GK fic: Bravo's Kingdom Come, A Red Horse
Title: Bravo's Kingdom Come, A Red Horse
Author: Suaine
Rating: PGish
Summary: "Come and see." And I saw. And behold, a white horse.
Notes: After the story, mah dearies.
Bravo's Kingdom Come, A Red Horse
The hairs on your arm will stand up.
At the terror in each sip and in each sup.
For you partake of that last offered cup
~ When The Man Comes Around, Johnny Cash
There were small clues from the very beginning. Evan had, of course, heard rumors all his life - you couldn't be in journalism and not come across a couple of hinky stories in the under-lit gloom of a bar or a smoky back room. There was too much denial, too much ridicule on the part of anyone official. That all those people could have been right? It made Evan question exactly how many aliens and unicorns there might actually be on Earth.
Completely outside of what First Recon does, his ass! But then maybe the Colonel didn't know. The President most decidedly didn't. It was the kind of operation that thrived on secrecy.
He'd first noticed something odd outside of Nasiriyah. Alpha platoon had been pounding the city and Nate kept looking nervously at the bright blue sky, like he expected lightning to strike at any second. Evan had never seen Nate this wired before and when the Lieutenant talked about being assured of a night mission with a hitch in his voice, Evan just figured it was a tactical issue. Nate didn't want to get his men killed.
He continued to pick up little oddities over the next week, like how Manimal never got out of his MOPP and kept his mask on through most of the day. Colbert, too, wore inexplicable extra layers. Conversations would include strange little jabs at a man's dental hygiene even when Manimal wasn't around. Compared to Mathilda, where the most valuable insult had been hippie faggot, on the roads of Iraq Evan mostly heard “sucker” and “batshit” and incongruously “Type A”, which he just could not figure out.
Until.
Campsite at night.
Evan had stage directions on his mind for no particular reason. He felt oddly like being in a surreal play on Broadway, with all the edges filed off. The shamal was probably to blame, it gave everything a soft glow and swallowed all but the most tenacious shadows.
So he rounded this corner. Edged around this truck. Crawled through this hole.
His training as a journalist left him with a tendency to assume nothing and expect the unexpected, so when he saw Nate Fick in a very compromising position against Colbert's humvee, with Colbert draped over him like some high priced accessory, Evan started putting things together that had been niggling at him.
The sane explanation was this: Nate Fick and Brad Colbert had an illicit affair. Period.
But the pieces could fit together differently, in a bigger way. Something so big, his brain was developing stretch marks where it tried to wrap around the whole story.
For a moment he contemplated backing away, but as soon as the thought entered Evan's mind, Nate opened his eyes and looked directly into Evan's. Nate shoved Colbert off him and there was something dark where Colbert's mouth had just been.
“Reporter,” Nate said, the clipped tone both warning and question.
Then something that might have been a six-feet tall bullet, or might have been Colbert with incredible speed, slammed into Evan's chest and knocked him back against a truck. As his world faded to gunmetal gray, Evan figured he'd just as likely as not been attacked by a vampire.
I felt the power
Of death over life
I orphaned his children
I widowed his wife
~ I Hung My Head, Johnny Cash
Nate bit his lip again, knowing full well that it was probably giving Brad ideas. Sometimes he couldn't help it, they were always triggering each other, especially when there was far too much sun for anyone, not to mention the kind of people Brad reluctantly called his own (for lack of better options, it seemed sometimes). Iraq was really fucking them over and Command couldn't give a fuck. Probably because the fact that almost half of First Recon was snacking on the other half had somehow escaped the higher ups' notice.
“What are we going to do with him?” Brad would leave the decision to Nate. Way to use those two hundred years of experience.
“Depends,” Nate leaned over the reporter to check his pulse. Thready, but stable. “You've ridden with him for a while, what kind of person would you take him for?”
Brad grinned. “Liberal adrenaline junkie.”
“Dangerous?”
“Only if you give him a gun. And then mostly to himself.”
There wasn't much time, really. If they wanted to get rid of him, they would have to do it fast. Or. “How far along are the coming out plans these days?” Nate didn't keep up with vampire lobbies and they didn't volunteer any information to a piece of breakfast meat.
“Hm.” Brad was being about as helpful as a rock. A bad-mannered, unhelpful rock.
“Brad.” Sometimes the stern voice helped. Brad looked at him, the same kind of look that had gotten them into this mess earlier tonight. Nate felt himself shiver, despite the heat that was pooling in his groin.
