freefall (III)
The silence is too pronounced for Mark’s comfort.
They’ve been up here, unscathed after the first wave of security, for much too long now, and Mark tenses at the sight of a figure entering through the roof entrance.
He sighs in relief when it turns out to be Jaebum and Jinyoung, though, followed by Bambam after a few moments, muscles slackening in their tension.
“Where’s evac?” Jaebum shouts over the wind at Jackson, who shrugs.
“They reported in about five minutes ago, said they got held up at Yokohama.”
“Okay,” Jaebum sounds inexplicably relieved, but all of them know why- this means more time bought, more time before they have to leave anyone behind.
“It’s been too quiet,” Mark comments, squinting in the bright light. “I feel like they’re planning something.”
“The sensor’s been acting up too,” Jackson says, tossing his tracker over to Jaebum, who glances it over. “It’s been beeping like mad since we left the vault, I don’t even know what the commands on the screen are saying.”
Jaebum turns, holding it, before realising there’s no one he can verify the data with- not while they’re down to the strength they’re at now.
“Looks like a homing signal of some sort,” Jinyoung peers over. “For what, though, I have no idea.”
“Homing signal? Doesn’t that mean someone’s trying to transmit to us?” Bambam sends a reluctant glance over at the tracker in Jaebum’s hand.
“Who’d know our frequency?” Jackson squints, making a face. “Sounds pretty dodgy, don’t you think?”
The beeping’s coming in stronger and stronger, increasingly urgent, and Jaebum squints at the jumble of numbers springing up on the screen, trying to make sense of it. There’s a pattern, he realises, a short series of numbers repeated over and over again.
“You recognise this code?” he hands the tracker to Bambam, who looks it over.
“First three numbers, 505? They could represent SOS,” the younger boy shrugs. “I don’t recognise the numbers after, though.”
“Doesn’t matter, now, evac’s coming,” Mark mutters, at the approaching sound of helicopter blades, and they look in its direction immediately, momentarily distracted.
“Uh,” Jackson says pointedly. “Isn’t the heli supposed to like, I don’t know, come towards us?”
Jinyoung squints at the leaving helicopter, rising from the side of the building, for one second, two, before he glances at the tracker in Jaebum’s hand, beeping growing steadily weaker.
“SOS- that means it’s a distress signal, right?”
“It’s an enemy vessel, though,” Bambam says, managing to catch the words and markings on the side of the copter even as it travels away. “A distress signal to our frequency?”
Jinyoung grabs the tracker, studying the commands, before looking back at the helicopter, and his eyes widen.
“Shit, the numbers after, it’s a serial number,” Jinyoung’s reading the numbers again, before starting to shout, pointing at the helicopter. “Jaebum-hyung, it’s a distress signal with a serial number- it’s Youngjae’s serial number, hyung, he’s on that copter!”
This becomes apparent when three more helicopters rise around them, all of different permutations, surrounding them in the centre, and the six back into a circle instinctively.
Gigantic guns click into position slowly, charging up, arming themselves, and Jaebum’s frozen, for a moment.
“Hyung,” Jackson says after a split second, clutching his rifle close, sending an urgent glance over. “Hyung, what do we do? The chopper’s getting away, hyung.”
It’s apparent, the internal turmoil that’s raging right now in the leader’s head- a choice between the case in his hands and the helicopter getting further away with every second, and the tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife, until Jaebum finally bumps the case against Mark’s elbow, eyes still on the helicopter.
“Get. The. Case,” he grits out under his breath. “Onto the evac copter, at all costs, understood?”
There’s a collective understanding all of them manage to click into at once, a gear they seem to shift into at that moment, and Mark takes the case, catching Jaebum’s eye for a moment with a nod.
“Jinyoung, you’re with me,” Jaebum gestures with two fingers, and Jinyoung acknowledges tersely. “On my mark.”
The barrels of the guns on the helicopter begin to whirl threateningly.
“Go!”
The two teams split like lightning, followed by the slam of heavy gunfire on the concrete rooftop, Jinyoung following Jaebum’s lead towards the ring of helicopters as Mark and the others head for the edge of the building.
The copter with the machine gun draws closer, tilting to a degree to give the gunman a better angle on the two approaching men, and only when Jaebum raises the cable gun does the pilot get a gist of what’s actually happening here.
