Star Spangled Eyes


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Also featuring:

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Scene Title Star Spangled Eyes
Synopsis An eclectic group of individuals are shot back to Vietnam to rescue one man, but is this a mission or an ambush?
Date November 15, 1968

Some folks are born made to wave the flag,

A hot breeze blows through towering palm trees, rustling rubbery green fronds to create dancing patchwork shadows on the jungle floor. Booted feet storm across broken deadfall and wet underbrush growing up in the smattering of sunlight. Through the noise of jungle birds and blowing wind, the zip of bullets whizzing overhead accompany the crackling pop of automatic gunfire.

ooh, they're red, white and blue.

"A4 is inbound! Go!" Barking orders at the top of his lungs, a young man in an olive-drab uniform darts between trees, hearing the buzzing noise of bullets whipping past his head and punching into the pulpy bark of the thick forest. Looking over his shoulder, the young soldier spies four more men running at his back, one of them clutching an arm to his midsection where his uniform is stained darkly.

And when the band plays "Hail To The Chief"

Breaking through into a grassy clearing, Sergent Claremont is waving his hand over his head, rifle held fast in his other hand. "Go, go, go!" Behind him, one of the four other soldiers breaking through the treeline with an antenna waggling left and right over his shoulder should be the one shouting orders, but the bullet holes riddling his pack that carries the heavy radio equipment prove to be a complication in that plan.

oh, they point the cannon at you, Lord

The clearing is hundreds of feet across, in the center of which rests a bullet-riddled Bell UH-1 Iroquois, engines whining and rotor spinning as the helicopter prepares for takeoff. The tall grass surrounding the vehicle shifts from the downdraft of the spinning blades overhead as Sergent Claremont ducks his head down, leaping up into the open bay doors of the chopper, sliding on his shoulder across the floor.

It ain't me, it ain't me

"Norfolk!" The shout comes out as the straggling soldier ducks behind a tree and drops into a crouch, slapping a magazine into the bottom of his M1 carbine, "Norfolk get cover! Get cover!" A wiry young soldier ahead of where Private 1st Class Benson has situated himself skids to a halt, turns around just enough to see Benson crouched and then dives to the side behidn the thick trunk of a tall, twisting tree.

I ain't no senator's son

Benson ducks out from behind cover, firing blindly into the jungle behind them where the gunfire is coming from. The pop and crack of automatic weapons fire precedes Benson jerking back with a plunk sounding from his helmet. He hits the damp ground back first, rifle laid out at his side, blood pooling down around his head and seeping into the ground, one foot twitching from side to side.

It ain't me, it ain't me

In the belly of the helicopter, Claremont climbs up to his knees, reflexively ducking as he hears an errant round fired from the jungle plunking around inside the helicopter. He scrambles forward, grabbing a hold of the dual grips for the M2 Browning machine gun mounted on the door, folding it down and forward before squeezing both triggers and launching a volley of fifty-caliber rounds back into the jungle over the heads of his own men. Running out of the jungle, the radio technician is clipped by incoming fire before Claremont can lay down suppressing fire, tumbling forward before he disappears into the tall grass.

I ain't no fortunate one, no

The roar of a jet engine soaring overhead is what was feared all along; the inbound approach of an A4 Skyhawk with a payload of napalm readied for the Vietcong waiting beyond the treeline. "Airstrike inbound!" The shout comes from the helicopter pilot over the chattering report of the Browning firing wildly into the forest. "Sergent we have to take off now!"

Some folks are born silver spoon in hand

"Negative!" Claremont shouts back, turning to look over his shoulder as his firing stops, smoke rising from the overheated barrel of the Browning. "I still have men back there! I will not leave them behind!" Claremont braces one foot against the side of the door, sweeping the aim of the Browning to the side of where his men had been in the treeline, hoping that the incoming approach of the Skyhawk and his own fire into the treeline would buy them the time they needed to escape. He had no idea that there were only two left to rescue.

Lord, don't they help themselves?

"C'mon!" sharply barked out causes 'Norfolk' to jolt up from his position behind the tree where he'd been ducking. A hand sweeps out to grab him by the collar, yanking the lanky youth up to his feet. It's only the wide-eyed recollection of a US military uniform and a familiar face that stays Norfolks' hand and the pistol he's gripping tightly in both hands from discharging. The blue-eyed soldier yanking Norfolk to his feet turns around with a revolver in his other hand, firing into the jungle.

But when the taxman come to the door

Pushed ahead, Norfolk hears the report of that handgun firing off into the jungle, one round after another until the revolver is emptied. "I said go!" Those tired blue eyes sweep the jungle, the sound of the jet roaring overhead has him looking up to the noise with eyes narrowed, his revolver tucked down into his holster before turning towards the back of Norfolk as he runs towards the helicopter prepared for takeoff.

Lord, the house look a like a rummage sale, yes

"Get ready to takeoff on my mark!" Claremont screams into the cockpit, watching Norfolk break out of the jungle, trodding across the tall grass on his way towards the helicopter. Braced and ready to fire at a moment's notice, Claremont keeps a steady aim over Norfolk's head and finger hovering over the trigger all the way until the young man leaps up into the helicopter and rolls onto his side out of the way of the door.

It ain't me, it ain't me,

"Corporal— Corporal Sanders is still out there!" Norfolk huffs breathlessly as he clutches one hand to his chest and stares at Sergent Claremont, his brows furrowed and tongue sliding over his lips to try and wet their parched surfaces. His shoulders jerk and head ducks at every ping of gunfire that ricochets off of the outside of the helicopter.

I ain't no millionaire's son, no, no.

Much to Sergant Claremont's amazement, Sanders is strolling out of the jungle a moment later carrying a rifle to his chest. Having taken the weapon from the corpse of Private Benson, the blood-spattered M1 sways from side to side as Sanders breaks into a sprint. "Alright, get this bird— " before those words can spill fully past Claremont's lips, there's an explosion that brightens the sky, followed by a sharp whining sound. The A4 Skyhawk, circling in to drop its payload now streaks with fire from an engine, wobbling uncontrolably as it careens towards the jungle floor.

It ain't me, it ain't me,

Turning around, Sanders' eyes narrow as he looks up at the smoke trailing from the jet, his upper lip curling into a snarl before turning back towards the helicopter at full speed. Climbing up, Sanders keeps one foot on the rail as he turns back to look towards the A4 as it crashes down into the jungle, belching black smoke from its wing and belly as it descends.

I ain't no fortunate one, no.

"Sanders get your ass inside now!" Sanders can't hear Claremont's shout over the noise of the helicopter taking off, though as he tosses his carbine inside, his hand moves down to the blood-stain at his midsection he'd been holding on his retreat from the jungle. There's a brief tensing of his brows before he ducks his head down and steps inside, looking over to 'Norfolk' with an intent stare.

Yeah, some folks inherit star spangled eyes

'Norfolk's' wide-eyed stare back up at Corporal Sanders comes with a few more moments of deafness withint he helicopter as it begins rising up off of the ground, blowing the tall grass out and away from the vehicle as it picks up and away from the extraction site. "We failed," is Sanders' sharp admonishing to Claremont, blue eyes snapping to the Sergent. "Now they're going to have to send someone else in to do our job, you realize that don't you! You never should have ordered the retreat!"

ooh, they send you down to war, Lord

"If I didn't make that call you'd all be dead!" Claremont climbs up from his position by the door gun, reaching up to grab Sanders by the collar of his uniform. "Now sit the fuck down before I sit you down!" Sanders' reaction to being grabbes is challenging, lifting up one hand to point a finger towards Claremont, about to speak before there's a shattering of glass from the side window and an explosion of red in the pilot's seat against the opposite glass.

And when you ask them, how much should we give

The helicopter immediately pitches forward when his body slouches over the controls. Sanders and Claremont are thrown to the opposite side of the Huey, crashing into one another as the chopper begins to break into a spin. 'Norfolk' is thrown across from where he'd been seated, tumbling head over heels before smashing up against the interior wall, barely catching sight of the red mess that is the pilot's head wobbling limply from side to side, drooling thick crimson out a gaping head wound.

oh, they only answer, more, more, more

Norfolk's eyes grow wide as his hands grip the mesh netting on the wall he'd collided with, watching Sanders and Claremont trying to reach the Huey's cockpit as gravity swirls them around like lint caught in a drain. Norfolk's last memory is of hearing the words, "We're going to crash!" He isn't sure if it was Claremont of Sanders who said it, but that sound rings in his ears right before the sound of shattering glass and crumpling metal does.

It ain't me, it ain't me

Then pain.

I ain't no military son, son, no

Then darkness.

It ain't me, it ain't me

Then it begins.

I ain't no fortunate son

Mekong River

Soc Trang, Vietnam

November 15, 1968

Eight Days Later…

A rush of displaced air sends drizzling rain gusting away from where there was once only open space. The temperature change from New York City in October to the jungles of Vietnam in the fall is a stark one. Gone is the crisp and cool weather, replaced by thick humidity and warm rain trickling through a jungle canopy.

Jaiden Mortlock is the first to arrive at a clearing beneath the jungle canopy where crushed undergrowth is tangled with the wreckage of a massive, burned out hulk of what clearly was a fighter jet of some sort at one time. The badly damaged plane looks to have torn a path clear through the jungle floor, clipping trees with its now sheared off wings before colliding with a copse of tightly packed palms that are shredded from the impact.

