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“Is this safe for them?” Bossa turned to look behind him, watching as the cargo was unloaded from the plane.
“We’ve got us four out here, plus Mur and Valk on overwatch, plus everyone on standby,” Trip said, “We’re just a vault short of fuckin’ Fort Knox out here.”
“Isn’t Fort Knox more…? I dunno.” Bossa kicked his foot, “Mur, what do you know about Fort Knox?”
“Isn’t the point that you’re supposed to know nothing about Fort Knox?” Mur laughed over the radio.
“What you’re saying is… You can’t tell me.”
“Why do you ask? What do you want to know?”
“Nothin’, I was just saying, this place kinda…” He paused, scrunching his nose, “No, I still don’t know the word for it.”
“Bossa, you should know better than to leave that sentence unfinished like that,” She teased.
He chuckled, “Mur, how online are you?”
“Not as much as you, I’m sure, but I’m literate enough.”
“The hell are the two of you talking about?” Trip rolled his neck, eyes sweeping the environment.
“Of course you wouldn’t understand, you old fart,” Bossa scoffed.
“Watch it, Bossa.” Mur’s movements resembled Trip’s, carefully surveying the visually busy scene laid before her, “I’m proof it’s not all about age.”
“Bro, wait, how–”
“Bossa.” Usko butt in.
“Oh… Sorry, I shouldn’t ask that.”
“Clear comms.”
Bossa straightened his back, as if Usko was anywhere near to be able to tell him to do so as well. Trip turned as one of the people unloading the plane approached him, and the two exchanged words for a few minutes before Trip gave them a nod and motioned for Bossa.
“So, what now?” Bossa asked.
“We wait. Can’t really do anything else,” Trip said simply.
“Oh!” Bossa sighed, “My favorite.”
“Sorry, bud.”
On the other side of the building, Dramus and Usko stood on the inside of the front gates. Usko had his eyes trained on the other side of the metal as did Dramus, though he found his attention repeatedly being drawn to the empty shipping containers in the corner of his view.
”Are you ok?“ Usko asked after the fifth time Dramus used his full head to glance at the containers.
”I don't trust them.“
”Hm? Who?“
“Ah... No, sorry, not anyone on the team. The shipping containers. I feel like someone is going to pop out of them at any second,” Dramus explained, looking back to the gates, “It's... dumb.”
”It's fine.“ Usko's eyes flicked over to Dramus, ”Would it help to check them out?“
”I don't know,“ He responded earnestly, ”We don't have the liberty of doing so, though.“
”You could use your NC E-6,” Usko offered.
“I don't... No, we need to be focused on the mission.”
“This is clearly distracting you.” Usko huffed, “If you think it's ok I will trust you, but we have the time to spare at the moment. If we are to trust Mur and Valkyrie.”
Dramus bit his lip. Eventually he shifted, “No time to waste contemplating it. You'll cover me?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. I have to get a little closer.” He walked off, hand coming off his gun to rest on a nearby surface once he deemed he was close enough. His visor lit up, outlining the shipping containers and confirming that there was indeed nothing inside or around them. He continued to observe the scene for a moment, taking his hand off and surveying the landscape before returning to Usko. “Nothing.”
“Did it help?”
“I guess we'll see. I think it did.”
“Good.”
***
“Targets approaching from the main road. One’s branching off to the left, but the rest are on the right.” Valkyrie’s voice cut through the silence like an atomic bomb. “They’re about a mile out.”
“I see them.” Mur confirmed.
“Copy, how many?” Trip asked.
“They’re pretty spread out… 10 in the front, at least…” Valkyrie was silent for a moment, “At least 10 behind them.”
“Alright. Usko, Dramus, stay out of sight until we get there, we’re on the way.” He let go of his radio, turning to the shorter man next to him, “Bossa, let’s move.”
“Yessir,” Bossa said, dragging out the middle dramatically and following Trip as he picked up his walking pace to a sprint.
Just as Trip and Bossa came up on the other two, Usko keyed his radio, eyes focused as he slightly peered around the corner towards the gate, “Eyes on the hostiles.”
“We’re right behind you,” Trip responded, hearing his own voice faintly from the other’s radio.
“What do you want us all to do?” Dramus asked.
“Should be pretty straightforward– there’s only one way in so they’ll be practically lining up for us.” He looked around, jogging his memory of the surrounding area. “Usko, Dramus, you two stick together and move to the right side. Bossa, you’re staying with me and we’ll be on the left. Stay clear of the gate and don’t forget to keep behind cover– we’re not taking anyone home in a body bag. Hold your fire until they open the gate- don’t risk the ricochets- but after that it’s free game. Everyone clear?”
“Yes,” Usko and Dramus replied in sync.
“I gotcha, big cat.” Bossa grinned, the gun in his hands being the only thing stopping him from swinging his hand.
Moving into position, it was silent except for the sound of approaching boots as they waited patiently for any sort of indication that it was go-time. As Trip predicted, the boots stopped well before the gate, and instead explosives rolled out. Seconds after they went off, Valkyrie was on comms again, and Trip had to press the earpiece in to hear over the sound of gunfire around him.
“A second explosion from the west side,” She reported, “A good chunk out of the wall is gone– it looks like just the one who branched off. He’s heading for the shipment but he got the base camera, I can only monitor him from one of my black eyes, but it’s got quite some distance.”
