Work Text:
To Mac’s credit, he dropped the instant Jack barked, “Hit the deck!” into their shared channel. Jack would have expected more arguing. As it was, he didn’t have time to experience more than a brief surge of relief. He wasn’t sure if Mac’s reaction had been fast enough.
Mac had reacted to his voice, he was sure of that. But shots were already ringing out as Mac fell, puffs of dust shooting like tiny geysers up from the ground around Mac, where bullets hit the dirt with lethal force.
From the way the hits lined up, Jack was pretty sure the shooter—or shooters, more likely—were off to his right, and lower down. Probably at ground level. Automatic weapons fire was echoing from somewhere within the warren of hard clay walls in this godforsaken half-destroyed city where some asshole had decided to drop an IED for no reason other than, probably, laying a trap.
Mac lay face-down in the slight dip of a ditch at the edge of the field where he’d been working on a device found under a crate. Jack could see him just fine from his second-story window, but it was possible that he wasn’t visible to the shooters.
Jack could only hope he wasn’t visible to the shooters.
He was a good thirty feet from the nearest object that might qualify as cover. He’d be full of holes before he was halfway there.
“I knew this place was bad news,” Jack muttered into the comms. “Stay down and don’t move, kid. I’m going to circle around.”
Mac didn’t move, and again, Jack felt either relief or concern. The kid hadn’t spoken, either, which tipped the meter a little more toward concern. It hadn’t taken long to realize that Mac wasn’t really much of a casual talker. In the weeks they’d been together, he’d shown an amazing tendency to toe the line of disobedience to orders, but he stuck to just the right side of the line so carefully that Jack was starting to expect a little backtalk now and then to keep him on his toes.
Jack took the chance of leaning a little farther out the window, but all he could see was dun walls and shadows. The only thing moving was laundry on a line. Even the few locals who‘d been on the streets earlier were gone.
Wise of them. If he’d had a better view of the streets, maybe they’d have served as a warning.
He fired a few shots into the air and the automatic weapons fell silent.
Mac still hadn’t moved. One of the kid's hands was out to his side, something clutched in his fist. His pocket knife, probably. His cheek was pressed against the ground, and the rest of his face shadowed by his helmet. Jack couldn’t tell if his eyes were open and he couldn’t tell if the kid’s back was rising and falling under the camo-printed vest. He couldn’t tell if the shadow under Mac was unnaturally dark.
More shots split the air. Jack cursed quietly and pulled back as bullets thudded into nearby walls. Either he could wait for the hostile shooter to find a better nest, one where nothing was blocking his shot, or he could go find the asshole himself.
He fired a more shots into the air, aiming at nothing, then he grabbed his rifle and abandoned his position.
Shooting started up again outside as he reached ground level. The building’s front door was open, which was not how he’d left it. Jack flattened himself to the wall, senses on alert. He eased forward until he could peek around the edge of the doorway, and knew right off that it was a trap. Two men were half-hidden in the building across the street, waiting for him to emerge.
A sound like a grunt came over the comms. “Mac?” he asked softly. When he didn’t get a reply, his already-high level of alarm kicked up another notch. These guys were an obstacle he didn't have time for. Playing possum had kept Mac from getting shot out of hand, but the ruse would only last a few minutes.
And that assumed he was actually playing.
He needed to get to Mac now.
Backtracking past the stairs, he found a room in the opposite corner of the building with a broken window, and eased himself through it. Outside, he circled the building and picked off his would-be ambushers before proceeding down the street swiftly, eyes peeled for more trouble. He took out a second pair of gunmen behind a building on the next block after one of them almost took off his head.
He slipped into the next alley that led to the big empty space where Mac had been and spotted two more gunmen standing right about where Mac would be. Bith men were focused on the ground, aiming AK-47s that way. As Jack watched, one of them aimed a vicious kick at something.
Without half thinking, he had his rifle in his arms and his eye to the scope. He was too far away to line up a sure shot, but no time to wait.
Jack fired. The man who’d kicked Mac went down.
The other man shouted and spun, raising his weapon. Jack dodged a burst of bullets, pressing his shoulder to the wall and raising his rifle again. He gave himself one breath to aim and pulled the trigger.
The second man spun and fell, gun falling away. Jack had probably only winged him, but he was on the ground. Heart in his throat, Jack lowered his rifle and sprinted down the alley, pausing only for a second to verify that there were no obvious threats before he darted across the open space.
When he got there, the injured man was on his feet. He stumbled away in a limping half-run, but his gun still lay on the ground, so Jack ignored him. The other man had fallen across the prone form of Jack's bomb nerd, who lay in the same position he'd fallen in.
The shadows in the dirt around him were definitely streaks of blood.
Jack felt his heart stutter. “Aw, shit, kid.”
At the words, Mac’s head tilted and one blue eye opened, blinking at Jack. “Is that your apology for dropping this guy right on top of me?”
With a surge of relief, Jack grabbed the body and dragged him off of Mac. “Talk to me, man, are you hurt?”
Mac rolled slowly onto his side. “Mostly just my ribs. They kicked me a few times.” He pressed one hand against his side and made a face. When he started to push himself up, Jack reached down to help him, turning check the buildings behind them while helping Mac brush himself off. He used it as an excuse to pat the kid down a little, until Mac jerked away from his hands. “I’m okay,” he said. “And, uh, thanks.”
“It’s my job,” Jack said, although it was beginning to feel less like a punishment to be paired with Mac and more like a good gig to end his tour on. The kid might be the slowest bomb nerd in the sandbox, and awfully hard-headed, but he meant well and worked hard. And as much as Jack was loathe to admit it out loud, he’d earned the wunderkind label that Jack had thrown at him like an insult a few weeks back.
Mostly, he was just glad they were both still standing. Jack gave him a slap on the shoulder. “Yeah, let’s bounce, hoss.”