Chapter Text
Preface
"We should've shot that dog," came from the other side of the Humvee.
"Shut up, Trombley," Colbert said without looking over.
"Nah, Trombley, if we'd shot that dog we would be here in the middle of nowhere without anyone explaining what's going on." Person was still fiddling in the driver's seat. "Now everything is crystal clear, right Sergeant? We've just travelled in time. And space. As you do, you know –"
"Shut up, Person."
Wright chuckled in his seat.
"You think this is funny?" Trombley asked.
Wright wiped his brow: "Trombley, sometimes life hands you situation where you gotta choose between crying and laughing."
Trombley turned his eyes back to his sector without dignifying that with an answer.
"You afraid of crying, Reporter?" Person asked and that's when Colbert gave up and left the vehicle.
Gunny Wynn sat in the passenger seat of the HQ Humvee by the unnervingly quiet radios.
"Any news?" Colbert leaned on the open door.
"Not since the first report," Wynn said. "Relax, Brad. It's not like he'll magically disappear or something."
Colbert shot him a look stating not funny clear as if written in pen. Wynn laughed.
"Come on. It's too absurd to do anything else."
Fifteen hours earlier:
The sounds of war are multifaceted but distinct. That's why you can get a feeling of dread from nowhere in a quiet suburban street at noon on a Sunday. Your mind has been trained to react on a millisecond, and among all the distant noises you must instantly recognize the warning signs. Sometimes they're subtle. The click of a round going into a chamber can echo, both in silence and non-silence. The sound of an approaching RPG is humming, coming closer. Running feet. But there are loud ones too. Artillery hits. Aircrafts. An M16 is deafening when fired over your head. War is sensory overload when you need your senses the most.
This sound was deafening in the way that not only hurt your ears but shakes your chest and bones. It made the world wobbly.
Fick opened his eyes without realizing he had closed them. Maybe it was an instinct, a reaction to the sound. The darkness was massive outside the truck.
"Holy shit," came from Christeson at the back.
"Ey! What's going on?" Stafford was screaming in the silence, having lost sense of how loud his own voice came out.
"Out of the vehicle," Wynn ordered and Fick followed without questioning. He grabbed the radios and made for the side of the road, slamming down face first. In front of him he could see Pappy's team doing the same thing.
The radio went hot. That was, one of them did.
With the RTOs and team leaders messaging back and forth, Fick tried every channel available. Pressing the buttons and cursing the equipment made no difference. No response came from Company or Battalion. He was so busy his situational awareness shrank away and he did not realize for several seconds that his MOPP-suit was dragging through wet grass.
Fick moved up the line with Wynn on his heels. The Marines were putting out a perimeter without moving the victors. Reyes, Espera, Lilley, they all had questions Fick stubbornly ignored.
He kneeled next to Colbert who was covering the road ahead, partly taking cover by a rock the size of a small car.
"What the fuck is going on, sir?"
"I don't know. No one answers on Battalion coms. Have you had visuals of Bravo Three?"
"Negative, sir. All I see is fucking forest."
"Goddamn it." Colbert threw a glance at his cursing CO before Fick regained his bearings. "All right, push forward to conduct a foot patrol to see where the -"
"No one has driven on this road for ages. It's fucking grass on it."
Fick looked down. His tight jaws somehow got tighter. Colbert made his final statement:
"Sir, I have no idea where Bravo Three is but they sure as hell have not passed this road."
He locked eyes with Fick and the non-verbal part was easy to read: We're in deep shit.
"Hitman Two, this is Two Three. The grass behind our vehicle is untouched."
"Solid copy." Fick released the send button.
"Not so solid copy," Person said out loud, still offering his opinion to his surroundings unpaid. "No tracks behind us, no tracks in front. How the hell did we end up here? In a fucking forest, which there aren't too many of in the God forsaken desert we've been driving -"
"Person!" Colbert raised his voice.
"Just pointing out the obvious."
"Person," Fick ordered. "Get a connection with any other fucking unit. I don't care how you do it, just make it happen. Now." He stood up. "Brad, keep you eyes on the road."
With that he made his way back with Wynn in tow.
"Mike, tell me I'm dreaming. Tell me that I'll wake up any second with McGraw screaming in my ear, calling in enemy fire from a palm tree."
But Wynn just shook his head.