It must have been a nasty surprise, becoming the hunted from the hunters within the blink of an eye, because the copter doesn’t even move, the pilot probably too shellshocked by the happenings to execute an evasive manoeuvre of any sort.
Jinyoung grabs the gun the same time as Jaebum secures a hold on the straps of the vest on the other man’s back and fires the gun, letting the hook catch the landing skids, and neither flinch at the tremendous tug as both of them are dragged up and forwards towards the cabin of the copter.
As per normal, Jinyoung’s the one to go in first- using the momentum from the ride up to leap ahead, slamming into the side of the copter and dragging the door open, just as Jaebum reaches the copter, twisting his body through the now clear route.
Jaebum doesn’t even talk, just points his gun at the gunman, gesturing impatiently for him to get lost, as Jinyoung knocks the other soldier on board out- there’s no time to lose, not when the copter holding Youngjae is getting further away.
Both men can literally feel the time ticking away after they get the pilot out, and Jaebum grabs the headset, gaining control of the vehicle easily, while Jinyoung settles behind the gun.
“Five o’ clock!” Jinyoung’s shouting, and Jaebum’s already turning the copter in a steep swerve, pushing them ahead at full speed.
Their vehicle was obviously built for attack and pursuit, they note, because they catch up faster than expected. The fleeing chopper returns fire once they’re close enough, shattering the glass of the windshield, but Jaebum barely flinches.
“Don’t return fire on the main rotor, not until we’ve got Youngjae,” Jaebum orders, but Jinyoung isn’t moving, obviously thinking the same thing. “You ready to board?”
There’s a brief period of radio silence as Jinyoung aims the gun, picking off the other gunman with an accuracy that would make an Olympic shooter resign from shame, before Jaebum hears him dismount. That’s his cue to bring the copter in closer, watching the door open as one of the guards aims a rifle over, and there’s a heart-stopping moment as Jinyoung leaps in a smooth arc over the space, twisting his body to avoid the line of fire, gripping the floor of the copter before flipping himself into the body of the vehicle.
Jaebum jams the controls of the copter, then, fumbling ever so slightly in his haste, before unbuckling from the seat, eyes narrowed on the open door of the other copter, watching the flurry of bodies as Jinyoung clears the copter, waiting impatiently for an opportune moment. It takes a painstaking couple of seconds, but he eventually follows Jinyoung to jump through the shifting space over into the other copter, barely looking as the other vehicle spins out of control behind them, dropping below them quickly.
He blinks rapidly once he’s in, eyes adjusting to the dimness, the two or three bodies on the floor alerting him to the fact that Jinyoung’s already secured the space for them, and it’s only when his eyes lock on the back of the copter does he-…
“Hyung!” Youngjae cries out, where Jinyoung has him wrapped up in what looks like a breathtaking hug. There’s the shadow of bruises and abuse and sleepless nights under his eyes and on his cheeks, and his clothes are definitely hanging looser on his frame than when he’d last been with them, but otherwise he looks fine, he looks alright, and half the tension seems to leave Jaebum, then.
He barely realises what he’s doing, before he’s on his knees beside them, joining in the embrace, letting out a breath that feels like it’s been stuck in his lungs since they’d been separated, every ache of fear and tension, visions of the big black block letters MIA on the roll call back at HQ, vanishing like smoke.
“I can’t believe you got the signal, the transmission mechanism was still in beta stages, I didn’t think anyone would-…” Youngjae’s talking in an endless stream like he always does when he’s panicking, his voice fraying like his nerves probably are, and Jaebum can literally feel him shaking through two layers of clothing. “I thought I was going to miss you guys for sure, how did you manage to-…”
“Did they do anything to you? Where were they bringing you?” Jaebum cuts through his anxious tangents, knowing it’s the only way to pull the younger man together, and Youngjae inhales.
“I don’t know, they said something about an exchange, I think they were going to trade me for something. My Japanese isn’t as good as Bambam’s.”
Jaebum’s grip tightens on Youngjae, and he sees Jinyoung’s jaw set itself in a certain way.
“If we hadn’t deciphered the signal in time-…heaven knows where you’d be,” Jinyoung murmurs, sending a bitter glance in the direction of the bodies littering the copter. “I’m just glad we caught up before they got away.”
