Whispers in the Dark (Ghost/Konig)

[Seventeen]

*Quinn's POV*

I take steady breaths, keeping them as even and as quiet as I can. I pray the men below can't hear the pounding of my heart as it threatens to break free of its cage.

"Zwei bestätigte Tötungen, keine Sicht auf das dritte Ziel," one of them relays as he leads a small group beneath my tree. (Two confirmed kills, no sign of the third target.)

I swallow hard, the tightening of my throat threatening to send me into a panic. My boots scrap softly against the bark as I adjust myself, moving slow and carefully.

"Kopieren, Befehle bleiben stabil, verbleibende Ziele ausschalten." (Copy, orders remain steady, take out remaining targets)

The voices get quieter as more distance comes between us, and I finally feel like I can breathe again. I try communications again, whispering quietly into my microphone, only to be met with static.

"Fuck," I whisper to myself, leaning my head back against the bulk of the tree and closing my eyes. The sun is starting to set, threatening to leave the area in darkness.

Though, darkness might be my saving grace in this moment.

Footsteps approach once more, commanding voices too quiet to make out. Men flood the space under my tree once more, their formation a dead giveaway they are trying to flank me out of the woods.

I watch them creep past, guns in hand, heads on swivels as they search for me. I watch intently as they sneak on by, hand motions being their main source of communication.

*Ghost's POV*

"Move your asses now!" I bark out, the anger in my voice covering the suffocating fear in my chest.

The last of the men file into the chopper, and we take off a moment later. It falls quiet, the hum of the rotors filling the void. The red cabin light illuminates the small area, men adjusting their gear as we soar through the air.

"LT," Soap says from beside me, pulling the straps on his vest tighter.

I hardly hear him, my gaze focused on my feet, the thumping of my blood in my veins, and her final words over the radio echoing in my ears.

"Help."

"Lieutenant," he tries again, stepping closer. His own voice is laced with worry, for both me and the skilled soldiers trapped in unknown territory.

Again, I don't notice, my mind too full of what ifs to pay attention. "Hey," Soap places a stiff hand on my shoulder, pulling me back to reality. The men in the belly are glancing around with uneasy, all too scared to make a peep.

"Ghost?" Soap questions quietly. "I'm fine, Johnny."

He studies me for a minute, then nods. "She'll be fine, mate, she's skilled."

I don't respond, instead head to the pilots to see our ETA.

"Sir," one greets respectfully. "Estimated arrival to drop zone is 15 minutes."

I study the small, green diagram on the dash, narrowing my eyes as the drop zone circle is not directly over the red target dot.

"Where are we dropping, this is not right," I growl, pointing a gloved finger at the screen.

"Uh- sir, it's standard procedure to-"

"Does this seem like a standard mission?" I say lowly, the pilot stuttering a bit more with fear.

"We drop here," I command, earning a satisfactory 'yes sir' in response.

The next few minutes feels like hours, the tightness in my chest becoming unbearable. There is only one thought swimming clearing in my head; she better be alright, or I won't be so merciful with death.