Another quick rush of air comes mere moments before Jaiden's boots touch down on the muddy soil, and carried with some forward momentum, a redhead with tangled locks of fire-engine hair stumbles with that visible forward movement. Her shoes slop-squelch in the ground before she skids to a stop, rain beginning to dampen tightly coiled locks of hair as she spies the opposite side of the downed A4 Skyhawk amidst the humid jungle.

With its cockpit missing, the pilow of the Skyhawk rests dead in his dead, head tilted to the side and dark, long dried blood staining the back of the seat and some of the inside of the canopy where he'd been clearly shot. The impact didn't kill him, the cruelty of war did.

Another roar of displaced air comes with a slap of water as someone seems to have been thrown bodily into the muddy water. Landing on her knees in a puddle and splashing mud up her pants, Isabella Dawson clearly was not the most willing of participants in this temporal journey. Where she lands, there is a sight unlike any other she has seen laid out for her. A human body with a clock sack tied over its head has been strung up on a twisted piece of metal, ripe tying his hands off to a portion of the jet that had been torn free during the crash. His legs are bound with that same rope, and a dark red stain on the front of the bag soaks wet the area around a jagged hole. Blood runs down the neck of the dead soldier and the open front of his olive drab uniform.

From the jungle the sounds of footsteps approach the crash site of the A4 Skyhawk, and the distinctive countenance of Bradley Russo looks so remarkably out of place in this rain-soaked jungle. Mud dirties his clothing from the knees down, soaked through and through by the rain. His hair is swept back from his face, one sleeve torn loose at the shoulder, a scratch on his cheek. He's been here longer than the rest of them, and the sound of movement in this desolate jungle isn't the rescue party Russo had been hoping for.

A moment later, there is the sound of a thunderclap and a long, distant rumble rolling over the Vietnamese jungle. Hiro Nakamura is nowhere to be found, nor are half the people that he said would be waiting here for the team to arrive. Most notable — aside from the two dead US soldiers — is that Jaiden cannot see Delia Ryans anywhere, and she had been with he and Hiro up until just a few moments ago.

The cloudy skies overhead beyond the sparse jungle canopy flash with lightning, and the lightly falling rain is the only sound the otherwise silent jungle has to offer. Hiro had said he would explain once everyone had arrived.

Something is wrong.

Cursing is often the most appropriate response to strange situations.

When Hiro made his appearance in Delia's apartment to pick up Delia for her trip back to the jungles of Vietnam, waiting with her with two packed bags is Jaiden. There was some cajoling, some pleading, and even the attempt at bribery with a good home cooked meal, and eventually, with some combination of the three he was begrudgingly allowed to come along with. Taking up his bags, he was off with Delia.

The first sight Jaiden sees after arrival is the shredded wreckage of the Skyhawk and the second, the rain. It's not something easily missed, since it permeates everything around them. He lifts his hand to shield his face, his power going into effect to form a bubble of sorts around him, repelling the water thanks to a hovering disk of water just above his head, giving him a bit of shelter while he starts to pull on his poncho and pull out his guns. This, for all intents and purposes, is a combat zone. Expect the worst.

"Delia….?" The man looks around from his crouch, the water funneled away so he can more easily see. He doesn't dare another call so he starts to search the crash site for the red-haired girl. Hiro wouldn't have separated them, would he? If so, there might be a punch before that dinner that was promised, and with Ryans threatening Huruma if he let Delia get hurt? There's extra motivation to find her, right quick.

The water-shield above Jaiden's head expands, making a fairly decent-sized area out of the rain for conversing.

Lexington Lane lands with a string of curses as she tries to catch her balance in that mud. But she doesn't sound upset, just… well, Irish. She ends up catching herself on Jaiden's shoulder, perhaps the wrong woman entirely to be doing so. But she lets him go after a moment and lets out a 'whew'.

"Muggy enough out here t' leave your stalk soggy, am I right 'r am I right?" She says by way of a somewhat crude greeting to Jaiden, complete with a friendly smack to his chest. She's not dressed for war, either, in a tiered, flowy almost hippie looking skirt and a peasant blouse, well. Her jacket was left behind at the pub Hiro snagged her out of, but she doesn't mind that particularly. Not just now, anyway. Her shoes, too, are just a pair of black boots left untied to the midway point, the tongue lolling like a tired dog's. But she has a pack with her, at least, since Hiro's timing was pretty spot on after she'd made a trade for some hardware at that very pub.

And by hardware, I mean guns.

"— of a bitch!" is the first screeching, somewhat breathless herald before the splash of a petite Asian woman being flung into 1968. "My pants are fucking soooOOH HOLY SHIT!" Scrambling to her feet, Isabella Dawson makes a face half-way between disturbed and disgusted as she backs awkwardly away from the desecrated corpse, stumbling a bit with the mud. What the shit is going on? Already her hair is plastering to her face with all that rain, and she shoves it away from her face, scowling now that she has distance from the gruesome display. No one's allowed to take her by surprise. Not corpses, not jumping through time. Certainly not pushy little Japanese assholes with hero-complexes who magically appear in her apartment and insist, nay, demand that she answer the call for help. What call? She doesn't know. All she knows is that today is definitely a Bad Day.

Pushing the cherry red sleeves of her blouse up her arms, Isabella rounds on the other two as she hears words being spoken. "So, maybe this is a stupid question, but where the flying fuck are we?" she snaps. And as Russo approaches, he seems to be included in that. Not very happy, this one, as the petulant sneer on her face may foretell.

The interjection of voices and slight commotion guided Russo's steps here. He's already worse for wear. A hand rubs against his cut cheek as the trio enters his gaze. His pre-tousseled hair, and disheveled appearance are courtesy of a trip gone very wrong, particularly considering his attire was chosen by the studio — fat-chance Kristen will be able to find a dry cleaner in hell she can sell Brad's soul to in order to remove stains. While he'd been hoping for a rescue party the group he encounters is far from one he'd expect; earning them a distinct nose wrinkle and eyebrow furrow. His feet ache; his shoes hadn't been designed with this climate or varied motion in mind. Some shoes are meant for walking, others are merely meant for standing.

Fingers comb through his hair raggedly, only tousseling it further. Haphazard strands flit this way and that as he, quite literally, gapes at the gathering group. His thoughts mirror Isabella's words, but the question he poses is just a slight variant of her own, "When the hell are we?" His tone tinges on bitter; teach him to trust an Asian man who sneaks into homes and leaves crane behind; all-in-all it really was some kind of cosmic joke. Even if it wasn't the one he'd originally considered.

The answer to Russo's question is the crowing of an Indian Cormorant somewhere in the high canopy, the first sound of birds since their arrival. Perhaps animals are sensitive to the tresspass of beings from another time, maybe it's the storm bearing down on the darkening jungle that is keeping their calls quelled. Only the peal of thunder answers Russo loud enough to matter, and for all that the drizzling rain bounces off of the rippling disc of water undulating in hovering formation over Jaiden like some sort of shield, the dampness in the air is almost as bad as the rain itself.


There's another sound in the jungle, one that isn't a bird but still comes from the trees. Tangled up in the moss-covered branches of a high, twisting tree there is a monkey— one of a distinctly non-simian variety. Arms and legs wrapped around the thick branch she's hanging on to, Delia Ryans is suspended some twenty feet above the wreckage of the Skyhawk, her fingernails scraping the moss, feet scuffing the tree as she tries to keep her grip.

When a group of people are wildly flung through time like so much buckshot, the aim of the person firing the gun must come into question. Bradley Russo has had the last hour and a half to consider his predicament, and while these people aren't the calvary come to take him home, they at least look sympathetic to his plight.

Delia Ryans, trapped up in a tree, included.

Random Irish Women appearing out of the middle of nowhere is normally a thing to be wary of, but when time travel and a bad aim come into play, it's not something that should be unexpected when people appear. "Evenin, miss. Looks like you're on this little walkabout with the rest of us, are ya?" His attention turns to the petite screaming Asian woman, the man moving, shushing her with two fingers to his lips. "Stop your yabbering, Shiela! We're in Vietnam in around 1968. Bad place, this. Lots of ears you may not want to prick in this place." The Australian looks around for a moment, a bit of his shield following along with him as he looks for the tell-tale sign of red hair on the ground, in the trees…."Bloody hell, Delia….where you at?"

Welcome to Vietnam, population? One redhead stuck in a tree and probably a bunch of camouflaged hostiles taking aim at her right now. Also… a ragtag rescue party. As she scrambles to keep hold of the tree, Delia thnks back to her father's wise words of 'you can't just dream them to death' and once again wishes that she'd just listened to the old man. "I'm going to die~ I'm going to die~ I'm going to fall into a broken plane or helicopter or whatever and I'm going to die~" The whispered and very off-key song probably can't be heard by the rest of them… down below…. safe.

"Uhm… uhm… uhm… h-help?" Is the actual call, maybe a little too silent. She's seen enough war movies with her father to know that there are Vietcong somewhere nearby waiting to snipe her out of the tree… They're close enough to Thailand that her eyeballs might get sold as a novelty. Why couldn't she have been born with brown eyes?

Stepping under the shelter Jaiden provides, Lexington looks his way with a wide smile and a nod. "Seems that way. Tossed around by a wee Asian fellow? This is the right tour, yeah?" But there's all this screaming and pouting all around, and while Jaiden looks to Isabella, Lexi looks up to that tree at Delia's call. And then she taps the closest of the menfolk to draw attention thataway. "Hey, luv," she says up to the dreamwalker, "Sit pretty, we'll make these strappin' lads get ya down again."

