Red Dawn-The Beginning

"Almost," Mila said, pushing away her embarrassment and ignoring Matthew's. Her own cheeks felt warm but she was fairly certain that they weren't as red as his. Why was he like this around her? Couldn't they just talk without him getting all flustered? Eh, what did it matter; they'd probably end up parting ways soon enough. Eventually the military would be called elsewhere, and the civilians would end up in some refugee camp or striking out on their own or something.

There she went, getting distracted again. How had she ever planned on being a teacher when her mind kept venturing off? Maybe she had undiagnosed ADHD or something. "You're getting your M and T mixed up. Just think of it like the three fingers over the thumb of the M make it look kind of like an M in cursive. At least, that's how I think of it."

The radio Jonathon is using crackles. "This is Vice President Gillaway," a gruff voice says. "Nathan? So glad to hear your voice. Is everyone okay?" "Jonny! Yeah, everything's fine hear. These pilots seem to have forgotten I was in the Air Force. My advice should be treasured," he mock grumbles. He had been the gunnery officer back in the day on Jonathon's AC-130 gunship, and the two had entered politics together. "Can I, uh, talk to Nina?" "Sure, man," he says, sobering up. There is a pause, then a rustle. "Jon?" "Nina. Is Clare okay?" he asks, straightening, now just a father, not the nation's leader. "She's fine," Nina replies, voice conveying worry. "She's shaken, but she's acting like an adult. Thank god for a mature daughter. How are you?" "Fine, fine. I'm with a lot of soldiers...heading towards Nevada. I'm having my staff send Captain Derns the coordinates. You should be able to meet up with us there." "Alright. Agent Fernandez is saying I need to get off. Comm silence. Take care, Jon. I love you." the radio clicks off.

Meanwhile, a soldier seems to be reading AJ's mind, and offers him a G36C. "You want this man? Assuming you know how to use it." He looks AJ over uncertainly, his buddy not there to vouch for him.

Matt corrects the mistake. He grins like a child, happy at this small accomplishment. "I'm a tactile learner? That's a teaching term. Are you a teacher? You seem to be good at it," he says, his cheeks finally losing their blood and the conversation sounding less awkward and relatively normal for once.

Sam leaned over towards Mike and nudged him gently with a elbow. "Hey, should we rescue her? From herself I mean. She's a danger to herself the longer she keeps entertaining him."

Sam let a small grin spread onto his face, like a predator. "Or perhaps it'd be best if we left them alone?"

"I was an education major, yeah. This was supposed to be my last year, having gone for my Master's degree, but I doubt any of it will matter now. Even if the world comes back from all this mess, clean-up will probably be slow at best. The school system won't exactly be a high priority for a while, at least not in the same sense. Then again, education never really was a high enough priority in the U.S. to begin with."

Mila shrugged and leaned back into her seat. She surveyed the rest of the cabin for a moment, glancing at a soldier offering some wounded kid a weapon. He was about her age as well, and looked more than a little upset. She made a mental note to keep an eye on him. Disgruntled people, especially when given guns, could be dangerous things in tight spaces.

Meanwhile, Sam was snickering about something, but she couldn't hear what over the natural noises aboard the flight. If he was plotting something important, she figured he'd include her sooner or later. Unless it was about her.

She decided to find out.

Reaching over when he was turned toward Mike, Mila snagged Sam's beanie hat right off of his mischievous head. "So, what's so funny, huh? You keep looking over here and smirking like a little troll," she demanded, holding the article just out of his reach.

"I'm telling you Mike, she-HEY!" Sam felt cold air whirl onto his head and whirled around to find a triumphant Mila holding his most prized possession aloft. "Give me that!"

He made a swipe for it but Mila was quick on the ball and kept it away from him. "Mila, come on, this isn't funny!"

Sam frowned and itched his mass of hair that the hat had kept covered; it was fairly greasy after lots of running around but above all it had one stark feature. The hair at the top of his head was bright red, in a eye blazingly horrifyingly over the top way.

"I need that," he said glowering, "to protect myself from the embarrassment of everyone seeing what happens when you fall asleep drunk near a bunch of immature college kids."

He made another swipe but again failed to get the hat. "Fine! Fine. What do you want in trade?"

