Lost and Found, part three: Besieged
Feb. 8th, 2005 12:02 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsHank and Madelyn head for MacInnis' downed helicopter, but Hank is intercepted by a Mistra operative who winds up fighting himself, not just Hank. Madelyn finds MacInnis and his people holding their ground as best they can, and makes with the triage.
Piers had known that if he took up position near the downed helicopter, he'd find himself with an opportunity like this. Two of the X-Men's group peeled off and headed for the helicopter - presuming that the Darkforce manipulator responsible for the shield around the downed aircraft would let them in, Piers supposed. Probably would, too. If he had any intention of letting them get there.
Counting on the wildly blowing snow to hide his approach, Piers took off at a run. The large blue one - McCoy, his tactical imperatives whispered helpfully - was the obvious first target. The other was human - Barlett, Madelyn, former FBI - and could be picked off at his leisure later.
Claws out, he reached McCoy, aiming for a kidney strike. Just a little short, though. Two seconds short, maybe. Damn.
There was a half-dome of glowing dark energy, through which the wreck of the helicopter was barely visible. A gap opened in it and a tall red-haired man stumbled out, heading not for Madelyn but for where Hank was fighting the Mistra operative. "Through!" he shouted at Madelyn as he ran past. "Get through before it closes - one of our people's trying to hold the shield!"
"Got it!" Madelyn replied, acting at once. Holding onto the straps of the medkit she was carrying on her back, she sprinted for the gap, plunging through it just as it closed. She spared a brief thought for Hank - at least he had some support now, which meant hopefully he'd join her soon - by the looks of it, she was going to need the help. Multiple casualties, various degrees of seriousness... She glanced around, already calculating who needed what help first, and who would be able to assist... Her eyes met those of an older man, who from the descriptions she'd been given had to be MacInnis.
---
Fur was a wonderful thing, Hank thought, spinning in time to deflect another blow. He'd felt the faint riffle over his kidneys, and recognized the feel of a blow that had come far too close. "Oh, no you don't!" he growled, keeping one arm ready to block, and bringing the other around towards his attacker's head, hoping for a quick knockout.
Enhanced reflexes were also a wonderful thing. Piers dodged with a growl of his own, lashing out again as he moved. This time his claws did graze flesh, but only a graze, and nowhere critical. Damn it. McCoy moved fast for someone that big. Out of his peripheral vision, he caught Bartlett sprinting for the shield, and someone else...
Oh, crap. Piers ducked and spun, lashing out with a kick at the newcomer. "Hey, Nolan," he gritted, backing away to give himself some room. "MacInnis using broken second-gens to do his field work now, is he?"
Nolan stumbled backwards as the kick connected, then shot a look at Hank, rapid reassurance and urgency conveyed in a second before he moved in on Piers.
Who promptly ducked the attempted strike, got inside Nolan's guard, and slashed the younger man across the chest with one swipe. "Idiot," he spat as Nolan staggered backwards.
Hank lunged between the wounded man and their attacker, growling. The man tried the kick again and Hank helped it along, grabbing his foot and pulling. He went down, but rolled back to his feet much too fast. Crap. Speed and agility were very nice when Hank was the only one in a fight who had them, but the opponent having them as well wasn't nearly so good. "I suppose we should feel flattered," he grunted, ducking a swipe. "Sending all these first-gen operatives out to face little us."
"Ian," Nolan wheezed, trying to catch his balance. He was bleeding badly, the gashes very deep. "You don't... want to take these kids back. Not to... wind up like you."
Something dangerous flickered in Piers' eyes, a fury surprisingly cold for someone with a feral mutation. "Save your breath," he snarled and launched himself at Hank and Nolan again, altering direction abruptly in mid-rush. Heading around Hank, right at the priority target.
---
MacInnis looked considerably the worse for wear. "Doctor Bartlet," he said hoarsely, his eyes sweeping over the people enclosed by the shield. "Kids aren't too badly hurt. Bourne managed to shield them when we hit." His eyes rested on the pale, sweating man among a knot of bruised and frightened-looking children, his arm in a sling made of the same glowing energy as the shield and his other arm extended, the material of the shield flowing upwards and around them. "Our medic's been out since the crash," he said, indicating a still form. "Malcom's stirring up the winds, trying to give us some cover," he went on, waving a hand at the man next to the unconscious medic. His legs were both at very unhealthy angles, his face half-shrouded by blood, but his eyes were a milky white as he stared straight upwards. "That's Elliot, our telepath," he said, his gaze moving to the young man, no more than a teenager, bent over a slender woman who was badly burned, semi-conscious and moaning. "And Carey. She took out one of the operatives before you got here but she blasted her as she felt. Nolan - he's the one you just went past - went out and dragged her back in."
