Friendly Fire (fem Y/N)

Chapter 3: Joyride

  Finally! You and Ghost had the copter packed after a grueling hour in the freezing, early morning air. Ghost reluctantly slouched in the passenger seat as you strapped yourself into the driver's seat, double-checking the controls. You placed the headphones over your head and adjusted the mic. You tapped it.

   "This is Foxtrot Six, we're all set for takeoff, how copy?" You asked loudly, slipping sun visors over your eyes. Ghost adjusted grumpily in his seat, mumbling British jargon to himself about you controlling the chopper. You heard a bit of feedback before Price's voice rang out over the headsets. 

   "Foxtrot, this is Alpha Six. You're all set for takeoff. Land to refuel in at hour 14. Should be good until then. Over and out." You heard Price's mic switch off, and you began to open the throttle slowly. You slowly pulled the collective up, pushing the respective pedals as the chopper began to whir. It wasn't long before you were airborne.

   The ascension was shaky, not due to your driving but rather some unpleasant turbulence. Ghost, however, was holding on to the sides of his seat, his expression unreadable behind the sunglasses and balaclava, but you could tell he had a judgemental sneer on his face nonetheless.

   Eventually, the air settled. The loud propellers were just a faint rumble with your headset on, and the weather was chilly, but not too unbearable yet. You glanced to Ghost. "Not the worst takeoff," you spoke into your headset's mic.

   Ghost sighed in annoyance. "Felt like I was in a bloody fighter jet," he mumbled back, his voice crackling over the headset. You huffed and glanced to the coordinates on your control panel, steering into the correct direction. At around 9am, Ghost finally broke the awkward silence. "You ever driven one of these?"

   "Why? Am I that bad?" You responded with a heavy sigh, already a bit fed up with Ghost's attitude. To your surprise, he shook his head. 

   "Not used to seeing women in the front of these," he said gruffly. You couldn't gauge if this was an insult or not, so you just turned to face him, a displeased look plastered on your face. He chuckled to himself, clearly cracking himself up over his stupid comment. You faced the sky once more.

   "Get used to it," you grumbled. You, nor Ghost, had much to say on the matter thereafter. So, the next couple of hours were a silent, awkward wait.

   That was, until you noticed a dark, ominous sky begin to engulf the fluffy white clouds around you. You furrowed your brows and switched your mic back on, connecting back to base. "Alpha, this is Foxtrot Six, got an issue. Sky's getting darker." 

   "Alright Y/N, hang in there. Might be best for you to land now and wait it out," Price mumbled back, his voice tinged with the slightest worry. You bit your lip in contemplation, but before you can argue, a low whistle crackles over the headset. 

    "Yikes. Radar's lookin' dirty. Try to find a field and get to the ground. Sit tight and wait for further instruction," Price's voice cut in and out as the incoming storm intercepted the messages. You began to protest, but a loud noise signified the loss of connection. You glance to Ghost, your own voice crackling over the mic.

   "We're landing early. Try to find us some ground," you insisted. Ghost reluctantly fiddled with the coordinates, until he plugged in a set and rerouted the chopper.

   "There's a field here, stopped by on past missions. Just get us there in one piece," Ghost grumbled. You nodded, focusing in on the coordinates. As you made your way to the landing point, the helicopter was beginning to shake a bit with the rough wind. Rain had begun to slash down, your vision now hindered. You had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach about the next couple of minutes.

   "Fuck, I can hardly see," you hissed into the mic. Ghost's eyebrows furrowed, his eyes glancing around outside. A slight air of panic was now looped into his voice as a string of quiet profanities was murmured into his mic. 

   "For fuck's sake, we'll be fine, just keep eyes on the coords," Ghost growled back. You nodded, honing in on your location. You began a slow descent, your stomach churning with sickness as the chopper stuttered in the sky. You could faintly make out the outline of a field; Ghost had successfully lead you to safety. Soon to be safety.

   As the ground grew closer, you felt your sweaty hands struggle to maintain a grip on the collective. The howling wind and angry rain made it nearly impossible to navigate, and in your peripheral vision you could tell Ghost was gripping the sides of his seat anxiously.

   "Brace!"

   The helicopter was knocked over by a gust of wind as you completed your descent, sending you and Ghost tumbling over inside. The seatbelt carved into your skin as loud crashes and bangs surrounded you, your body being jerked in every which way. After what felt like forever, the copter had settled. The smell of gasoline filled your nose, burning your sinuses.

   You groggily unbuckled and fell out of your seat, lost in the wreckage of the landing. You glanced around, surrounded by crushed metal and sparks. "Ghost!" Your voice was rough and panicked as you called out for him. You felt a hand grab you and turned to see Ghost, his eyes as stoic as ever. But you could sense the relief ebbing off of him as he grabbed your arm.

   "We need to get out," he called out in a gruff voice. "This thing's gonna explode soon."

   Shit. The fuel was leaking. You quickly grabbed your pack and scrambled through the mess, emerging into the field as cold rain stung your skin. Ghost clambered out from behind you, pushing you ahead. "Go," he insisted, his pace picking up. The two of you entered a sprint as you put distance between yourselves and the helicopter. It was only moments later that a loud BOOOOM echoed in the field, a fiery explosion ravaging before your eyes.

   You felt your heart drop as you watched the helicopter go up in flames. This was the worst possible scenario. You had no communication with Price, very few rations, and you were far off from the next base over. Ghost stood beside you, watching the water battle against the raging fire.

   "You broken?" Ghost's voice was almost unfathomable beneath the sound of the heavy rain in your eardrums. You shook your head. Ghost glanced you up and down, before motioning to your head. "Bleeding."

   You touched your forehead gingerly. As you pulled your hand away and examined it, you noticed a warm crimson color being washed away with the raindrops. You had a gash running across your forehead, a simple flesh wound, but one that would no doubt scar. Your eyes returned to the scene in front of you. Was this a death sentence in disguise?