Okay, so here I am - again!
Born to Kill is a song from one of my favorite rock bands - Airbourne - love, love, love those guys!
Just love these lyrics...

We take no shit, we don't compromise
'Cause we don't care for your rules
We do it our way, we do it old school

Sonny felt the sweat bead on his forehead, start to dribble down his nose but he didn't blink and he didn't waver. He might not have seen this particular style of suicide vest before, but the woman wearing it was a fanatic, her thumb hovered over the detonator button and she wasn't shaking or quaking.

Ugh, why did it always have to be a trigger controlled by a thumb? If the thumb held the button down and you killed 'em, you blew up. Not pressed down, too far away to tackle them, you move, they blow you up. Damn trigger buttons! Christ, he hated them.

Ray was trying to talk her down, but either she didn't understand English or she was ignoring him, perhaps waiting, delaying for some reason. Either way, Sonny knew that if he, Ray or Trent made a move, she'd blow them all to hell. They were not close enough to tackle her and wrestle the trigger from her hand before she could thumb the button.

"Ray," Trent warned softly. They were all good, accurate shooters, but Ray was a sniper, his reactions were the fastest. Trent and Sonny both held their rifles aimed and ready for head shots, but it was doubtful they could fire before she could press her thumb down.

Didn't matter, it was a chance they were going to have to take. They just needed the command from Ray to fire.

"Steady, steady..." Ray began softly.

One second her thumb was poised over the trigger button, the next she no longer had a thumb. She stood in shock, staring at her hand, watching blood swell from the stump where her thumb had been a second ago. It just continued to gush, spilled down her closed fist.

Trent, who was closest, flung himself at her, grabbed her arm, took possession of the trigger, threw her to the ground...and that's when the wailing started. Shrieks of pain and shock and anger as Ray pulled clippers and set about disarming the vest.

Sonny covered them. Where the hell had that shot come from? And damn good thing her thumb hadn't been on the trigger button.

"Alley's clear." Came Clay's teasing voice in his ear, "Meet you at transport."

"Some mighty fine shooting there, young'un." Sonny felt the sweat on his back dry. He looked around, scouted likely locations the kid had made the shot form. Many shooters could easily make a head shot, could even take out a shoulder or elbow, but a thumb? From that distance?

"Hey, uh, six." Ray chimed in. "You're supposed to be at transport."

Trent was shaking his head, damn kid never listened, never did as he was told and had saved their butts again. It was becoming quite the habit.

"Roger that." Sonny replied, kneed Ray in the back. "Kid's improved a bit." He commented as Trent bandaged the woman's hand, ignoring her screams. "Getting as good as you there, ole timer." He taunted Ray, who grinned.

"He's faster, only gonna get better with experience and confidence." Ray replied. Trent positioned the woman's hands so she could apply pressure to her bleeding hand and Ray zip-tied them, it would be painful, but Trent didn't really care. "Don't suppose she'll pass out soon, eh Trent?"

He shook his head. "Not likely."

"Let's go." Ray said. "Sooner we get back, sooner we can give her to Ellis."

Sonny looked around, scuffed a toe through the sand. "We taking the thumb?"

Ray curled a lip in disgust. "No."

"Doubt we could find it." Trent packed his med kit, got to his feet. "It's in pieces."

Sonny matched Ray's look of disgust, dragged the woman to her feet. She didn't want to go, balked at moving, sat back down, kicked her feet. Sonny, in no mood for her bullshit – she'd tried to blow them up – simply shouldered his rifle and slung her belly down over his shoulder.

"Oh, you're moving whether you like it or not." He muttered, falling in behind Ray, Trent leading the way. "Frick-frackin' whore."

Ray caught Trent's eye, gave him a grin. Oh, Sonny was not in a good mood. Nearly blown up, saved by Clay who had again disobeyed orders and wasn't where they'd left him. One of these times, Sonny was going to follow through on his half-hearted threat to thrash the kid. Well, if Jason didn't beat him to it.

They reached the transport truck and Sonny gladly handed their prisoner off to Jeff, one of four at the transport truck from Bravo support. Ray gave the command to load up and go. Sonny hopped the tailgate and took a bottle of water from the cooler on the floor. Trent checked the prisoner's bandage then sat down next to Sonny and took a bottle of Gatorade. Ray jumped on the bumper and thumped the side of the truck, a second order to pull out.

