TW - Gore. Terrorism.

LEO
============
12/01/2003
Phoenix, Arizona
Redhawk base

I'm wedged in shock after the fucking gore I've just watched. Two men being brutally beheaded.

"And you said that this 'Atashih' group still has hostages?" I manage to murmur, finally pulling my eyes away from the screen to look up at North. He nods solemnly.

"Twenty of them. Our own citizens. Youngest thought to be aged 15, not sure on the oldest. They want their prisoners back," he sighs, remaining quiet for a second. A look of understanding washes across my face.

A fifteen year old, probably absolutely fucking terrified. No idea if they're going to live or die, life completely hung in limbo.

"We're going out there, aren't we?" I confirm, although I'm pretty damn sure that I'm right.

Yep, I am. North gives Rhys and I an affirmative nod.

"We all are. Most of our groups, for the first time in history." He says, raising his eyebrows as though he's surprised at his own statement.

Most of us?

"Almost every single squad? The entirety of Fleetwood? Is that a good idea?" I question, a little fucking shocked at this decision. He thinks for a moment before shaking his head.

"The BlueJay squad will be staying here in the States, the other intel groups will be joining us. It's an all hands on deck situation. All three combat squads are essential, especially since we don't yet know if the military is going to be able to gain access into the Philippines."

"How are we granted access but the military isn't?" I mutter in confusion.

"Because the Filipino Government requested our help specifically. We helped them out around the time Fleetwood was formed, and they're under a whole lot of pressure since Atashih is trying to control them. Organising the military could take a whole lot longer, and time is of the fucking essence when our citizens are in the line of fire."

He pauses for a second, taking a deep breath.

"The only issue is, we don't know where about in the Philippines the group is keeping the hostages. That's something we have to figure out when we get there, we don't have any time to waste. There's not a chance in hell we're giving up our prisoners, so we are going to have to fight to get our citizens out of their grasps!"

He speaks like some sort of war-hero who's making a speech. I give him an uncertain glance, glimpsing back at the now-blackened computer screen.

"How soon do we have to leave?" Rhys asks, he looks fucking terrified right now.

"Tomorrow. We're already arranging transportations out of the country, three separate planes to stay cautious. The Filipino Government is offering up one of their military bases for us to stay in."

Fuck me. Tomorrow? The Philippines? All groups? This is going to be the biggest mission I think I've witnessed since I started here.

All groups.

That means Nova will be involved.

I clench my jaw and shake the thoughts right out of my head, unsure of why they're even here in the first place.

"Go and get organised. I've got our staff on the job of already loading artillery. The flights are aiming to depart between 3pm and 7pm tomorrow, providing organisation goes smoothly." North says, pinching between his eyebrows. He's obviously stressed. I'm fucking stressed.

If any, this is the one operation we absolutely can not afford to fuck up under any circumstances.

The pressure has never pushed down on my shoulders with a heavier weight than twenty innocent lives.

—

It's an organised chaos around base. Everyone is zipping and zapping back and forth around me; all stuck in a constant spiral of nervous engagement with each other. If things move any quicker than they already are, I'm going to get dizzy.

Jed paces up to me with complete urgency, concern engrained in his features, "what do you think about this whole situation?"

I heave out a heavy sigh and shake my head, "it's not exactly ideal, is it? We haven't constructed a mission like this before, and we probably won't be able to organise anything until we're in the goddamn Philippines anyway."

Jed nods in complete agreement.

"It's an insane situation. Even getting organised alone is pissing me off." He mumbles. It's not like Jed to seem this unhappy, reflecting how intense of a situation this really fucking is.

—
13/01/2003
Phoenix Sky Harbour

My stomach has never churned more in my entire life, apart from when I found out my little brother was amongst those killed in Tillman Mall.

This isn't just another day in the office. This is twenty lives hung in the balance of whether we can pull this off or not. This is no time for my usual joking and sarcasm.

This is fucking serious.

I hear Marcus announcing something over the speaker of the plane as we begin to move. The whole 'three separate planes' plan didn't work out. Our team is wedged onto a Lockheed C-5 along with the Eagle group; Hawk's already took off a few hours ago.