“I’ve got him in my crosshairs.” Mur bit the inside of her cheek.
“Keep on him Mur– but don’t fire. How many left approaching from the front, Valk?” Trip asked.
“At least 15. Spread into two groups.”
“Shit, okay. Dramus, Usko, what do you need for Bossa and I to be able to leave?”
“Mur or Valkyrie’s full attention so we’re not peeking blindly.” Dramus said, pulling the empty mag out of his 417.
“Or we could take Bossa instead,” Usko interjected between bursts, “Dramus, that tablet on your chest isn’t useless. If we keep another gun down here, you can use it.”
Dramus started with a stutter, “I don’t–”
“We’ll cover you, Dramus.” Usko reassured him, firing until his magazine was also empty, and remaining silent until he observed Dramus' curt nod. “It’s up to you, Trip.”
“Mur, do you still have eyes on this guy?” Trip’s back was pressed against the wall, eyes darting between where he wanted to go next. He didn’t like leaving Bossa, but his firepower would do well with the other two, and he knew he could count on them to have his back. He sure as fuck wasn’t sending him off alone, either.
Mur’s voice was eerily calm, “I could drop him right now if you wanted.”
Trip shook his head, “I want him alive. Don’t even let him know about you.” He began to move and pointed to Bossa, “Bossa, you’re with Dramus and Usko. Valk, I’m taking the middle path, is it clear?”
“It’s clear. There’s no one outside of who you already know about.” Valkyrie's eyes flicked over the multiple camera feeds.
“Good. If you lose visual, just let me know and focus on supporting the other three. Mur, you’re stuck with me.”
“Roger.” Her voice crackled over the radio, “Be careful approaching him. He seems to have got what he wanted, he’s heading to the main building.”
“West door?”
“Yes.”
Trip quickly went over the layout in his head– the best vantage point to target the front gates on the east... the best way to get there… the nearest stairs. What was the best way to cut him off, or at the least, catch up quicker?
He had an idea.
“Mur, once he gets inside, watch the roof. Fire a warning shot if he gets up there, and if he doesn’t back off, you’re clear to shoot to kill.”
“Understood. He’s going inside now.”
Trip picked up the pace. He wanted to know what made this guy so special.
Heading into the building, it was darker than he remembered. He struggled to walk the line between quick and quiet, forcing the thoughts of what could happen if he didn’t catch up out of his mind. Mur’s exceptional marksmanship would prevent any mess that would otherwise come from his failure… but he wasn’t willing to fail. This guy was likely important in the larger scheme of things as he was separate from the bait, but even if not, he had to know something. Asking to take one of the ones storming the gate alive was obviously a no-go, but this guy…
Trip’s thoughts were cut short as he saw a web-like glint in front of his feet just a second too late, twisting his left foot out of the way as the right side of the trap snapped to the left, yanking him to the ground as it pulled his leg out from under him.
“Shit!” Trip cursed, peeling his face from the floor.
The sound of his gun still clattering to the floor reverberated awkwardly off the walls. He had walked directly into one of his own Osezno traps. He sighed, flustered at his lack of situational awareness. If Bossa was here, Trip would never hear the end of this predicament. He took a deep breath, unsheathing the knife from his belt.
“Calmáte dumbass. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”
The sound of shuffling stopped Trip in his tracks. He listened for a moment, the swishing of fabric and deliberate footsteps far too weighty to belong to any of his teammates.
“Well, well, well…Nicholas Soler..” a voice sneered. “Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”
Trip writhed around, his leg ensnared by the Osezno’s thin wires. He gritted his teeth, groaning in panicked frustration as he felt around for his secondary weapon. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed as they closed in behind him. He twisted awkwardly, his fingers shaking with adrenaline as they met the cold steel of his pistol. The feeling of a boot kicked to his back stopped Trip mid-turn.
“It’s an honor to finally meet you.” Trip struggled under the pressure of a foot pushing him to the ground. He tried to resist the force, breathing hard as he pressed both hands against the floor. “I didn’t expect to see you under such circumstances. I thought you’d be smarter than to walk into one of your own traps. How embarrassing.”
Trip’s arms shook, collapsing from beneath him. He gasped for air under the weight of the other man’s body, cursing out loud as he felt his pistol picked from its holster. He squirmed, his face against the floor and hands uselessly clawing at the ground beneath him. The weight lifted from his back, and he felt a hand grab the collar of his turnout coat. He was jerked to his knees, his head spinning as he was suddenly pulled upright. A dark figure stepped in front of him, grabbing his face in his hands.
“Say, Nicky boy, you look like you’ve put on some weight since I last saw your file.” The man snickered, manhandling Trip’s face to look upwards. “Must mean you’ve found yourself some peace since Vulture had his fun with you, eh?”
Trip glared through his brow, raising both hands and pushing the man’s arms away. He caught a glimpse of the other man’s eyes. They stared down at him, cool and without a hint of emotion. The man raised his hand and wound it back, bringing it down hard against Trip’s face. Trip sucked air through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as pain radiated up his jaw.
“You’ve got some fight in you this time around.” Trip could practically hear the smirk on the other man’s face. “That’s alright, makes things more fun for me anyway.” Trip stared at the boots on the floor before him, his head still spinning from impact.
“What do you want?” Trip’s voice was strained.
“Rushing through the formalities, are we?” The man tutted. “You didn’t even ask for my name.”