They didn't move. Ray thumped again. Truck didn't even shift out of idle.

"Chris? Hey?" Ray jumped to the ground, walked alongside the truck until he reached the driver's door. "What's the hold up? Let's go."

Chris popped his head out the window, gave him a surprised look, eyes wide, but he pulled in, leaned forward and shifted into gear.

"We good?" Ray asked.

Chris hesitated, "Uh, yeah?" he questioned. "Just, uh, you…..I thought…..no? Okay."

"What?" Ray waited, Chris was their driver of choice, had steady nerves, steady hands and could drive anything, anywhere, through everything. He wasn't usually wishy-washy or hesitant.

"Don't you want to wait for Six?"

Ray looked around. For whatever reason, he bent and looked under the truck. Stood on the door step and looked on the roof.

"SONNY!" He bellowed. "TRENT!" Chris shifted back into neutral.

Identical heads popped out around the side of the truck, gave him identical looks.

"Tell me Clay's in there with you?" Ray demanded, stalking around the front of the truck – again, an action with no sane reason. "CLAY?!"

Two heads looked up, two heads looked down. The heads turned left, disappeared, reappeared, moving in unison, look on their faces still identical.

"Did he not say he'd meet us here?" Ray demanded, once again on the driver's door step. How had he not noticed Clay wasn't there? He tried to raise him on comms, failed, stomped to the back of the truck, stepped up on the bumper. "Matt?" He addressed the gunner who manned the .50 caliber machine gun mounted in the middle of the back of the truck. "You let him go?"

"Let him?" Matt wore dark goggles, helmet and face cloth against the sun and sand, but still, he managed to convey Ray an incredulous look. "How were we supposed to stop him?"

Ray nodded, he understood. No one on support held any authority or sway over anyone of Bravo, and Clay was a cocky little shit who would simply blow off any suggestions Matt or Chris tried to make.

"He did." Trent confirmed. He tried to raise Clay on comms, failed.

"Then where is he?" Ray banged a palm against the truck. "Dammit!" He jumped to the ground, scanned the surrounding area, noted the high buildings, scouted for the most likely window or high point Clay would have taken position to cover their backs. "Trent, with me."

"Whoa, hey there Junior Boss." Sonny protested. "Why…." He didn't finish, nodded. "Right." Trent, in case the kid was hurt. "Roger that."

"Sonny, call Brock." Trent gathered his backpack, his med kit, climbed out of the truck, took the bottles of water and Gatorade Sonny handed down.

"Oh no." Sonny shook his head, paused, shook it no again. "Nope, not gonna. He's with our boss."

"We might need Cerberus." Trent took extra ammo, tossed Ray a couple hand grenades.

"Keep your eyes open." Ray told Matt, told Sonny, stuffed grenades into pants pockets. "Hate to see an ambush, you're down 3 shooters." And the only reason he was sending Sonny back with the prisoner. The kid riding shotgun with Chris was new, Ray didn't trust him to hold it together, so that left Jeff on his own with the prisoner, so Sonny had to go.

"You want us to leave you out here?" Chris questioned when Ray and Trent appeared next to his window. He sighed with an impatient wince, hearing the wails and screams that had yet to abate in volume or frequency. "Can't we gag her?"

Trent considered it, then shook his head, their luck, she'd vomit and choke. "She needs medical treatment." He admitted grudgingly. "Sonny will get a Humvee, come back for us."

"She's a bit upset." Ray added with a grin. "She lost her thumb."

Chris paled. Yeah, he was a Navy Seal, but he preferred to be the nameless, faceless driver – like the original TV show S.W.A.T., the van's driver was never, ever seen – where everything happened behind him and unlike Jason, he didn't have eyes in the back of his head. Thank God.

"And if the kid's…." Sonny was beside them, paused, rubbed his forehead. "It'll take me some time to….."

"We'll call Blackburn for a helo." Ray said, held Sonny's eyes with his own until Sonny nodded, then turned with Trent and moved off.

Sonny gave Chris a thumb's up, settled on the bench in the back of the truck beside Jeff with the legs of Matt between them and the wailing banshee. Sonny supposed they could give her something for the pain, but…..she'd tried to blow them up and their kid hadn't returned to meet them, so yeah, she could suffer.

His ears didn't thank him for the decision though.

Chris put the truck in gear, but his foot didn't come off the brake until Ray and Trent were out of sight.