Madelyn was already moving to the medic as MacInnis gave her the rundown - if there was a possibility of help, she was going to take it. The bodily injuries weren't serious enough to have kept the woman out, which meant something more... She swore under her breath as she felt around the woman's skull and encountered an ominously soft patch. Skull fracture. Minimal bleeding into the brain, if the woman's unbloodied eyes were anything to go by, but out here, without equipment, there wasn't a lot she could do but monitor her breathing and pulse. She beckoned MacInnis over to do just that. "I'll do what I can," she said in a low voice, already considering who would be best next. One of the defenders - Bourne or Malcolm. "But I'll need all the help I can get. The kids - what shape are they in emotionally? I might need to call a couple of them in to keep an eye on things, like your medic here - her skull's fractured and there's nothing I can do until we get her to medical facilities. Or at least somewhere out of the weather more - thank God this cold's actually slowing down possible bleeding."
MacInnis moved stiffly over to her, sinking down to the snow with a grunt of pain. "They were doped up for transport when we got them," he said hoarsely. "Most of them are still pretty out of it. The little blonde - " He waved a hand at one girl. "Physical enhancement, so she's burned it off faster. She seems fairly steady. Maybe the boy beside her, too. He's more pissed than anything else."
Bourne suddenly cried out, falling backwards. The two children MacInnis had immediately moved to catch him, but his head sagged, and the shield flickered. "Neil!" MacInnis said sharply, and the younger man shuddered.
"Yeah," he whispered raggedly, and the sling on his arm faded, the energy flowing upwards to join the shield as it steadied.
Well, that decided who was next. "Get the kids to watch her pulse and breathing," she instructed MacInnis, as she moved over to Bourne, already pulling out one of the inflatable casts from the medkit. "Can your guy over there, Malcolm... can he still use his powers if I give you a painkiller for him? Christ knows they need all the help out there they can get."
The break in Bourne's arm was a nasty one - compound, the broken end of the bone sticking up through the meat of his forearm - and she again blessed the cold which slowed down bleeding as she packed wadding around the break and then secured it in place with a bandage before adding the cast. "Not the ideal treatment, but it'll get you through until we can look at it properly," she told him with a brief, wry grin as she stablised the arm with a sling - one that wouldn't disappear if he lost his grip on his powers. "I can give you something for the pain, but not if it'll interfere with this shield of yours, I'm afraid."
"No drugs," he whispered, then managed a weak smile before his eyes moved back to his shield, unfocusing. "With my shield or on it," he murmured.
A hoarse laugh came from Malcolm's direction. "Not--the time for bad in-jokes, Neil," the other man said, his voice catching but his white eyes still unblinking.
MacInnis was murmuring to the kids, telling them what to do. That done, he moved over to Malcolm's side. "How long can you keep it up?" he asked Bourne roughly, his eyes flickering in his direction even as he bent over the wind-manipulator.
"Long as I have to, Mac. Just don't let her give me any drugs..."
"Okay, no drugs." Madelyn mentally cursed Mistra for the hundreth time in an hour, the colorfulness of her mental images drawing a brief snort from the telepath, Elliot. "That should at least keep it stable," she told Bourne, satisfied from his general responses there was no head injury - those seemed to be the popular choice, not surprising given the fact they'd been in a helicopter crash. She'd leave the pep-orders to MacInnis; she might not agree with bullying patients in the best of circumstances, but these weren't those. If the shield failed, they were all screwed. "No-one trusts me not to dope them," she muttered, half to herself and half to Malcolm as she moved to examine his legs. "You run amuck with a tranq gun one time and suddenly you're a mad drugging doctor." She checked the headwound first - a long, shallow cut just under the hairline above his forehead. Like all headwounds, it had bled like a bastard, explaining the blood on his face. "Not exactly usual exam circumstances, so some of these question might sound a bit stupid, but play along, okay? Any dizziness or nausea? Double vision?" she asked him as she felt the rest of his heads for bumps or scary soft places.
"Can't see anything right now," Malcolm croaked. "Just the winds. Feel cold..."
---
Hank aimed a kick at the feral's knee, missing but hitting his lower thigh hard enough to push him just a little off balance. "Does he have a healing factor?" he asked the wounded stranger, shoving him back towards the helicopter, trying to stay between him and danger.