She doesn't seem too surprised about the Vietnam business, she did look in her crane, after all, but the idea of being back in the past seems to have her a bit excited, for the moment. "Anybody know which side we're supposed t' be on f'r this li'l excursion?" You never know, with time travel!

"Sheila — ?!" Isabella snaps, feathers ruffled as they're wont to be. But that's nothing compared to: "Viet — !!" Apparently sentences are not her specialty today. At least she gets the message, and though her ire doesn't die down, her voice drops a few decibels to a harsh whisper. "What the fuck are we doing in Vietnam? In Nineteen-fucking-sixty-eight?!" Either she missed the memo, or she wasn't listening. Probably the latter.

Scowling, she looks up at Delia and snorts. "Great. The guy in charge of all this is a thief, a kidnapper, a breaker-and-enterer, and on top of it all, he's got bad aim. Way to go."

"It's 1968?" Brad continues to gape. His sister's presence hasn't quite registered as his eyes widen. "It's punishment," he states to himself all-too-loudly. "Find a flaw in a plan and observe the upset of space-time-continuum and get perma-flung into some joke." He's still not entirely sold on the idea of time-travel, even if he's experienced it twice now.

With a disgusted shake of his head his gaze, rather inadvertently, moves up a nearby tree, immediately causing his eyes to narrow. There's a moments pause as he openly stares at her, his mouth still opened like a codfish, silent in breath and speech. "Shit! Someone needs to get Delia" he uses her name for once, "..out of the tree… " His jaw tightens as his mud-laden steps drag him towards it. How can he get her out? He really has no idea.

It's an Australian thing, apparently, and the incredulous reply gets a stern look from the man who's currently in the process of keeping her dry with a dome of water, a little slit opening, some water splashing very nearby. "Please be quiet. Whoever did that to that poor bloke may still be around, and I've only got so much firepower to go around." He gestures to the tortured, dead serviceman…just in case it was missed on the initial arrival.

When Delia is mentioned, or rather, when her call goes out, Jaiden throws the gun over his shoulder on it's sling, tucking it safely back, and heads toward the tree. Luckily, his power is such that the dome doesn't go anywhere as he moves. "Hey there, love. We'll have you down in two shakes. Try and make your way down close to me. I'll catch you."

Once the group is gathered, information exchange will take place. Not one moment further.

Her precarious hold on the limb is weak at best, barely able to hold herself there let alone move around. Her lips downturned in a grimace, she shakes her head, not daring to make another sound lest that bit of lost wind causes her to lose her grip and fall into the wreckage.

With great effort, she manages to tighten her grip with her legs by hooking one of her ankles over the other. When she tries to do that with her arms, her grip fails and she lets out a bloody shriek. What's left at the end of the blood curdling scream is the young woman hanging upside down from a branch, by her legs. "Oh god oh god… please someone get me down before someone else hears that…" The good thing about her semi fall is, it gives her rescuers a few feet to work with, three to be exact. With the length of her arms, she's only about fourteen to sixteen feet off the ground.

Lexington leeeeeans over toward Isabella, as if imparting a secret, and she stage-whispers, "Selling you to the North. For cigarettes. They're like gold with soldiers. And prisoners, actually. Hmm." Straightening up, she brushes her hand down her skirt and takes a moment to actually look around. "I hope we didn't get here too late," she comments with a nod to the dead bodies, "The other omadhaun was sayin' that people die. Lots o' people. 'carse, this is only a few bodies, so maybe not." Chin scratch. Where the hell is her jackass brother when she really needs him, huh? Inevitably, being in a tight spot has always led to Seamus getting her out of it, or vice versa. Not this time, though.

"Everyone's so excitable t'day," she notes when her attention turns back to the others, but she sets her own bag in the mud, pulling out a rifle for herself. And a couple pistols get tucked into her skirt waistband. And a knife is slid into her boot. She's the most well armed hippie out there, that's for sure. "Who else knows how t' fire a gun?" She brought enough for the whole class.

Isabella makes to answer Jaiden, but Lexi sort of distracts her. Her eyes narrow, and she sneers. "Oh ha ha," she snarls. Trying to get her hair arranged in a more attractive manner is impossible between the rain and the humidity — not to mention the mud — so though her fingers have been combing through it, it's been to no avail. The sodden little woman just watches Delia's flailing skeptically, riiiight up until there are guns. At which point she lights up. "I was on the police force for several years. Home-Sec now. What've you got?" Oh now she's interested! And almost civil, even!

Eyes are narrowed at Jaiden, rather suspiciously as Russo's arms cross over his chest. The latent hostility in the defiant posture tugs at his eyebrows and nose, pulling them into a near-scowl interrupted only by Delia's actual motion. His forehead becomes parallel with the sky as he stares up at Delia. "Slugger, hold up!" it's moments like these that would make an ability helpful. "Do we have anything we can catch her with? That's a lot of force to come down — " While he could use a pistol, and will be in need, looking out for his kid sister takes priority, even she doesn't know she is. His kid sister, that is.

Warm breeze blows through the clearing cut by the A4's path that tore up trees and soil. While the sound of rain pinging off of the fuselage grows louder as the storm picks up, it also serves to mask the sound of movement in the treeline. The wind blows stronger, causing the rubbery leaves of palm trees to brush against one another, disturbing rainwater collected in their fronds, drizzling down on the muddy ground.

Another peal of thunder cuts through the air, a flash of lightning in distantly clouded skies. In that moment, Delia can feel her grip slipping, wet moss peeling away from equally wet bark beneath her fingers, nails dragging along pulpy wood and slipping, sliding—

Delia's fingers finally break away from the tree, and when she swings upside down her footing gives as well. The girl freefalls with a windmilling of her arms, too far to safely catch without the risk of harm to whoever is catching her. That concern, however, is likely not high on Jaiden's list of worries for his own personal well-being. Delia comes first, that's why he's here after all.

But as the redhead falls, twists in the air and plummets towards Jaiden she vanishes. Disappearing entirely, Delia only appears a moment later, standing upright and without momentum several feet from where she was falling, and none the less confused about her current state of being than anyone else.

That there are footprints in the mud around her is a telltale sign of an intruder. That a short, darkly-dressed Japanese man is stepping out from behind the tall redhead, one hand on her shoulder, is proof positive.

Better late than never.

And he's so often late these days, but hasn't had an instant of 'never'. Yet. His hand is gentle on Delia's shoulder, lifts off just as lightly as Hiro moves to situate himself somewhere where he can see them all, each and every person scoped over with some worry creasing his expression. This isn't everyone. But it may have to do. His sword is in his hand rather than in its sheath, but lowered, non-offensive, for all that his grip is as rigid as a warrior's should be.

"I was not quick enough," he announces, although his voice is quiet — but projected just enough to carry. "The villains have been here before me, and their time manipulator— tampers with my ability. I am sorry."

He seems sincere, at least, if stern. "We must all move quickly. Benjamin Ryans is the man we are looking for, and he was— " That hitching hesitation of annoyance, of uncertainty, flinty stare flicking over the crash site. "He was meant to be here. But he cannot be far."

In a sprint that would make Jesse Owens proud, JAiden moves when Delia slips and falls, leaping to catch her and…missing? Sliding in the muck, getting a face full of jungle floor and sliding a good five feet before momentum stops him, Jaiden scrambles to his feet, looking around and finally seeing where she is. And when he does see Delia, he relaxes visibly, shoulders slumping slightly even as the whites of his eyes burn out from a mud, encrusted face.

Water accumulates in Jaiden's hands and, with quick, easy movements, he washes the slime from his face, moving over to where Delia is, giving a look to Hiro momentarily before back to Delia. "Bloody fuckin' hell. Okay…." Jaiden looks to the gathered group. "I'm Jaiden, an evolved…I play with water." He indicates the shield keeping them mostly dry. "Everyone tell the group who the hell you are and what, if anything you can do, including firing a gun, then we can see about hunting Ryans down."

He ducks down to retrieve a shotgun - a double barreled version with a shortened barrel with his free hand, his silenced MP5 swinging around to the front in easy gripping location. "See why I wanted to come?" He puts out a hand for Delia to take. "We're gonna save your daddy."

Sword or no sword, Delia's long arms reach around Hiro and grab him up in a strong hug. The redhead holds him tightly for the span of about a second before she releases him and gives him a practiced punch on the shoulder. It's not hard enough to cause too much of a bruise, just enough to let him know her feelings on the matter of lateness.

"Thanks…" she says solemnly before gulping down her pride and giving the little round faced man another hug. "Not quite ready to die." Not yet anyway. November 8, 2010 is a long way off. With a long sigh of relief, she tries to regain her footing even on wobbly knees and takes a few steps toward the muddy Jaiden.

The thought of her father being in the middle of all of this? It somehow doesn't surprise her, not after the past few months. Looking around, she voices that opinion, "If dad's here? I know exactly where Lulu gets her sense of idiot." Not humor.

Lexi gives Isabella a sideways glance at that, but pulls another rifle out for her. It's less fancy and fun as Lexi's, but it's functional. And it gets tossed toward the little agent. "Here ya go, Charlie." Oh, no, Vietnam humor.

She turns to look Delia's way as she reappears, and then Hiro's too. "Well, nice t' see ya again, luv," she says with a crooked smile. "So. Li'l Benny Ryans," she says, shouldering her bag and her rifle, "I don't suppose we're lucky enough to know which was he went, huh?" But Delia's words draw her attention back again. She doesn't say anything, she just lifts an eyebrow at that last comment from the girl.