They’re interrupted, however, then, by the rude sound of gunfire pattering on the metal body of the copter, reminding Jaebum that they’re on an enemy vehicle hundreds of feet up in the air, and he forces himself to get to his feet, scrambling for a next course of action.
“Can you stand? Anything broken?” Jinyoung’s urging Youngjae, and the younger man’s shaking his head, twisting around to show them his bound hands.
“Get him out of the cuffs, I’ll get us on safe ground,” Jaebum says, breathless, as he heads for the now empty cockpit, before another round of gunfire rocks the copter, tearing holes along the exterior.
Jaebum realises just how cornered they are in that moment- there’s no question about attempting any acrobatics now, not while they’ve got Youngjae, and he curses himself for not having planned beyond this point.
He doesn’t even manage to get to the entrance before an explosion rocks the body of the helicopter, pitching the vehicle sideways, and Youngjae shouts out again in panic as Jinyoung loses his balance, slamming painfully hard against the standing poles in the body of the copter.
All that’s on Jaebum’s mind now is to get to the cockpit, turn them around and get them out of harm’s way before another round of ammunition can wreck the helicopter, but there’s barely a moment’s reprieve before one final explosion rips straight through the walls of the metal body, tilting the entire cabin violently to the side, and the movement’s violent enough to knock Jinyoung off his knees, and toss Youngjae forward towards the edge.
Jaebum’s paralysed, gripping tightly onto the handle near the door, watching Jinyoung’s body go limp when his head hits the edge of the cabin door before he’s pitched from the body of the copter, listening to Youngjae scream before he tumbles over the edge after Jinyoung, arms immobilised behind him.
It takes him a second to respond, takes Jaebum a moment to struggle to his feet, breathing harsh, sending a glance through the gaping hole in the hull at the triumphant look on the face of the pilot in the offending helicopter, as if to say guess all that was for nothing, now you’ve lost them both.
Something snaps in him, then, something cold and desperate and burning, and he grits his teeth, reaching over to slam a fist into the storage of the copter, before tearing out a parachute and slinging it over his shoulders.
“Over my dead-…” he tugs it on, fingers working through the straps automatically. “Fucking-…” he pushes aside the remnants of the doorway, gravity be damned. “Body.”
And he leaps out of the wreck of the copter, eyes dead set on the two falling figures ahead.
*
One of the few things Jackson possibly hates more than being forced to shut up by Jaebum (for no good reason, he insists, because it isn’t even like he talks a lot, anyway) is being forced off a hundred storey building into freefall of uncertain consequences.
Unfortunately for him, this is exactly what he’s made to do, because desperate times call for desperate measures, and he’d be damned if being cornered by machine gun fire off a rooftop doesn’t fall under very desperate times.
The first thing he thinks of is gonna die, gonna die, shit I’m gonna die, before he remembers that he’s a professional, trained to be tactful and calm in situations like these, to strategise the best solution in the shortest time, so he focuses on the subject at hand.
Mark has a really nice ass, he observes gratuitously, about ten feet into their plummet down. And oh yeah, we need to get the case on our evac ride out.
“Stop looking at my ass,” Mark shouts into the radio, and Jackson splutters.
“This is so not what I need to be hearing before I die,” Bambam complains next. Jackson glares. He hates them all.
It’s a precious second later that they hear the low hum of an engine they all recognise, though, and snap back into action at once, Mark shouting out a there, it’s getting closer, falling into formation in the air as the dropship (the real one, this time) lines up close by, falling in tandem with them, cargo bay wide open.
“We’ve got to get in closer!” Jackson’s yelling, and Mark’s urging a hand forward, trying to get a grip on the body of the vehicle.
He’s forced to draw back, however, at the rattle of gunfire that disrupts them- a spread firing dangerously close actually hitting the sides of the ship, and it’s only when Jackson hears the low curse of pain in the radio that he looks over to see the case whirl out of Mark’s now bleeding hands.
“Case!” Mark bellows, injured hand clutched in the other, and Bambam’s quick enough to grab it as Jackson twists his rifle out from behind him, firing into the cockpit of the offending helicopter.