Brad got up, stretching, making the kind of noises that tended to bypass Nate's brain and go straight for his cock. “Last I heard of the council, they were looking at 2005. I don't exactly get the newsletter, you know.”
“They still disapprove?” The old vampires that called themselves Council of something or other were so far removed from humanity they didn't even know which war it was they objected to. This particular experiment was firmly a private affair, and pretty much entirely New World.
Brad stepped over the reporter's body and crowded Nate against the truck. “They are idiots. I don't give a fuck about the reporter, but we're not killing him just because some Parisian elitists might find it difficult to deal with.”
Nate leaned back, offering his throat on instinct. There were days when he thought that he should probably deal with the implications of that - today was not that day. “Good point,” Nate said.
Brad's tongue on his skin felt like ice and fire at the same time. He figured there was probably an anesthetic in vampire saliva, because the actual biting never seemed to hurt as much as it should. He turned a bit, giving access despite the inevitable pang of fear. But Brad kept going, licking a trail along Nate's jaw and nipping at his ear.
“What have you decided,” Brad said, voice all liquid fire and honey, “Sir?”
Nate bucked, wanting to be closer. His fingers dug so hard into Brad's skin, Nate was worried about drawing blood. Or would be, if he had a single brain cell to spare. “We, uhm,” Brad was torturing him on purpose, lips and hands and full body torture. Nate turned his head and crushed their mouths together. He'd always been good at that and the half-muffled groan from Brad proved that Nate still got it.
Nate ducked his head a bit. Sometimes it sucked to be the only partner in a kiss who actually needed to breathe. On the other hand, it gave him a second to form a coherent sentence.
“He's got all the papers. Full access. Let them sort him out state-side.”
The first time ever I saw your face,
I thought the sun rose in your eyes.
And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave,
To the dark and the endless sky, my love.
~ First Time I Ever Saw Your Face, Johnny Cash
“There is one Officer that I know of,” Gunny Wynn said, smiling like he'd just scored a Cheese Tortellini MRE. Evan kept looking at his mouth. They looked perfectly normal, exactly like human teeth, until they didn't. Colbert had shown him and Evan still felt some animal instinct to run away and hide just thinking about it.
“Which officer? It's not... it's not Encino Man, is it?” The idea suddenly struck Evan, that Encino Man might actually be a caveman.
Mike Wynn almost fell out of the humvee, laughing. “No,” he said, flailing a bit, “it's not him. But I can see why you might think that. It would explain a few things.”
Evan grinned. “Yeah, it would.”
“I mean, yeah, after being vamped and all, you don't really change that much anymore. If you ever get to talk to one of the really old ones, you'll see. They freak me the fuck out.”
“How old are you, then? If that's okay to ask.”
Wynn shrugged. “Fifty-two. Colbert's the oldest, I think, at least two hundred, but you'll have to talk to him about that. The LT might know.” At that, Wynn got this strange look, something between fondness and rage. “Boy's got maybe two, three years of human left in him before they won't be able to stop themselves.”
Evan perked up at that. Another piece of the vampire puzzle. “What do you mean? Is Colbert going to... you know.” He made a vague gesture that could mean kill, or pat a fluffy bunny.
“Colbert isn't going to do anything Fick doesn't want, but damn, those two are way too wrapped up in each other. The ratio we have her is two to one, two humans for each vampire. Most of the boys use needles and plastic bags. Keep it clean, keep it simple. But not Colbert, he's never even touched any of the extra bags.”
“That seems odd.” Evan wondered. Colbert had to be hungry all the time. Maybe that made him a better warrior.
Wynn sighed. “Not odd, exactly. Colbert is as addicted to Fick as the LT is to him.”
Evan nodded. They looked out at the semi-dark that most of their lives had become. It was amazing how little direct sunlight there actually was, in a day, with the right precautions. “So, the two of them are different.”
“Colbert could explain this better, but he's not going to. Cold as ice, that guy, even for a vampire. You see, sometimes we get stuck on certain people. They smell different, they taste better, we can tell exactly where they are in a room with us, and then there is a point when the thought of them dying tears us up inside. It's not pretty, but supposedly it's some form of mating.”
“It happened to you, didn't it?”
And wow, Evan had never thought of the Gunny as an especially good-looking guy, but the way his face lit up, he could have scored any kind of modeling job in the Western hemisphere. When he spoke his voice was clear and warm, hypnotizing. “My wife, when we met it felt like looking directly into the sun.”