If there was a reaction when Delia fell, Isabella does not show it. If anything, she looks curious to see how it'll turn out, but concern? Not really on the radar. But when she disappears in mid-air, now that gets a reaction. The woman blinks, and steps back a bit, stumbling a little in the mud, until her dark eyes fall on Hiro … and narrow. The inevitable tirade about to burst from the acerbic woman's lips is halted by Lexi's rifle getting thrown her way, and there's the sense of I'll deal with you later in Hiro's direction. Because oh. Oh ho. "Charlie? I'm Japanese, you prick!" How grateful she is for the rifle. Which she doesn't exactly know how to use, but she'll figure it out. She examines it bad-temperedly, fiddling with the bits, before Jaiden's introduction comes about. Hmph.

"Isabella Dawson, agent for Homeland Security. I've worked in forensics and investigations, and as a police officer as well. Human." Like hell is she going to share her power with these jerks. Gawd. Her arms fold, and in an attempt to look flip, she tries to get her hair out of her face by jerking her head to the side. But really, it just gets the strands to flop further into her eyes, which earns, who guessed it, another scowl. Fingers yank the hair away instead. Take that, physics!

The appearance of Hiro — the cryptic figure that he is, travelling through impossibility to fix a present that only seems inevitable — warrants one word and one word alone from Russo, muttered quietly underneath the guise of his own breath, mistakably nothing more than an exhale if hearers do nothing more than that, "Dammit." On the plus side, Delia is okay. What he's personally doing here is yet to be explained, but he's certain the Asian man is involved.

Like Jaiden he bends down to grasp a rifle; he's always been a good shot. "I'm Brad, I have no evolved ability, but I can fire a gun. I was in the army for a couple of years." Yet, his attention, rather noticeably through the twitch of surprise, perks at the name Benjamin Ryans. He clears his throat, "Wait. Ryans was in Vietnam?" There's so little he knows about this man aside from Primatech, Delia, and the family's now fugitive status. There's another pause as he glances at Delia, "Lulu?"

Tense under the arms wrapping around him, Hiro turns slowly towards the redhead at the source of this unwanted touching, even as Delia is sliding away from the embrace and towards Jaiden. Clearing his throat, Hiro runs one hand over his rain-slicked hair, brows furrowed with a slow shake of his head to Russo. "Lucille Ryans is not here… it was not her time."

Reaching up to his back, Hiro thumbs across the hilt of his sword poking up over one shoulder, brushing a droplet of rain off of the old cloth-wrapped handle, "We must focus on the task at hand. There is one more of us… somewhere here," and to wit, Hiro's dark eyes narrow as he scans the treeline. "His name is Linus, and he is…" there's a slow waver of Hiro's hand from side to side in wobbly motion, "injured. Not here, but prior… I am concerned."

As the wind shifts directions and the rain begins hammering down harder, Jaiden's watery shield over his head shifts intuitively to block the coming downpour, while the sound of water pinging off of metal resonates from the wreckage of the A4 Skyhawk this gathering has surrounded.

Of all the jungles in the world, Linus had to end up in this one. And what a predicament the nerd has found himself in. Hanging upside down, ankle pinned between a taut vine and tree branch, he blinks quickly to keep the pouring rain out of his eyes. About fifty yards from where the other congregate, the sound of screams has Linus screaming as well.

"Hey! Hey, I'm over here! Help!" He struggles to raise his upper body up, a sit up while hanging upside down, but he's still more than a little sore in that are and it doesn't look like it's going so well. He just falls back down, arms dangling pathetically. "What a week.."

Yells for help do get Jaiden's attention, so when he hears a call for help, immediately his gun goes up and he starts in that direction, scanning the tree line for whoever is making that noise. The first thing he wants to do is find whoever that is and then tell them to shut up, but thanks to the rain him being found and shutting up are mutually exclusive. When he does find whoever it is, in the tree, Jaiden starts to climb to get him down….And when he's close enough, tells him to 'shut the bloody hell up.'

Below the tree a drop of water starts to swell, the air drying out a bit, even with the rain falling so neatly. It's like a section of the free water surrounding the tree that what's-his-name is in was suddenly grabbed and compacted into something resembling a giant droplet of water that, for all intents and purposes, shouldn't exactly be possible, what with laws of gravity, surface tension and the like. But when you're an evolved with a talent for water? It's fun and easy to do.

"Hey there, Mate. Let's keep it conversational and quiet. People we may not want to meet may be about, and up in this tree, we're targets that are easy to see. I'm going to get your ankle free and then drop you into that pad down there, okay?" Without waiting for assent or approval, a knife glimmers in the semi-darkness before the vine is cut through in two or three strokes.

Linus is left to gravity.

The impact on the giant water droplet is like hitting a pillow, almost, the droplet deforming, spreading out the shock, and then bouncing him slightly up to 'help' him to his feet. Jaiden follows soon after.

Slogging through the marshy jungle right behind the Australian is the redheaded nurse from the clinic. "Oh god… oh god… Linus are you okay? Jaiden be careful with him! He's hurt!" As soon as the man lands in the water, she's on him like a fly on manure. Being carefuly not to touch where he'd been seriously injured, her hands hover over his body protectively while keeping everyone else away.

"Stand back everyone, give him space… Linus what are you doing here?" Delia's voice is just about frantic as she reaches into her kit to pull out a stethoscope and proceeds to place it lightly against his chest. "Just take it easy… I'm here… Can you walk or do you want someone to carry you?" A pointed look is shot between Jaiden and Russo, something that clearly spells out that one of them will have to do the honors if Linus says so.

"Who can tell the difference," Lexi says dismissively of Isabella's upset, a little impish smile on her lips, though. Kekekeke. And still, Lexi's not really offering an introduction. They'll figure out something to call her, no doubt. And she certainly isn't telling anything about her genetics. Not just yet, anyway. But when Russo offers his, she pulls out another rifle to pass over to him. "Unless you'd rather somethin' smaller, luv," she says to the ex-Army fellow.

And then, there's more shouting and while Jaiden goes about being somewhat helpful and Delia frets, Lexi just looks over at Hiro, "You've a thing f'r trees 'r somethin'?"

Lucille Ryans. The last name earns a quirk of an eyebrow, but little else from Russo, especially as his attention is quickly diverted back to Lexi. His lips twitch into a toothy half-smile as his fingers grasp the rifle, "Nah. That's great, this is all I need…"

"There are a lot of trees," Hiro informs Lexington briskly, before he runs an assessing look over where Linus is recovering from not only falling out of a tree, but landing on an apparently sentient swatch of water. He tilts a look to Jaiden, that could almost be vaguely amused, mingled with gratitude — if it wasn't for the fact that the littlest time traveler is obviously weary as hell, and probably, more scared than he has a right to be after flinging everyone in Vietnam.

He turns, as if to head in a direction. "If Linus is able to walk, then we should leave. I would fold space to make our journey swifter, but I cannot predict— "

And then, he tenses, the way prey does when sensing a predator.

Staggering towards an upright posture, Linus Agron lifts up one hand to the side of his head, wobbling as he finds his footing. The torrential rain has had plenty of time to soak his olive drab uniform through and through, and while the nametag on the front says Armstrong, it is likely only by merit of it being the best fit for the young man from wherever— whenever Hiro Nakamura stole it from.

But what Hiro feels, what has the swordsman freezing in place happens almost too quick to notice, way that water displaces around a body that was not there a moment ago. Standing short and hunched in posture, a tired-looking old man in a short brown jacket zippered shut stands dry in the midst of the rain, a snapshot of an elderly caucasian man frozen in time. Like a hastily revised edit from a film reel, the temporal manipulator Arnold flicker-snaps away from the jungle periphery where he was briefly glimpsed betwen the trees, eliciting a yelp of surprise from Isabella when she catches sight of the old man.

As she changes her footing, turning to face where the old man had been in her periphery, there is a brief moment where Delia and Jaiden see the old man in a single-frame tenth of a second snapshot standing beside linus. The brown of his jacket now dotted with rain, his wavy gray hair unkempt, one hand on Linus' shoulder even as the young man is opening his mouth and sucking in a sharp breath and ready to speak. Wrinkled old fingers are wound into Linus' sleeve, and Arnold makes eye-contact with Jaiden in that moment between moments before vanishing entirely, leaving a pair of footprints in the mud where both he and Linus were standing.

A second later, there is a crack of a rifle shot from deeper in the jungle and an explosion of bark inches from Isabella's head at the palm tree she stands near. Another shot comes not a second later, and the brunette ducks with a shriek as blood sprays from her brow, one hand rising up to where she was grazed by a passing bullet, falling backwards down behind the cover of a felled tree.

Another bullet zips through the clearing, buzzing over Hiro's head and plunking noisily into the body of the A4 Skyhawk, then more cracks and pops of gunfire and muzzle flashes from the treeline.

But they're not the ones being shot at.


"He's lost a lot of blood…"

The prognosis from Corporal Sanders isn't a good one. Crouched over Sergent Claremont's prone form, the blonde-haired soldier offers a furrow of his brows, looking down at the soldier laying on his back, one arm cradled around his chest, face pale and sweat beading on his brow, eyes surrounded by dark circles. "It's a miracle that his wound isn't infected, but if we stay out here in this jungle any longer he's going to join those boys we found in the wreckage of the Skyhawk."