I'm reunited with a few familiar faces from the Eagles, those who I've met on past missions and whatnot.

Martin Shelley, a man from the Eagle's who I worked with back in '01, has perched himself practically on my fucking knee and is jabbering my ear off; has been for the past 2 hours.

It's taking every ounce of strength for me to not open the door and launch him off of the damn plane. I don't think that would be very 'teammate' of me.

Normally, I'd probably be alright with this. I don't mind talking, when it's about something interesting and not about some family member who I've never heard of in my life. I frankly could not give less of a fuck about what 'Jennie' is up to right now, emphasised by the fact we are flying right into a fucking intense conflict.

"Say, Hendrix! How old are you now?" He chirps, sounding way too happy for a man who mightn't even get to fly back to the US without a coffin.

"I turned twenty-eight last week." I mumble. He's talking to me as though I'm some 'kid' he met when I was younger, and how I'm all 'grown up' now.

"Well I'll be damned, only a few more years until the 'dirty thirties', ay!?" He yells, clapping his hands together.

That's if I make it to my dirty fucking thirties. I give him an answer with a slight nod and an un-genuine chuckle before closing my eyes, praying he takes the hint.

He doesn't.

"Well, what Jennie told me about her dirty thirties was-"

"Mart, you're my pal. Right now though, I'm really fucking tired. We've got 11 and a half hours left of this flight, or some shit like that. I'm going to try and sleep, I doubt there's going to be much opportunity when we touch down."

Before he can reply, I'm laying myself down across three seats with a bag under my head; pulling my jacket over my face in attempt to muffle the noise of chatter. He doesn't bother me again.

==
"We both got what we wanted."

"This isn't what I wanted."
==

You know when you feel like you've only just closed your eyes and then they're open again, thinking it's only been a second but realise you've slept through a whole fucking night? That's exactly what how I feel right now as the plane touches down with a jolt.

I don't think the 15 hour time difference is going to help any of our cases.

"Look who's finally awake!" Tara chirps. If there's anyone's jolly personality I can tolerate under these circumstances, it's probably hers. She's too nice to be pissed off at.

I chuckle and rub my eyes, almost rolling right off of the seats as the plane slows down on the tarmac.

"Christ, didn't think I'd sleep through the whole flight. Glad I did." I mumble with a yawn.

Tara nods enthusiastically, "yeah, you're lucky you did. I'm surprised you could since we've all been so freakin' loud." She laughs, standing up as the aircraft finally halts.

I get a glimpse of the scenery surrounding GPR airport as we file off of the plane, a line of black SUV's already waiting on us. North signals for us all to stay back as he approaches the vehicles with Commander Kingston, head of the Eagles. I'm guessing they're doing some sort of security check to confirm these are our legitimate transfers, checking in the compartments of each of the vans to check for any stashed weapons.

With both of them seeming pleased with the responses, they give us the go-ahead to start filing into the vans. I sit in-between Tara and Jed, both of them talking over me. I'm listening to their conversation, just not engaging.

"Well, if there's any light to look at in this situation, I'm really excited to see Nova again." Tara squeals, as though we're going on a school trip and not a deadly operation.

In a strange way, I'm interested to see her again. It's been a third of a year since I last heard anything about her.

"Here's hoping her and Mr. Hendrix over here don't come to blows mid-rescue." Jed chimes in, nudging me slightly.

I just raise my eyebrows and shrug with a sigh, "yeah, it could cause a teeny few issues if we decide to argue in the face of fighting terrorists." I snicker, followed by Jed and Tara.

The car journey continues, just driving in a single file with the other vehicles through the open roads of Panay. It looks peaceful, it feels calm. We're second from the front of the fleet, it feels secure.

Until it doesn't.

Completely disrupting the synchronised line of cars, the SUV leading the group swerves; turning down a path. It doesn't look like a fucking road, and based off of the absolute horrified look on our chauffeur's face, it wasn't meant to happen.

Guns are immediately drawn as I dive into the front passenger seat next to the driver. His hands are shaking on the wheel. Whatever just happened, it is obvious he isn't part of it.

At least I don't think he is.

