Snippet #2730117

It really was subtle, Sgt. Crawford didn't realize just how still the air had been until it was too late. Her eyes narrowed, and every second of her training kicked in to suppress adrenalin as her gaze swept the LZ. All the men had been talking, swapping jokes with the strange bald man herself included. She swore under breath, she had a goddamn ponytail, how could she not notice the wind?

Her blood started to run cold, and for a moment she wasn't quite sure what to do.

Her slate gray eyes fell on Pvt. Lenns by chance, they locked with eachother, and each was about to nod in agreement when it happened - all though nothing at all really happened. One moment Pvt. Lenns was there, the next she wasn't. It was like someone just deleted her from existance. Lydia's eyes shot wide, and she tried to jam her helmet on.

By now the rest of the Airborne Rangers had noticed something was wrong.

"Sarge, what in the unholy fu-" Cpl. Kelm was cut off by a horrific scream. It was Lenns', and it was sheer agony. A sick crunching like sound accompanied each howl. For a split second, as her drop helmet slid over her head, Lydia Crawford's mind shut off. It rebooted with the pressurizing hiss. The familiar green HUD didn't even have time to fully load before she had the loud speakers running.

With a kick off the ground, and a simple click of the gauntlet, and the hyper-propellant burners of her chute roared to life, taking her airborn as she shouted.

"Charlie, Oscar Mike now, up, up!"

The remaining eight Airbornes already had helmets on, and burners primed. They kicked off in near unison, but someone always had to be unlucky. Pvt. Garson was just a little too slow, and as he sprung away his lower body exploded with pain.

"Aaarghh!" The man glanced down, both legs cleanly torn, and hemorrhaging blood like a broken dam. Adams instrictively spun towards the scream, about to gun it to his wounded commrade, but a firm hand stopped him. He thrashed widly before spinning to face I captor. All the whole they gained height, doing their best to escape the hellish vortex.

"Sarge..?" The usually jovial voice was wrought with confusion, and pain. Nobody could see it, but tears streamed down his face.

He shook against his commander, trying to break free of her. It didn't make any sense.

"Stop it!" He trashed against her, but it was useless, Sgt. Crawford steadily dragged him up.

"There's nothing you can do, Adams." Her voice was hollow, and the words echoed in the medic's ear.

"Nothing a can do?" Her jerked violently, straining her grip. They seemed to be above whatever was attacking them now, they could feel air again.

Lydia merely shook her head.

She, and Adams looked down at the wounded man, he was trying to stop the bleeding in his legs, slowly sinking back down. His arms were pure crimson, and his fingers so slick with his own blood he couldn't get a grip. One injection, one damn injection, and the medic could stabilize him.

"Gorgon's don't leave man behind!" Adams was howling with rage now.

The Sergeant turned, motioning two others to come grab him. As if on cue Garson disappeared into more crunching sounds. They arrived just as she shuddered, releasing him to their grips.

She floated back a bit, nodding. "You're right, we don't." Her tone was mournful, but that was quickly swept away. "So I'm going back in for the bald guy." She motioned to Cpl. Gitz. "Get the Ranger on the horn, and shoot if you can get a target. This is what we trained for, gentlemen."

With a flourish, and gritted teeth Lydia dove back into the fray, leaving her troops circled above it.