Sargent Claremont has seen better days, and in the week since the crash of the helicopter rescue has not come. Miraculously Claremont and 'Norfolk' both had walked away from the crash with minor injuries, and Sanders was completely unharmed. While both Norfolk and Claremont seemed to think he'd been shot on his escape from the jungle on scouting Au Co, it became clear that whoever's blood it was on his uniform it didn't belong to Sanders'; not a scratch.

Claremont's injury came two days ago, trying to hike to the wreckage of the Skyhawk in the hopes of using the communications equipment in it to radio out for help. Ambushed by the Vietcong, Claremont was shot in the arm and Sanders has proven to have a remarkably skill in field medicine, despite being infantry and not even a medic.

"Norfolk," Sanders calls as he turns back to the young soldier looking over his shoulder, "we're going to need — you and I — to make a very difficult choice." One that Sanders seems to have waited to make the call for after Claremont had fallen asleep. A light rain patters down on the sheared off wing of the A4 Skyhawk used as a makeshift lean-to, beneath which Sanders crouches over Claremont's prone frame.

"We're either going to have t'stay here, an' hope that rescue comes…" blue eyes tear away from Sergent Claremont as Sanders lifts his brows, creasing his forehead with lines of worry that belie his age, "or we're going to have to leave him and save ourselves. He isn't going to be able to walk out of here in his condition."

This is not the sort of choice a boy should have to make.

It's the worse sorta decision for any boy to have to even think about. These are the kind of choices you look to dad about it. The young soldier only known as Norfolk, stares at the Sargent laying there, blue eyes as wide as they can go, he even looks scared, under the edge of that helmet that looks too large for his head.

How can the Sargent even think of leaving someone to their death?

"B- b- but…" The words fail the boy who could be no older then sixteen, an age that should be hanging out with friends and going to the school's sock hops, not going through a coming of age in the dense jungles of Nam. He looks almost at a loss. "You can't really be serious!?" The words blurt out before he can stops them. You're not suppose to talk like this to your superiors, but it's an American Solider! "They taught us in basic not to leave anyone behind." Even at this age his voice still cracks, not yet settled into the deep bass it will when he's older.

Norfolk glances around, as if he can get some answer from his environment, something that will make that choice for him. Shoulders slump when the obvious answer doesn't present itself, and he sighs heavily. He doesn't want to do this anymore, he shouldn't have begged mom to sign the papers. "Can't - can't we just… make a - a stretcher? Or something?"

Brows tilts up, making him look more like a boy as Norfolk looks to Sanders. "D-do - do we have to leave him?"

"Do you think that the pair've us," Sanders motions between himself and the young soldier, "could drag him on a stretcher from here to the river delta days away, an' not get killed by a trap or an' ambush?" One of Sanders' brows quirks up at that, and he takes a knee, then settles down to sit under the makeshift shelter of the demolished wing. "It's not somethin' I look forward t'having on my conscience, but you and I need to come to an agreement. I could order you t'follow my command since the Sergent is out've comission, but I'm not going t'do that…"

Sanders' brows furrow, one hand lifting to wipe at the rainwater that has flattened his hair to his forehead. "We can try'n drag him with us, but it'll cut down your chances of survival pretty sharply." For a soldier in this war, Sanders is relatively confident about his own ability to make it out alive. "This is your call, not mine. It wouldn't be right for me t'make this one."

That gets a heavy huff of frustration from the teenager, hand lifting to scratch at his forehead, the action making the kevlar helmet sit at an odd angle on his head. Eyes are on the downed Sargent, while Norkfolk's head tries to reason through everything.

If they stay here, they could all die.

If he and the Corporal leave, the Sargent dies.

If they drag the half dead man, they could still die, but they could live.

If they leave him here, under cover, with a weapon… they could go get help and come back?

Okay — the thinking it over thing logically isn't working for the teenager. His head tucks down, helmet obscuring his eyes for a long moment, before crouching down to peer closer to the injured man. The injury at his own back pulls uncomfortably and he can feel the wet ooze that starts again. He knows he can't pull the man easily. "I can't —"

Unable to make the choice, Ryans goes to the back up plan. What would dad do?

A hand presses to his head, brows furrowed deeply, he's struggling with this decision. "I- I can't…" Norfolk tries to put into words that internal struggle. Duty vs survival. The right thing vs the selfish thing.

Finally, the selfish wins out… self preservation. He doesn't want to die.

"O-okay." The kid says softly, pushing to his feet. "We… we'll leave him food and water and a rifle."

It's with respect to the gravity of the situation that Corporal Sanders offers a steady now, sweeping water away from his forehead with the back of one hand. "I've stoll got my M1, I'll leave that here with him, my rations and my canteen. I've been in bad situations before," sounds like the sort've thing a soldier with ten or twenty years on Sanders would say. "Me'n you," he points to Norfolk, "we'll head back, away from here. I think I know a rendezvous spot in— "

A shriek cuts through the air, distant but sharp enough over the pinging sound of the rain clattering off of the sheared off wing. Sanders bolts up from his crouched position, whacking his head on the wing shelter with a noisy clang. One hand comes up and rubs at the back of his head, a scowl crossing his lips as he reaches down for that M1 Carbine he'd just spoken of, stepping out and away from Norfolk.

"Tha' sound like a lady screamin'?" Blue eyes flick over to the boy soldier, one brow lifted and a confused expression on his face. "Ssh," is offered next with a snap of one hand up towards the younger soldier, and Corporal Sanders' head tilts to the side. "D'you hear that? It's— English— s'comin' from the direction of the crash site."

Slinging his rifle off his shoulder and gripping in both his hands, Norfolk looks worried. "You think they found us?" His voice is hushed out of fear of being heard. A glance goes over his shoulder to the Sargent and then back at Sanders. "We — we should go check it out, just — you know — just in case." He swallows nervously, at least till they hear English words.

Slinging his rifle off his shoulder and gripping in both his hands, Norfolk looks worried. "You think they found us?" His voice is hushed out of fear of being heard. A glance goes over his shoulder to the Sargent and then back at Sanders. "We — we should go check it out, just — you know — just in case." He swallows nervously, at least till they hear English words.

His boots crunch in the dense jungle foliage as he takes a cautious step in that direction. "Maybe they have a medic. Then we won't have to leave him." The boy brightens considerably, hope dawning on his features. "Come on.' His tone like a kid who heard the ice cream truck, and he starts out towards the voices.

Back at the Crash Site

Crashing thorugh the jungle in the midst of this chaos, an American soldier— if he could be called that— comes storming into the clearing. His helmet is affixed to his head by a waterlogged strap dripping at his chin, uniform darkened from the precipitation of the storm. Bolt-action rifle clutched to his chest, the wiry young boy dashed out from the treeline towards the wreckage like the Devil himself is chasing him.

"No! Norfolk stop! No' that way! You bloody idiot!//" A blonde man with a decidedly European accent is chasing behind him, M1 carbine held fast in both hands, uniform matching the boy's but his stripes that of a Corporal where the young teenager is but a Private. As the boy crashes thorugh the clearing, the man behind him comes into view.

Tall, blonde-haired and equally waterlogged, somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties from the looks of him. The name patch on the front of his uniform says Cpl. Sanders, but when he skids to a stop and blue eyes transfix on the time-traveler in the clearing, it's clear that Corporal Sanders isn't quite who he says he is.


Hiro knows him as Adam Monroe.

Olive drab uniform, looks like it's seen better days. Torn in some spots and bloodied in others. His black boots are only half laced and his kevlar helmet is cocked to one side, rather comically. 'Norfolk' stands dumbly there for a moment as if his brain is catching up to him still.

Once it does and his superior is joining him, he realizes his mistake. Eyes go wide and the rifle he's carrying is swung up to point at them all. "What the fuck…?" The voice is pitched a bit high and his voice actually cracks a bit, but those blue eyes look awfully familiar to Delia.

He looks at all them, especially all those weapons and then his gaze drops to the single rifle in his hands, briefly. Not good odds and he looks a bit worried, even though he doesn't lower it. "J-j-just stay where you are. All of you!" He snaps, rifling swinging about trying to keep them all in his sights.

It's a kid with a gun and he's flailing it around, this might not end well.

Brows furrow a little as he looks at them all, his gaze stopping on Lexington for a moment. "When the hell did your lot stop being all about peace and love and crap? Who the hell has heard of a Flower Child with all those weapons… a skirt at that!" The teenage soldier stares at her, kinda gawking. It makes no sense. His world view has been severely skewed. "And why are there Japs here?!"

This is not your Y2K10 Ryans.

The sound of gunfire is never a good thing, no matter where you are. The telltale whine of a bullet *pinging* off the crashed plane behind him sends Jaiden immediately into combat mode, crouching down, pulling Delia down with him and pushing the shotgun into her hands (hammers not back), his own rifle lifted, finger on the trigger, safety off. Training pays off, because when he sees something explode from the jungle, he doesn't fire, waiting to see who it is.

English speaking means that they may be the people they're looking for.

"Just a mirage in the rain, Norfolk." Jaiden's accent really can't be hidden well. "Point your gun at the enemy, not us." Jaiden's gun is, in fact, pointing down and away, but can easily be snapped up for use in a bad situation. He glances to Hiro. "Did Rhys give you any idea about what we're to do here? Save this young bloke from himself?"

Fuck being back in time. Fuck it right in the ear. He'll need to be careful with his powers…no sense in tipping his hand to Ryans…sorry, Cardinal…just yet.