Mike joined along with Sam by stating in a mock romantic voice, "Oh there's nothing more romantic than teaching sign language in a plane full of hot sweaty men." Even if the pair wanted to move to give them some peace, it wouldn't exactly do anything with the other unwelcome onlookers in the form of soldiers. Besides, it was so crowded that there was very little room to move. Looking around, he noted the similar tired expression but still the mingling of people trying to pass the time. Nearby he noted a young man, no older then Mila, being offered a gun. Though Mike didn't really take much note in the gun, he did notice how miserable the kid looked. He merely shrugged and looked back at Sam to continue their conversation when out of the corner of his eye he spotted Mila reaching over to Sam. Mike couldn't help but give a mischievous smile instead of a warning to Sam.

Soon enough his beanie was lifted into the air to reveal a painfully bright red scalp. Sam attempted to get it back and Mike couldn't help himself. At the sight of his hair, Mike had began to laugh hysterically to the point of having to hang onto his sides as he leaned sideways on the seat. His laughter turned into desperate gasps for air between gails of laughing quickly but still he did relent every time he looked up to see the bright hair.

As Sam reached for the hat, the discrepancy of hair color at the top of his scalp became apparent. Mila's fought a losing battle not to crack a smile until he finally explained how his otherwise dark locks had been turned. She closed her eyes for just a moment, which was long enough for Sam to finally retrieve his hat from her grasp as she shook with laughter.

"Well I wanted to know what you, haha, were whispering about but, hehehe, whatever it was couldn't be worse than this. Ahahaha. Sorry, Sam," Mila chuckled, her apology seeming to lose some of its sincerity simply because of the fact that she was still giggling.

She took a moment to recover, then said, "If you don't hate me now, I would still like to know what it was you two were grinning about over here, though." Mila doubted she'd get an honest answer now, but that was alright with her.

Sam took the hat back and placed it on his head, frowning at Mila. Perhaps it was time for some sweet revenge. "Well, if you must know me and Mike were discussing how you are your own worse enemy. You know," he took a step back from Mila so he was out of reach, "the way you encourage the poor lieutenant over there to get close?"

He took another step back so he was next to Mike.

Mila's smile faded and she looked over at Matt, who had suddenly started finding the various pieces of his weapon very interesting. She wasn't sure if he could hear them or not, but he was certainly inspecting the stock with utmost scrutiny.

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm not encouraging anything..." she defended, shifting in her boots as she unconsciously scratched the back of her neck.

Mike finally recovered, wiping tears from his eyes he looked at Sam to Mila. He guessed Sam was looking for support from mike in the situation, of course that's what he gets for telling the truth.

"He said it, not me," he said quickly, still snickering to himself.

"Don't be silly Mila, I'm just trying to irritate you," Sam half lied. He gave her a playful punch on the arm. "Stop being a spoon."

Matt's grin disappears at Sam's comment, and he begins examining his M4's stock with distinct attention. What did that mean? Encouragement? By far this was one of the most awkward situations he had been in. Being snickered at by both his comrades and Mila's civilian friends was bad. He waited, cheeks flushing again, anticipating Mila's reply.

"Ah, right. Yeah I know. It's all good," she sobered, returning to her seat. She could feel the eyes of the others on her now, and she felt like an idiot for drawing attention to herself again. One day she really ought to learn when to shut up.

Unfortunately, that was one of her many character flaws. She was too outspoken for her own good.

Mike stopped snickering to himself when Mila sat down and looked embarrassed about what that was about. A pang of guilt struck Mike's heart and he noticed some of the other soldiers looking their way. His brow creased at their incessant pondering over Mila and Matt. It was none of their business after all.

He leaned forward to see them and gave a sharp whistle, in an angry tone he shouted to them, "Hey turkeys, you always gawk at pretty girls or is that your moronic grunt mind showing?"

Day Two
4:08 a.m. PST
Area 51, Nevada

The Rangers glare at Mike but say nothing, though one's face goes red as a tomato, their military discipline and perhaps the presence of the President preventing some sort of violent incident.