"Fucking follow that damn car!" I yell in complete urgency, he immediately nods and swerves down the same 'road' as the other SUV. In the rear view mirror, I notice the other van's behind us following in our tire tracks.

The SUV that is making a getaway seems way ahead of us, our driver is taking his precious time. Something we definitely do not have.

"Keep your foot on that damn accelerator and swap places with me!" I demand. Despite the language barrier, he seems to understand. He keeps his foot pressed down as we swap places as efficiently as possible; losing some speed in the process.

As soon as I'm behind the wheel, we're flying down the road ten times faster. Jed drags the driver into the back-seat and immediately starts interrogating him with a gun pointed at his temple.

I roll down the window, sticking out my pistol in an attempt to shoot out the tires; other hand still gripped on the steering wheel. I manage to pierce one, although it doesn't seem to do enough damage as the van makes another violent swerve. I make the same swerve; probably giving everybody severe whiplash.

"Leo, open the sunroof!" I hear Rhys yell from in the backseat. I nod, retreating my arm back into the car and pressing what I think is the correct button.

Thank God I'm right.

Rhys stands up and sticks his head out of the sunroof, aiming his rifle against the ledge as best as he can; despite the fact that we're absolutely fucking flying down this path.

I suddenly get a daunting realisation. The van behind us could also be hijacked, and nobody is covering Rhys since he's aiming forward.

"Somebody fucking cover Rhys from behin-"

Before I even finish my order, I hear Tara scream some sort of profanity in an absolutely horrified tone. Glancing back into the rearview mirror, I watch as Rhys crumples down from his position; blood spilling everywhere.

Fuck.

Rosa immediately kicks into medic mode, but there's absolutely nothing she can do. "He's dead!"

Jed and Tara don't waste a second to spring into action, both standing back to back with each other to avoid making the same mistake as they go up and through the sunroof.

I hear Tara shout something, in relief this time rather than sheer distress. Through the mirror, I see the front window of the SUV behind us is smashed by a bullet; the car immediately slowing down. She managed to take out the driver.

I've managed to catch up to the van in front, speeding alongside it like we're in an illegal drag race; consistently swerving into it. After a few tries, the van loses control and swerves off of the road. I immediately drift our van sideways, blocking the path as we all jump out urgently before it's even fully come to a halt. Tyrese now holds our driver in the back of the van at gunpoint.

I jump into the ditch off the side of the road, yanking open the doors to reveal some members of the Eagle group. It's only now that I notice that the back of their van was separated from the front by a thick glass window. Thankfully, the group looks unharmed as they climb sideways out of the van.

My attention then turns to the hijacker, who seems somewhat injured with a gash to his forehead.

"Get out of this fucking car you piece of shit!" I seethe at him, swinging the door open and dragging him out by his collar, pistol poised against the back of his head. He seems completely dazed at the minute as I launch him into the ground, holding him down with my boot.

The other members of our groups have started to file out of their own vans and are sprinting over to us. It's obvious that half of the drivers don't have a damn clue what is happening, but that isn't stopping our caution.

I yank off a gun strap, binding both hands behind his back as tight as possible before standing upright.

North runs over to my side.

"Don't kill him, we need him." He says, surprisingly calm.

"Rhys is dead." I mumble, gesturing to our van. North's expression drops as he immediately looks into the back of our SUV, witnessing Rhys' corpse sprawled on the floor. Now he doesn't seem so calm as he kicks the side of the door in fury, leaving a sunken dent before returning to me.

"There was three hijackers. Two are dead, thankfully this one is alive so we can drag information out of the fucking bastard." North seethes, gesturing to the young, half conscious terrorist who is still held underneath my boot. I glance backwards at the sound of another vehicle speeding up to us, aiming my rifle.

"Don't shoot, they're our allies," North quickly interjects before any bullets fly from my barrel.

The newcomer van quickly pulls to a halt, all occupants jumping out immediately.

I see the flurry of chocolate brown hair as she kicks the door shut behind her, usual Smith and Wesson strapped to her thigh. She glances over at us; even from this distance I recognise that intense green-eyed glare.

The familiar gaze of Nova Shields.