Trip glared, unamused. He felt around his gear, hoping to find another hidden weapon. His primary lay out of reach, uselessly planted on the ground just behind his assailant. The man noticed, crossing his arms amused as he watched Trip eye down the gun.
“Quite the situation you’ve gotten yourself into.” There was a sickening delight in the man’s voice. “You don’t feel so tough without your guns and gadgets, do you?”
“Fuck you.” Trip spit, his hands clenched in frustration.
He tried to hide his desperation, his eyes darting around as his brain cycled through different training scenarios. He felt his way up to his ear, placing his hand just over his earpiece. The man raised his gun, pointing it at Trip’s head.
“If you call your friends over, I’m killing each of them while you watch and then painting the wall with your brain.” Trip stared through narrowed eyes. He raised his hands slowly, lowering them to his sides. The man chuckled. “That’s better.”
“Who are you?” Trip’s voice was devoid of emotion.
“I thought you’d never ask.” The man’s eyes creased as he grinned, his smile obscured by a respirator. “I’m you. The face you see in the mirror every morning. Your hopes and dreams.The good fight. The deepest, most carnal human desire to be part of something that will outlive us. Your selfishness…” His shoulders shook in what Trip assumed was laughter. He felt his eyebrow twitch.
“You know what I meant.” Trip mumbled, his eyes like daggers staring upwards. “Your name.”
“Why does it matter to you? You and your teammates want me dead. What difference will knowing my name make when you bring my head to…to…ah…who was it again?” The man snapped his fingers as he thought. “Is it Harry Pandey? No…my colleague took care of that a while back.”
“You work for Keres then?”
“Me? Work for Keres?” The man laughed, his voice distorted by the sounds of his respirator. “Sweetheart, Gerald wishes he was me. I’m not the one rotting in a holding cell, twiddling my fingers waiting for someone to come break me out.”
Trip furrowed his brow, his eyes squinting in confusion. If not Keres, then who? The man inspected Trip’s pistol, popping out the magazine and counting bullets.
“Beretta 92FS. Reliable and hefty. Soft recoil but deadly accuracy. A stoic, poised exterior that conceals all the complicated inner workings of a killing machine.” The sound of the magazine being reloaded and chambered sent a wave of anxiety down Trip’s spine. “You fancy yourself the same, don’t you? Good at swallowing down your emotions. There for the people that need you, tough, but not too tough. You’re a big softy underneath it all…with a natural curiosity for what makes others tick. But you’d never let them get close enough to know you just as well.”
Trip’s stomach churned with equal parts anxiety and disgust. It felt like he was naked and on display for inspection. He gritted his teeth, grinding them in his mouth as he steadied himself. The garbled sound of his radio interjected with the sounds of distant gunfire felt like a world away.
“You don’t know me.”
“Of course I do. All of you are the same. Indoctrinated into some “bigger cause” and too stupid to think for yourselves.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are-”
Trip felt the back of the man’s hand cracking across his face again. A pained groan escaped him as he breathed heavily, his hands frantically coming to rest on his knees. Stars and white light clouded his vision and his head spun, the metallic tang of iron flooding his taste buds. The man grabbed Trip’s face again.
“I know what I’m fighting for, Nick.” He lingered maliciously on the name, dragging out the sound of each letter. “It’s not for righteousness or to rectify the past. None of us are morally pure enough to justify doing something like that in the name of good. Do you think you’re a good person, Nick?” Trip winced in pain, the man’s grip on his jaw tightening. There was no use in fighting back. “What are you fighting for? Money…power…to get back at those who’ve hurt you?”
Trip exhaled shakily. He couldn’t tell if the sounds of frantic breathing were his own or of the man’s respirator. Perhaps a mix of both? There was no telling. There was more radio garble and a heavy round of gunfire.
“Why…are you doing this?” Trip struggled to mask the pain in his voice. “Your men are out there dying while you’re in here messing with me. Just kill me and get it over with.”
“Oh, those guys out there?” The man used his free hand to gesture vaguely. “That’s the point, their whole purpose is to wear your resources down. Do you think I care about them? Men like that can’t resist a good handshake...I’ve lost track of how many have come through. Eighteen years old and ready to sign their lives away just to feel like they’re doing something with themselves. I wonder how they would feel if they knew they’d end up target practice for Rainbow.” The man noticed Trip flinch at the statement, tightening his grip more. “What? Didn’t like the sound of that, did you? Your men are the ones up there gunning them down. I just pay their salaries.”
“You’re insane.”
“Oh cut it out. Stop pretending that Rainbow doesn’t do the same.” The man let go of Trip’s face. “Besides, I’m not in this to debate with you the morality and ethics of shooting people. It’s all the same to me in the end…a tool to help me get what I want.”
“And what is that?”
The man hummed, fiddling around some more with Trip’s pistol.
“Deimos…you’re coming to break him out, aren’t you?”
“Pfft. Gerald can rot for all I care. He was just a big nuisance in the grand scheme of things. His emotional instability is what got him caught in the first place. That’s just what happens when you get too invested in this kind of work.” The man looked from the gun and down at Trip. “I always thought he was stupid. Extrinsic motivation has been proven time and time again to be unsustainable in the long run. Short little bursts of dopamine keep you going for a while…but you’ll always be chasing that high. Gerald would never be able to take Rainbow down. Not with his resources. He was running himself into the ground from the start. Too hungry for power and not enough patience…or brains apparently…”
“Then what about-”
“Me?” The man’s eyes wrinkled as he smiled beneath his respirator. “I do this because I want to. You’d do the same.”