Evan could imagine. Painful, beyond bright, a scarring kind of beauty that left nothing behind. Intense in ways humans rarely were with each other.
“Okay, so if it's the same thing, what do you.. eat? Drink?”
Wynn licked his lips, his eyes still far away. Still somewhere much closer to his wife, probably. “Marines make do, reporter. Besides, the addiction fades after a while and almost completely stops once the partner is turned.”
“Almost?”
Evan was rewarded with the toothiest smile yet. Wynn looked like a wolf. “We do bite each other, reporter. It is, after all, a very intimate act.” The heat traveling along Evan's spine made him uneasy. And yet, it wasn't entirely unwelcome either, which probably meant Wynn was using a bit of weird vampire mind control on him. He shifted in his seat, looked at his notebook.
The notes had stopped at “officers?”.
“So, about that officer?”
Wynn laughed and laughed through the rest of the afternoon.
And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.
~ Revelation 6:8
Meesh went through the discarded MREs. The First Recon ratfuck boxes were always full, even with the good stuff, seeing as how so many of the men didn't actually eat any of it.
“No,” Meesh said. “There are no vampires in Iraq.”
Evan wrote it down before he even registered what it meant. “Are you sure? These guys here seem to do just fine.” The marines weren't fine, exactly, but they made do.
Meesh gave him his wildly criminal grin, so crooked it could almost be broken. “Too much sun, they don't like it very much. You get them in the mountains sometimes, Afghanistan maybe. Not here.”
Evan smiled, disbelief all over his face. “What about the Bedouin?” It had been a guess, not even a good one - just the roomy, flowing cloaks, all of the things that could be hidden beneath them.
Meesh winced. “Yeah, okay, maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“One or two?” Meesh poked a pound-cake - it was still squishy and he grabbed it. “Dude, it's not like that. There is no cult of weird vampires running around in long cloaks in the desert. That would be fucked up.”
Evan nodded, playing it straight. “Of course.”
“So you understand? There are,” Meesh punctuated his words by stabbing Evan in the chest with a spoon, “no vampires. In Iraq.”
Evan scribbled a few things down, mostly so he could pretend not to be watching every flex of the muscles in Meesh's face. A brilliant grin, as the man turned to leave:
“And we are certainly not here to liberate them from an evil dictator. Because there aren't any vampires here.”
Oh. Evan's eyes went wide. Could that be? Was that-
Meesh laughed. “Dude, you know that I'm totally fucking with you.”
They talked all night
To the young men that they knew
On the summer side of life
Goin' off to fight
~ Summer Side of Life, Gordon Lightfoot
“So,” Evan said, not sure exactly what the etiquette was. How did a guy talk to a two hundred year old, very pale killing machine?
Colbert looked at him. Icy. “Reporter.”
“I, uhm,” he gestured at the humvee, “if you... I mean, I can drive with... someone else.”
Ray looked up from the magazine he'd been devouring. “What now? Brad, what did you do to the reporter?” His whining and entirely human voice made Evan relax more than any assurance from Nate that things would be alright.
Colbert looked at his driver like he was some kind of insect. Suddenly, that look seemed so much more sinister. “Ray, don't you have an imaginary household pet to fuck?”
“Not before bedtime, oh fearless leader.”
Evan smiled. Ray obviously wasn't phased by the whole vampire thing, and he was the one always busy annoying the shit out of Colbert. So maybe things would be okay.
Colbert looked back at Evan. “You talked to the Gunny?”
Evan nodded. Then Colbert smiled, curt but pleased. “Good. Get in the humvee, we're Oscar Mike in ten.”
And just like that, the world righted itself and began spinning again. Between bombs and machine guns, blood and death and terror, having a vampire as your guide and bodyguard might not be the worst thing. Might not be bad at all.
Sometimes I think its a shame
When I get feelin better when Im feelin no pain
Sundown ya better take care
~ Sundown, Gordon Lightfoot
~ The END ~
Hahahaha. Okay, so I'm sorry for fucking vampire lore and messing up our boys and whatever. I loved this idea so much and just, guh. This is entirely gratuitous :D I steal with love ;D
This could not have happened without True Blood and the fact that Alexander Skarsgard is going to play Eric Hotass. Apparently my military kink has a vampire fetish.
Some of this can also be blamed on the decision of ending Generation Kill with a country song, and my lovely flist, who should totally write the extended version of this, if they love me at all.
