Disclaimer: I do not own either of the Mission: Impossible series or any of the characters therein. I receive no compensation or any other tangible benefit from this story. I am just a fan who enjoys taking the team out for an adventure every now and then. 🙂
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Nemesis Chapter 13
The smell of gasoline flooded his nostrils as he slowly came back to consciousness.
His head was pounding in rhythm to his racing heartbeat. He opened an eye carefully. The brightness blinded him and he quickly closed it again.
What was he doing here?
He tried to remember, but his brain felt fuzzy. Briefly, he thought about going back to sleep, but gradually the memories came creeping back.
The helicopter. The fight. The co-pilot falling. Grant pulling Max back inside. The nosedive. The crash.
Gasoline!
"Grant!" Max yelled in a panic, realizing that the helicopter was upside down, leaking fuel, and probably about to explode.
There was no answer.
Max tried to sit up, but pain shot through his body and forced him back down again. He gritted his teeth and quickly took inventory of where the pain was.
His head, of course. His left arm. His ribs. Thankfully, his legs and right arm seemed okay.
With renewed resolve, but still gingerly, Max rose carefully and immediately looked for his teammate. He spotted the agent lying still, eyes closed, a few feet away, a large gash on his right temple.
He looked dead.
Max's breath shut off as he quickly laid two fingers aside Grant's neck. Once he felt the beat - slower, more erratic than he liked, but there nonetheless - he was able to breathe again.
The gasoline smell grew stronger. Suddenly, there was a spark, and then a flicker of flame from a few feet away.
Max wished he didn't have to move Grant, for he didn't know how badly he was injured. But there was no time to waste.
Max carefully hooked his right arm around Grant's chest and dragged him as gently as he could across the cockpit area of the chopper. His ribs and head throbbed with every move. After an eternity he and Grant slipped through the partially open door on the pilot's side and tumbled onto the ground.
The searing pain caused Max to scream involuntarily, but he paused only briefly to regain his breath and then resumed his task.
Max had pulled Grant only a few yards when the chopper exploded. Quickly he covered his friend's body with his own and shielded his own head with his uninjured arm. He felt the intense heat from the fire and the occasional bit of ash raining down on his back. Still he laid there, biting his lip with the horrible pain, for an untold amount of time.
Finally, the fire died down a little bit. Max quickly checked on his friend. Grant was still unconscious, and his pulse was still slow and erratic. But he was alive, and that was what mattered.
Max gently pulled Grant a little further from the hot, charred mess. He positioned Grant's head on a soft patch of grass, then carefully checked his teammate for injuries. Aside from the gash on his temple, the only significant thing Max found was a protrusion near Grant's right shoulder.
"Broken collarbone," Max mused aloud.
Max fished his handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to apply firm but gentle pressure to Grant's still-bleeding temple. He's going to need stitches, Max thought. Briefly, his fuzzy brain reminded him that he had no idea where they were, much less how to get to a hospital. But he pushed that thought aside for the moment and turned his attention to Grant, who was beginning to stir.
As soon as consciousness returned, Grant winced and squeezed his eyes shut at the pain in his shoulder.
"Take it easy, partner," Max soothed. "I know it hurts."
"It's not so bad," answered Grant, his voice barely audible, though his gritted teeth told a different story.
As the worst of the pain passed, Grant opened up his eyes wider and focused on his friend. "You look like hell," he said worriedly.
Max couldn't help but grin. "Thanks," he quipped. "You're not so bad yourself. You've got a nasty cut on your temple. Do you remember what happened?"
"The chopper crashed," Grant answered, knowing Max was worried about a concussion. "After your warning, I braced myself as best I could. Must have banged my head against the windshield. My shoulder hurts, too."
"Your collarbone is broken," Max explained.
"You're sure?"
"Compound fracture," Max confirmed. "Bone's poking through."
Grant nodded. "What about you?" he asked.
"I'll be okay," Max shrugged, forgetting for a moment about his arm, then winced in pain at the movement.
"Obviously," Grant chided him, the glare on his face demanding more information.
"I think my arm's broken," he admitted, "and probably a rib or two. But I'd say overall we were pretty lucky."
Grant nodded again as his eyes began to close. "I'm tired," he remarked. "So when do we get out of here?"
Max nodded toward the charred wreckage of the helicopter. "I don't think we're going anywhere for a while, pal," he advised.
Grant gave a low whistle as the darkness deepened. "We'd better let Jim know," he suddenly remembered. "I'll bet he's worried sick. Wonder why he hasn't said anything?"
Grant tried several times to reach Jim through his earring transmitter but was unsuccessful. He cursed aloud.
"I'll bet when you hit your head, it messed up the transmitter," Max suggested.
"Probably," Grant agreed, trying in vain to stifle a yawn. "At least it's not cold out here."
"Why don't you get some sleep?" Max offered. "I'll take first watch. I'll wake you every couple of hours in case you've got a concussion."
"Are you sure you're okay to do that?" Grant wanted to know.
"I'm sure," Max answered. Truthfully, he was hurting more than he cared to admit, but he wanted Grant to rest.
"All right," Grant agreed, "but we switch places in a few hours. Deal?"
"Deal," Max concurred, as Grant closed his eyes and Max settled in for a long evening.
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(c) 2016
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