near miss/close calls

[trashtalker]

NEAR MISS/CLOSE CALL MEME Whether it's hiding in a kitchen from some raptors or turning the corner too fast to see a crush walking by, the point is that whatever was going to happen, whether good or bad, only barely didn't happen. All the other details are up to you.

Comments

[terrorisms]

( Frank's been tired for a while. He only usually feels it when he goes home, when those first set of days after a deployment wear off and the reality of being stateside comes back, only then does the fatigue set in. When he's over here, he's over here; he's a Marine first and a human being second, and part of his mind — the violent part, the part that used to fight even as a kid, the part always looking to get hurt — loves it. The rest of his brain, sometimes, not so much. It's a constant grapple, a constant back and forth, two sides of a coin that just can't make a decision.

But he thinks maybe something else is gonna finally make the decision for him. He should've stayed home, that last time. Should've listened to his gut, should've done the voluntary separation, should have packed it in. Seven years would've been long enough, he didn't need to go for eight. He's got kids. He could be home with them, instead of dying so deep behind enemy lines he's practically in the core of the earth itself.

But he got his men out. He got his men out, and that's what matters.

It's not just that he's pinned down; it's that he's currently holding his side closed with his own damn hands, and if he takes them off to pick up a gun he's gonna bleed out. But if he tries to hobble away from this unarmed, he's just as much of a goner. There's nothing for it; he crawled his way under a half-collapsed building, settled in the dark, and let himself fall back onto hard-packed earth to just... breathe. Just breathe a while, and drift.

Castle... guardian angel... didn't shoot me... yeah?

He's blurry; did he drift off? Was he asleep, or did he lose time? Was he unconscious, did he black out, or are the coms just cutting in and out?

It takes two attempts to reach up to his earpiece. He misses the first one, and that's not a great sign. At length, Sam finally gets an answer — low, hoarse, guttural. The rasp of a dying man. )

Copy. Buddy, I don't know who you are, but lemme tell ya, you are in exactly the wrong place right about now. You touch down here, you're a dead man walking, over.

( But it's strange that he can't hear any helos. No jets. No nothing, just silence. )

[unclesam]

[ Oh thank fuck.

Relief washes over Sam. Signs of life are delightful like that. Man, he hates when all there's to recover is a body. This? This is much better. Not that it's easier, mind you. But he much prefers getting someone out alive than recovering remains for the family to receive. ]

I read you. You got eyes on hostiles? I'm flying a bit blind here, so I'm gonna need you to guide me in on your location, over.

[ Sam's scanning the area now. His gear isn't made for full reads - that shit's what he will get in the future, when his career takes some unexpected pathways. For now, he's been searching for Castle with bare bones equipment in the air, no longer receiving data that would help him here. His big advantage is that he's flying under the radar, and that he's damn hard to spot against the cold night sky. ]

[terrorisms]

( It takes everything he has to power through — but Frank Castle is nothing if not an endless will of endurance and self-determination. Through the pain wracking his weathered body, through the blood and the dirt and the open wound, he hauls himself painstakingly forward toward the mostly-collapsed doorway. Plants his back against the wall and then, after sucking down a quick breath, peels around to glance out toward the long road leading away.

Almost immediately, two rounds of burst-fire come forth from behind a parked car and an enormous rock, respectively. He reels back in as they crash into plaster and stone on the other side of the wall behind his head. )

Alright, Blind Flier, it uh- it's lookin' like at least two. They got me pinned down in half a homestead a couple dozen paces from the road into town, north-northeast. Unless you got firepower on that hovercraft you're flying, I wouldn't risk it. Over.

( Seriously, what in the good god damn is capable of flying so silently at such a low altitude? )

[unclesam]

[ He spots it - the brief flare of shots fired. Castle's talking, too, which is good. Sharp minds are easier to rescue. Not that Sam blames anyone for crumbling under injury, pressure and fear, but damn if Castle isn't helping making Sam's job easier here, too. ]

Copy that, Castle. They want you bad, huh. Lucky for you, I never met a risk I didn't wanna take a crack at. Over.