The rest of the trip is in relative silence until the V-22 begins shaking violently. Blue sparks begin appearing on the windows, hanging onto the wings and fuselage. "Ash. Hold on tight and strap in tighter," the pilot says, monotone. The passengers' guts drop as the V-22 rapidly descends. A C-135 is seen going down, engines smoking from sucking in ash. Down below, Area 51 is burning. However, the ash seems to be coming from every direction, but not from the burning military base. They can see gunfire down below, and the radio is chattering away in the cockpit. "Attention: we are landing in a hostile area. Our engines are operational but we have lost critical altitude. Brace for landing." They can hear the engines shifting into helicopter position, and the engines are straining, fighting to land safely.

They are zeroing in on a stretch of warehouses, and Matt holds onto his straps for dear life, tucking his chin in. He checks to see if Mila is okay, along with everyone else, and makes sure they are secure. The V-22 slams into the ground, everyone's guts going from the sky to the ground. The V-22 slams into its sides, one rotor slamming into the ground. It shriekingly gives way and there is the sound of breaking metal, then the rotor goes flying, and the V-22 comes into a rest on its side, and Matt goes out after his head slams into the sides of the aircraft repeatedly, his Kevlar helmet becoming his enemy rather than his friend.

"I t-told you c-coming here was a b-bad idea..." Mila grunted through clenched teeth as the Osprey descended ungracefully. Every jolt of the aircraft clattered her jaws together, making it difficult to speak, and to hold on. Crash landings were becoming all too frequent lately, but at least this time they weren't in a straight nosedive.

As the vehicle dropped the last few dozen feet, it flipped to one side and slid, spinning until the rotor snapped. Despite feeling as though she'd been through a hellish version of the Tilt-a-Whirl, Mila was otherwise alright. Her side of the plane had hit the ground, leaving her strapped in on her back with the other half of the passengers dangling above. Someone's shoe had come loose and was now in her lap.

Unhooking herself, she moved to try and find the others. It was difficult to see anything in the cabin now, as there were no lights currently working and the few small windows only let in tiny bits of light, which was obstructed by debris and ash. She heard crying nearby, but couldn't tell who it was or where it was coming from.

"Sam? Daniel? Everyone okay?" she called, coughing as dust collected in her throat. Blindly, she crawled across the rows.

Mike wasn't a fan of flying, he never really was. He wasn't sure if it was vertigo or an anxiety he never knew but the unease was there and always remained especially when a plane hit turbulence. On this crowded carrier though, that went to a whole new level. After strapping himself in he tried his best to remain steady, his hands wrapped in fists tightened white in reflex and fear.

It took him a few seconds to realize they had landed and even then he was unwilling to let go of his blessed restraints. Before acknowledging Mila he had to swallow back something that threatened to come back from his stomache before saying sickly," Just.. perfect."

Day Two
4:10 a.m. PST
Area 51, Nevada

Mila trips over a severed arm, which fingers are still twitching. As she looks up she stares right in the face of Corporal Nather, his eyes still open as a huge wound in his head reveals his brains as blood seaps out of the wound.Other Rangers lie dead from various crash injuries, and Mila can see somehow the crash restraints came loose in some. A man grunts, Sergeant Knowles, and he as been cushioned by another Ranger who is limp. He moans, stirring. Another man is hyperventilating and saying something in a high-pitched whiny voice, whimpering, his ribs broken as the crash restraints slammed him in the crash.

Matt stirs, his eyes opening but he sees double. The scene in front of him is horrific, and he closes his eyes, his head ringing, thoughts slow to form. He groans again, seeing someone, a woman, crawling. "Mila...." he rasps in recognition, feeling the blood pouring down over his left eye, a minor cut. But the pangs from his earlier injury can't be good, and that area feels wet and soggy. The pain begins to lance through him, and he groans, one hand shakily trying to free his body from the restraints, but it sags in fatigue.

Stumbling along, Mila felt something warm and fleshy beneath her. A bit of foggy light illuminated just enough of the disembodied limb for Mila to gasp at what she saw. As more of the dust settled, she looked up just in time to find Nather's grisly face staring back, but didn't move her hands to her mouth fast enough to cover her scream of surprise. From there, she backtracked on her palms and heels, doing a sort of frantic crab-crawl to get away from the carnage.