"Alpha-class feral--" Nolan started, but Piers suddenly snarled and in a display of agility all the more remarkable for being done at a speed approaching the unnatural, feinted left and then flung himself around Hank, tackling Nolan and bearing them both to the ground.
The trouble with grabbing one person was that you didn't have a free hand for the other one. Hank grabbed the feral at neck and hip, dragging him bodily off the injuured man and flinging him as far as he could. "OFF!" he roared. Using the couple of seconds that gave them, he pulled off his medi-pack and dragged the other man to his feet, pushing it into his hands. Pulling the feral off had left some more claw-wounds, but not as bad this time. "Get back behind the shield!" he ordered. "They'll need the pack, get it inside!" He turned to face their attacker again, growling. Wounded meant patient, and nobody laid a paw on HIS patient.
---
"Nolan," Bourne said suddenly and a gap opened in the shield. The red-haired man who'd gone past Madelyn came stumbling in with Hank's medkit, falling to the snow. He was bleeding from deep gashes on his chest and was clearly dazed. "Do people really have to come in and out like that?" Bourne murmured faintly as the gap sealed itself.
MacInnis swore, moving to help the returnee. "Mark," he said urgently as the man slumped in his arms, his eyelids fluttering. "Fuck, you should never have gone out in the first place..."
"Fuck," Madelyn said it aloud this time, and gestured at Hank's kit. "You'll find swabs in there, get pressure on the wounds, now!" she told MacInnis, moving her attention to Malcolm's legs. They needed to be set, but she couldn't risk doing that now with the amount of pain that would cause. A sense of futility was growing in her, fuelled by worry for Hank, who'd been facing the same foe as Nolan. She peered in the direction they'd been, but couldn't see much beyond dark, blurry shapes through the shield. 'Concentrate, Bartlet,' she told herself, digging out a couple of rolls of the larger-width bandage to splint Malcolm's legs together. "I'm guessing no pain killers for you either, then?" she asked him, "Brace yourself, I'm just going to straighten your legs out and splint them together." At least once that was done she could dig into the snow underneath his legs so she could wrap them together without lifting them again.
Malcolm closed his eyes as Madelyn straightened his legs, but the only noise he let escape was a choked gasp. A tear trickled down the side of his face. "Hold onto the winds," he whispered raggedly, clearly to himself. "Hold onto the winds..."
"I don't think Nolan's too badly off," MacInnis said from where he was tending to the one who'd tried to help Hank. "Doesn't look like anything vital got hit."
"Well, at least something's going our way..." Madelyn muttered, finishing wrapping Malcolm's legs. "Hold on, we'll get out of this soon enough," she murmured to him, giving his shoulder a brief squeeze before shifting her focus to Carey. Crap. Burns. Packing her in snow was an option, but hypothermia was a bad thing. She glanced over at the two children watching over the medic, and gave them a brief reassuring smile. "Everything stable?" she asked, and the girl nodded, eyes large and worried, but determined. "Great stuff. You're doing a good job." Keep everyone busy, don't focus on how the hell they were going to get this many wounded to the Blackbird, or who was being added to the casualty list outside... The woman flinched under her gentle touch, and she made reassuring sounds.
---
Piers hit hard but rolled, coming back to his feet, a hiss escaping him as he saw Nolan escaping back to the shield. "Well, now I'm just pissed," he snarled at McCoy. "That was a priority target. You're just a pain in the ass."
"But a handsome, charming pain in the ass, with a large vocabulary and a puppet that looks like me," Hank said cheerfully. "And a doctor, too. If you want pain in the ass, I could give you an impromptu prostate exam."
Piers decided to forgo any further banter and lunged at him again, slashing. Close quarters were not such a good idea; McCoy was a lot bigger than he was. Hamstrings, the tactical imperatives hissed, and he dodged one enormous blue fist, trying to get into position. Take him down, get to the priority targets, the tactical imperatives demanded. Unlike so many of his fellow operatives, Piers had always found the voices in the back of his head rather helpful.
Hank saw almost too late where he was going, and blessed his mutation as he threw his weight onto one hand, bringing his feet up and kicking Piers in the face as the slash at where his knees had been passed harmlessly underneath him. "Now, now... that isn't very friendly," he chided, flipping back onto his feet.
Piers stumbled backwards, spat blood, and then came at him again, growling. Like most Mistra ferals, he had conditioning that channeled his berserk rages, enhancing the positive effects and minimizing the effect on his thinking. There was a fine red haze, but nothing else, and Piers launched a flurry of claws-out strikes, moving at top speed.