Trip stared, dumbfounded. The man had somehow managed to answer every question he had, yet his answers lacked substance. He had managed to learn everything and nothing about him. How did this man know Vulture? Just the thought of Vulture’s name left a pit of despair in Trip’s stomach. His cause…his ties to Deimos. Trip thought back to being in the interrogation room across from Deimos. It was hard to believe that anyone could think of the man as anything but a methodical, cold-hearted killer. To label him as a nuisance was beyond Trip’s comprehension.
“You know a thing or two about psychology don’t you?” The man’s voice pulled Trip from his thoughts.
Trip didn’t respond, instead fixating his exhausted eyes on the floor. The taste of blood lingered on his tongue. He was certain that his nose was bleeding.
“Come on. All those questions you were asking and only now you’ve decided to jam up?” There was a teasing delight in the man’s voice. “Conditioning. Even if you don’t know it by name, you’d know that it’s what makes a good soldier.” The man held Trip’s pistol nonchalantly in his hand as he spoke. “You’re a recruit nosing about where you shouldn’t, piss off the wrong teammate, and get yourself beat to a pulp because of it. Do you think you’d do it again after all that?”
Trip stared the man down, focusing especially on the pistol being waved about. This was clearly just another Tuesday for the man. Trip felt his heart beating in his ears.
“Common sense says no. You learn from the punishment and redirect your behavior. If they did it right, you’ll never forget the feeling of your teammate’s fists hitting your face because of your stupid decision.” The man held the pistol up, pointing it at Trip. He waved it about, giggling to himself as it hovered over various parts of Trip’s body. “You haven’t done anything to especially piss me off and I’m feeling generous today. I’ll let you go, but not without making sure you’ve learned a thing or two from our little class session.”
Trip squirmed, kicking his legs around in desperation. He knew his efforts to escape at this point were futile. He tugged at his leg entangled in wires, cursing to himself about the effectiveness of the gadget.
“Oh, no no, dear don’t do that. It almost makes me feel bad for you.” The man’s voice was laced with a sardonic sweetness. “How does your leg sound? You’ll get a few months off your feet to relax. Or how about here?” The man aimed at Trip’s shoulder. “That’ll hurt like a bitch, but you’ll live.”
“Please just-” Trip felt stupid for the desperation in his voice. “Just-”
“I have an idea. What about here?” The man pointed vaguely at Trip’s abdomen, adjusting the pistol more to the side. He stared for a moment, laughing to himself and nodding. Trip could envision the wicked smile on his face. “I like this. That way you and your little friend can match.”
Trip felt his stomach drop. Before he could formulate a response, the sound of lead exploding from its casing tore through the air. The world seemed to move in slow motion as Trip braced for impact. The feeling of hot metal ripping through his body felt more nauseating than painful. He grimaced, clenching his jaw hard as he held back an agonized groan.
“There, there.” The man watched Trip writhe on his knees, the shock of being shot almost freezing him in place. “You’ll live. If your teammates show up for you, that is. Here.” The man knelt beside Trip, cutting through the Osezno’s wires and freeing his leg. “I’ll even give you a running start.”
Trip held his hand to the wound, biting back any obvious sounds of pain. The man rose to his feet, patting Trip on the head before he took several steps back.
“I’ll be seeing myself out, then. No need to give me directions.” The man began to walk away before pausing and turning back to face Trip. He tossed Trip’s pistol onto the ground and kicked it towards him. “Go. Run along now. Tell your friends Pavlov sent you home.”
Trip watched the man disappear around a corner, his hands too shaky and preoccupied to even think about taking a shot back. He breathed hard, the adrenaline from the situation thankfully blocking out some of the pain. He sat down, using both legs to kick himself backward and up against the wall.
He closed his eyes, catching his breath and steadying his thoughts. The timer started in his head. He had some time before he lost enough blood for the situation to become drastic. Firstly, he’d have to be coherent enough to relay information over comms. A Medevac would be necessary. By the sounds of it, the gunfire outside had stopped. Trip tried not to feel guilty over the thought of using the team’s medical resources. Maybe he’d be better off-
“Nick?” There was the sound of footsteps. Somebody walking with a limp. “Nick, where are you? We’re pulling out.”
Trip silently cursed, resisting the urge to knock his head back against the wall. He debated on what he should say, unsure of what condition his voice would be in upon responding. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Nick, I swear to god.” There was a nervous playfulness to the voice. “If you’re dead back here I’m gonna-”
“Hey.” Trip coughed, his voice hoarse.
“Dude. Everyone’s waiting for you. Usko’s pissed that you’re not answering comms.” Trip heard relief in the voice, the footsteps rounding the corner. “We thought something hap-”
Bossa stood several paces in front of him, his gun slung to the side. Dark scarlet spots speckled his uniform. There was a gash in his pants from what appeared to be a knife wound. Trip stared at the other man, unsure of what to say next. Bossa stared back, his feet frozen in place.
“Nick what-”
“You can’t panic.”
