Chapter Text
"I'm hit!"
It was like a line in the movie. But Steve was actually saying it. He heard a hard thud against his left ankle, then a searing burning sensation through both of his legs, but he had no idea how bad it was - only that he didn't have time to check it out. His legs felt torn and wrecked and he could feel warm blood forming at the bottom of both of his boots. As much as it hurt, there was too much stuff going on to pay attention to it.
It was his idea to take cover under the five-ton trailer he'd been driving across the desert. It wasn't ideal, but at the moment, it was all he had. So he, Lynch, and Richardson - two of the men under his command - hit the dirt and crawled under the huge vehicle to get away from the barrage of fire that surrounded them out of nowhere.
There hadn't been too many options. They couldn't tell how many people were shooting at them. It could have been hundreds judging by the amount of fire. However many there were, they wanted their team dead and they surrounded them.
It wasn't the army Steve had expected to call an enemy in this fight. No one shooting at them was wearing a uniform. They were just men, most of them in Western clothes. Just men, angry, screaming, deadly men who outnumbered them in a big way and they were picking them, one by one.
Guilt began to creep into his brain, making their situation even more dangerous, because he couldn't afford to think about the fallen men. Not now. He was responsible for the lives of his teammates. For bringing them home safe. And he'd failed. Jackson and Riley were dead already, and they've lost comms with the other half of the team who were nowhere in sight. But he could still hear the gunfire coming from somewhere, which meant at least some of them were alive. And as long as there were men standing, he had to make sure it stayed that way. He had to focus. To think.
Their team had wandered into the enemy killing field like lost lambs. Their little convoy of three vehicles had driven down the narrow streets of this medium-sized city. Buildings towered over them as they made several turns, searching for the place they've been sent to. They had given these guys plenty of time to gather their forces and surround them. Steve knew they had almost asked for this, but the orders were orders.
A constant barrage of bullets was pinging off their vehicles, nearby buildings, the ground all around them. The heavy explosions made the ground leap beneath Steve. It had to have been like shooting down into a pen of trapped animals. They didn't have anywhere to go, no escape, and little defense. The shots were coming so close, Steve could hear the zipping noise they made as they whipped past them to hit something solid a fraction of a second later. He was only halfway under the truck when the bullet struck his legs. He screamed that he had been hit and Lynch grabbed his arm and dragged him the rest of the way under cover. Seconds later, Richardson took a round in the upper arm.
There was blood everywhere.
Richardson groaned in pain as he shifted on his side, an annoyed grimace on his face. "What the hell happened? It was supposed to be easy. In and out. What's going on?"
The same question popped into Steve's mind, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. He ignored Richardson, his attention focused on what was going on around them. It was a miracle they weren't all dead. Their attackers were laying down a blanket of fire from every direction and angle.
"How are we with ammo?" Steve barked out.
"I've got five rounds left," Richardson replied with a heavy sigh.
"I'm out," Lynch followed. "What about you?"
"I'm out too," Steve said. His heart thudded in his chest knowing what that meant. He didn't need to be trained to assess their situation.
They were pretty much fucked.
They were defenseless. Worse, he knew people from his team were dying and it didn't matter he barely knew them. He still wanted them all to come home to their families. Too late for that, though.
A bullet struck one of the huge tires of the truck that served as their shelter and air hissed out, the vehicle slowly lowering and tilting over them. Another round pierced the radiator, adding a loud hiss to the noise around them. Steve was worried one of the rounds would find the gas tank and the whole thing would explode over them and they would go up in a ball of flame.
Everything was noise and confusion. Flying dirt and black smoke obscured Steve's vision. The stinging, metallic smell of cordite and the thick, choking smell of burning oil, plastic, and metal hung heavy in the air. He heard the people who were shooting at them calling to each other; the language was incomprehensible but the tone, the excitement in their voices that they had Americans cornered, was apparent in their speech.
It was impossible to know exactly what was going on, but there were some things Steve knew for sure. They were all in some deep shit, the kind of shit you only see in movies. His legs were killing him and he knew they were likely about to die. But he wouldn't accept it. It wasn't in his DNA.
Then he saw an RPG headed for their truck. He watched as it seemed to float on air in a deadly path to the side of the vehicle.
"RPG!" Steve screamed in warning. He cringed, ducked his head into his arms, thinking he was about to be incinerated in the approaching explosion. The round hit the side of the truck with a hollow thud and… nothing happened. A dud, Steve thought, but there was too much going on to feel any relief at that stroke of luck.
"We have to surrender," Lynch said. He said it as a matter of fact, as if it were a given. He scanned the area, still calm about everything, as if he thought he was starring in his own movie and wouldn't be the one to be hit in this climactic scene.
Steve wanted to hit stop, rewind, and go back to that part that didn't have them in it, but that wasn't going to happen.
"You hear me, McGarrett?" Lynch raised his voice, all the calmness fading from it. "It's your call."
Steve was dazed momentarily. Surrendering was the last thing he wanted to do, but there was no denying that the three of them cowering under the truck had no way to defend themselves and two of them were bleeding.
Help wasn't coming. This was a black op and all the men in the team were aware of that when they agreed with it. That meant not only they were alone in this and no one would come and help, but no one would find out they'd been here or what their objective was. No one would bring their bodies home if they died out here.
"Hey, you still with us?" Richardson screamed at him. "Lynch is right. That's our only option."
He hated to admit it, but Lunch's idea to surrender really did seem as their only option. Well, unless he counted certain death as an option. They'd at least have a chance if they surrendered, right? He could still bring some of his men home.
The shooting started to slow down, but that wasn't good news. The bullets were only coming from the enemy now. No one on their side was shooting anymore.
"McGarrett!" Lynch yelled waiting for the command, panic filling his eyes.
The thought of surrendering petrified him. Interrogations, beatings, torture - it all flickered in front of his eyes. He'd been through all that before, yet this time it was different. This time he had something to lose.
Danny.
Grace and Charlie.
His family.
How the hell did he even end up back here?
But Lynch was right, they had to give up. "Okay," he said, his stomach flipping upside down. "We surrender."
He exchanged looks with the two men who nodded in agreement, and slid back, then stepped out from under the truck, his hands raised. Richardson and Lynch followed suit.
And just like that, Steve became a prisoner of war.
Just like that, he broke a promise to someone very important to him. A promise he'd come home for Christmas.
*to be continued*