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    Summary

    Another mission gone to hell, the team split in half and then split again, Johnny does his best to keep it together.

    Does his best in the aftermath, too, for what it's worth (and it's worth a lot).

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    One moment they’d been fine, tight unit manoeuvring with ease through enemy territory, clearing buildings and neutralising threats. The next? Soap rubbed the back of his hand across his face, smearing sweat and dirt. He was filthy, covered in fluids not all his own. A hazard of the job. At least the helmet kept the worst of the building debris out of his hair.

     

    He supposed it didn't matter really, it was a hopeless, rhetorical question. He knew exactly what had gone down, and hated every fucking minute of it.

    Language:
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