Author: Suaine
Rating: PGish
Summary: "Come and see." And I saw. And behold, a white horse.
Notes: After the story, mah dearies.
Bravo's Kingdom Come, A Red Horse
The hairs on your arm will stand up.
At the terror in each sip and in each sup.
For you partake of that last offered cup
~ When The Man Comes Around, Johnny Cash
There were small clues from the very beginning. Evan had, of course, heard rumors all his life - you couldn't be in journalism and not come across a couple of hinky stories in the under-lit gloom of a bar or a smoky back room. There was too much denial, too much ridicule on the part of anyone official. That all those people could have been right? It made Evan question exactly how many aliens and unicorns there might actually be on Earth.
Completely outside of what First Recon does, his ass! But then maybe the Colonel didn't know. The President most decidedly didn't. It was the kind of operation that thrived on secrecy.
He'd first noticed something odd outside of Nasiriyah. Alpha platoon had been pounding the city and Nate kept looking nervously at the bright blue sky, like he expected lightning to strike at any second. Evan had never seen Nate this wired before and when the Lieutenant talked about being assured of a night mission with a hitch in his voice, Evan just figured it was a tactical issue. Nate didn't want to get his men killed.
He continued to pick up little oddities over the next week, like how Manimal never got out of his MOPP and kept his mask on through most of the day. Colbert, too, wore inexplicable extra layers. Conversations would include strange little jabs at a man's dental hygiene even when Manimal wasn't around. Compared to Mathilda, where the most valuable insult had been hippie faggot, on the roads of Iraq Evan mostly heard “sucker” and “batshit” and incongruously “Type A”, which he just could not figure out.
Until.
Campsite at night.
Evan had stage directions on his mind for no particular reason. He felt oddly like being in a surreal play on Broadway, with all the edges filed off. The shamal was probably to blame, it gave everything a soft glow and swallowed all but the most tenacious shadows.
So he rounded this corner. Edged around this truck. Crawled through this hole.
His training as a journalist left him with a tendency to assume nothing and expect the unexpected, so when he saw Nate Fick in a very compromising position against Colbert's humvee, with Colbert draped over him like some high priced accessory, Evan started putting things together that had been niggling at him.
The sane explanation was this: Nate Fick and Brad Colbert had an illicit affair. Period.
But the pieces could fit together differently, in a bigger way. Something so big, his brain was developing stretch marks where it tried to wrap around the whole story.
For a moment he contemplated backing away, but as soon as the thought entered Evan's mind, Nate opened his eyes and looked directly into Evan's. Nate shoved Colbert off him and there was something dark where Colbert's mouth had just been.
“Reporter,” Nate said, the clipped tone both warning and question.
Then something that might have been a six-feet tall bullet, or might have been Colbert with incredible speed, slammed into Evan's chest and knocked him back against a truck. As his world faded to gunmetal gray, Evan figured he'd just as likely as not been attacked by a vampire.
I felt the power
Of death over life
I orphaned his children
I widowed his wife
~ I Hung My Head, Johnny Cash
Nate bit his lip again, knowing full well that it was probably giving Brad ideas. Sometimes he couldn't help it, they were always triggering each other, especially when there was far too much sun for anyone, not to mention the kind of people Brad reluctantly called his own (for lack of better options, it seemed sometimes). Iraq was really fucking them over and Command couldn't give a fuck. Probably because the fact that almost half of First Recon was snacking on the other half had somehow escaped the higher ups' notice.
“What are we going to do with him?” Brad would leave the decision to Nate. Way to use those two hundred years of experience.
“Depends,” Nate leaned over the reporter to check his pulse. Thready, but stable. “You've ridden with him for a while, what kind of person would you take him for?”
Brad grinned. “Liberal adrenaline junkie.”
“Dangerous?”
“Only if you give him a gun. And then mostly to himself.”
There wasn't much time, really. If they wanted to get rid of him, they would have to do it fast. Or. “How far along are the coming out plans these days?” Nate didn't keep up with vampire lobbies and they didn't volunteer any information to a piece of breakfast meat.
“Hm.” Brad was being about as helpful as a rock. A bad-mannered, unhelpful rock.
“Brad.” Sometimes the stern voice helped. Brad looked at him, the same kind of look that had gotten them into this mess earlier tonight. Nate felt himself shiver, despite the heat that was pooling in his groin.
