Ryan’s fingers jolted on the mouse. Opening his eyes, he found Kyle smirking in the doorway. Turning to face the computer, he shut his email down in hurried, jerky movements and logged out. “I could do with some sleep,” Ryan replied as he got to his feet. “No one gets any rest bunking with you, asshole. You snore like a wounded elephant in heat.”
“How would you know what a wounded elephant in heat sounds like?”
“Easy. It sounds like you.”
Kyle tipped his chin towards the computer. “Heard from Fin?”
Ryan raised his brows. “Why do you ask that?”
“You just got that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The look you get whenever you’re around her or when someone mentions her name. You know—the puppy eyes.”
“Puppy eyes!” Ryan shoved Kyle into the doorway as he walked through to leave. Being a rock solid bastard, Kyle barely budged an inch, which for some reason only irritated him further. Puppy eyes his fucking ass. “Fuck off, Brooks. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Kyle choked with laughter as Ryan stalked away. Usually the normal banter between his patrol mates slid right off his back, but the mention of Fin made him an easy target.
“Hey!” Ryan turned at Kyle’s shout. Kyle was leaning casually against the doorframe, a smirk still playing on his lips. “I wasn’t here to stalk your ass. Monty called a briefing at 1900 hours.”
A briefing meant an operation was on the horizon, and they were all itching to get out into the field. “Good,” he muttered, and cracking his knuckles loudly, Ryan left to grab something to eat.
Two days later found them scoping the back of the mountains behind a suspect village for evidence of enemy presence. Their task was not to engage fire, but gather intelligence. Either way, an incident occurring was highly probable.
As Ryan crested a small rise, he came across what looked like a weapons pit. Crouching down, he examined the man-made rock structure. The ground had been flattened and an etching into the rocks gave no doubt enemies were occupying the area. Standing, Ryan signalled to both Nathan and Kyle to come over and document the site. Just as he was putting down his machine gun to grab his binoculars and scope further down, a bullet zinged passed his head, flying over the top of Nathan and Kyle and slamming into the tree above.
“Sonofabitch,” Ryan growled.
Snatching his weapon, Ryan folded himself behind the thick barrier of rock and assumed a firing position, his mind racing. Were they under attack? He was lucky that bastard was a bad shot.
Nathan reached his side, crouching down to assume defensive fire. A shot rang out as Kyle joined them, and Ryan’s heart thundered in his chest when he heard Kyle suck in a sharp breath.
“Fuck,” Kyle groaned with clenched teeth. “I’m fucking hit.”
Ryan’s stomach rolled, his vision tunnelling when Nathan turned towards Monty and barked, “Man down.”
Pull your fucking shit together, Kendall.
With clammy skin and sweat pouring down his face, Ryan shuffled over to Kyle as Galloway appeared with first aid. Kyle’s face was red, his lungs drawing in short, sharp gasps of air.
“Where?”
“Right arm,” he panted. “It’s my goddamn elbow.”
He could already smell the blood, the same metallic tang that hung so thick in the air when Jake died. When Ryan closed his eyes he could still see it pouring out, Jake’s life slowly seeping into the ground.
Ryan shook his head, blinking hard and gingerly took hold of Kyle’s arm. Bone and muscle tissue were exposed. It looked messed up, but this was no life-threatening injury. “Suck it up, Brooks,” he ribbed, relief lightening his tone as he reached for gauze and bandages. “It’s just a scratch.”
Kyle tried to laugh but the sound came out choked. “Fuck you, Kendall,” he mumbled, his eyes scrunched shut from the pain.
“I’d appreciate if you didn’t.” Chuckling, Ryan met his eyes as he numbed the area and began to patch the injury. “Your firing arm is gonna be out of action for a little while.”
They locked eyes, a silent acknowledgement of what this would mean. Not just surgery to piece the bone and muscle back together, but likely months of physiotherapy to get him back to the standard of fitness the Regiment expected. Kyle was going home.
“Fucking hell, Kendall,” he muttered with quiet frustration. He closed his eyes, tilting his head to the sky. After several deep breaths, he re-opened them, the pain and disappointment shuttered—tucked away for what was probably a more private moment. “I’m gonna have to learn how to use my left hand to jack off now,” he said loudly for the team’s benefit.
Unable to work up a smile, Ryan focused on putting together a sling, the team falling silent and keeping watch as Tex set up satellite communications. With a major attack appearing unlikely, and with Kyle patched up, they were informed the request for casualty evacuation had been granted.
Monty inched towards Ryan. “We don’t know what the fuck we’re dealing with out there. Could be one or two rogues, but from the intelligence we’ve gathered so far, which isn’t much, it could be fucking hundreds. Let’s retreat to a pick up position for Brooks, and then we can formulate a plan.”