"What are we waiting for?" The new kid, Lance, riding shotgun, made Chris sigh, roll his eyes. He wasn't really part of the support team that ran with and for Bravo. He'd been sent on this mission only because Seth, Chris's usual shotgun partner, was home with a broken leg. Seth and everyone on support had a specific job. He was a mechanic, and supposedly, so was Lance. Chris just hoped the truck didn't break down on their way back, Lance was looking a bit green, didn't want to have to depend on him to fix anything.

"Hate leaving them out here." Chris eased off the brake and spun the wheel. "Dunno why we can't wait, see if they find him." But orders were orders and he would obey them. "Don't feel right."

WAAAHHAHAHAHAWAAAH, wailed the banshee as they bumped along the road.

"Aah, 'cause we have a wounded, bleeding human in the back?" Lance ventured. No one seemed upset about that at all and it turned Lance's stomach.

"She tried to blow them up." Chris said simply.

"She's….she…it's a woman Chris."

"Who wore a suicide vest and would have blown herself up to take them out."

WAAAHHAHAHAHAWAAAH, wailed the banshee. Sonny's voice could be heard, but not the words.

Lance thought it seemed like Chris was aiming for every hole, bump and stone on the road…and off, because he definitely swerved to the berm to hit that pothole. The hell? Lance stayed silent though.

He wasn't sure Bravo support was where he belonged. Granted, he hadn't spent much with the elite six, they had their own quarters, but the few times he had interacted with one or more of them, he'd been uncomfortable and ill at ease – Clay had not been happy he'd been left behind at the truck with 'them'. And damn, Jason Hayes rarely interacted with anyone but his men, and still the Master Chief intimidated the hell outta him.

Master Chief - referred to as Boss by everybody. Yeah, Lance didn't like that, but well, he supposed the term was correctly applied…still, he preferred 'leader'.

He was quick and abrupt, most times outright rude. He snapped and snarled, was always moving, never still, issuing orders and throwing out commands as he strode through the room or across the base. Lance had seen him hit things, punch things – people included; had seen him throw things, kick things, have a tantrum; had seen him yell at people, question their motives and loyalty; dress his men down, scold them, reprimand them, punish them. At times, Lance thought the Bravo boss was unnecessarily brutal and violent and he simply did not get or understand why his men, support included, were so loyal to him.

Pretty much, Lance thought Jason Hayes was a dick.

Out of everyone on support, Jason would talk to Chuck, their pilot; their doc, who wasn't really part of the support team; Chris, their driver; Kenny and Karl, the muscle. Everyone else was sent in behind Bravo to clean up and other than Lance apparently, no one had a problem with viewing how violent and brutal the aftermath was.

Well, Lance didn't really have a problem with it, not really. He understood that was the roll support played and it was his job. Support did a lot of recon and surveillance and clean up. It was just, other than Ray, no one bothered to even say thank you or say job well done. Hell, not even a thumbs up.

He couldn't be too upset, he certainly wasn't willing to put in the dedication, the hours and the training, the grueling physical and mental demands to be one of the elite, nor the willingness to be away from home more than he was home. It was bad enough, getting the call saying they'd be deploying in so and so many days. There were times the elite team left within minutes of a call.

Hell, the training he'd put in, still did, to be a Seal was hard enough, he couldn't imagine participating in Green Team training. Nope, no. Just no.

"It's not personal." Lance said belatedly. "I mean, she'd blow up any American."

"It's personal." Chris insisted. "Eyes out the window, don't look at me."

Lance averted his gaze, he was stunned how fast Chris was daring to drive on these dirt, sandy, gutted roads. A time or two, going around a curve, Lance was quite sure they were only on two wheels. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, wondered how Chris managed to hold onto to the wheel with sweaty hands, realized with dismay, Chris wasn't sweating - and wasn't wearing gloves. Well, damn.

"You trying to roll us?" Lance braced his hand against the dashboard. It made him even more nervous that Chris wasn't nervous!

"Wouldn't do that." Chris grinned. "Blow your elbow out, we wreck."

"Then slow down."

His grin faded and he focused on the road. "Not with Six unaccounted for." He said determinedly.

"The guys in the back…."

"Ride with me all the time." Chris said firmly. "They know to hang on, strap in."

"The prisoner doesn't." Lance pointed out. "Her hands are tied, she can't buckle in." He thought it odd a transport vehicle with mere wood benches for seats had seat buckles, but whatever.