Brad got up, stretching, making the kind of noises that tended to bypass Nate's brain and go straight for his cock. “Last I heard of the council, they were looking at 2005. I don't exactly get the newsletter, you know.”
“They still disapprove?” The old vampires that called themselves Council of something or other were so far removed from humanity they didn't even know which war it was they objected to. This particular experiment was firmly a private affair, and pretty much entirely New World.
Brad stepped over the reporter's body and crowded Nate against the truck. “They are idiots. I don't give a fuck about the reporter, but we're not killing him just because some Parisian elitists might find it difficult to deal with.”
Nate leaned back, offering his throat on instinct. There were days when he thought that he should probably deal with the implications of that - today was not that day. “Good point,” Nate said.
Brad's tongue on his skin felt like ice and fire at the same time. He figured there was probably an anesthetic in vampire saliva, because the actual biting never seemed to hurt as much as it should. He turned a bit, giving access despite the inevitable pang of fear. But Brad kept going, licking a trail along Nate's jaw and nipping at his ear.
“What have you decided,” Brad said, voice all liquid fire and honey, “Sir?”
Nate bucked, wanting to be closer. His fingers dug so hard into Brad's skin, Nate was worried about drawing blood. Or would be, if he had a single brain cell to spare. “We, uhm,” Brad was torturing him on purpose, lips and hands and full body torture. Nate turned his head and crushed their mouths together. He'd always been good at that and the half-muffled groan from Brad proved that Nate still got it.
Nate ducked his head a bit. Sometimes it sucked to be the only partner in a kiss who actually needed to breathe. On the other hand, it gave him a second to form a coherent sentence.
“He's got all the papers. Full access. Let them sort him out state-side.”
The first time ever I saw your face,
I thought the sun rose in your eyes.
And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave,
To the dark and the endless sky, my love.
~ First Time I Ever Saw Your Face, Johnny Cash
“There is one Officer that I know of,” Gunny Wynn said, smiling like he'd just scored a Cheese Tortellini MRE. Evan kept looking at his mouth. They looked perfectly normal, exactly like human teeth, until they didn't. Colbert had shown him and Evan still felt some animal instinct to run away and hide just thinking about it.
“Which officer? It's not... it's not Encino Man, is it?” The idea suddenly struck Evan, that Encino Man might actually be a caveman.
Mike Wynn almost fell out of the humvee, laughing. “No,” he said, flailing a bit, “it's not him. But I can see why you might think that. It would explain a few things.”
Evan grinned. “Yeah, it would.”
“I mean, yeah, after being vamped and all, you don't really change that much anymore. If you ever get to talk to one of the really old ones, you'll see. They freak me the fuck out.”
“How old are you, then? If that's okay to ask.”
Wynn shrugged. “Fifty-two. Colbert's the oldest, I think, at least two hundred, but you'll have to talk to him about that. The LT might know.” At that, Wynn got this strange look, something between fondness and rage. “Boy's got maybe two, three years of human left in him before they won't be able to stop themselves.”
Evan perked up at that. Another piece of the vampire puzzle. “What do you mean? Is Colbert going to... you know.” He made a vague gesture that could mean kill, or pat a fluffy bunny.
“Colbert isn't going to do anything Fick doesn't want, but damn, those two are way too wrapped up in each other. The ratio we have her is two to one, two humans for each vampire. Most of the boys use needles and plastic bags. Keep it clean, keep it simple. But not Colbert, he's never even touched any of the extra bags.”
“That seems odd.” Evan wondered. Colbert had to be hungry all the time. Maybe that made him a better warrior.
Wynn sighed. “Not odd, exactly. Colbert is as addicted to Fick as the LT is to him.”
Evan nodded. They looked out at the semi-dark that most of their lives had become. It was amazing how little direct sunlight there actually was, in a day, with the right precautions. “So, the two of them are different.”
“Colbert could explain this better, but he's not going to. Cold as ice, that guy, even for a vampire. You see, sometimes we get stuck on certain people. They smell different, they taste better, we can tell exactly where they are in a room with us, and then there is a point when the thought of them dying tears us up inside. It's not pretty, but supposedly it's some form of mating.”
“It happened to you, didn't it?”
And wow, Evan had never thought of the Gunny as an especially good-looking guy, but the way his face lit up, he could have scored any kind of modeling job in the Western hemisphere. When he spoke his voice was clear and warm, hypnotizing. “My wife, when we met it felt like looking directly into the sun.”
