Daisy | Simon Riley

|38|

"Zero-five on the way to two-seven," Drew reported as she stood from the seat in the back of the van. She'd been watching surveillance video of the area, as well as listening in on Soap's audio feed.

Her gut was heavy as she began speeding toward the rendezvous point, unsure of the next steps. She was relieved as shit that Soap wasn't taken, but that meant they still have answers. And Dante made clear that he knew as much.

They needed to get the three in custody to speak. And Christ, if they had to bring them somewhere secluded and beat the answers out of them, she was ready to do it.

She eventually turned a corner, spotting a figure walking stiffly down the road. As she approached, she slowed to a stop, allowing Soap to pull open the door and climb into the passenger seat.

"It didn't fucking work," he growled as he slammed the door.

She nodded once, accelerating again. "I know."

"We have nothin'," he added, hands running through his hair. He was agitated, foot bouncing against the carpeted floor. Then he unzipped his sweater and ripped it off, chucking it into the back of the van blindly.

Her hand reached to her com piece, "Overwatch, this is zero-five. I've got two-seven. We're enroute to the extraction point."

"Copy that, zero-five."

"Now we've got nothin'."

"We'll figure it out. It's obvious Beaufoy is involved somehow, we'll just have to keep pushing."

"There's nothing to push. We're held back by POW laws, not that beating those sons of bitches would make them talk. We don't have locations for the weapons, and now that they know we're desperate enough to go to them, they could give the green light."

"It fucking sucks," she agreed, "but we work with that we got. At least you're safe."

He grumbled under his breath and shook his head, but she didn't push. She just let him simmer in his anger while the vibration of the van filled the silence.

"Bravo zero-seven en route to extraction point."

"Bravo two-six, en route to extraction point."

They stayed in silence as they weaved through the city toward the highway. At least it was a beautiful drive; with ocean on one side and scenic townscape on the other, and with it being so late in the night, there were nearly no cars around them.

"You can try to sleep if you want to," she suggested, peering over to him.

"Don't think I can," he opposed, voice lighter.

"You wanna put on your music then?"

He huffed in amusement, "Aye, I can."

He began to fiddle with the stereo, her eyes glancing from the headlights behind her to the road ahead. Then down to see what he was choosing.

The headlights got brighter and she hissed in annoyance, "Bastards got their high beams—"

The van slammed forward, her seatbelt locking as they began to spin out, but then another impact came to her side, sending them smashing into the guardrail. They tipped up onto two tires before falling back, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as she snapped her gaze to Soap.

Then she pressed her earpiece, eyes jumping to the window where she found two sets of headlights facing them. "Overwatch, we've been hit, we're about thirty kilometers from the city. Suspected hostiles, unknown number. Requesting back up."

"Are you hurt?" Soap asked, hands unbuckling his belt before reaching for her.

"Roger, zero-five. Back up on the way. Are either of you injured?"