Post by jaglady on Mar 2, 2009 19:44:17 GMT -5
Rating: PG
Pairings: Ryan/OC
Warnings: Some Violence
Continuation of my Emmie Stockburne series. A former Navy SEAL has escaped from prison and now vows revenge. One by one, those who sent him to prison are brutally murdered. Both teams now join forces to catch him. Meanwhile, love blossoms between Ryan and Emmie.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the intellectual properties of CSI Miami or JAG. If I did, David Lee Smith would be in a short-sleeved Navy uniform a whole lot more.
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Prologue
Ramstein Air Base, Germany, 2200 hours
The huge green and brown military air terminal was alive with activity, even at the late hour. The pouring rain that was so common in northern Europe had caused all flights to be grounded. As a result, the waiting areas and checkout lines had become a sea of white, brown, gray, green and black uniforms who stood, chatted, read, hugged loved ones, or slept on their baggage with their headgear over their eyes, just as they had done many times while waiting for the next leg of previous journeys. Some closed their eyes and nodded their heads while listening to IPods, buried their faces in magazines, or talked vividly about going home to their loved ones, mostly to pass the time away while shadows of huge aircraft stood still outside in the wet darkness, also waiting.
A dark blue van quietly slowed to a stop at the side of the terminal, well away from the crowds. Two Navy shore patrol officers in their black uniforms stepped out carefully, flanking their prisoner who, except for his silver manacles and leg irons, really could have blended in with the tired, noisy uniformed crowd. Instead of looking around or up at the rainy nighttime sky, he quietly kept his face down, letting the rain run off his headgear.
“Face down, Sailor. Keep moving!” a shore patrol said firmly, taking his elbow and helping him step down to the sidewalk.
The man showed no expression as he shuffled his feet only as far as the silver leg irons would allow while his escorts walked slowly on either side of him, eyes darting about, completely wary of their surroundings. They knew they had a high-risk prisoner, and they would be taking no chances.
One guard punched in the door code and pulled it open, his hand firmly on his firearm, as the other walked warily behind the shuffling prisoner, not even shaking himself off from the night rain, leaving a trail of water behind them while walking slowly down the quiet, echoing hallway.
The other guard picked up the radio from his holster and held it to his mouth while still watching his surroundings. “SP Cullen, clear of first doorway, have prisoner Logan in terminal. Over” he stated.
“Copy. Affirmative. Proceed to side security desk for flight check-in. Over.” a voice squawked back to him.
“This is SP Cullen. Copy. Out.” With that he reholstered his radio, eager to keep his hands free as much as possible.
The guards diligently shuffled their prisoner up to the gray checkout desk where a uniformed clerk dutifully looked at a computer terminal. “ID and orders.”
One guard, then the other, handed their military ID cards to the clerk, followed by their travel orders. The man dutifully clicked the keys to the computer. “Okay. Prisoner escort to Lambert Airfield in St. Louis and then continuing to Fort Leavenworth. Let’s see.” He watched as the screens changed and reflected back into his glasses. He shook his head. “That flight’s been delayed. Takeoff isn’t scheduled until 0115 at this point. Depends on how soon the storm lets up.”
The guard raised his eyebrows. “We have a high-security transport! Why didn’t anybody tell us about this?”
The clerk shook his head in bewilderment. “I don’t know.”
The guard huffed and put his hand on his weapon a little nervously. “We’re supposed to be last on, first off. We can’t wait that long!”
His companion looked at him over the prisoner, who just kept his head down. “We’re gonna have to, man.”
The check-in clerk clicked the black keyboard again, quickly glancing at the ID cards and travel orders that lay on the desk beside him. “I have you checked in. Sorry about the screw-up.”
The guard shook his head, obviously not happy about the sudden change in plans. “Somebody better call Mannheim and let them know what’s going on. We were supposed to be told about this!”
The guards escorted the shuffling prisoner to the high-security waiting area while one picked up his radio and held it to his mouth again. “Yeah, Headquarters? SP Milligan. Just received word that 2300 to Logan Airfield is on hold until 0115. Proceeding with prisoner to secure waiting area. Standing by for further instructions. Over.”