The moment the old man touches Linus and he winks out of view, Delia stumbles around blindly, groping through the mud, searching for some clue as to where he might have gone. "Linus! Oh my god… an old guy kidnapped Linus… with an oxygen tank… near bullets.. Linus could be dead." She turns toward the rest of her party only to see the spray of blood come off Isabelle and then be pulled into the muck by Jaiden and a shotgun shoved at her, which she promptly drops. Blame her surprise and perhaps the fact she still doesn't like guns.

Wheeling her head so quickly that the stray curls slap across her face in wet streaks, Delia's eyes widen at the sight of the young teen. A face she recognizes only from photographs. Ignoring Jaiden and the Englishman that calls Japanese people fish, she takes a couple of steps forward with her hands in the air. "Dadd — It's okay, we're here to help. I'm uhm… I'm a medi— medic." A nervous one when guns are pointed at her. She turns to point toward Lexi and flattens her palm again in a halting motion. "That — She's — in uhm… Radio! Like… Bombay Betty or whatever her name is… But for ou-our side."

Isabella stays crouched for now, fiddling frantically with her rifle. How the fuck do these things work, anyways?! She manages to get the damn thing cocked, when she has to go hunting for the safety next. "Fucking disappearing tricks," she hisses. "I fucking hate Evolved. I fucking hate this situation. Fuck everyone. Fuck this mission. Fuck this fucking gun, what the fuck!" The colorful half-Japanese woman peers up over the felled tree, trying to get a bead on what's going on, while blood seeps down her face in that oh-so-plentiful way that facial wounds do. It's maybe a good thing she can't get the gun to work just yet, because she might just shoot the wrong person.

Sure, Lexington ducks when bullets start flying, but the whole mess gets all of a raised eyebrow from her. She only straightens again when the boy soldier starts with the insults. And really, the Irish are so quick to be insulted. She looks at him for a moment, then aims her rifle to fire three shots into the ground in front of his feet. Blam! Blam! Blam!

"Now you have," the aforementioned flower child notes dryly.

But she shoulders her weapon as Delia creates a cover for her, and even smiles prettily. She is totally in radio. "If you'd like, I could sing ya a li'l song, just t' prove it." She does look over Isa's way, the woman's continued freaking out getting something akin to amusement to light over Lexi's face.

Unhelpfully, Russo stares rather openly at the father he's meeting for the first time. Seeing a young Benjamin Ryans is a lot like seeing a sixteen year old version of himself with a few exceptions; evidently the pair looked a lot alike at that age. Finally he regains some semblance of his faculties. His tongue rolls over his lips before he's stepping forward, towards his apparent father, "Hey." The word is quiet and Russo is smart enough to hold his hands in front of him non-defensively. "Just take it easy. No one's getting hurt we're just having a conversation…"

Sword slithers from its sheath at the crashing of bodies coming into the clearing, Hiro turning to confront potential attackers or gently dispatch unknowing victims and bystanders of the time and place — but neither man that appears can quite qualify for either category, not exactly. For all that Hiro should be focused on the kid that staggers out into the clearing, it is, instead, Sanders who is suspiciously eyed, now, shock startling the time traveler into a lengthy silence.

"Kensei," he hisses. If he predicted this— if Rhys predicted this— it doesn't exactly show.

Hiro seems to come to life when Lexington fires off those shots, having gone still and silent when that nickname is delivered his way, ignoring Jaiden's question. Even ignoring the last of the bullets firing assault their way and doing more damage to the flora of the area than the people. Sword in his hand and blade held aloft in the manner of someone who does actually know how to use such a ridiculous weapon, Hiro takes a scoping glance towards the people gathered here.

"Protect the boy," is his simple instruction. A simple notion, made complicated when landed in the middle of a jungle war.

Adam Monroe, oblivious to the stares of the kid's future children and those allied with them, stares ahead at Hiro, before lifting one wry, pale eyebrow. "You're out of your depth, Carp. I've already got it handled. Norfolk, put that down and get back here, would you? Let's leave this lot to their war." His rifle goes up in mute, casual threat — seemingly uncaring about being vastly outnumbered within a thirty foot radius. The jungle is silent, this time, no fresh gunfire.

"What… is he taking about?" Norfolk asks of Sanders, even as he backs up towards him. For all he knows the others are the villians. He's fought with Sanders. He knows Sanders. The kid knows jack about these people, so he seems reluctant to lower his rifle.

"What is he talking about Sanders? Villian? You?!" Norfolk actually looks a bit amused, of course he is ignorant enough at this age. Then something occurs to him and his blue eye gaze falls on Delia, he brightens. "Wait!" He glances at his brother in arms and points at Delia. "She said she's a medic. She could help the corporal!" There is hope in those eyes, something that the future version doesn't even show. In fact, this kid seems to show a lot more emotions then the one Delia knows.

"Come on! We could take her with us." The kid points out.

This guy is a villain, according to the Japanese dude with the sword who can jaunt through time, and the guy, also specified as a villain, has, what can only be assumed to be a loaded rifle pointed in the general direction of the group and the boy that they've been sent to protect. Jaiden's finger tightens on the trigger of his rifle, the black weapon across his chest, rainwater dripping from the barrel in a small stream. He's ready to snap the weapon up, to take three well-placed shots to center mass.

But he doesn't. Not yet, at least.

The shield of water that was being used to protect the group from the elements slightly shifts, flowing like molasses or thick tar to pool on the ground between the pair, boiling and rolling like living mud, starting to inch between Norfolk and Sanders. "Now now, let's not do anything hasty. They wouldn't have dropped us in the middle of the jungle if we weren't supposed to be here." His eyes never leave Sanders. If he moves, a wall of water's coming up to deflect the bullets, then three or four are heading right at the guy's neck.

Well, she's a Ryans. Since the father she knows isn't there to take up the mantle, it's up to Delia to be stupidly courageous. Inwardly, she's kicking herself. Outwardly, she's stepping between the two groups with her hands held up and out toward Sanders and Norfolk. "Wait, there's someone that's hurt? How bad and how far away?"

Keeping one hand out and in front of her, she reaches behind her with the other and pulls off her pack. "I have supplies, medical equipment… Painkillers. Just, take me to the Corporal and let me check him out." At the very least, they can give him a less painful death. She turns to look at the rest of the people in their ragtag rescue group and her upper lip curls in a bit of a timid expression. If Lucille was here, she could do it… she could be the stupid one.

Ka-CLICK! Isabella finally brings the rifle to bear from behind her log, sneer on her face. Just in time to see that she's not supposed to be shooting this kid. Right, protection. Right? Fuck it, whatever. The Asian woman narrows her eyes at Sanders, and snorts. Villain, eh? He doesn't look so tough. For now, the petite Asian woman just stays where she is, unmoving. But if a bullet is fired, she is most certainly on a hair-trigger.

"Whoawhoawhoa there, sister," one red head says to another. "We're not here t' save anyone but the kid. And I think ya skitterin' off int' the jungle with some soldiers who probably haven't seen a woman this whole tour… probably a bad idea. Just sayin'." Lexington looks over at the boy they're supposed to be protecting, her rifle resting on her shoulder, but still looming there as a threat. "I'm pretty sure that means we're all comin' along. Sorry there, but Victor Charlie is gonna have t' get his kicks elsewhere."

The words only receive a twitch from Brad as he reaches into his pocket to pop a single white pill; the first he's popped since the others showed up, but before that he'd been eating the things like candy thanks to the 2009 incident. His eye twitches as he swallows the pill, it's one of the few things diverting his attention from where they are and what's going on; secretly hoping that somewhere and somehow this is all some bad trip from the truck stop drugs he'd purchased in 2009.

The twitches only refocus his blood-shot eyes on his non-father. While clammy skin, bloodshot eyes, and twitchy behaviour generally accompany the kind of trauma and conditions in which he currently finds himself, the side effects seem to give little indication as to his current state.

"Hey Slugger, this one's got a point. Don't follow Daddy into the jungle, just… doesn't look…" The words are meant for Delia, but thanks to their unusually quick cadence, it's a little hard to tell who they're intended for.

"Delia," Hiro says, not taking his eyes off the pair in front of them. "Lexington Lane is correct. We must not divert the course of history more than the villains already have. I am sorry. Kensei, you— "

"Villains this, villains that," Sanders sneers, though he does cast an uncertain glance towards all that writhing water. For someone who has much experience with his own ability, it doesn't quite have the same visual impact as hydrokinesis. "They didn't mention anything about a whole troop of upstarts — I suppose no one expects any group of people to buy such rubbish." His rifle is held still, as if aware that any twitch of it might have people aiming at him any second now. "I'm not the most dangerous thing in this jungle."

And then, with reckless abandon, Adam swings the rifle around to fire rapid assults on the time traveler. Hiro folds time, disappears, somewhere in the very fast short seconds that follow, though fine crimson droplets hover in the air like glittering gnats.

The water and the sudden disappearance of one of them, leaves Norfolk a little slack jawed. He doesn't completely understand what he is seeing. Even with Sander's firing away at the others, the kid is dumbfounded, rifle muzzle dipped towards the ground. "What the fuck?!" He snaps out, with a glance over his shoulder.

Oh shit!

Sanders is leaving without him, so the kid turns to hurry and follow after his team mate. He moves to hurry past him. "I got your back." Norfolk turns ready to help cover their retreat.