Hank flicked snow into Piers' face as he jumped back from the flurry of blows. "Look, I'll tell you what," he said kindly, kicking for the knee again and managing a glancing connection this time. "You surrender now, and I won't hurt you, all right?"
Oh, to be an energy-projector, Piers raged. One nice plasma blast, right to that smug face... "Surrender?" he spat, managing another glancing blow with his claws. McCoy was definitely keeping himself, very obviously, between Piers and the helicopter. It infuriated him. Priority targets in the helicopter, him out here, and the tactical imperatives were beginning to hiss at him. Beginning to hurt. "Give me a fucking break!"
"But we *would* give you a break. Somewhere nice and peaceful, with no fighting, no brainwashing, no punishment...." Hank knew it wasn't going to work, but damnit, he had to at least try. "All the porn you want..."
The pain behind his eyes was building steadily, demanding, and Piers actually stumbled backwards. I'm trying, damn it, he raged at the screaming tactical imperatives.
"Orders," he gritted and leapt at Hank again. Had to take him down, get to that helicopter. Delay was unacceptable. No delay.
"Orders can be disobeyed," Hank said, ducking and helping Piers along with a blow to the stomach, so that the leap took him higher and further than he'd intended, and wound up with him landing head-first in the snow. "But oh, well, if you're sure...."
Wheezing, Piers pushed himself up to his hands and knees. On your feet! the tactical imperatives ordered ruthlessly.
On his feet. Kill the traitors, get the kids...
... the kids.
You don't... want to take these kids back. Not to... wind up like you.
Blood at the back of his throat, and a flashfire sequence of memories from his own conditioning... "Knock me out," Piers heard himself say in a broken voice that didn't sound like his own at all, and the pain was a white, screaming thing inside his head.
Hank lunged. Something had gotten through, just for a second there... and the training was too strong, the man was lunging at him again, but he had an advantage he hadn't used yet. His attacker only had two hands. He had three.... effectively anyway. He caught the first swing in one hand, and then caught the second with an agile foot, and pulled. He could suspend his entire weight from either of those appendages, and the other man was much smaller. One shoulder definitely dislocated, possibly the other as well, and before his training could overcome the shock, the strongest tranquillizer dart Hank carried was out of the belt and embedded in the man's neck.
"Sorry about that..." he said apologetically, as the man whimpered softly in pain and collapsed. "But just in case you wake up with your training back in place, I don't really want those claws coming at me from behind."
He picked up the limp body, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the helicopter. The training had definitely weakened. just for a moment. Maybe there was hope for this one. Just in case, he'd make sure he was where Hank could get his hands on him again, and the enemy could not.
And almost as soon as he'd finished that thought, a sizzling red bolt of energy hit the snow directly in front of him.
---
"I can't sense Morgan," Elliot, the telepath said suddenly, his eyes distant. "He was there, but I don't sense him anymore."
"Crap," MacInnis growled worriedly, peering out through the shield. "Neil, you've got to hold the shield, even if he comes at us. We just have to hope Nathan gets to him first." He focused on Madelyn. "How many on your team?"
"Six," Madelyn replied, laying a small handful of snow on the worst of the burns she could see on Carey. The woman whimpered, but held still. "Dazzler and Jetstream on command, Cable, Nightcrawler, Beast and Kylun." She had a brief moment of self-congratulations that she'd said the names with not only a straight face, but in the same calm, businesslike tone. The hand not occupied with treating Carey went to the zipper of her parka, tugging it down slightly so she could more easily reach the tranq gun in its holster, lying heavy on her ribcage. She'd have preferred the handgun, given the winds, but the Mistra operatives were as blameless in this as Nathan had been going after Charles. "How long can he hold the shield in that much pain?" she asked, pitching her voice lower so Bourne wouldn't hear. Carey wasn't about to be doing any heroics any time soon, so she had no qualms in preparing a painkiller for her. A sedative would have to wait until they could monitor her properly.
MacInnis made a sudden, choked noise, as if he'd just realized something. "Elliot!" he snapped, and the telepath's head whipped around. "Can you reach Blaire? If you can't, pass it through Nathan, but tell her to keep away from the shield, or she'll drain it."
Great, one less possible defender... Madelyn concentrated on what she was doing with Carey, which wasn't a huge amount, given the conditions, but at least the woman was comfortable-ish now... She went back to check on the medic, not liking the woman's colour but at least she was still breathing. Then the kids. They were a bit bruised and banged-up, but not critically injured - most were in shock, if anything. Instructing them to huddle together to keep warm, she covered up a couple of open gashes and then went back to Malcolm. Keep moving, keep aware of all the patients, watch for changes... It was becoming a mantra, helping her not think of what was going on outside - she couldn't help out there, and it galled her. But she could in here, help keep those maintaining the defences conscious and able to function...