“Are you-”
“I need you to get on comms and-”
“Fuck!” Bossa rushed to Trip’s side, dropping to his knees and digging around for a med kit. “I’m sorry. God damn it-” Trip could see the other man’s hands already shaking as they struggled to find their way around. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever told me to do.”
Bossa slapped his drop pouch close, pulling from it a kit of basic medical supplies. He cursed again, his fingers shaking as they sorted through each of the components.
“I don’t…” Tears welled in his eyes.“I can use-”
“Marcelo,” Trip put his hand on Bossa’s arm. “I need you to get on comms and call in a Medevac.”
Bossa nodded, his hand patting its way up to his headset. He cleared his throat and fiddled with the relay button, hesitating before pressing it down.
“Valkyrie. Uh…” Bossa swallowed hard, the static from his mic lingering for a moment and then going dead.
“Bossa? Where are you? Usko and Dramus are looking for you.”
“I’m…” His voice trailed off.
He looked down at Trip, uncertain, then back up at his surroundings. He started to hyperventilate, putting both hands atop his helmet.
“We’re inside. I’m with Nic- uh Trip and I need a Medevac because-” Bossa looked down, his brain a mess of jumbled word salad. “Please…for…” His voice broke. “A Medevac inside. For Trip. He’s shot and…”
“It’s okay, I’m coordinating backup now.” Valkyrie responded.
Bossa nodded. He resumed flipping through medical supplies, squinting at the text on each one.
“Hemostatic gauze.” Trip interjected, his voice lacking the usual sternness that often accompanied any mentorship advice. “Just remember first aid. You need to apply pressure for now.”
Bossa pulled a sterile package from the kit. He tore it open, unfolding the roll into a full sheet. Trip watched, nodding in approval. He winced as he moved his arms, pulling up his turnout coat to better assess the wound. Bossa turned his attention to Trip’s abdomen, queasy as he stared at the blood seeping into his teammate’s skin and clothing. He gently peeled back the torn fabric, trying his best to remember Trip’s experienced hands from when he was in the same position. He put the sheet over the wound, hesitating and casting Trip a knowing look of apprehension.
“Nick-”
“Listen…it’s either this or…” Trip groaned “You need to stop the bleeding.”
Bossa reached out, placing both hands gingerly atop the gauze. He leaned forward with half of his body weight. Trip’s hands shook and balled into fists. He resisted reacting as best as he could, breathing hard and choking back sounds of pain.
“I need…” Trip laughed through the agony. “...more weight.”
“But-” Bossa’s eyes were wide. He leaned in more, Trip audibly groaning in response. “I’m sorry.” He resisted the urge to pull back, reminding himself of his training. This was the best he could do in this situation. “Fuck I’m so sorry.”
Trip shook his head, trying his best to breathe steadily. He turned his head, the gash on Bossa’s leg catching his eye.
“What happened?”
“What?” Bossa’s voice was shaky. “My leg?”
“Yeah.”
“I was uh…headed to Usko and Dramus and there were a couple of guys in one of the corridors.” Bossa cleared his throat again. “They caught me off guard. I shot one of them and made sure I downed him completely this time. The other guy…I don’t know what he was doing. He must’ve gotten behind me while I took care of the first dude.” Bossa tried to ignore the warmth soaking through his gloves. “I kicked his ass. He pissed me off and I beat the shit out of him. I guess he got me back before I took him out too.”
“Hand to hand?”
“Yeah. He was too close for me to shoot him with the MP5 and it was easier to fuck him up with my fists instead of pulling a pistol.” There was a hint of resentment in Bossa’s voice. “He’s dead now. I should have been here with you.”
“Marcelo…” Trip chuckled to himself. “That’s badass…” Trip watched the other man’s face as it remained uncharacteristically cold. The other man didn’t even crack a smile. Trip sighed. “I’m sorry…you could have…gotten seriously injured.”
“I should have fought with you.” There were tears in Bossa’s eyes again. “I should have told you that you were stupid and refused to leave you.” He pulled a hand away and dragged it roughly across his face. “That’s twice now I’ve fucked things up.”
“It wasn’t your fault that-” Trip cut himself off, unsure of whether or not to share what he had just experienced. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have sent you off alone. Now you’re hurt and-” Trip bit his lip, holding back curses as a wave of searing pain ripped through his body. He was really starting to feel the extent of his injuries now.
“I’m so sorry…” Bossa felt wetness seeping into his balaclava as tears spilled down his face. His hands shook and he squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away in embarrassment. “I’m sorry…”
Trip looked up at his friend, the world starting to spin. The Medevac would have to be there soon if it meant getting hauled off while still conscious. He’d probably need a blood transfusion. They’d put him under at the hospital and get him sewn up. If he made it that far. God knows what everything internally would look like once he was on an operating table. Trip tried not to fall victim to the dramatics of the situation, reasoning to himself that it couldn’t be that serious if he was still awake and talking.
“Nick. Hey. No no no…Nick?”
Trip snapped out of his thoughts once again, his eyes flying back open. He hadn't realized that they’d shut. Bossa stared down at him, his eyes glistening with anxiety. Trip squinted his eyes as he tried to focus back. He couldn’t help but notice how young the other man was. The sound of Pavlov’s voice echoed in his head. Eighteen years old and ready to sign their lives away just to feel like they’re doing something with themselves. Did Bossa know what he was getting into? Hell, did any of them really? He raised his arm, putting his hand on Bossa’s shoulder.