Yeah, the water is a little odd, but with Jaiden around, the stuff going uphill in the snow is possible. Hopefully it'll be explained away as a hallucination or something seen in the heat of battle that, obviously, is not caused by such things. The patch of water that was between the fleeing Sanders and Norfolk rises up and 'catches' the boy's feet, snatching them out from under him if possible, trying to prevent him from following behind and hopefully tripping him to the ground.

While this is happening with Jaiden's power, Jaiden moves, trying to get in front of Delia while lifting his MP-5, the silenced shots making little *puff* noises, like raindrops hitting leaves. Four, five, six shots fly towards Sanders, all aimed for painful and less deadly areas - shots that will incapacitate and put into danger, but not kill outright. Shoulder, chest, stomach, groin, thigh…That's where Jaiden's aiming - or at least where the raking fire goes.

When the first rounds burst out from Sandras' rifle, Delia is quick to jump into action. For her, it means hitting the dirt or in this case, water. Keeping her face above the water line, she tries her best not to be in the middle of the crossfire between Jaiden and Sanders. Whatever happened to Hiro, those little droplets of blood frozen in the air can't mean anything good for the rest of them.

"No! NO! STOP!!" Neither can her screams of ceasefire when it comes to alerting the enemy of their presence. The still in the jungle before all of this started was likely the other gunmen moving in their direction. This new firefight? "Stop! We're in a freaking war for crying out loud! Benjamin Allen Ryans! You stop and get back here this instant before I tell your mother what you are doing over here! And believe me, I will!! Along with all that other stuff you and Brick have been hiding from her!!" Hopefully the nickname for the uncle they never talk about is the same one from back then.

Definitely a hair-trigger. It all seems to happen at once, with the rifle-fire and Hiro disappearing, and the surge of water, et cetera et cetera. The moment Sanders fires, Isabella's itchy trigger finger twitches and bullets go whizzing after the Brit. And then, in a fit of instinct, she concentrates hard, trying to bring his blood to circulate away from his legs. It'll take some doing, though.

It is all very fast, but Lexington is the slowest to actually use a gun to hurt people. Sure, she can do field medicine, but it's always been sort of difficult to get the gumption to start putting bullets in flesh. She's better with a tackle. Which is her addition to the Stop Ryans campaign. Running at the boy in a fair imitation of a football player. Well, American football, anyway.

The sound of gunfire inspires an already twitchy addict to tug his finger alongside the trigger, squeezing it with even albeit forced, pressure as he too hits the mud. His target, however, is vitally invisible to all else.

What Russo wouldn't give for a pair of ruby red slippers at this moment. But then, Vietnam isn't Oz, and the pain in his leg is real. With another undeniably present twitch, he reaches into his pocket and pops another pill. His senses heighten considerably — the closest he's ever neared to anything akin to superpowers. Of course, whether this is real or imagined is unclear, but his pupils dilate under the influence of the drugs as he strains his back and neck to crane upwards in the mud.

He twitches again as his agitation grows, tensing underneath the pressure.

Impulsively, and rather stupidly with the level of adrenaline coursing through his veins, he slides up in the mud to take a better shot towards the nothing he's shooting at. Hallucinations for the win?

Gaping bullet holes puncture through Sanders' body which twitches in response like a puppet on siezing marrionette strings, torso twisting beneath the force of his shoulder shattering in impact, his own rifle no longer spitting bullets. Gunfire from two directions fell him, with a leg disabled in an efficient snipe from Jaiden's weapon. He falls. He lies still. Very still.

Hiro has yet to return.

Russo is efficiently stopped from doing anything particularly stupid. He ankle hits a snag, maybe a root, or— you know, the old man clasping his leg with a certain steely patience despite the fact that Arnold is particularly frail and sickly. The air around them shimmers, and both are edited out of the scene just as the last shots make echoes in the air.

With everyone shooting at a Sanders who lies unmoving in the mud, tackling a waterlogged younger Ryans, or firing at hallucinations, no one notices the subtle creak of a tree branch as someone settles their crouch.

Suddenly, rapid fire from some high vantage point tears machine gun assault through the little scene, bullets pinging sharply off the plane wreck but only a split second before what is viewed as the most dangerous member of the group is taken out — Jaiden. Bullets tear across his shoulder blades, his neck, likely severing everything important to him even if he's not quite decapitated by the time he falls, eyes glassy. Another rattle of bullets punctures the muddy ground and runs a deadly line of damage over the back of Delia's legs, her invuluntary shriek, piercing the scene.

Splinters of wood burst up like fireworks inches from Isabella's head, but bullets punch in through her back in spurts of red—

And Lexington watches all of this with her grip steely on Ryans, maybe the only thing that saves her in this scenario as her teammates are rendered dead in one expert round of machine gun shooting.

And before her eyes, the scene freezes. Skips back by half a minute.

"…Along with all that other stuff you and Brick have been hiding from her!" Delia's voice, repeated, ringing through the scenario just after Lexington crowds in on Ryans, almost drowned out by the rapid gunfire. Out the corner of her eye, she sees Russo disappear — again — in the company of the elderly gentleman. Sanders is down, and quiet is filling the space.

And she knows what happens next— unless she can change it.

Lexington isn't really a screamer. Lots of blood has never really been a problem. But. Even her criminal self has a sense of teamwork and loyalty and… well, the driving force not to want to be left back in the jungles of Vietnam with only this boy she's hanging onto. So as she watches the surprise fire from above rip Jaiden and Isabella to shredded bits, there's a definite moment of well fuck. She's very sincere about her well fuck moments.

Not to mention the little Japanese girl makes her laugh.

So when it all pauses and skips back a step, she has another fuck-themed moment, but it's of the what the variety this time. Her rifle is gripped and pointing the the direction the machine gun fire came from — or will come from — and she shouts back, "Water boy! Get down!" She'll have to remember his name later. And hey, it turns out she does know how to use that thing, as her own spread of bullets fires in the direction of the enemy.

First he looses his footing and goes down flat into the mud with a squish sound, then Norfolk ends up getting tackled and pressed further into the mud. With a cough and a sputter he starts to attempt to get out of the sticky water saturated earth and to try and push the woman off the top of him. He might have a thing for red heads, he doesn't like getting overpowered by them, still enough of a kid to have his pride hurt.

"Son of a…" Growling Norfolk works to find his rifle which has gone flying to lay in the mud. Hands grip at the mud as he tries to pull himself away from Lexington and crawl towards the gun not far from him. In his struggles he notices the body of Sanders not far from him, eyes widening. "Sanders!"

Water boy Jaiden, as he's now referred to, kind of stutter-steps and flings himself backward and to the side, getting mud all over him (again) and sliding in the poncho, his weapon at the ready. When you spend a lot of time in less-than-safe areas, when people say 'get down!' he does. Immediately. And searches for solid cover. Sadly, with Delia out in the open, he's her solid cover, so grabbing for her with his left hand, his gun held in the right, he tries to get them both to the safety of the plane.

With Jaiden's strong grip on her hand, Delia has no choice but to follow. All of her instincts are screaming at her to run toward the body of Sanders. The best she can do is a half struggle to get free, but her heart really isn't into fighting a man she trusts when there are bullets flying everywhere.

"Dad… Jaiden we have to get Dad…" As the pair rush to find cover in the wreckage, she peeks out toward the teenage boy that would become her father. At this rate, it might be an impossible pipe dream. Though one of her hands still holds the backpack, some of its contents have spilled out and ziploc baggies containing drugs, syringes, suture kits, and bandages, litter a trail to where they're hiding.

Hah! Got the sucker! Isabella lets out a triumphant laugh and ducks down to reload her rifle again. Or try to. "Come on you son of a bitch —" But of course, Lexington is calling for people to duck, and that at least gets her attention. A sharp glance is cast up and about, but not up-up.

Bullets rattle off the plane wreck, just as Lexington had seen, but now Jaiden is on the move, and Delia is being dragged with him, and Isabella is covering her own back— but by then, the vision is adjusted, artlessly cut through as the vintage store owner fires her weaponry in the direction of muzzle flare in the distance, through the thick branches. The machine gun assault haults, and there's the thud of a body falling.

Haha! We win the game.

Until there's the silhouette of a woman's body dashing through Isabella's periphery, coming into view of all of them by the time she's firing. Her long dark hair whips wild under the momentum of her run, an uzi gripped in her hands and spraying bullets like water. A woman with an eyepatch, who runs with a kind of dislocated, graceful, unselfconscious abandon, like it would never occur to her that she could trip or even get shot. Using the trees as her cover, she fires off shots with the intent to harm the time passengers.

A swing of her arm aims muzzle at Isabella, who is quick to move — but not quite quick enough, when she's sent sprawling from her log when a bullet lodges into her shoulder, snapping collar bone, blood like a jet of ink.

It doesn't appear that Ryans is Kira's concern.

As for Ryans' concern—

He sees Sanders move, then. It's not the edging, dying crawl of a hopelessly injured man, but a militaristic belly crawl for cover, all knees and elbows with his rifle dragged along on its strap. Sanders casts a mud streaked glance over his shoulder, looking for someone amongst the heroes — but Hiro still remains disappeared, so, his task is self-preservation. Or relieving boredom.

"Sander! Sanders, help me!" Ryans calls out, stuck as he is in the mud, under of all things a skirt. "Dammit! Don't leave me here!"

Pushing himself on hands and knees, the young teen is determined to follow his superior. Not caring how the mud oozes around his knees cleaning to the fabric of his olive green BDUs. However, he does manage to get to his feet again and starts to hurry after, bending down to grab up his rifle on his way.