Evan could imagine. Painful, beyond bright, a scarring kind of beauty that left nothing behind. Intense in ways humans rarely were with each other.
“Okay, so if it's the same thing, what do you.. eat? Drink?”
Wynn licked his lips, his eyes still far away. Still somewhere much closer to his wife, probably. “Marines make do, reporter. Besides, the addiction fades after a while and almost completely stops once the partner is turned.”
“Almost?”
Evan was rewarded with the toothiest smile yet. Wynn looked like a wolf. “We do bite each other, reporter. It is, after all, a very intimate act.” The heat traveling along Evan's spine made him uneasy. And yet, it wasn't entirely unwelcome either, which probably meant Wynn was using a bit of weird vampire mind control on him. He shifted in his seat, looked at his notebook.
The notes had stopped at “officers?”.
“So, about that officer?”
Wynn laughed and laughed through the rest of the afternoon.
And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.
~ Revelation 6:8
Meesh went through the discarded MREs. The First Recon ratfuck boxes were always full, even with the good stuff, seeing as how so many of the men didn't actually eat any of it.
“No,” Meesh said. “There are no vampires in Iraq.”
Evan wrote it down before he even registered what it meant. “Are you sure? These guys here seem to do just fine.” The marines weren't fine, exactly, but they made do.
Meesh gave him his wildly criminal grin, so crooked it could almost be broken. “Too much sun, they don't like it very much. You get them in the mountains sometimes, Afghanistan maybe. Not here.”
Evan smiled, disbelief all over his face. “What about the Bedouin?” It had been a guess, not even a good one - just the roomy, flowing cloaks, all of the things that could be hidden beneath them.
Meesh winced. “Yeah, okay, maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“One or two?” Meesh poked a pound-cake - it was still squishy and he grabbed it. “Dude, it's not like that. There is no cult of weird vampires running around in long cloaks in the desert. That would be fucked up.”
Evan nodded, playing it straight. “Of course.”
“So you understand? There are,” Meesh punctuated his words by stabbing Evan in the chest with a spoon, “no vampires. In Iraq.”
Evan scribbled a few things down, mostly so he could pretend not to be watching every flex of the muscles in Meesh's face. A brilliant grin, as the man turned to leave:
“And we are certainly not here to liberate them from an evil dictator. Because there aren't any vampires here.”
Oh. Evan's eyes went wide. Could that be? Was that-
Meesh laughed. “Dude, you know that I'm totally fucking with you.”
They talked all night
To the young men that they knew
On the summer side of life
Goin' off to fight
~ Summer Side of Life, Gordon Lightfoot
“So,” Evan said, not sure exactly what the etiquette was. How did a guy talk to a two hundred year old, very pale killing machine?
Colbert looked at him. Icy. “Reporter.”
“I, uhm,” he gestured at the humvee, “if you... I mean, I can drive with... someone else.”
Ray looked up from the magazine he'd been devouring. “What now? Brad, what did you do to the reporter?” His whining and entirely human voice made Evan relax more than any assurance from Nate that things would be alright.
Colbert looked at his driver like he was some kind of insect. Suddenly, that look seemed so much more sinister. “Ray, don't you have an imaginary household pet to fuck?”
“Not before bedtime, oh fearless leader.”
Evan smiled. Ray obviously wasn't phased by the whole vampire thing, and he was the one always busy annoying the shit out of Colbert. So maybe things would be okay.
Colbert looked back at Evan. “You talked to the Gunny?”
Evan nodded. Then Colbert smiled, curt but pleased. “Good. Get in the humvee, we're Oscar Mike in ten.”
And just like that, the world righted itself and began spinning again. Between bombs and machine guns, blood and death and terror, having a vampire as your guide and bodyguard might not be the worst thing. Might not be bad at all.
Sometimes I think its a shame
When I get feelin better when Im feelin no pain
Sundown ya better take care
~ Sundown, Gordon Lightfoot
~ The END ~
Hahahaha. Okay, so I'm sorry for fucking vampire lore and messing up our boys and whatever. I loved this idea so much and just, guh. This is entirely gratuitous :D I steal with love ;D
This could not have happened without True Blood and the fact that Alexander Skarsgard is going to play Eric Hotass. Apparently my military kink has a vampire fetish.
Some of this can also be blamed on the decision of ending Generation Kill with a country song, and my lovely flist, who should totally write the extended version of this, if they love me at all.