Not paying any attention to where she was going, she bumped into someone still strapped into their seat and whirled around as she heard her name. Rubbing her eyes a bit, she tried to focus in the darkness and could barely make out Matt's outline trying to escape from his harness. "Ah shit, you have the bad habit of getting injured don't you?" she mumbled upon noticing the blood over his eye, and moved closer to help untangle him. The semi-darkness was making it difficult, but she found the clamps in little time.

"There ya go. Try to sit up slowly. How many fingers am I holding up?" she asked, making a peace sign.

Day Two
4:10 a.m. PST
Area 51, Nevada

Matt tries to laugh but coughs. "Two." He gasps, sucking in air painfully as Mila helps him out of the harness. He pulls out his rifle, which had slammed into his side upon the crash, and wipes the blood off his face. He stares at the dead in the Osprey and stumbles over to the loading ramp, and presses the release button. It slowly begins to slide open, stopping after a minute. There is about four feet of clearance, and Matt begins to slowly move back to Knowles, helping him out as more survivors begin to stir. Men begin to fall out of their seats, and move towards the exits. Matt hurries over to Mila. "Let's head out now before the crowd comes," he says in a pinched voice, all the movement causing his wound to burn. Hot. He stifles a groan. Something was wrong inside.

As they crawl out of the Osprey, they see a leaking fuel tank. "Get everyone out. I'm too weak to yell. Tell them the V-22 could blow any second," Matt says, stopping, frozen. This was bad. He slowly begins to shuffle backwards, an automatic reflex as the gasoline begins to spread, sparks still flying from the destroyed engine.

"It's alright. Go take a seat over there somewhere. Don't be like me and do anything stupid; just take it easy. I'll be right back."

Mila returned to the badly damaged ramp where people were still piling out awkwardly due to it being sideways. "Hurry up people! We've got a leaking fuel tank. Large leak, very dangerous. Excuse me!" she yelled, crawling back onto the plane once there was an opening. Even though going back onto the vessel might diminish the validity of her claims to some, no one appeared to be wanting to take chances. Everyone still alive and conscious was making their way toward the exit. Some were limping and staggering, some groaning, but most were alright. It seemed that the only fatalities had been a few of the soldiers who hadn't managed to strap themselves in properly after helping the civilians.

Holding her breath, Mila squinted to try and locate the others. When she got back to where she thought they had been sitting, however, the seats were deserted both above and below. Had they gotten out without her noticing? The only thing left was the shoe she had brushed off of her when she'd gotten up, but she now realized just how small it was.

It was Logan's shoe.

Picking up the lost footwear, Mila started to weave her way to the exit once more, stepping over sideways seats (especially those still occupied by corpses) with caution. Outside, someone was shouting, and as she neared the ramp, she could see Knowles' face peering inside as a hand gestured to her urgently. Two steps from freedom, the ramp burst into flames as a small explosion lit up one end of the ship, obscuring her view as well as her path. Luckily, it was self-contained for now, the fuel leak being a little further back, keeping the otherwise minor display of pyrotechnics from becoming full-on fireworks. On the downside, she was now stuck in a blazing tin can of death.

Choking as more ash flew into the air, Mila blinked rapidly to dispel the burning sensation which made her eyes water. The only other exit was a single door near the cockpit, which meant going back toward the ghastly scene of military carnage, but it was her only chance unless she wanted to test how fireproof she was.

In normal circumstances, this door would be a fairly simplistic mechanism. Today, however, it was just above her head and had to be pushed up and outward. Mila climbed unsteadily up to the door, balancing herself on an abandoned harness still dangling on one side. Reaching over herself, she grasped the handle and pushed off of the harness as hard as she could. While this did manage to get the "escape hatch" opened, it also nearly sent her falling flat on her face, had she not caught herself by the fingertips. Scrambling, Mila kicked and struggled to pull herself up, cursing at the stinging it caused in her leg.

A second explosion urged her to move faster.

The fire was spreading, making its way around the ship and ever nearer the fuel tanks. She had to crawl out now if she planned on doing so in one, non-charred piece. The Osprey rocked to one side as she got her left leg up, but she held on, pulling herself out onto the new "roof." From her position, she couldn't see anyone else, as the smoke from the tail end was rising into the atmosphere at a magnificent rate. Regardless, she began to slide down the edge, and although it was a good ways down, she jumped, fully expecting to break an ankle or two upon landing.

