Welcome to the Misfits

Job Offers, Bad News, and Whiskey

Chapter 7: Job Offers, Bad News, Old Friends, and Whiskey

Owen stretched as best he could in the jump seat of the Blackhawk, and adjusted his chest rig. With a yawn, he glanced around to check his team, DuLaney was napping, as usual, Perez was flipping through pictures of his family on an old beat up tablet, and Jenkins was locked in a life or death game of rock, paper, scissors with Lazinsky over who would have a shot with a female Corporal who just got transferred into the Logistics unit. After a week in the field, they were filthy, tired, and on the scrawny side. Everyone had a beard beginning to grow, except for Perez, who had a small mustache trying its best to grow.

Owen's headset crackled to life.

"2-1, this is 2-3, I think we took damage to our tanks during pick up, can you verify?"

"Copy 2-3, standby."

Owen watched out of the door as his Blackhawk doubled back, dropped altitude, and came alongside another Blackhawk flying low to the ground by itself. He could see JP-8 spraying out of the bottom of the helo, causing a partial rainbow to form as the sunlight reflected off the spray.

Owen's pilot let out a low whistle, "Hey 2-2, come check this shit out, 2-3 got so scared during the pick up, even his Bird is pissing itself."

A third UH-60 dropped down and formed up on the other side of Valkyrie 2-3

"Bladder control is a real bitch for FNGs*." Valkyrie 2-2 quipped.

"Fuck both of you guys, this is third time I've taken rounds this week. The maintenance guys are gonna be fucking pissed." 2-3 complained.

"Have you tried...y'know... getting shot at less?" 2-1 asked.

"Laugh it up asshats, at least my external tanks are still good to go, I'll just transfer into those and keep the main at minimum." 2-2 mumbled into the mic.

Owen chuckled at the exchange, and felt someone slap his shoulder, he turned and saw that DuLaney had woken up from his nap long enough to see what was going on outside, Owen handed him a headset.

"Hey man, what's going on?" DuLaney asked, adjusting the microphone.

Owen motioned to the leaky Blackhawk, "One of the Crashhawks got tagged by AA during dust off, the other guys are giving him shit for it."

A pause, then, "Sounds like 2-1 forgot to mute the kids in the back." 2-2 said.

"Fuck you, nerds. Stop eavesdropping!" 2-3 added.

"Why? Don't want them to know you're a fucking failure as a pilot?" 2-1 asked.

"Sick burn." 2-2 gloated.

"Oh shit, I got a radar lock missile! Missile in the air, popping flares!" 2-3 yelled before a SAM streaked up and hit a flare, causing it to explode. The explosion was close enough for the missile's warhead to rip through the tail.

Owen's eyes flew open and he tried to jump up, but something held him down. Panic jolted through his body until he felt someone petting his head and whispering to him.

"It's ok, just another bad dream, you're going to be ok." Nines voice whispered in the darkness.

Owen laid his head back down in Nines' lap, his eyes closed again.

"What time is it?" He croaked out.

"Just before 0400, you can go back to sleep if you want, we don't have to be at the Embassy until 0900." Nines replied, still stroking his hair.

Owen brushed her hand away, rolled off of the couch in the small hotel room, turned the lights on, grabbed an open bottle of Glenlivet off of the floor and swirled it around. He heard the slosh that told him there was still some left. He drained the bottle and dropped it in the trash can. Nines sighed and stood up, straightening her nightgown, Owen looked away as she did so.