Piers had known that if he took up position near the downed helicopter, he'd find himself with an opportunity like this. Two of the X-Men's group peeled off and headed for the helicopter - presuming that the Darkforce manipulator responsible for the shield around the downed aircraft would let them in, Piers supposed. Probably would, too. If he had any intention of letting them get there.
Counting on the wildly blowing snow to hide his approach, Piers took off at a run. The large blue one - McCoy, his tactical imperatives whispered helpfully - was the obvious first target. The other was human - Barlett, Madelyn, former FBI - and could be picked off at his leisure later.
Claws out, he reached McCoy, aiming for a kidney strike. Just a little short, though. Two seconds short, maybe. Damn.
There was a half-dome of glowing dark energy, through which the wreck of the helicopter was barely visible. A gap opened in it and a tall red-haired man stumbled out, heading not for Madelyn but for where Hank was fighting the Mistra operative. "Through!" he shouted at Madelyn as he ran past. "Get through before it closes - one of our people's trying to hold the shield!"
"Got it!" Madelyn replied, acting at once. Holding onto the straps of the medkit she was carrying on her back, she sprinted for the gap, plunging through it just as it closed. She spared a brief thought for Hank - at least he had some support now, which meant hopefully he'd join her soon - by the looks of it, she was going to need the help. Multiple casualties, various degrees of seriousness... She glanced around, already calculating who needed what help first, and who would be able to assist... Her eyes met those of an older man, who from the descriptions she'd been given had to be MacInnis.
---
Fur was a wonderful thing, Hank thought, spinning in time to deflect another blow. He'd felt the faint riffle over his kidneys, and recognized the feel of a blow that had come far too close. "Oh, no you don't!" he growled, keeping one arm ready to block, and bringing the other around towards his attacker's head, hoping for a quick knockout.
Enhanced reflexes were also a wonderful thing. Piers dodged with a growl of his own, lashing out again as he moved. This time his claws did graze flesh, but only a graze, and nowhere critical. Damn it. McCoy moved fast for someone that big. Out of his peripheral vision, he caught Bartlett sprinting for the shield, and someone else...
Oh, crap. Piers ducked and spun, lashing out with a kick at the newcomer. "Hey, Nolan," he gritted, backing away to give himself some room. "MacInnis using broken second-gens to do his field work now, is he?"
Nolan stumbled backwards as the kick connected, then shot a look at Hank, rapid reassurance and urgency conveyed in a second before he moved in on Piers.
Who promptly ducked the attempted strike, got inside Nolan's guard, and slashed the younger man across the chest with one swipe. "Idiot," he spat as Nolan staggered backwards.
Hank lunged between the wounded man and their attacker, growling. The man tried the kick again and Hank helped it along, grabbing his foot and pulling. He went down, but rolled back to his feet much too fast. Crap. Speed and agility were very nice when Hank was the only one in a fight who had them, but the opponent having them as well wasn't nearly so good. "I suppose we should feel flattered," he grunted, ducking a swipe. "Sending all these first-gen operatives out to face little us."
"Ian," Nolan wheezed, trying to catch his balance. He was bleeding badly, the gashes very deep. "You don't... want to take these kids back. Not to... wind up like you."
Something dangerous flickered in Piers' eyes, a fury surprisingly cold for someone with a feral mutation. "Save your breath," he snarled and launched himself at Hank and Nolan again, altering direction abruptly in mid-rush. Heading around Hank, right at the priority target.
---
MacInnis looked considerably the worse for wear. "Doctor Bartlet," he said hoarsely, his eyes sweeping over the people enclosed by the shield. "Kids aren't too badly hurt. Bourne managed to shield them when we hit." His eyes rested on the pale, sweating man among a knot of bruised and frightened-looking children, his arm in a sling made of the same glowing energy as the shield and his other arm extended, the material of the shield flowing upwards and around them. "Our medic's been out since the crash," he said, indicating a still form. "Malcom's stirring up the winds, trying to give us some cover," he went on, waving a hand at the man next to the unconscious medic. His legs were both at very unhealthy angles, his face half-shrouded by blood, but his eyes were a milky white as he stared straight upwards. "That's Elliot, our telepath," he said, his gaze moving to the young man, no more than a teenager, bent over a slender woman who was badly burned, semi-conscious and moaning. "And Carey. She took out one of the operatives before you got here but she blasted her as she felt. Nolan - he's the one you just went past - went out and dragged her back in."