“Headquarters. Proceed to waiting area. All air traffic is on hold until further notice. Secure waiting area should be sufficient. Copy. Out.”
The secure waiting area had no windows of any kind. It was designed with prisoner transport in mind. The bleak upholstered black couches were designed so that two guards could sit on either side of a prisoner. Couches were pushed against the wall and far enough apart to prevent any kind of chatting among prisoners. The guards seated the shuffling prisoner between them. He continued to look down at his silver manacles.
“Need to use the bathroom” he said to the floor quietly.
SP Cullen nodded to SP Milligan. “Keep your head down.”
Both guards accompanied the shuffling prisoner to a plain brown door. Milligan waited and held the brown door open while Cullen accompanied his shuffling prisoner in. Milligan closed the door and waited in accordance with procedure. Even though the room was quiet and locked, he listened warily for anything that might look or sound unusual.
Milligan stiffened up when he heard a sudden crash and an agonized scream on the other side of the door. He immediately tried to push the door open. It wouldn’t budge.
“Cullen! You okay?”
No answer. He heard no other sounds behind the door.
Milligan took no chances as he immediately grabbed his radio. “Headquarters! SP Milligan! We have an SP dangerous situation! Request immediate lockdown of Ramstein Air Base! Suspect prisoner escape! Verify!” He didn’t wait for an answer as he held his other hand on his weapon and threw his shoulder against the door. He could now hear the low-pitched screams he recognized as SP Cullen on the other side.
His breathing deepened. “Cullen!”
The door still would not open.
Milligan picked up his radio again. “Headquarters! SP Milligan! Suspect prisoner escape! Request immediate assistance at the Ramstein Terminal! Over!” He felt his breathing deepen and his heart race as he threw his shoulder against the door again. Finally the door flew open, letting him fall inside.
The tiny bathroom was completely dark. The overhead fluorescent light had been smashed and had rained down on the gray-tile floor and now lay about like glistening snowflakes in the secondhand light. His partner was on the floor in the middle of the white debris, quaking in his spreading blood, gasping, moaning, and holding his neck. SP Cullen fell to his knees and held the door open with his boot to let the light in. There was no sign of their shuffling prisoner. Milligan bent down to take a closer look in the faint light while the shadows of Cullen’s frantic eyes looked up at him.
“Move your hand!” Milligan yanked Cullen’s hand away to reveal something that looked like a metal tent stake that had been shoved into his jugular vein. Blood now pulsed out on either side, forming a black pond on the dark tile floor. To no avail, Milligan frantically tried to pull the stake out of his partner’s neck and stop the bleeding.
Milligan’s eyes darted about for any sign of their prisoner while he yanked up his radio, not even thinking about anything else at this point. “Headquarters! We have an SP down! Repeat! SP down! Immediate assistance! Lockdown of Ramstein terminal! Prisoner is assumed to be armed and dangerous!” he bellowed between frantic breaths. He then dropped his radio on the floor with a crack as he tried to stop his partner’s wound from bleeding anymore, to no avail.
The next time the SP looked down at his partner, he was met with lifeless, vacant eyes and an open mouth. Blood still flowed from his neck, more slowly now, pooling around him and around his radio. He grit his teeth and bowed his head for a few seconds. He kept his head bowed as he held his dead partner’s blood-soaked hand, listening to the sound of wailing sirens outside the thick walls, indicating that Ramstein Air Terminal had gone on lockdown. “I’m sorry, man” he whispered to the SP’s dark, vacant eyes. He knew that his partner never really had a chance.
As Milligan caught his breath, he looked around in the darkness. The gray-tiled bathroom still looked the same, except for the snowflakes and the spreading black pool that, just a few minutes earlier, was that of his partner. It just seemed as though their prisoner had never even existed. For the moment, he just closed his eyes in silent mourning for his partner as the sirens blared and the thunder cracked.