"Then she'll roll about on the floor."

"She could get hurt."

"Hell Lance, she threatened to blow them up! She gets a bruise or two, ain't gonna shed a tear." Chris said impatiently.

Yeah, this 'I don't care about anyone' attitude was not one Lance intended to adopt.

"She's missing her thumb." Lance continued, knew it was useless. Sure enough, Chris flipped him off. Lance let it go, he really preferred Chris driving with both hands on the wheel. "What does driving like a maniac do?"

"Gets us back to base faster, gets Sonny to Jason and Brock faster, gets them all back to Ray and Trent faster. Every second out here matters."

Lance didn't see how if they rolled the truck, but he lacked the experience Chris had and he didn't hear any thumping from the back of the truck, so no one else had complaints about the ride.

WAAAHHAHAHAHAWAAAH, wailed the banshee. Well, maybe one did.

() () ()

Sonny, arms braced, feet spread and planted, swayed and moved with the wild motion of the truck. He didn't have a cell phone, couldn't directly call Jason or Brock but he could key in, raise Davis or Blackburn, but with the way his luck had been going today, he'd get Ellis and she wasn't in a very good mood. He could wait until they were back at base, but that would waste time, Davis could have Jason and Brock already on their way back to meet him at base.

"Dammit." He muttered, motioned for Jeff to muffle the screams of the banshee, who after repeated fingers to lips, stopped screaming and continued to sob into her hijab. Better. He released a support pole. "TOC, this is Bravo three." He slid into the tailgate, banged his hip; slid, bounced, hit his head; slid, caught his shoulder. Yeah, he needed two hands but in no way, was he going to request Chris to slow down.

"Bravo three." Davis responded.

"Yeah, bit of a situation."

Either Matt or Jeff would have called Command to report they were returning with a prisoner.

"We read you," Eric said.

"Two and four are not with us."

Eric exchanged a look with Davis. So, Sonny and support were en route to base with the prisoner, but….

"Status of six?" Eric asked. He knew the reason, just not why or what.

"Unknown."

"Request?" Eric pushed.

"Might need the dog."

Lisa shook her head, reached for a satellite phone. Eric continued to talk to Sonny, filled Lisa in as he got what details Sonny was able to provide.

() () ()

Jason looked down at the satellite phone on the dash when it rang. Really? Cerberus barked, Brock scratched his ears, cast a glance at Jason.

"Hell, I dunno." Jason waved it off. "Answer it."

Brock picked it up. "Yo?"

"Brock, hey it's Lisa."

"Davis, what's up?" He said her name to get Jason's attention, reached over to slap the back of his hand across Jason's shoulder. Jason put the binoculars down, gave Brock his full attention, and waited. Couldn't be good.

"Yeah, hey, gonna need you to come in."

"Reason?"

"Sonny called, can't account for Clay, Trent and Ray stayed behind to look for him. Sonny's coming in with a prisoner."

"They took one alive?"

"Mmm, Clay shot her thumb off."

Brock whistled. Her? "Damn, yeah, okay, on our way back."

() () ()

Ray cursed when he realized Clay had not notified them where he had decided to 'go high' and Clay didn't always pick the same location Ray would have to set up over-watch. All he had said was 'alley's clear'.

"Bravo six, two to six, you copy?" Ray tried for the 10th time. "Do. You. Copy."

No response, Trent picked up his pace, started a slow jog. Ray cursed again, followed. They headed for the highest building with windows facing the alley – all of three floors. Still, jogging up those three short flights of stairs, taking two steps at a time, took freaking forever.

Trent's heart raced, Ray's breath was short, both were scared of what they might find – or might not find. Trent reached the top floor, started kicking open doors on his right…found Clay in the third room.

"Clay?" Thank God they'd found him. The thought of him being taken….Trent shook the horrible thought off.

Clay was slumped against the wall, chin to chest, rifle across his lap. Ray faltered, tripped over his own feet…..the position, the slumped posture…..usually meant, bullet to the head. He came up short, put a hand out to brace his weight against the door frame. No. No. No.

God, no.

Trent went down on his knees in front of Clay. An action a medic would normally take to check on a fallen soldier, but in this case, it was because his legs dumped him. Hand shaking slightly, he reached out with two fingers on his left hand to tip Clay's head up by his chin. He grit his teeth, Clay wore his helmet but Trent was prepared to see the round hole with blackened skin in Clay's forehead, maybe a trickle of blood...drying.