Madelyn was already moving to the medic as MacInnis gave her the rundown - if there was a possibility of help, she was going to take it. The bodily injuries weren't serious enough to have kept the woman out, which meant something more... She swore under her breath as she felt around the woman's skull and encountered an ominously soft patch. Skull fracture. Minimal bleeding into the brain, if the woman's unbloodied eyes were anything to go by, but out here, without equipment, there wasn't a lot she could do but monitor her breathing and pulse. She beckoned MacInnis over to do just that. "I'll do what I can," she said in a low voice, already considering who would be best next. One of the defenders - Bourne or Malcolm. "But I'll need all the help I can get. The kids - what shape are they in emotionally? I might need to call a couple of them in to keep an eye on things, like your medic here - her skull's fractured and there's nothing I can do until we get her to medical facilities. Or at least somewhere out of the weather more - thank God this cold's actually slowing down possible bleeding."
MacInnis moved stiffly over to her, sinking down to the snow with a grunt of pain. "They were doped up for transport when we got them," he said hoarsely. "Most of them are still pretty out of it. The little blonde - " He waved a hand at one girl. "Physical enhancement, so she's burned it off faster. She seems fairly steady. Maybe the boy beside her, too. He's more pissed than anything else."
Bourne suddenly cried out, falling backwards. The two children MacInnis had immediately moved to catch him, but his head sagged, and the shield flickered. "Neil!" MacInnis said sharply, and the younger man shuddered.
"Yeah," he whispered raggedly, and the sling on his arm faded, the energy flowing upwards to join the shield as it steadied.
Well, that decided who was next. "Get the kids to watch her pulse and breathing," she instructed MacInnis, as she moved over to Bourne, already pulling out one of the inflatable casts from the medkit. "Can your guy over there, Malcolm... can he still use his powers if I give you a painkiller for him? Christ knows they need all the help out there they can get."
The break in Bourne's arm was a nasty one - compound, the broken end of the bone sticking up through the meat of his forearm - and she again blessed the cold which slowed down bleeding as she packed wadding around the break and then secured it in place with a bandage before adding the cast. "Not the ideal treatment, but it'll get you through until we can look at it properly," she told him with a brief, wry grin as she stablised the arm with a sling - one that wouldn't disappear if he lost his grip on his powers. "I can give you something for the pain, but not if it'll interfere with this shield of yours, I'm afraid."
"No drugs," he whispered, then managed a weak smile before his eyes moved back to his shield, unfocusing. "With my shield or on it," he murmured.
A hoarse laugh came from Malcolm's direction. "Not--the time for bad in-jokes, Neil," the other man said, his voice catching but his white eyes still unblinking.
MacInnis was murmuring to the kids, telling them what to do. That done, he moved over to Malcolm's side. "How long can you keep it up?" he asked Bourne roughly, his eyes flickering in his direction even as he bent over the wind-manipulator.
"Long as I have to, Mac. Just don't let her give me any drugs..."
"Okay, no drugs." Madelyn mentally cursed Mistra for the hundreth time in an hour, the colorfulness of her mental images drawing a brief snort from the telepath, Elliot. "That should at least keep it stable," she told Bourne, satisfied from his general responses there was no head injury - those seemed to be the popular choice, not surprising given the fact they'd been in a helicopter crash. She'd leave the pep-orders to MacInnis; she might not agree with bullying patients in the best of circumstances, but these weren't those. If the shield failed, they were all screwed. "No-one trusts me not to dope them," she muttered, half to herself and half to Malcolm as she moved to examine his legs. "You run amuck with a tranq gun one time and suddenly you're a mad drugging doctor." She checked the headwound first - a long, shallow cut just under the hairline above his forehead. Like all headwounds, it had bled like a bastard, explaining the blood on his face. "Not exactly usual exam circumstances, so some of these question might sound a bit stupid, but play along, okay? Any dizziness or nausea? Double vision?" she asked him as she felt the rest of his heads for bumps or scary soft places.
"Can't see anything right now," Malcolm croaked. "Just the winds. Feel cold..."
---
Hank aimed a kick at the feral's knee, missing but hitting his lower thigh hard enough to push him just a little off balance. "Does he have a healing factor?" he asked the wounded stranger, shoving him back towards the helicopter, trying to stay between him and danger.
"Alpha-class feral--" Nolan started, but Piers suddenly snarled and in a display of agility all the more remarkable for being done at a speed approaching the unnatural, feinted left and then flung himself around Hank, tackling Nolan and bearing them both to the ground.
