First Do No Harm – Chapter 7

Clay had been the first to realize something had gone wrong.

In the lead vehicle with Bravo One, Clay had been coordinating the interdiction. As they neared the target, he tried reaching Bravo Four on coms, to confirm their location and verify that everything was good to go. There was no response. When similar efforts by Bravo Three produced nothing but silence, Havoc relayed the information that they were no longer getting a read from the GPS in Bravo Four and Five's SUV.

Processing that information, and with a hard edge in voice, Clay voiced what the rest of Bravo was thinking.

"Jay, we need to call this mission off. Something's wrong. I can feel it".

In response, Jason's expression was unreadable. He'd been working very hard over the past few months at trying not to let his emotions guide his decisions. It was something that he knew still needed improvement. But, he also knew that Clay was right. Something was wrong. His brothers were in trouble. He forced down the surge or adrenaline that he felt rush through him, ignoring the little voice inside his head that screamed at him to turn the car around and lay waste to anything that crossed his path, or prevented him from reaching Bravo Four and Five.

"Havoc, this is Bravo One, can you get ISR over their last known location?"

Eric knew without having to ask, that Lisa would have already made that decision. Glancing at the monitors, he could see that the situation on the ground had changed drastically. There had obviously been an explosion of some sort, and a vehicle was now burning in the street, just a few meters past the spot where the GPS tracker on Bravo Four and Five's SUV had dropped its signal. There was no movement around the vehicle and none in the street. There was no sign of anyone. As much as it can be, from a grainy black and white image, from 1,500 feet above, it was an eerie sight.

Lisa's eyes widened in shock, and she felt Mandy leaning forward to get a better view of the image.

Mandy was a chameleon. She'd learned at an early age how to adapt to any situation. Molding new personalities to fit in. Being able to read the room and every new person she met had been a game. Something she'd learned from her mother. It made her uniquely qualified for her career. But it also made her feel as though the friendships in her life had been a fraud. Something based on a lie. Or more accurately a falseness. Either about her, who she really was, or what her intentions were. Except when it came to Bravo. Those were friendships that she knew with absolute certainty were real. They were the most important things in her life. Her concern now, that Bravo Four and Five had essentially disappeared in a cloud of smoke, was obvious.

"Is that their SUV?"

Lisa could only respond with what they knew. And right now, they knew nothing. "No way to tell for sure".

Eric was concerned. But as the man in charge, he needed to know first whether it was possible to complete the interdiction with only two vehicles, while deploying other resources to Trent and Brock's last known location.

He was impressed with the maturity Jason demonstrated in actually considering the possibility, taking a moment to work through the options. The old Jason would have let his tunnel vision take charge. The mission was the number one priority. However, Jason knew, and Eric accepted it. There was no chance of success without all of Bravo's resources being available as planned. Giving the go-ahead to abandon the interdiction, Eric felt immensely relieved at the decision. While they all knew and understood that mission came first when the HVT was one of a top priority, the unwritten rule that they lived by would forever be, no one gets left behind.

"Eric, find us the quickest way back to their last known location. Alright, boys, eyes on a swivel, no idea what where heading into here, but we're going find our guys".

The first sense to return was his hearing. Which was strange, since the only thing he could hear was silence. No voices. No white noise. Nothing but emptiness.

While he waited for his vision to return, hopefully bringing with it a return to full consciousness, Brock felt like he was drifting in an alternate reality. He was totally disconnected from himself with no memory of anything. Was this a dream? Where was he? Who was he?

Forcing himself to sort through the fragmented bits and pieces, grasping at the edges of memories as they flickered through his consciousness, like flipping through the pages of book, trying to find the memory that would anchor him to the present. Something that felt real. Something that would tell him what the fuck had happened, and what the hell was going on.

It didn't take long. The fog began to lift. He could feel it as he came back to himself. There were flashes. The flashes began to form images and memories that he recognized as real. It was coming back to him now. The interdiction. The explosion. Dragging himself out of a burning, overturned SUV. Finding cover. Taking out two would-be assailants, before facing an angry mountain of muscle. Literally having to fight someone up close, hand to hand, for his life.

The pain returned with that memory as he was nearing full consciousness. His face felt tender. Like raw meat. He suspected it probably looked like it too. He could feel a rawness in his throat and bruising around his neck from where the Mountain (yes, Brock was a Game of Thrones fan), had wrapped his hands around Brock's neck, nearly crushing his windpipe.