Ray grit his teeth, prepared for Clay to list sideways and slump to the floor on his side from Trent's touch; kept his hand against the wall, ordered his knees to lock and his legs to continue to support him. Wondered how Trent did it, remain so calm…waited, forced himself to watch….

When Clay's head tipped up and Trent did not see a bullet hole, he felt for a pulse in his neck, found it, counted.

"He's alive." He told Ray. "Clay? Hey kid. Clay?"

Ray said a prayer, pushed away from the wall and keyed in. "TOC, Bravo six in sight."

"Status?" Eric barked.

"Working on it." Ray replied. "So far, breathing."

() () ()

Chris was talking, but not to Lance, so he paid no attention to who Chris was taking to, just bemoaned the fact Chris didn't always have both hands on the wheel. Couldn't really hear him anyway. He either forgot Chris's warning not to brace himself with his hands against the dashboard or decided to ignore it in favor of safety. His hands and feet were all firmly planted when Chris careened onto base, braked and skidded through the sand before finally coming to a stop.

Almost a stop.

Before Lance could make his hands detach from the dashboard and reach for the door handle, he realized they were still moving oh-so-slowly, caught sight of what was happening in the side rear-view mirror.

Sonny hung over the tailgate, swung the prisoner down to the ground by her bound hands, ignored her screams. Hands reached to take her from him and he simply dropped her, Lance winced at the rough handling but she was whisked away, out of sight within seconds. Lance expected Sonny to jump to the ground…..he didn't.

Barking and a cloud of kicked-up sand brought Lance's attention to the windshield. A dog was running, barking, jumping in circles. Dashed towards the truck, whirled, ran to the trio of men coming out of a building, turned and bee-lined for the truck. Belatedly, Lance was sure he heard a whistle from behind the truck, figured Sonny must be calling the dog.

Directly behind the dog, coming at a run towards the truck in full tactical gear, were Brock, Blackburn and dear God, Hayes. Lance swallowed, what the hell did they want?

Someone was shouting, the tailgate was lowered, the dog bounded aboard. Chris, the truck rolling, took a drink from a canteen, waited. Lance didn't know what to do. Chris wasn't stopping, wasn't shutting down the truck, wasn't getting out, was now talking into a CB? A CB? Really? Out here? Where the hell had it come from? Wait, what was he saying? They had enough gas for one more trip?

Trip? A trip to where?

And then, Chris was pulling out. Lance leaned forward, peered into the side mirror, Jeff and Sonny held on with one hand, hung over the tailgate and with their free hands, pulled Jason, the last to board, onto the safety of the tailgate. How the hell Chris knew everyone was on board, Lance had no idea, but he picked up speed and with a thump that bounced Lance's head off the cab roof, hit the road at top speed.

All Lance could think was; how the hell had Chris known Sonny wouldn't be taking a Humvee to return for Bravo? That he would be driving them all back? That Jason and Brock were at base waiting for them? How?!

() () ()

"They got him?" Sonny was asking Blackburn as Brock calmed Cerberus and Jason talked to Jeff about the prisoner and what he knew about what had happened.

"Got him and he's alive," Eric replied. "Unconscious, Trent's working on it."

"No idea what happened?" Brock asked once Cerberus decided Matt and Jeff did not need to be chased off the truck.

Sonny produced a collapsible bowl from a pocket, poured water into it, held it for the dog while he drank.

"Must he drool?" Sonny complained. "Can't you teach him not to do that?"

"Slobber." Brock corrected with a grin. "Not drool."

The return drive was just as wild and fast as the drive to base had been. This time, Lance stayed silent, letting Chris concentrate on driving. He thought Matt must be tired, had to be bruised and banged up, but when Chris skidded to an abrupt halt, Lance murmuring his condolences to the brakes and shocks, both Matt and Jeff were on the ground with Bravo when Lance slowly climbed out of the cab.

Jason gave the orders, not Blackburn. Chris and Matt were told to guard the truck, be ready to pull out hot. Sonny and Brock had already trotted off with the dog. Eric and Jeff were scouting the area.

"You," Jason pointed at Lance. "With me."

Lance couldn't help but look helplessly at Chris who smiled at him encouragingly, gave him a thumbs up and a slap on the back. Jason jogged off and Lance reluctantly fell in behind.