“Kiddo…” Trip’s words were slurred and labored. “If anything happens to me…you can’t blame yourself for it…okay?”
“What do you mean?” Bossa laughed nervously. “Nothing’s gonna happen. Medevac is on the way and you’re…I’m here…” Trip’s hand began to slip off his shoulder. “Nick?”
“Mm…I’m so proud of you.” Trip caught his slipping hand, groaning as he put it back on Bossa’s shoulder. More firmly this time. He gave it a squeeze. “You’ve done everything right. I couldn’t ask for a better…ah…”
“Hey dude cut it out.” Bossa felt his heart pounding in his chest. “You freak me out when you talk like that.”
“I don’t know what it’s like being a big brother, but if it’s anything like this…”Trip sucked in a breath.“I feel like I keep making promises in…uh…situations like these. But if everything goes okay…and this is all over with…I’ll take you to California.”
“Stop it. You don’t even know what you’re saying.” Bossa felt sick.
“I promise. You’d love it there. You can meet my moms…they’d love you…”
“Nicholas Soler! Cut it out!” Bossa gritted his teeth. “I swear to god I’m gonna beat you over the head the minute you wake up in that hospital bed!” He pressed down harder in a feeble attempt to clot blood flow, grasping at straws for ways to keep his teammate conscious. “Then what? You’ll be out of money for airline tickets and…and…”
“I love you, Marcelo.”
“Nick-” Bossa’s voice caught in his throat. “Fuck…I love you too…you big idiot.” Bossa sniffled and lifted his head, looking around the room. “God damn it…where are these people…”
“It’s okay.”
Bossa felt Trip’s hand slide from his shoulder. It awkwardly slumped to the ground.
“Hey. Dude, it’s not funny.” Bossa put one hand to Trip’s face and smacked it gently. “Nick! Fucking stop!” He shook his shoulder harshly. “Nicholas!”
He stared down at his teammate, putting his fingers against his wrist. He had a pulse. He couldn’t tell what exactly it meant. Bossa shook him by his shoulders in one last attempt to catch his friend mid-prank. It was no use. A small whine escaped him, both hands shaking as he assessed the situation.
“Valkyrie please-” Bossa’s voice panicked over the radio. “I need backup! Please!”
“Bossa, Medevac is moving as fast as they can. They should be boots on the ground any minute now.”
“Please! You don’t understand!”
“You need to relax. I can’t make them move any faster.” Valkyrie’s voice was calm and stern. “I’m sending Usko and Dramus your way. They can assist the Medevac team.”
“I don’t-” Bossa’s voice broke between choked sobs.
He let go of the mic, his comm channel falling back to static. He wiped his face again, almost certain that he had smudged his teammate’s blood across it this time. It didn’t matter
“You’re so stupid…” Bossa wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or Trip at this point. He unwrapped a fresh packet of gauze, laying the sheet over the blood-soaked one and pressing down over it once again. “I swear…I’m gonna…” He sniffled. “I’ll make sure you don’t have to go a single day eating that shitty hospital food…and that you’re doing okay…and Julien…and…”
The silence was deafening. No music or gunfire to mask the sounds of agony. Nothing to ease the feeling of dread hanging in the air like a thick fog. The reality of the situation had come crashing down over Bossa’s head. His breath hitched, both hands cold and shaking.
“Bossa?” He didn’t look up at the voice. It sounded like Usko. “We’re here as extra hands.”
Bossa didn’t respond. He looked down at the fresh white sheet beneath his hands, blossoms of red blooming all across it.
“The helicopter was landing when we walked this way,” Usko said matter-of-factly. “They’ll be in here soon.”
The silence hung in the air like death. Bossa wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the sounds of hurried footsteps entered the room. The scene hit close to home. Hands moving, stretcher, “you’re doing great”, move, sunlight…
Bossa tagged along beside the stretcher, the pain in his leg a distant memory hidden beneath layers of adrenaline. It felt like an out-of-body experience. They stopped just next to the helicopter, the team carefully loading the stretcher into the med bay. Bossa put a hand on the support handle, preparing to hoist himself into the cabin. He felt a hand rest over his, and looked up at a face he’d never seen before. One of Rainbow’s medical staff.
“What?” Bossa squinted.
“You’ve gotta wait. Your ride will be here shortly.”
“What do you mean?” Bossa was becoming agitated. “I’m coming with you, aren’t I?”
“You need to wait. We can’t have you in here. You’ll be given more information once you’re in the air.”
“No, that-” Bossa laughed dryly. “That’s stupid. Why can’t I-”
"We don’t make the rules, that comes from above us. I need you to let go.”
Bossa glared and let go, stepping back several paces and watching with his arms crossed. The blades of the helicopter whirred to speed and lifted it off the ground. It slowly made its way upwards before banking to the right and flying into the distance.
Silence again. Bossa could feel the eyes of his teammates watching from behind. He didn’t feel like turning to face them. He sat down in the grass where he stood, putting both hands to his face and leaning forward. It was no use trying not to cry. His shoulders shook with each heaving sob. It was impossible to imagine how Trip was able to hold himself together so well last time. Bossa recalled his calming voice and skilled hands putting him at ease. He’d done nothing but yell and cry. Words could not describe how embarrassed and defeated he felt.
“Hey.”
