Find the helicopters. Get to evac.
You turn back around, figuring running to the original drop zone would get you stranded fast. You took to much time as it was and ran at break neck speed, broken arm be danmed, towards the helicopters. It hurt, a lot. And you could not help but be concerned about those steel flesh tendrils. They couldn't mean anything good. You watched, legs still moving as fast as they could, as they reached over where your group was, lowering straight beds down, in order to lift up your two unconscious friends. You could also see Lalush and Seth pile into the helicopter farthest from the Castle.
Its gun could clearly be seen, pointing towards the entrance, along with that of the one closest chopper, flanking the Long, and heavily modified Chinook. You could make out Doctor Ayes, as he reached the site, he and some other guy you could have swarn was in squad A, which was wiped out, went into the medical helicopter too.
And then, it flinched. From one end quickly to the other. It tore through the closest chopper, like a hand through water. The metal crumpled softly under great force, and then, almost under its own wieght, exploded, the ground shook beneath you and nausea filled your belly, and fog took its first clutch at your reality.
Shrapnel wizzed by you, tearing a small gash acrost your neck, ripping up the helicopter bedding as it was being raised, and ripping appart it raising mechanism, leaving it not but a taunt rope. A whole blade soared through the air, finding rest in the other, smaller chopper, which swung wildly to and fro, before finding a false sense of balance in a nose dive towards the ground.
The marvel seemed to move in slow motion. You could easily see the left over bedding as it dragged on its little bit of a thread, tearing agaimst the smooth, yet jagged little rocks in the ground.
The shout. . . And your arm and hand coupling with the rope. You held on tight as you could feel someone struggle to lift you up. . . . Up. . . A short jolt of pain through the arm as something tried to grab at you. . . Thousands of needles, ripping at your flesh, deep into your tissues. The shadow around your vision as you could see yourself as you truly are. Masses of flesh and bone. A wish of glory, recognition. A life of rememberence. A scream. Nothing. All you can feel is hard surface hitting your face as the darkness invades even your thoughts.
Dr. Ayes, you are sent to your quarters to rest and shower up for the night. In the morning, though, there is a call for a debriefing in the west wing hospital. There you see the three surviving team mates you have. All looking worst for the wear. Michael has a cast locking his left arm in place, Dr. Tal and Arthur have full torso and upperbody raps and were in wheelchairs, it was evident that, no matter how alert they seemed to be, they were on some kind of heavy sedititive. They were probably woken up for this. This wasnt a debriefing. Not really. One of the big wigs came in, a few minutes after you got theire and offered his condolences for the loss of your comrades. It was practiced. Very insincere, like a coworker at a funeral. And then, the reason why you all were there was brought up. Apparently running the feeds from the pda's through each other was more than a "brilliant" idea. They found that the choppers didnt have to go though the gate. That radio waves and specific other kinds of signals could make it though, though others, like light, and gamma, could not. Unfortunately, they also found out that the crew on the helicopter, and team D was still alive. If not most of Team D. They played the audio of the recording for you so you could hear it. There was a loud crash, and a quiet still for a few moments. What felt like a minute passed before movement could be heared. And a voice.
"
Seth? Seth?" there was a few foot steps. Uneasy and unsteady, as though by a child. It mooved unnaturally fast, of a few moments, until
"
Shit! Seth! What? Dear Allah! There is so much blood. Don't move. I can. . I can. . . " the panic can be heard in his voice, and it increased in impatience and confusion.
There were a few garbled coughs and words that could barely be heard.
"
Don't speak. Just try to stay awake. I can patch you up. You will be fine. We will be rescued, soon." soft popping sounds could be heard in the background suddenly grew louder and more distinct. And then it stops.
You are all left, not long after to interpret what happened. The most that is promised to you Is a change in training purcedures in order to prevent what occurred, but, if you talk to any of the veterans at all, though few of them there may be, they were told that too. Its not going to happen.
You recieved, 65* of credits for your team, and four months paid rest.
Tal, you find that 20* extra credits was somehow dumped into the groups account. . . . And rumer around the Compound that the guy who saved you, but wasnt part of your team, decided to leave, risking his lot with the poor, misrible and starving, than watch another death like that.
You all have four months leave. And 85* to spend. . . . For the group. What do you do with it. How will you prepare for your next mission?
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Topic: Castle: Foxhound Chronicles (Choking your Bad Dragon in the Void) (Read 396873 times)