They’re dangerously close to the ground now, and the sides of the building are getting closer to them as the structure gets wider on the way down. Bambam’s aligning himself towards the cargo bay, case clutched tight to his chest, and Jackson grabs his shoulder, ready to push him in if the opportunity arises, rifle still aimed and searching for the last helicopter.
“Hold on to him!” Mark’s voice comes into the radio, and Jackson barely has the time to make sense of what he’s saying, let alone get a proper grip on Bambam, before he turns to see Mark kick hard against the side of the building.
His shoulder’s braced against his body, and the sharp protrusion sinks hard into Jackson’s side, sending both him and Bambam spiralling into the cargo bay, and Jackson’s winded for a moment when he tumbles clumsily into the cold, hard space, Bambam in his arms.
Panic explodes, however, as the ship tilts violently and suddenly, and he realises it’s pulling up, it’s pulling up and leaving without Mark, and he stumbles to his feet, grabbing one of the bars on the side for support.
“Cargo bay doors now closing, secure objective in the designated safe zone,” the order over the radio’s made clearly even through the rush of wind, decisive and firm. Jackson, of course, ignores it, instead roughly grabbing the talkie connecting the cargo bay to the cockpit.
“Get the ship back down there!” he doesn’t remember ever shouting this loudly, feeling like his throat’s about to tear itself to pieces. “Mark’s not on yet, he’s-…”
A cry of pain rips through the radio, and both Jackson and Bambam freeze, bodies rigid, chests heaving with their breaths, fearing the worst. But then-…
“Holy shit,” Mark’s voice comes in, laboured and breathless, and Jackson almost melts into a puddle of jelly on the floor right then.
“Mark, dude, how the hell are you alive?” Jackson’s pressing the earpiece in, straining to hear above the whistle of the wind around the space, absently kneeling to help Bambam up. “Alive as in, not a pile of spaghetti bolognaise on the floor right now?”
“Ow,” Mark groans, and the two of them hold still for a moment, paying rapt attention. “You won’t believe who I’m with, guys, this is fucking ridiculous-…it’s Yugyeom, I’m with Yugyeom right now.”
“Is he in a copter?” Jackson asks in disbelief, while Bambam’s eyes widen until it’s almost comical. He was so not going to lose out on hijacking an enemy copter to some kid. Mark snorts.
“That’s the best part. We’re not.”
*
Yugyeom had realised about 0.32 seconds after lobbing Bambam up that it probably wasn’t the best thing he could’ve done for the piping he was holding on to, because it’d slid by a dangerous margin, metal groaning against the broken concrete.
Don’t kill me, please, is Yugyeom’s first instinct. I still haven’t beaten Bambam’s high score in Halo Wars multiplayer. I can’t die like this.
He regrets not climbing further to try to grab the concrete edges, bloodied hands be damned, because it’s only a few more seconds of pathetic clinging before the piping gives even further, and Yugyeom’s eyes widen.
Shit.
He makes one last grab for any solid surface, any at all, as the piping finally breaks, and his fingers manage to close on a glorious amount of nothing before he feels gravity claim him, and the plummet begins.
Good grief, this might be it, he thinks, spiralling messily through the first ten feet down. Then, I should’ve just had that last chocolate shake before the mission.
He’s spreading his arms and legs, trying to create as much resistance as possible, and it’s then he realises how long a drop it actually is to the bottom, and feels oddly burdened.
I’m sorry for breaking your iPod speakers, Mark hyung, he chooses to think solemnly in these last moments. I’m sorry for making fun of your emotional ineptitude, Jaebum hyung. I’m sorry for eating all your pork dumplings that one time, Jackson hyung. I’m sorry for-…
A nudge against his foot brings his attention to the fact that bodies are falling- Bambam’s work from up there, no doubt, and amidst the desire to scoff, an idea springs into his head.
Okay, I take that all back, I’m not sorry for anything, he thinks contentedly, grabbing two of the bodies and roughly bunching them together with the short piece of cable looped around his waist, straightening them out, until they form a shield, of sorts.
There’s a level he remembers from studying the layout of the building- an open-air garden level for leisure and recreation or whatever, one that, very importantly, doesn’t have a window that might possibly give him a concussion when he does what he’s planning to do next.
He squints below, watching the one open-air level approach, and sighs, taking a grenade out from the pouch behind him, a gun in his other hand.
