ORP: Memories That Haunt

2226 Hours
Unknown Location, Iraq

The Helicopter landed, kicking up a wall of sand, all around it. Even from the distance, it blew into her eyes, and mouth. She ignored it, as she slung her rifle around her, and focused on helping Lucas get Mike to the helicopter. The floodlight was trained on them, which didn't help matters much - making it doubly hard for Gracie to see. One last time, she bent over, and picked up the stretcher. It felt 10 times heavier this time, her body was just about spent from all of this. As the odd triumvirate started to move towards the helicopter, Gracie anxiously awaited what would surely come next. 

Military sorts are always paranoid. This would be no different. It was late, dark, and there were hostiles in the area. The soldiers on the helicopter would have to make sure Gracie and Lucas were not a threat, that would involve a lot of yelling. Hands up, Drop your weapons, Identification, and all that. She was worried that Lucas might get stressed out and snap at them. She didn't want to see him get shot when they were finally almost safe. It had taken so much effort, and willpower to make it this far, she was not giving up. She forced her body to move, drawing out the last bits of strength, her last reserves. Her head throbbed. 

Nearing the helicopter, Gracie looked up. Until that point, she kept her head down, to avoid some of the sand getting into her eyes. She noticed something, and smiled. She almost laughed to tell the truth. It wasn't just a blackhawk, it was a PAVEhawk, one of her squadron - they would recognize her. That would definitely make things easier. The pilot had shifted into high idle - and the dust cloud was nowhere near as bad. She could make out a pair of the crew hopping out the side, weapons drawn on her and Lucas, and Mike. 

"Don't shoot! We're friendlies!" she said, without much accomplished. They advanced slowly, weary of a trap. It was possible that insurgents had crashed the helicopter, only to take the emergency radio for a chance at more kills. She realized that, but they had to notice their outfits, and the wounded man. She added "Grace Bridges!" in a loud raspy voice, sand was officially everywhere. One of the soldiers, however, lowered his weapon at her name. She couldn't tell who it was, because of the helmet, but she knew that she'd probably kicked his ass at COD last week. 

Weapon down, the crewman called out "Gracie? What the hell ya'll doing out in the middle of the damn desert," in a southern ebonic accent "ain't nobody got time for that!"

She smiled as the man, she now recognized as Trey Lawrence, a man she'd possibly call a friend, motioned for his fellow crewman to help them out. Grace gratefully removed one hand from the strap, as Trey took it, the other soldier going back to help Lucas with one of the straps. Grace had to use both hands at this point, near complete exhaustion. The team of 4 shuffled quickly to the helicopter, carrying the wounded man to safety. Up under the rotor of the copter now, the sand was not an issue. Gracie and TL sat their end of the stretcher on the cold metal of the helicopter, as she grabbed a support bar and hauled herself up into the belly of it. She quickly grabbed the stretcher again, as they passed it up to her. 

Safe in the helicopter, with Mike safe, she let out a long sigh of relief. She hoisted herself off the floor of the helicopter and into one of the crash seats, tightening the harness around her. She would let the copter crew see to Mike, and get him strapped in. As soon as Lucas was in - the helicopter lifted off. 

Tag Lucas "Saint" Clark