Yet, it was the pain in his right arm that stole his breath away. The Mountain had snapped his humerus. Brock felt like he could still hear the sound of the break reverberating off the walls and his own animalistic scream that had followed. He wasn't screaming now. His throat was too sore. His throat. There was something about the thought of his throat that concerned him, and put him even more ill at ease. Yet, he couldn't quite figure out what that was. He was still a bit dazed. His mind still a little muddled.

Brock knew he needed to get up. He needed to get up and figure out where he was and what he was dealing with. But, with only one good am, it was a bit of a challenge removing the various limbs belonging to the now deceased Mountain that draped across him. He had felled the Mountain. The empty eyes staring back at him confirmed it. The details were hazy. The bloody Ka-Bar knife, large pool of blood spreading out across the floor and the apparently severed carotid artery told the real story. Despite the room's oppressive heat, he felt a cold shiver run up his spine. With as much strength as he could muster, he was able to finally shove the Mountain's thick arms off him, and work himself free.

As Brock attempted to stand, holding onto a wall for support, another flash of the day's events revealed itself. Trent. How could he have not remembered sooner? Trent was here. Trent needed him. The adrenaline kicked in. Brock straightened himself up to his full height, cradling his right arm across his chest, he was alert and focused. He moved out of the backroom, and towards the bar area where he'd left his brother lying injured and helpless. He wasn't sure what he'd find. He had no idea how long he been out following his battle with the Mountain. He prayed to Ray's god that Trent was exactly where he'd left him.

To Trent it felt like an hour or more had passed since everything went quiet. When he finally heard movement from the backroom, he thought maybe he had imagined it. He forced himself to focus on every sound, every bit of movement. Was it Brock?

Trent knew the men of Bravo better than he knew anything else. He didn't need to see them to identify them. He knew the sound of Sonny's laugh better than his own. He was overly familiar with the little huffing noise Jason made when he was annoyed. He'd gotten use to the whisper-like sound of Brock's footsteps, who was a near stealth ninja in the way he carried himself.

Brock didn't talk much. Everyone knew that. But even the way he moved was quiet. You rarely saw the physical effort behind anything he did. He was a gazelle of a runner, with the agility of a gymnast.

Blessed with an easy and natural command of his body; and completely devoid of bravado, Brock was often underestimated when it came to physical challenges. He used that to his advantage. Winning countless bets from clueless green teamers and arrogant gym rats who thought they could outrun him or beat him on a parkour course. Brock never felt bad about taking the money from anyone who bet against him. He figured it was an expensive and important lesson they needed to learn. A lesson that even Clay had learned the hard way in his early days.

Despite his efforts, Trent couldn't tell for sure from the low scuffling and quiet moans coming from the other room whether it was Brock or not. Tightening his grip on his sidearm, he finally got the answer he'd been desperate for. The voice was raspy and low. But it was Brock.

"Bravo 4, I'm coming out. Don't shoot me".

Brock finally made his way around the corner and behind the bar to here Trent lay, semi-upright, propped up against the wall. Spitting a bit of blood from between his teeth, and using his one good arm to wipe some of the blood from his broken nose with his sleeve, Brock lowered himself to the ground. Keeping his right arm tucked tight against his chest, and with his gravelly voice sounding unfamiliar to his ears, Brock told his brother what he knew he needed to hear.

"All tangos are down. Even the big one. I'm fine. I can only imagine what it looks like, but trust me, I'm fine. My nose is broken. Obviously. And the arm too."

Gesturing to the patches of blood that stained his clothes that he could see had drawn Trent's attention, Brock was quick to explain. "That's not mine. Okay, fine. Yes, some of it is probably from my nose, but nothing else".

Unable to speak, Trent was impressed with how well Brock could read his mind. "How am I feeling? My face hurts and I don't think I can move my arm. My back is sore from the explosion and I seriously think I'm finally going to impress Sonny with some of the bruising I can feel developing". Grabbing a hold of Trent's hand, Brock reassured him. "But, I swear to you brother, I'm good. I promise."

"Now, what about you. What aren't you telling me? You remember the number one rule. You don't lie to your medic. And I think we've already established that I'm the medic here now. I know something's up, so just point it out to me and let me handle it".

Trent thought to himself, aware that the tracheotomy was no longer serving its purpose. "Damn it. He's a perceptive little shit. Brother, I trust you with my life. But, even if you had two fully functioning arms right now, I'm not sure either one of us is ready for you to learn how to insert your first chest tube"

Author's Note. Many apologies for the delay in getting this chapter up. It's the longest one yet, so I hope that helps earn me some forgiveness. I'll be back soon. I promise.