The trouble with grabbing one person was that you didn't have a free hand for the other one. Hank grabbed the feral at neck and hip, dragging him bodily off the injuured man and flinging him as far as he could. "OFF!" he roared. Using the couple of seconds that gave them, he pulled off his medi-pack and dragged the other man to his feet, pushing it into his hands. Pulling the feral off had left some more claw-wounds, but not as bad this time. "Get back behind the shield!" he ordered. "They'll need the pack, get it inside!" He turned to face their attacker again, growling. Wounded meant patient, and nobody laid a paw on HIS patient.
---
"Nolan," Bourne said suddenly and a gap opened in the shield. The red-haired man who'd gone past Madelyn came stumbling in with Hank's medkit, falling to the snow. He was bleeding from deep gashes on his chest and was clearly dazed. "Do people really have to come in and out like that?" Bourne murmured faintly as the gap sealed itself.
MacInnis swore, moving to help the returnee. "Mark," he said urgently as the man slumped in his arms, his eyelids fluttering. "Fuck, you should never have gone out in the first place..."
"Fuck," Madelyn said it aloud this time, and gestured at Hank's kit. "You'll find swabs in there, get pressure on the wounds, now!" she told MacInnis, moving her attention to Malcolm's legs. They needed to be set, but she couldn't risk doing that now with the amount of pain that would cause. A sense of futility was growing in her, fuelled by worry for Hank, who'd been facing the same foe as Nolan. She peered in the direction they'd been, but couldn't see much beyond dark, blurry shapes through the shield. 'Concentrate, Bartlet,' she told herself, digging out a couple of rolls of the larger-width bandage to splint Malcolm's legs together. "I'm guessing no pain killers for you either, then?" she asked him, "Brace yourself, I'm just going to straighten your legs out and splint them together." At least once that was done she could dig into the snow underneath his legs so she could wrap them together without lifting them again.
Malcolm closed his eyes as Madelyn straightened his legs, but the only noise he let escape was a choked gasp. A tear trickled down the side of his face. "Hold onto the winds," he whispered raggedly, clearly to himself. "Hold onto the winds..."
"I don't think Nolan's too badly off," MacInnis said from where he was tending to the one who'd tried to help Hank. "Doesn't look like anything vital got hit."
"Well, at least something's going our way..." Madelyn muttered, finishing wrapping Malcolm's legs. "Hold on, we'll get out of this soon enough," she murmured to him, giving his shoulder a brief squeeze before shifting her focus to Carey. Crap. Burns. Packing her in snow was an option, but hypothermia was a bad thing. She glanced over at the two children watching over the medic, and gave them a brief reassuring smile. "Everything stable?" she asked, and the girl nodded, eyes large and worried, but determined. "Great stuff. You're doing a good job." Keep everyone busy, don't focus on how the hell they were going to get this many wounded to the Blackbird, or who was being added to the casualty list outside... The woman flinched under her gentle touch, and she made reassuring sounds.
---
Piers hit hard but rolled, coming back to his feet, a hiss escaping him as he saw Nolan escaping back to the shield. "Well, now I'm just pissed," he snarled at McCoy. "That was a priority target. You're just a pain in the ass."
"But a handsome, charming pain in the ass, with a large vocabulary and a puppet that looks like me," Hank said cheerfully. "And a doctor, too. If you want pain in the ass, I could give you an impromptu prostate exam."
Piers decided to forgo any further banter and lunged at him again, slashing. Close quarters were not such a good idea; McCoy was a lot bigger than he was. Hamstrings, the tactical imperatives hissed, and he dodged one enormous blue fist, trying to get into position. Take him down, get to the priority targets, the tactical imperatives demanded. Unlike so many of his fellow operatives, Piers had always found the voices in the back of his head rather helpful.
Hank saw almost too late where he was going, and blessed his mutation as he threw his weight onto one hand, bringing his feet up and kicking Piers in the face as the slash at where his knees had been passed harmlessly underneath him. "Now, now... that isn't very friendly," he chided, flipping back onto his feet.
Piers stumbled backwards, spat blood, and then came at him again, growling. Like most Mistra ferals, he had conditioning that channeled his berserk rages, enhancing the positive effects and minimizing the effect on his thinking. There was a fine red haze, but nothing else, and Piers launched a flurry of claws-out strikes, moving at top speed.
Hank flicked snow into Piers' face as he jumped back from the flurry of blows. "Look, I'll tell you what," he said kindly, kicking for the knee again and managing a glancing connection this time. "You surrender now, and I won't hurt you, all right?"