It was Usko again. Bossa looked up perplexed, his face and balaclava a tear-stained, blood-soaked mess. Usko held his hand out. Bossa stared at the gesture. He hesitated, rising to his shaky feet and staring at the ground overwhelmed with guilt. Usko outstretched his arms. After a moment of contemplation, Bossa wordlessly accepted. Usko wrapped him into a hug.
“I’m so sorry…” Bossa choked out between strangled sobs.
“It’s okay.” He felt Usko’s arms squeeze around him tighter.
“I should have…” Bossa mumbled nonsense.
Usko patted his hand against the other man’s back, equal parts awkward and comforting. He looked back at his teammates, his eyes shielded by the tint of his visor. It was clear that Bossa was uncomfortable, and Usko didn’t blame him. Getting overly emotional in front of anyone besides a select few people would be a personal nightmare for him as well. He positioned an arm around Bossa, putting himself between the other man and his teammates. They walked together to a patch of concrete shaded by an awning above.
Upon stopping, Bossa immediately threw both arms back around Usko. His hands hovered in the air for a moment before coming back to rest around the smaller man. Usko searched for words to say. He knew that in this situation, there was nothing he could offer besides the physical comfort of a shoulder to cry on. He patted Bossa’s back again.
“I’m sorry Arvo…” Bossa’s voice was muffled by the fabric of Usko’s uniform.
Usko grunted in response, using his hand to rub comforting circles on Bossa’s back. His mouth twitched as he searched for something to say in response.
“It’s okay.” He said again.
“I fucked up.”
“Mm…” Usko lingered on the statement, thinking back to his request for more backup. The same request that took Bossa from Trip’s side in the first place. “No. You just listened to what you were told.”
“Yeah. The one time I decide to shut up and…” Bossa’s voice caught in his throat yet again. He took a deep, shaky breath and pulled his face away from Usko. “...all those behavior discrepancies…and the one time I listen…”
Usko nodded. He understood. The pair stood in silence as Bossa tried to calm himself down. The blood on his gloves had started drying into a sticky, coagulated mess, making any that had seeped into the fabric feel stiff and gummy. Bossa tried not to think about it. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands.
“Your leg.” Usko’s gaze had fixated on the gash.
“It’s fine.”Bossa sniffled.
“It’s still bleeding.” Usko continued. “You need stitches.”
“It’s whatever.” Bossa’s frustration wasn’t directed at Usko. He felt a wave of guilt. “I’m sorry…”
Usko sniffed, unbothered by Bossa’s response. He unsnapped a pouch on his belt and pulled from it a nearly flattened carton of cigarettes. Bossa watched as he fumbled the top open, pulled out a cigarette, and placed it between his lips. He dug around the carton some more, retrieving a lighter from it as well. The sound of flint striking steel was muffled by Usko’s hand cupping the flame from the wind. He took a long drag, shaking his free hand before using it to stuff the carton away.
“It’s bad for you.” Usko puffed out smoke. “You don’t need it.”
Bossa nodded absent-mindedly. He hadn’t realized he'd been staring. The smell of cheap tobacco filled the air.
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Bossa felt stupid for asking.
Usko sighed, taking another drag. Bossa kicked at loose gravel on the concrete. He just wanted to go home. His eyes burned again.
“Rainbow wouldn’t let him die, right?” The question wasn’t directed to anyone in particular.
The sound of helicopter blades beating in the distance eased the silence. Usko took one more puff and flicked the cigarette into the bushes. He put his hand on Bossa’s back, leading him towards the rest of their teammates.
“Come on. We should probably get a better look at your leg.”
Returning to the helipad, Dramus was nowhere to be seen. Usko felt frustration welling in his chest again, keying his radio,
"Dramus?"
"I'm at the R&D shipment they dropped off." Dramus didn't need him to ask his question to know what he would say.
Usko looked down at Bossa, who was still sniffling with the occasional tear following the shimmering path already marked on his face.
"You should go see what he's doing." Bossa's voice was hoarse and lacked its normal change in pitch. A shadow passed over the two of them as someone rounded from behind to Bossa's free side— his right. It was Mur. She nodded to Usko, and he gave Bossa a final pat on the back before walking off to meet up with Dramus.
"I'm sorry." Dramus said before Usko had even come to his side.
"Why are you apologizing?" Usko's hand twitched for the pouch on his belt again.
Dramus was silent for a second, then spoke, "I don't want to amplify anything by bringing it up."
"Shit's already in the mud, Dramus."
Dramus silently moved a few things around inside the crate, peeking further inside and sighing, "I didn't mean to make a big deal out of the shipping crates."
"Is it a big deal?"
"I... I don't..." He fell silent again as he stood up straight. He hadn't yet told Usko of his... experience. He took a deep breath, "Is it stupid that it's been... at least a year now, and I'm still afraid of them? It's not even like they did anything to me."
"No." Usko decided fuck it, pulling back out the carton of cigarettes and pulling one out. Dramus looked over, hesitantly extending a hand. Usko shook his head, "They're bad for you."
Dramus shrugged, pulling his own pack out of a pouch on his side and wedging one between his lips.
Usko snorted, handing him the lighter once he was done with it. He wasn't going to try and convince him to put it away. With a sigh he asked, "Does it help?"
"Makes me feel like I'm in control. It's dumb."
Usko shook his head, "You say that a lot."
"It feels true."
Usko didn't respond.
