting happily as he had done on the flight over, Cerb starts to whine softly, still staring up at Clay. Clay doesn’t know what that means, but as the dog isn’t moving away from him, he just keeps his hand in the soft and warm fur, using the dog to ground him. Concentrating on not falling asleep, on breathing, on keeping the pain at bay, Clay doesn’t notice the concerned look Brock shoots him from the other side of the chopper.
Minutes later, the bird touches down on the tarmac and a bustle of activity ensues. The aid workers are pulled out onto stretchers and along with Jeff, Trent, Brock and Jason, they disappear towards the small base hospital. Cerberus hops down and runs after his handler as soon as Brock leaves the chopper.
“Alright, everyone. Get some food. Get a shower. We’ll meet at 1900 for debrief.” Full Metal turns to his 2IC, already moving towards the base.
Clay stares after Cerberus, already missing the quiet support of the dog. He doesn’t want to think of the debriefing he has to sit through before he can go to medical and have his bumps and bruises looked at. He wonders if he will get a chance to explain himself or if Ray will cut him off just like he did this morning.
One thing at a time, he reminds himself. So, he gets out of the chopper into the pouring rain and is greeted by Ray and his accusing finger.
“What the fuck were you thinking? Don’t even think I will forget that you disobeyed a direct order from me, just because you were able to pull it off! This will have consequences you won’t like!” With that, Ray turns away and makes his way towards their barracks, followed closely by Sonny.
Looks like he won’t get a chance to have his say…
Shaking his head, Clay grabs his gear, and follows them slowly. He’s just so exhausted now that the adrenaline has left his system that he doesn’t have the strength to think about this now. His shoulder still throbs, his ribs protest every deep breath he tries to take and funnily enough so does his abdomen, feeling a little tense and distorted. Must be the bruising from the chunk of debris that hit him. Though the nausea from before has vanished, he doesn’t think he can eat anything at the moment, so he makes his way first to their gear room to put away his rifle and vest, then trudges towards the showers, trailing his right hand along the walls to keep himself steady through the dizziness that has gotten worse since he stepped off the chopper.
Not in the mood to talk to anyone at the moment, feeling too exhausted to even make simple conversation, Clay chooses the stall farthest to the side and locks himself in. Slowly and carefully, he peels himself out of his fatigues. It takes all his concentration to suppress the groans that want to leave his mouth, but in the end he manages.
He looks down at his dirty body, seeing more skin colored red, purple or nearly black than his normal skin tone. Sighing, he steps into the shower, switching the tap to hot. The hot spray feels like heaven on his aching body, his muscles relaxing instantly. He leans his head against the tiled walls, letting the warm spray cascade down his back, and closes his eyes. This feels good, but it doesn’t restore energy like those showers after missions usually do. On the contrary. The longer he stands under the warm and soothing spray, the more he feels drained. Feeling a little dizzy, he opens his eyes, and his gaze falls onto the swirl of water running towards the drain. The water is tinged a dark color. Not only dirty brown, but crimson. And it’s not getting any lighter the longer he looks.
It takes his brain a moment to process that information, but it finally does. He must be bleeding somewhere. That would explain the dizziness and exhaustion, too.
He looks down on his body, trying to find the wound. And there it is. Just below his rib cage. Maybe an inch wide, slowly but steadily oozing dark red blood. An image flashes before his eyes. The boy with the knife. The boy that had surprised him and stabbed him. At the time, Clay had though it just to be a scratch, a little slash to the side. Nothing to really worry about.
Carefully, the tips of his fingers palpate the wound, but as soon as he touches the skin around the stab wound, pain explodes in his abdomen, making his knees buckle. He lands on his knees, doubling over from the pain of the movement, his right hand still clutching the wound, his left arm shooting out to break the fall, but as soon as the arm makes contact with the ground, the pain that shoots through his shoulder makes his muscles go lax and he crashes the rest of the way down to the tiled floor.
The exploding pain all over his body combined with his head hitting the tiles hard, sends him straight into oblivion.