Oh, to be an energy-projector, Piers raged. One nice plasma blast, right to that smug face... "Surrender?" he spat, managing another glancing blow with his claws. McCoy was definitely keeping himself, very obviously, between Piers and the helicopter. It infuriated him. Priority targets in the helicopter, him out here, and the tactical imperatives were beginning to hiss at him. Beginning to hurt. "Give me a fucking break!"
"But we *would* give you a break. Somewhere nice and peaceful, with no fighting, no brainwashing, no punishment...." Hank knew it wasn't going to work, but damnit, he had to at least try. "All the porn you want..."
The pain behind his eyes was building steadily, demanding, and Piers actually stumbled backwards. I'm trying, damn it, he raged at the screaming tactical imperatives.
"Orders," he gritted and leapt at Hank again. Had to take him down, get to that helicopter. Delay was unacceptable. No delay.
"Orders can be disobeyed," Hank said, ducking and helping Piers along with a blow to the stomach, so that the leap took him higher and further than he'd intended, and wound up with him landing head-first in the snow. "But oh, well, if you're sure...."
Wheezing, Piers pushed himself up to his hands and knees. On your feet! the tactical imperatives ordered ruthlessly.
On his feet. Kill the traitors, get the kids...
... the kids.
You don't... want to take these kids back. Not to... wind up like you.
Blood at the back of his throat, and a flashfire sequence of memories from his own conditioning... "Knock me out," Piers heard himself say in a broken voice that didn't sound like his own at all, and the pain was a white, screaming thing inside his head.
Hank lunged. Something had gotten through, just for a second there... and the training was too strong, the man was lunging at him again, but he had an advantage he hadn't used yet. His attacker only had two hands. He had three.... effectively anyway. He caught the first swing in one hand, and then caught the second with an agile foot, and pulled. He could suspend his entire weight from either of those appendages, and the other man was much smaller. One shoulder definitely dislocated, possibly the other as well, and before his training could overcome the shock, the strongest tranquillizer dart Hank carried was out of the belt and embedded in the man's neck.
"Sorry about that..." he said apologetically, as the man whimpered softly in pain and collapsed. "But just in case you wake up with your training back in place, I don't really want those claws coming at me from behind."
He picked up the limp body, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the helicopter. The training had definitely weakened. just for a moment. Maybe there was hope for this one. Just in case, he'd make sure he was where Hank could get his hands on him again, and the enemy could not.
And almost as soon as he'd finished that thought, a sizzling red bolt of energy hit the snow directly in front of him.
---
"I can't sense Morgan," Elliot, the telepath said suddenly, his eyes distant. "He was there, but I don't sense him anymore."
"Crap," MacInnis growled worriedly, peering out through the shield. "Neil, you've got to hold the shield, even if he comes at us. We just have to hope Nathan gets to him first." He focused on Madelyn. "How many on your team?"
"Six," Madelyn replied, laying a small handful of snow on the worst of the burns she could see on Carey. The woman whimpered, but held still. "Dazzler and Jetstream on command, Cable, Nightcrawler, Beast and Kylun." She had a brief moment of self-congratulations that she'd said the names with not only a straight face, but in the same calm, businesslike tone. The hand not occupied with treating Carey went to the zipper of her parka, tugging it down slightly so she could more easily reach the tranq gun in its holster, lying heavy on her ribcage. She'd have preferred the handgun, given the winds, but the Mistra operatives were as blameless in this as Nathan had been going after Charles. "How long can he hold the shield in that much pain?" she asked, pitching her voice lower so Bourne wouldn't hear. Carey wasn't about to be doing any heroics any time soon, so she had no qualms in preparing a painkiller for her. A sedative would have to wait until they could monitor her properly.
MacInnis made a sudden, choked noise, as if he'd just realized something. "Elliot!" he snapped, and the telepath's head whipped around. "Can you reach Blaire? If you can't, pass it through Nathan, but tell her to keep away from the shield, or she'll drain it."
Great, one less possible defender... Madelyn concentrated on what she was doing with Carey, which wasn't a huge amount, given the conditions, but at least the woman was comfortable-ish now... She went back to check on the medic, not liking the woman's colour but at least she was still breathing. Then the kids. They were a bit bruised and banged-up, but not critically injured - most were in shock, if anything. Instructing them to huddle together to keep warm, she covered up a couple of open gashes and then went back to Malcolm. Keep moving, keep aware of all the patients, watch for changes... It was becoming a mantra, helping her not think of what was going on outside - she couldn't help out there, and it galled her. But she could in here, help keep those maintaining the defences conscious and able to function...
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