[ Maybe he's been at it too long today, but he's getting a damn boost from the exchange. Castle's alive enough for useful calls. They can do this.

Frank will hear it after a moment. The almost soft whoosh of Sam's thrusters just overhead when he crosses over the half-destroyed building Frank's holed up in. Sam's nothing but a dark shape against a dark sky as he flies in. At lest two, and he knows where to pinpoint them now, in the dark. His one advantage here is the element of surprise, and them not knowing what's about to hit them. If there's more than two, he might be screwed, but there's little time for doubt. If there's more than two, he'll try and hit them as they come.

Sam's got weapons, but the two combatants he knows to be in the field are spread out, and he can't risk allowing them cover fire for each other. So... grappling line it is. It's not meant as an offensive tool in his kit, but Sam's nothing if not creative and a bit of a mean bastard when he has to improvise. The sound of the wire being shot out hisses through the night air, and Frank will hear the undignified yelp of someone getting grabbed and dragged up into the air - and the scream as the man is let go a tic later, hurled at his comrade behind the parked car.

Shots fire, blindly up into the night sky, a spray of bullet knocked wild by bodies colliding. Sam tucks the wings in, lets himself drop curled up and rolling over his own body weight before the wings snap back open. He reaches for his guns, and the next round of fire Frank will hear is semi-automatic, a quick spray from up in the air.

One down, but the guy Sam threw is getting back up on his feet. Sam uses the momentum to pull himself further up into the sky, shots flying just past him, and then he dives back down to return fire.

It's over fast.

Sam circles, once, to confirm all hostiles down, before he fires the thrusters up to get him to Frank's location. He drops in through the half-collapses ceiling, wings buffering his landing, making it soft. ]

Hey, man. [ Sam's wings fold in, tucking into the case on his back. He crosses over to Frank, already tugging off the pouch strapped to his gear that holds first aid supplies, eyes tracking over Frank to assess damage. ] You look like shit.

[terrorisms]

( All things considered, he can maybe be forgiven for missing Sam's dope ass action sequence, seeing as he's one strong breeze away from bleeding out all over the dirt in Afghanistan behind enemy lines.

He'd only meant to close his eyes for a second, but at some point he started drifting, his hand slid off the wound he'd been tightly clasping, and time seemed to — jump. A blink, and then Sam's standing over him saying hey man, startling him awake. Groggy eyes crack open as best they can to study the other man, deem him an ally and not an enemy, and still the hand that had been going for his own gun. )

We can't all make the calendar, Flyboy.

( He slurs, throat dry, voice raspy and hoarse, but lucid. Cognizant. That's important. )

When in the hell did Uncle Sam start giving you guys real wings? Think you could hook me up? I wouldn't mind a set.

( Blood stains his face and hands, but especially his side, where it coats his uniform and spills out into the dirt, making muddy little patches beside him.

It's not lookin' great. )

[unclesam]

Nah, don't you worry. You'd still beat my partner for a page, promise.

[ Sam kneels down once that hand drops away from the gun, not wanting to waste any time. His shoulders are in hard knots from being up in the air for way too long, but Sam's still running on all the adrenaline he could need and then some.

First things first... Castle's talking, and Sam is a big fan. Always great to have someone being mentally present, even if Sam would really prefer the man to have kept more of his blood where it belongs rather than all over the place. ]

Well, I don't got nephews yet, but my name is Sam. I'll let you take the wings for a spin once you're back on your feet.

[ Sam talks, but his hands fly. He has a flashlight clipped to his light tac gear so he can see what he's doing. First aid supplies strapped to a pouch on his gear. ]

So. You ready for the part that's gonna really suck?

[ He reaches for Frank's side. Easy to spot the biggest cause for concern, and he's gonna have to get that fabric off and get some pressure on there fast. ]