"One of my first missions with Rainbow..." Dramus scrunched his nose to the side, sniffing, "I was solo. It was on a freight ship. Surrounded by countless containers, I..." He paused, "I didn't even take out a single enemy. They were prepared, had set an ambush. I guess they'd wanted Trip, but they took me anyway. Had enough information on me to..." He cleared his throat, feeling tears in his eyes, "Is— Is it okay if I say this? There's worse going on."
"Do you want to say it?"
"I want to explain it so you can understand how much it meant to me that you were looking out for me."
"..." Usko flicked the butt of the cigarette. "If you want to, go ahead."
Dramus looked at the dirt beneath them, watching as the ashes fell. He turned his attention back up, aimlessly scanning the sky, "A woman. She'd read every piece of my file— or maybe her boss did and told her what to do. She reveled in it either way. It felt like years of progress were torn away from me, just like that. I didn't feel safe in my own body for weeks, and once I got over that, there was still the fear of everyone around me. I don't want to say what she did to me, but... It was like being a child again, reliving the worst of it over and over. So..."
Usko glanced at him when he didn't continue. He watched Dramus blink hard, but the man finally spoke again after a few more seconds,
"I was afraid to use my NC E-6 near that container. That's how they got me the first time, that's why I didn't suggest it when I was listing options. If you're going to blame anyone, please, blame me. I'm the one who was afraid of something so stupid in the first place, and then I couldn't get over it to give my full thoughts. I was meant to suggest it— this would have happened either way. If it's your fault, it's my fault too."
Usko closed his eyes. What was the right thing to say? What did he want to say? He wanted to shout 'bullshit!' in all honesty. He let his shoulders drop after scratching at his hairline under his hood, "Bullshit." Realizing how harsh that came out despite not shouting it, he decided to follow up with more words he hadn't exactly prepared for, "Fate isn't a thing— sometimes shit happens." He didn't like saying it, exonerating himself of blame he felt he deserved, but that didn't make it less true for Dramus.
Dramus bit his lip, "I guess so. I just wanted to let you know." He brushed out his cigarette on his shoulder pad, tucking the butt into his pocket as he peered back inside the crate, "It looks like nothing was taken except one of the tripwires. It was like this when I found it though— moved around and everything. Whoever it was took a good look at everything."
At the same time Usko had walked away, Mur headed for the helicopter, hoisting herself up and extending her hand to Bossa as he trailed behind her.
"We won't take off until they get over here too." She told him, "Can I take a look at your leg?"
He nodded solemnly as he took her hand, allowing her to lift him into the cabin. He was still sniffling, quiet hiccups starting to take place. He sat down on one of the seats, and she went to work examining his leg.
"Just how much have you experienced to know... like... everything?" Bossa asked after a moment of watching her.
"A lot." She chuckled lightly, though it wasn't a particularly happy laugh, "Enough to know you'll be okay."
"I'm not—"
"I meant your leg. Here," She stood, lifting his leg onto the seat, "We still don't want you getting delirious. Lay down so I can raise your wound above your heart while I work."
He did as she asked, somehow feeling even worse when he rested his head on the seat. The tears came back, and he bit the inside of his cheeks as he forced them down.
"I'm just going to clean and dress your wound for now, so, bear with me." She grabbed some supplies from a netted pocket in the helicopter, not saying anything more as she got to work. She wasn't surprised by his reaction- or rather, large lack thereof- and pondered on what she should say— if anything. "Is there anything you want?"
"Yeah." He didn't bother elaborating.
She sighed with a sad smile on her hidden lips, "Is there anything I can get you?"
"You have any that I can drink?" He motioned to the alcohol she was holding. "Anything that will do something similar is good enough too."
"I stopped carrying a flask a long time ago." She began wrapping his leg, "Any other wounds I should be worried about?"
Bossa shook his head, "I can't even tell what hurts and what doesn't."
She took notice of his bloodied hands, internally grimacing at the thought of how much wasn't his own, but was getting into his busted knuckles. "Mind if I clean up your hands too?"
He held them out silently, hands limp. He mumbled to himself, choking out an upset exhale after.
"Does it sting?"
"No." He was pouting under the balaclava, finding himself fighting tears again, "Why is he so... Why is he like that?"
"Rhetorical?"
"Yeah. I know why." He weakly whipped the hand that she wasn't tending to around, smacking it into the back of the seat, "I wish it were just that he thinks he's invincible. I don't know how to prove to him that he's worth more."
"You should tell him how you feel, Bossa."
"What if..." His voice got caught in his throat.
"It's scary, right?"
He nodded.
"Start there. It hits harder when someone tells you."
"He's so stupid." He sniffled.
Dramus and Usko pulled themselves into the helicopter behind Mur, and Bossa put his legs down, sitting up in the seat after Mur finished wrapping his knuckles as well. Everyone took their seats, Bossa keeping his gaze to his lap as they took off. Minutes of silence between the four of them passed until eventually Usko grunted, grabbing Bossa's attention. He looked up to see Usko looking at Dramus, nodding. Following his gaze caused Dramus to flush at the newfound attention, but he held out his hand. Bossa tenderly took the paper crane nestled in his palm.
"It's the thousandth. I've been waiting to make it. You should have it."
The wind threatened to steal the crane from him, but he'd be damned if he let it go— and there was really only one thing to wish for.