Corporal Anthony Parker looked out the open side of the U60 Blackhawk. His mismatched eyes gazed at the craggy terrain passing underneath. Across from him sat a well-built mercenary whose name he caught as Wolfe. Parker felt distinctively threatened by the man. The mercenary was assigned to the mission with free reign to shoot them if he deemed it necessary. Such was the life of a Black Hand. The only person aboard he trusted to some extent was the stocky Private Todd Lawrence, who sat by the opposite door. Lawrence was another Black Hand, who followed him like a faithful dog. Two seats down from Lawrence on the opposite row was Mulligan, a red haired conflict seeker, whom Parker loathed. The man was mocking and challenged his authority daily. The last was the only female onboard; a new recruit with short cut, pale-blond hair, who arrived a few days prior and was promptly the subject of sexual harassment by the other Black Hand members. Parker only remembered her surname, Wells.

“Piss off you rapo bastard!”

Parker turned his head angrily towards the outburst. He wasn’t surprised to see the cause was Mulligan. As he watched, Mulligan suddenly leaned forward and grabbed Wells by her genitals. The woman shrieked in fury and promptly caught the redhead in the face with a strong hook.

The blow knocked Mulligan into him, and before either could recover, Wells furiously leaped upon her harasser and began pummeling him, her arms working as though possessed, each blow striking without sense of control or rhythm.

Having two struggling bodies pressing violently against him, Parker came close to being pushed out the open door. He shoved back with strength fueled by his own anger and succeeded in throwing Mulligan off him onto the floor. Wells promptly made to clamber onto the prone man, but Parker grabbed her in attempt to keep the furious woman at bay. He was promptly backhanded across the face. His head impacted strongly with the back of his seat, stunning him for a half a second. His grip broken, Wells immediately moved to resume her assault.

Parker recovered instantly. His face was livid. He was ready to spring upon the pale blonde when a pair of stout arms wrapped around her waist and hauled her struggling form backwards.

Breathing heavily in controlled rage, Parker turned his attention to Mulligan who lay half dazed on the floor. He roughly seized the battered man, hauled him up and threw him back into his seat.

“Any more trouble from you, Mulligan,” Parker practically spat the name, “and you will regret it dearly.”

The man forced his battered mouth into a bloody grin, and then spat at his face. Parker’s reaction was instant. He snatched his M9 Berretta pistol and whipped it against the man’s cranium. Mulligan crumpled senseless to the floor with a thud for the second time.

Parker wiped the spittle from his face and turned around. The pale blond who had been restrained by Lawrence, had fallen silent at his action. Parker glared at her before telling the stocky soldier to release her.

He holstered his pistol and reassumed his seat while casting the mercenary a wary glance. The man had barely moved, but from his tense slightly bent posture, it appeared he had been on the verge of stepping in. The man was muscular with a square face and strong jawline. He wore dark brown cargo pants and a normal t-shirt which was covered by a thick bulletproof vest. A black beanie covered his head.

Parker released his breath in angry whoosh. He looked quickly at Mulligan’s prone form as the thought of shoving the man out the helicopter danced alluring in the forefront of his mind. His arms twitched eagerly, but in the end he returned to watching the landscape blur by in a seamless mass; the hypnotic motion eventually lulling his emotions like a mother’s lullaby.