Bogeys Writing Event Ch 8

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The walk from the barracks to the helipad was quick and short, but not without a few jabs from the night patrol around the base. Apparently, word had gotten out about the transfer in the short time since they’d been told, even if the other soldiers didn’t know where Mark and his friends were going. “‘Ey Steve you got enough? Sure you don’t need the rest of the barracks?” called one, though Mark wasn’t sure if Steve could hear the guard over the jostling of all the shit in his overfilled rucksack. “Rachel make sure the chopper doesn’t get overweighed by your fat ass!” came the jeers from a werecat on her way back to the bunk. Rachel responded simply and curtly, with the raise of a finger and call back “Get bent bitch!” Mark was focused on the transport.

Even with magic permeating every aspect of life recently, something never seemed to change. The helicopter was one of them as the Blackhawk came in and touched down on the pad ready to pick them up. Harmsworth was on the pad to wave them off. She’d be coming to apparently, but her transport was scheduled for the following morning. “I’ll explain more when we link back up,” she said, refusing to elaborate. Mark shrugged and headed for the chopper as Rachel helped Steve get his stuff stowed. Frankly, all Mark wanted to do at the moment was get some sleep, but he could do that mid-flight.

…Is what he thought anyway, as Steve’s excitement for reassignment seemed to have turned the man into a complete chatterbox. “Creech AFB huh? Didn’t think we’d ever get far enough to do flight testing! What do you think Rachel?” he said, as Rachel groaned in response. “Yes Steve, very exciting, now shut your trap so I can shut my eyes PLEASE.” Steve looked dejected for a moment when he looked at Rachel’s pocket. “Hey wait, Rachel, you still have my speaker!” he moaned, to which she groaned, removed the speaker from her pocket, and handed it to Steve. “How about you make yourself useful and play us some tunes so we can sleep,” Rachel said jokingly. Steve, taking this as a challenge, put on a Death Grips song.

Mark started to wake up ready to kick Steves’s ass. Rachel was readying herself to take the Bluetooth speaker and break it. Steve was happily horsing around playing his game of keep away. None of them were ready as the pilot screamed to brace themselves for evasive maneuvers. The light they saw fly by the window lasted only a second as the rocket flew by the window. The recoil they felt lasted just as long as its explosion took out the tail rudder of the chopper, sending them spinning out of control as the song reached its dropped, timing the blast with a long solid “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”

It was quickly drowned out as every alarm on the craft went off at once. Mark held onto his seat for dear life. Rachel tried to shield and hold onto Steve with one arm and grab onto her seat with the other. Steve pissed himself as screamed and they all went down. No one knew it yet, but as the helicopter spun in free fall, a man on the ground clad head to toe in what can only be described as the garb of a medieval knight watched on. Around him stood several men in similar garb, armed with swords and sub machine guns, ready to handle any survivors they found. As the helicopter finally went down, they began their march.

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