Alex Rider: A Billionaires Paradise

Helicopter blades

Aah. The sound of a large helicopter. The rapidly rotating blades, the constant slight shaking, and the feeling that you are constantly falling. It was a very unique feeling. Alex had been in many helicopters. First, at Brecon-Beacons. Second, on a mission into a mountain, to take a picture of a uranium generator.

He came across them everywhere. It seemed that he rarely went by conventional aircraft. And once agian, he was in the back of a chinook, surrounded by fifty of so SAS soldiers, who all sat in an awkward, deathly silence. Alex could sense that they were all observing him. He'd just come back from a mission in the Philippines, that had gone wrong. After a few days, he had been shot, and before he fell, he saw the guy he was to be exposing, holding a hunting rifle. He had gone into a hospital, where they had removed the bullet, and ordered him to be transported somewhere better. Later that day, he had woken up, in the very building that he had infiltrated, but tied to a chair, beaten up. He had escaped, as he always did, and had called in MI6. To put a long story short, he had been picked up, and the guy had been arrested for assault with a deadly weapon and illegal gun ownership. And now he was sat, in the back of a chinook, being subtly, but noticeably observed, by members of the SAS, while holding his leg, in agony. Not something you get to say everyday. There were no windows, but, even if there were, he would be looking at a 19 miles of ocean, in all directions. He had been informed that he was to be sent to the same hospital that he had been in, when he had been mistakenly identified as a rich kid. Last time he'd been there, he'd ended up falling from outer space, having blown up a space station, and saving most of New York from becoming a crater. So, he didn't have good memories from that specific hospital. Maybe it would be different this time. He was hoping that, becuase it was a different injury, he'd be in a different ward. From his past experience, they were rather comfortable, and perhaps he could get some quality rest. Comfort was the last thing on his mind at the moment though. The flat, unforgiving benches were painful, to say the least. And until he got to the hospital, he was unlikely to have anything close to a rest.
"It's cub, isn't it?" Alex looked up, to answer the question. The speaker, a big, (compared to he rest of them)soldier, was observing him, from the other end of the chinook.
"It is."
"You were with K-unit, weren't you."
"I was."
Alex tried to shut down the conversation. Last time he'd been there, he'd been build by his unit, and he'd generally been an outcast the entire time he was there.
"Fox said that he found you, concreted to the ocean floor. How did you end up there?"
"Give it a rest. Can't you see the boy doesn't want to talk about it?"
A man leaned over to alex.
"That's mammoth over there. You can guess why we call him that. You coukd say there isn't much happening under the bonnet."
Alex couldn't help but smile a bit. At least everyone recognise him. People stared at him less. The short interaction was the only one for the next two hours, after which alex heard an announcement.
They had entered British airspace. Presumably, that meant that they weren't too far from their destination. He had been informed, preflight, that there would be a car waiting for him at brecons. There was suddenly a but more movement, and alex presumed that they were getting close. The man leaned over again, and said that they would be landing soon. Alex moved his leg, and his head started spinning. The cramps, and the ligament damage were agonising. He winced, taking a sharp breath. He had to stop himself from crying. He was 17 now. He was too old to cry. It would be very embarrassing, and childish to cry in front of all these big muscly men. He held back the tears, and, over the loud blades, he heard an explosion, and gunshots. He was back at brecons. The pilot landed somewhat softly, the doors opened, and all of the men ran out, guns a ready. Alex was left sitting there, puzzled. The copilot walked into the spacious fuselage, and, seeing alex's confusion, smiled.
"They like to practise whenever we land. It makes it easier for when they actually need to."
Alex smiled in return, while grimacing at the same time. Walking on his right leg, was impossible, and any movement sent bullets of pain, shooting up his leg. Ligament damage was a serious injury, it wasn't a simple fix. Alex limped to the nearest hut, and leaned on it, briefly relieving the pain.
"Cub!?"
Alex recognised the voice, and, turning round, saw eagle, and snake, running over.
"How did you end up here?"
"Yeah, and why."
"Em, I'm hurt, and I was picked up by some of those fellas." He pointed towards the grown men, who had gotten into a pretend hostage situation.
"What sort of injury? Sorry, medic alert."
"Got shot in the knee. The person at the hospital said I have ligament damage, or something."
"Sounds bad. Where was the hospital?"
"Classified. Also, it wasn't that much..."
"Where did you get shot? LIGAMENT DAMAGE. I really should get you to the infirmary."
"I'm fine, really, I'm going to be sent to a hospital in London."
"Even just something that would ease the pain?"
"Why not?"
They half lifted alex, half dragged him, Al the way to the infirmary. They gently slammed him onto a bed, and alex couldn't help but notice the arm and leg straps. He was met with an ice cold stare. The stare, belonging to a doctor, looked like he was permenantly haunted by PTSD. Barely moving his mouth, he asked alex to move his leg that way, this way, straighten it, flex it...when it began to hurt, alex stopped. He saw the doctor indicate for something. He didn't know what, until he felt his arms forced onto the bed, and strapped down, uncomfortably tight. Only then did alex really observe the room. On his left, was a line of men, with bandages and crutches in random places. Looking further, he saw a bunsun-burner, and a whole cupboard of pills. On the right, there were a few more patients, and what he could only presume was a fire escape. Looking back to the centre, he only had a few seconds to protest. He saw the hammer, and saw it fall, in slow motion. The pain was excruciating. He felt his leg jolt. Ironically, it reminded him of a boring biology lesson. If you hit your knee, the signal only goes to the bottom of your spine, before returning. But this only applied to the touch feeling. The pain, went uniterupted right to his head. He yelled out, and stars floated around on his vision, threatening to black out. The pain kept going on, and he looked down, and found the source. The doctor was feeling around, and it felt like he was attempting to remove his kneecap. Fortunately, the doctor signalled again, and alex felt the straps release, and he realised that he was panting heavily. His vision returned to normal, just in time for the doctor to start his rambling. Snake scribbled down information, on a small notepad.
"Your knee had a small laceration, and it appears that there is still some metal lodged in there. Did they do an MRI?"
"Em. No, they did an Xray, but I was removed before the post surgery Xray."
"Ok, give them this note, also, your ligament has been torn, but not all the way through. It should heal within two months, and with luck, it would leave permenant damage. You can leave now."
"That's it?"
"If you want, I can do surgery, but I haven't ever removed a bullet from such a remote area, and I don't have good painkillers. Most of the people here don't need it. One time someone went through a grenade fragment removal, and hadnt even noticed when it started. Please leave, we need this bed."
"Ok. Leaving."
He walked through the doors, and hobbled over to a cabin. He would need to sleep for a night, before he could be moved by car. The problem was, he hadnt slept for two days, becuase he didn't have the opportunity to properly rest, pain free.