Instead, she "hit the ground running," so to speak, and took off as soon as she'd landed. Getting away from the V-22 as fast as she could, a third and final explosion destroyed the aircraft completely, propelling her forward much faster than she'd intended and tossing her into a patch of dirty sand many yards away from where she'd started.

AJ, with a fresh new set of scratches and more than likely a few new bruises, rushed out of the death trap with his gear in tow. Almost just as he and those around him seemed to get to a safe distance, the air transport erupted in a brilliant fire ball. As he watched, almost a bit awe-stricken, he noticed something not mechanical in nature fly away from the plane and land a bit away from the group. Unfurling his newly awarded weapon as he recalled something about 'hostile territory,' he raced over and found the same girl who'd been performing sign language lessons with the ranger.

Soon enough he arrived at her 'crash' scene and knelt down trying to figure the best way to help her out.

"Well this just keeps getting better and better," he muttered to himself as he mentally reviewed the insane and destructive series of events that led to him kneeling beside some possibly injured girl in the middle of Nevada near Area 51.

Day Two
4:12 a.m. PST
Area 51, Nevada

The explosion lights up the night sky and shrapnel goes flying, and two soldiers are hit and go down. Matt is blasted down but he climbs back up, ignoring the searing pain as he limps over to Mila's limp body. "Mila. Mila. Stay with me. How do you feel?" he gives a wry smile and holds up a peace sign. "How many fingers?" He yells for a medic, but the man yells back he has more seriously wounded to deal with first. Overhead, two Blackhawks are escorting a C-135 with smoke trailing out of its turbines, and a C-130 roars overhead before slamming onto a runway set up next to the warehouses about a half mile away.

York followed AJ and Matt over to Mila and nuzzled her neck, trying to wake her up. It didn't take long as she wasn't unconscious, only a bit dazed with ringing ears and soot in her eyes. Spitting out a mouthful of dirt and ash, she coughed a few times before answering, meanwhile keeping York at an arm's length as he attempted to lick her face clean. "Pleh, I'm okay, I'm fine. Thanks guys. Rough landing, but I don't think I broke anything."

Rolling over so that she was sitting up, she looked at the burning wreckage and then back to the two guys in front of her. "Did...did everyone else make it out? I couldn't tell; it was so dark in there." Her expression darkened as she squinted, trying to see into the people coming around the corner now. She stood slowly, waving off Matt's hand there to help her up. Nearby, something small was on fire, and upon inspection, she recognized it as the shoe she had rescued for Logan. She picked it up and patted out the flames, leaving it mostly intact.

Mila prayed to find its owner in better condition.

Daniel had been sleeping, dreamless, when the plane shook dramatically and began to drop. He didn't have much time to be afraid as the plane smashed down and the rotor broke. Luckily he had strapped Logan in beside him though the straps were obviously not meant to hold four year olds so when the plane crashed it kept the child from bouncing around the interior.

For a brief moment Daniel passed out and when he came too there was smoke and yelling. All of that didn't matter though as he frantically looked to Logan. Hearing something about running he didn't have time to really check on Logan other then his eyes were closed and struggled out of his harness. He was panicking, worried that his son's eyes were closed, so he didn't even get queasy when he reached down to a dead soldier and pulled a knife from the man slicing Logan out of his harness and picking him up.

As he ran the plane exploded and he simply dropped and covered his son's body with his own.

Once the immediate carnage fades Daniel's ears are ringing and there is an intense pain in his shoulder. None of that mattered as he looked down to his unresponsive son blood streaming from a wound in his head. There was no way of knowing at that moment how deep or bad the cut was but it didn't matter. Daniel's heart sank into his stomach as he picked up his son trying to get a response. He realized he was being louder then he meant but his panic, along with the fact that he couldn't hear, was effecting him.

"LOGAN!! LOGAN WAKE UP!! SON OPEN YOUR EYES PLEASE. HELP!!! SOMEBODY HELP!! Oh god OH god Oh god. HELP!!" He finished muttering and rocking his son in his lap.