Pairings: Ryan/OC
Warnings: Some Violence
Continuation of my Emmie Stockburne series. A former Navy SEAL has escaped from prison and now vows revenge. One by one, those who sent him to prison are brutally murdered. Both teams now join forces to catch him. Meanwhile, love blossoms between Ryan and Emmie.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the intellectual properties of CSI Miami or JAG. If I did, David Lee Smith would be in a short-sleeved Navy uniform a whole lot more.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prologue
Ramstein Air Base, Germany, 2200 hours
The huge green and brown military air terminal was alive with activity, even at the late hour. The pouring rain that was so common in northern Europe had caused all flights to be grounded. As a result, the waiting areas and checkout lines had become a sea of white, brown, gray, green and black uniforms who stood, chatted, read, hugged loved ones, or slept on their baggage with their headgear over their eyes, just as they had done many times while waiting for the next leg of previous journeys. Some closed their eyes and nodded their heads while listening to IPods, buried their faces in magazines, or talked vividly about going home to their loved ones, mostly to pass the time away while shadows of huge aircraft stood still outside in the wet darkness, also waiting.
A dark blue van quietly slowed to a stop at the side of the terminal, well away from the crowds. Two Navy shore patrol officers in their black uniforms stepped out carefully, flanking their prisoner who, except for his silver manacles and leg irons, really could have blended in with the tired, noisy uniformed crowd. Instead of looking around or up at the rainy nighttime sky, he quietly kept his face down, letting the rain run off his headgear.
“Face down, Sailor. Keep moving!” a shore patrol said firmly, taking his elbow and helping him step down to the sidewalk.
The man showed no expression as he shuffled his feet only as far as the silver leg irons would allow while his escorts walked slowly on either side of him, eyes darting about, completely wary of their surroundings. They knew they had a high-risk prisoner, and they would be taking no chances.
One guard punched in the door code and pulled it open, his hand firmly on his firearm, as the other walked warily behind the shuffling prisoner, not even shaking himself off from the night rain, leaving a trail of water behind them while walking slowly down the quiet, echoing hallway.
The other guard picked up the radio from his holster and held it to his mouth while still watching his surroundings. “SP Cullen, clear of first doorway, have prisoner Logan in terminal. Over” he stated.
“Copy. Affirmative. Proceed to side security desk for flight check-in. Over.” a voice squawked back to him.
“This is SP Cullen. Copy. Out.” With that he reholstered his radio, eager to keep his hands free as much as possible.
The guards diligently shuffled their prisoner up to the gray checkout desk where a uniformed clerk dutifully looked at a computer terminal. “ID and orders.”
One guard, then the other, handed their military ID cards to the clerk, followed by their travel orders. The man dutifully clicked the keys to the computer. “Okay. Prisoner escort to Lambert Airfield in St. Louis and then continuing to Fort Leavenworth. Let’s see.” He watched as the screens changed and reflected back into his glasses. He shook his head. “That flight’s been delayed. Takeoff isn’t scheduled until 0115 at this point. Depends on how soon the storm lets up.”
The guard raised his eyebrows. “We have a high-security transport! Why didn’t anybody tell us about this?”
The clerk shook his head in bewilderment. “I don’t know.”
The guard huffed and put his hand on his weapon a little nervously. “We’re supposed to be last on, first off. We can’t wait that long!”
His companion looked at him over the prisoner, who just kept his head down. “We’re gonna have to, man.”
The check-in clerk clicked the black keyboard again, quickly glancing at the ID cards and travel orders that lay on the desk beside him. “I have you checked in. Sorry about the screw-up.”
The guard shook his head, obviously not happy about the sudden change in plans. “Somebody better call Mannheim and let them know what’s going on. We were supposed to be told about this!”
The guards escorted the shuffling prisoner to the high-security waiting area while one picked up his radio and held it to his mouth again. “Yeah, Headquarters? SP Milligan. Just received word that 2300 to Logan Airfield is on hold until 0115. Proceeding with prisoner to secure waiting area. Standing by for further instructions. Over.”