This is going to hurt me.
Yugyeom bites the pin, securing the human shield close to him, before tossing the explosive out in front of the shield, getting his gun out immediately after to let loose a spread of blind shots, catching the grenade on the second one.
The explosion is tremendous, slamming first into the human shield Yugyeom’s constructed, then into him, propelling him forcefully into the safety of the open-air level as desired.
What is not desired is the pain that sparks like fireworks when he hits the miscellaneous furniture and random potted plants on the level, and Yugyeom’s wheezing for the first few minutes he’s sprawled on the ground, forcing the spikes of pain down, wondering what he’s fractured and if the damage is reparable.
He thinks he blacks out several times there, blinking in and out of consciousness, trying to clear his head and assess the damage. He doesn’t know how long it is before he actually manages to try to sit up, albeit shakily, checking his head, neck, back, then his limbs, relieved when he’s confirmed that nothing drastic has happened to his facial features (what a shame, Bambam would’ve sniped if he were here). While Yugyeom’ll be dragging his bruised and battered hide to the infirmary to stay there for the next three days or so, it’s certainly better than ending up an unfortunate human trash bag on ground level.
His head is spinning, white threatening to cloud over his vision from the sound of the grenade, and he touches his ear blearily, hoping not to feel blood.
Much to his relief, he doesn’t feel anything liquid- instead his fingers prod the earpiece, and he taps it insistently, hoping it’s still working. He’s planning how best to make Bambam feel as guilty as possible for letting him fall, when he realises he’d given his mic to Bambam back up there, and groans.
On the bright side, though, his earpiece crackles to life, so he won’t exactly be going into this blind.
“Five o’ clock!” he swears he hears someone yell into their radio the moment it’s operational.
Goodness, how long was I out for? It can’t be past noon. Yugyeom taps the radio a bit more, ears still buzzing from the explosion, before he tunes into something a lot more interesting.
“Stop looking at my ass!”
Okay, hyung, he thinks, absently checking his equipment as he waits for context of some sort to explain why anyone would be looking at Mark’s ass (actually, scratch that, it’s probably Jackson, and there’s probably no good reason). Predictably, none comes. Instead-…
“This is so not what I need to be hearing before I die.”
Die-…that doesn’t exactly sound ideal, especially when Yugyeom almost killed himself thrice trying to save Bambam that day. It’s then he realises the buzzing in the radio isn’t all in his head- it’s wind, wind resistance, and that means they’ve decided to join Yugyeom’s crew and try out sky diving without the parachutes or the harnesses, probably not by free will, which means (he lets out a put upon sigh here) he probably should do something to try to save their sorry behinds.
He limps over to the railing to peer up, confirming that the three fast approaching skydivers-sans-parachutes are indeed fighting helicopter gunfire and trying to get into the dropship, and groans, looking around the cheerfully green level for a semblance of a plan.
That’s when his eyes catch the hulking, polished, open air mid-size Wrangler Jeep sitting on the display stand in the centre of the level, “Go Off-Road!” put up in a merry sign with faux foliage surrounding it, and lets out a breath of laughter, before starting to limp towards the vehicle, wondering just how crazy today is going to get for him.
Very crazy, he concludes, about two seconds after the two seconds it’s taken him to hotwire the vehicle, counting down neatly the time it’ll take for anyone to pass this level on the clock in his head, before revving the engine and gripping the steering wheel uncertainly.
Very, very crazy.
*
(The mission log of what he does next is ranked somewhere near the top of the list of things they tell new recruits back at the Academy (not much younger than himself) to never, not unless they’re incredibly crazy or dumb, ever do.
He calls it an excellent combination of physical calculations, bravery, and pretty damn awesome driving skills for a minor.
Yugyeom almost doesn’t want to part with the Jeep once he and Mark are three rooftops away and heading towards the secondary rendezvous point at the docks. This leads to a tedious argument akin to one a father would have with a rebellious son wanting to bring home a pet tiger.
Mark eventually wins by saying that Yugyeom doesn’t have a legitimate license, not in any country and certainly not in Japan, (not counting the six he’s attained illegally using fake IDs, including one to pilot a jet plane) and Yugyeom is forced to bid the Jeep a teary farewell at the pick-up point.)
part IV