“Headquarters. Proceed to waiting area. All air traffic is on hold until further notice. Secure waiting area should be sufficient. Copy. Out.”
The secure waiting area had no windows of any kind. It was designed with prisoner transport in mind. The bleak upholstered black couches were designed so that two guards could sit on either side of a prisoner. Couches were pushed against the wall and far enough apart to prevent any kind of chatting among prisoners. The guards seated the shuffling prisoner between them. He continued to look down at his silver manacles.
“Need to use the bathroom” he said to the floor quietly.
SP Cullen nodded to SP Milligan. “Keep your head down.”
Both guards accompanied the shuffling prisoner to a plain brown door. Milligan waited and held the brown door open while Cullen accompanied his shuffling prisoner in. Milligan closed the door and waited in accordance with procedure. Even though the room was quiet and locked, he listened warily for anything that might look or sound unusual.
Milligan stiffened up when he heard a sudden crash and an agonized scream on the other side of the door. He immediately tried to push the door open. It wouldn’t budge.
“Cullen! You okay?”
No answer. He heard no other sounds behind the door.
Milligan took no chances as he immediately grabbed his radio. “Headquarters! SP Milligan! We have an SP dangerous situation! Request immediate lockdown of Ramstein Air Base! Suspect prisoner escape! Verify!” He didn’t wait for an answer as he held his other hand on his weapon and threw his shoulder against the door. He could now hear the low-pitched screams he recognized as SP Cullen on the other side.
His breathing deepened. “Cullen!”
The door still would not open.
Milligan picked up his radio again. “Headquarters! SP Milligan! Suspect prisoner escape! Request immediate assistance at the Ramstein Terminal! Over!” He felt his breathing deepen and his heart race as he threw his shoulder against the door again. Finally the door flew open, letting him fall inside.
The tiny bathroom was completely dark. The overhead fluorescent light had been smashed and had rained down on the gray-tile floor and now lay about like glistening snowflakes in the secondhand light. His partner was on the floor in the middle of the white debris, quaking in his spreading blood, gasping, moaning, and holding his neck. SP Cullen fell to his knees and held the door open with his boot to let the light in. There was no sign of their shuffling prisoner. Milligan bent down to take a closer look in the faint light while the shadows of Cullen’s frantic eyes looked up at him.
“Move your hand!” Milligan yanked Cullen’s hand away to reveal something that looked like a metal tent stake that had been shoved into his jugular vein. Blood now pulsed out on either side, forming a black pond on the dark tile floor. To no avail, Milligan frantically tried to pull the stake out of his partner’s neck and stop the bleeding.
Milligan’s eyes darted about for any sign of their prisoner while he yanked up his radio, not even thinking about anything else at this point. “Headquarters! We have an SP down! Repeat! SP down! Immediate assistance! Lockdown of Ramstein terminal! Prisoner is assumed to be armed and dangerous!” he bellowed between frantic breaths. He then dropped his radio on the floor with a crack as he tried to stop his partner’s wound from bleeding anymore, to no avail.
The next time the SP looked down at his partner, he was met with lifeless, vacant eyes and an open mouth. Blood still flowed from his neck, more slowly now, pooling around him and around his radio. He grit his teeth and bowed his head for a few seconds. He kept his head bowed as he held his dead partner’s blood-soaked hand, listening to the sound of wailing sirens outside the thick walls, indicating that Ramstein Air Terminal had gone on lockdown. “I’m sorry, man” he whispered to the SP’s dark, vacant eyes. He knew that his partner never really had a chance.
As Milligan caught his breath, he looked around in the darkness. The gray-tiled bathroom still looked the same, except for the snowflakes and the spreading black pool that, just a few minutes earlier, was that of his partner. It just seemed as though their prisoner had never even existed. For the moment, he just closed his eyes in silent mourning for his partner as the sirens blared and the thunder cracked.
Needless to say, I'm a bit wrung out, thought at least I have heat in 20-degree weather--NOTHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT HERE!! 