"Dammit, soldier, stay down when there's incoming fire!" The mire that holds Young Ryans slackens slightly, but as he takes a few steps forward, the saturated ground beneath him flows from beneath his feet, trying to get him to fall a second tie.

The characteristic sound of an Uzi echoes through the forest, Jaiden's head going down, his gun swiveling to walk fire toward the gunner, the silenced weapon spitting out hot brass in a beautiful parabolic arch.

If it's an Uzi, it's got a clip of 20. She can fire for five seconds or so, full auto, until her gun is dry. Chances of her hitting something, unless she's super skilled, are minimal.

But there's always dumb luck. Which is what bothers Jaiden the most. "Stay behind me…." he says to Delia, and then, when she's prepared herself enough (or fire has stopped enough) he moves toward the fallen Isabella…

Tears spring from Delia's eyes as she watches her father running into the jungle at the same instant that Isabella gets a round. "Jesus H… Damnit…" And she lets Norfolk go, risking her own life as she scoops up ziploc baggies on her jog toward her fallen and somewhat unwilling comrade.

Stuffing what isn't needed into the pack, she skids down beside the other woman. "Hope you don't like this shirt…" it's a line that Jaiden's heard before, just before the rip happens. "Keep her upright, don't let her touch the mud." If Jaiden had plans to stop the woman with the uzi they are now changed as he becomes the nurse. "Grab the tampons, saran wrap, gauze, and tape…" The redhead's brain goes into autopilot as she begins working to stop the blood flow first.

When that body goes thump, Lexington gives a little whoop of celebration. It is possible she has missed the other woman running about. "Take that, ya manky, banjaxed jacks-licker! Hahaha, oh, me Da would be so pro-uh oh! Ryans!"

It's really only the kid's yelling that gets her attention back where it should be. And he's running. "Ah, ya crazy —" Instead of running to tackle him this time, she pulls out one of her less-likely-to-maim pistols and points it at the boy's left butt cheek before she fires. Just once! Just to slow him down a little! and then she takes off after him again. Apparently she's planning on physically removing him from the danger. Violently. "Slow down, ya windy prick!"

One thing of note about that pistol. It is certainly too modern looking to be from 1968.

That is one broken collarbone, having suffered the impact of a bullet so close. And despite Isabella's desire to be a hard-ass, you just can't suffer a shot like that without a shriek of pain. The woman goes down and clutches painfully at the wound, her own rifle dropping uselessly to the ground. "GODDAMN IT," she gasps, tears leaking out the corner of her eyes, as she grits her teeth fiercely and focuses on breathing slow. Cop training, it pays off. "You bitch, I'm going to murder you and piss in your eyesocket, you bitch!" How she'll manage that is a feat that'll just have to be seen.

The mud works beneath Ryans, sliding his boots out from under him, and as the nail in the coffin on the form of Lexington's assault tips the kid forward the rest of the way, it's to the sight of Sanders getting to his feet and making a break into the thick of the jungle, the splash of a boot hitting shallow water, until there's not much left of him but boot tracks, swaying flora. Abandoned with this bunch of crazy Americans— and pet Aussie— in a jungle where the Viet Cong can spring at any moment with the throw of grenades, knifes, automatic rifle fire.

Maybe they're being smart and staying away from the particular clusterfuck, though.

As Jaiden's bullets begin to shred the leaves off low branches, Kira reacts instantly, with superhuman grace — literally. The uzi is dropped and abandoned as she ducks into a roll, momentum carrying her as she tucks her legs in, hands guiding her before her shoulder hits the trunk of a tree that gets brutalised by gunfire.

She isn't uninjured. A feral scream erupts through the jungle as she very belatedly reacts to the feeling of torn skin and fresh blood, even as she's taking twin handguns from the calf holsters, holding them up cowboy style.

And then, out the corner of her working eye, she sees movement. The barest brush of someone taking aim, and she's already twisting out of the way before the tree trunk where her head used to be explodes into slivers of damp wood. It's the first thing of two fast things that happen at once. The second thing is the air shimmering characteristically around her, her eye widening with shock and her mouth opening to maybe curse at the time traveler dragging her out of her mission—

But verbal abuse happens in some other time and place. Not this one.

"Where'd she go?" is the voice of a young man, British, but certainly not Sanders.

"I think you're seeing things, Austin. You've been drinking the water. Quit wasting your ammo or I'm confiscating your gun."

With exception to the approaching foot steps and this banter between two new men, the jungle is once more quiet. As they come into view, it's clear they're both soldiers for the US, despite the accent coming out of one of them. It's the American that spies the felled Ryans, and with a glance towards the two broads just over there— because quite abruptly, there are only two broads, Jaiden's disappearance as seamless as everyone else's— it's to the young soldier he's moving.

There is a yelp of pain from the teenage soldier where he landed, "God damn it…" Is the nicest of the things that this young man is cursing, especially when he finds himself along and with a bullet in his backside. Never has Delia heard such a vocabulary of colorful words from her father. I mean… can you really blame him?

Rolling over where he can glare at Lexington, Norfolk snaps out a, "You shot me in the ass!" As if he can't believe a hippy just did that. "You're a fucking flower child! What the hell happened to peace and love?" He shouts angrily, voice cracking in it's youth.

"Hold still." Delia commands Isabella as she tries to perform a MacGuyver style patch up in the middle of a disease filled jungle. It's not easy. "Jaiden grab me one of the syrin — " She almost twists her neck right around when the air shimmers around the large man and he disappears. Her eyes widen and aside from the momentary threat of panic, a spurt of warm blood pouring over her fingertips reminds her of exactly where she is.

"Jesus… I'm… I'm going to kill my dad when I get back. He can't say dick all then, I'll already be born. Hah… take that you old… rabbafraggin fragga fragger…" Her complaints are low toned as the nurse reaches into the bag for the syringe full of sweet pain relieving morphine that she's about to plunge into her patient. "Not enough to knock you out. Just enough to make it hurt a little less."

She has her back to the men coming out of the jungle, they could probably put a bullet through her skull before she notices. Pulling the cap off the needle with her teeth, she looks Isabella in the eyes and raises her borw. "Wea-y?" She spits the cap into the muck and repeats herself. "Ready?"

"What? Nowhere, honey pie. I've got plenty've love. For my piece," Lexington says as she twirls that pistol around a finger, a crooked smirk on her face. "And try not t' move, 'r I might have to shoot somethin' a li'l more important." Really, she's just trying to save him! Which the others seem to be doing while she stands guard. That scream from the mysterious pirate woman is fairly satisfying.

However, when those two soldiers come into the scene, she's got both pistols out and pointed toward them, hovering between them and the boy. "Alright, ya boys can stop right there, luvs." After all, it was never explained just who they were supposed to save this boy from. "And hands away from the weaponry, if ya don't mind."

Isabella is not … necessarily stupid, anyways, and this woman is apparently going to help her! With morphine. Delicious, delicious morphine. Breathless and shaking from pain, as much as she would much prefer to rip that one-eyed bitch a new one, it seems that's been done for her, and for now… she just looks hard into Delia's eyes, still gritting her teeth. "Ready," she hisses.

The soldiers exchange an incredulous look as Lexington raises her pistols. Despite earlier snippiness, the way they move together — two independent souls that happen to be on the same trajectory, as opposed to a unified front — the ridiculousness of this unlikely situation at least has the them sharing a glance. "Tough girl, huh?" says the American, with a wry, not so kind smile. "You mind if I go take a look at this young soldier, ma'am? Or are you— "

"Shut up, Dallas," is hissed from the other soldier, before he lifts a hand, spread it in a sort of surrender. "I'm Corporal Linderman. I'm a medic for the US Army. I think I can," and his smile grows a little crooked, "help your friend." He tips his helmeted head towards Isabella. "Of course, I see that you have everything under control…"

"We're hiking back to base. I could ask what the hell you people are doing out here, but we're running out of time," says "Dallas".

Norfolk just stares at Lexington for a long moment, before brow furrow and he scowls at the woman in anger. He really wants to hit her, throw something at her… something but whole 'Don't hurt women' has been thumped into his head by his dad one too many times.

With a sigh, his head thumps back in the mud, it clings to his helmet and threatens to pull it off his head. "Bitch." Ben grumbles under his breath.

From where he lays in the mud, he is able to angle a look back at the two men, brows lifting, hoping that maybe they can get him out of this really odd situation. Help? his look seems to convey.

Corporal Linderman.

Delia's entire body spins around as she gives the two soldiers a slack jawed, gaping stare. "Lin — Linderman… Homygawd…" Poor Isabella, the nurse that was about to treat her goes fangirl like a 12 year old girl in front of Justin Bieber.

Trembling hands try to keep the needle under control when she suddenly stands up and trips over the log that they'd been sitting near. She falls flat onto her back, accidentally plunging the morphine into her own leg. "Linder — " She scrambles to stand up, but the as the morphine crawls through her system, she wobbles slightly. "Sushanonortomee — meettheman.. Idon'think… mylipsh… workingright…"

Oddly enough, the name 'Linderman' seems to get her to lower her guns a little. "Daniel Linderman?" It just slips right out. There's just a blink and a sigh to mark that she knows she shouldn't have said that. But she glances over to Delia and Isabella when the other red head trips over herself, too. "Hunny. Easy," she teases lightly before she turns back to Linderman with his offer. And just one of her guns comes up again, pointed at Dallas. "Alright. But anything untoward happens t' my girls over there and your buddy here gets a bullet in his temple."

Her attention goes back that way, as the man speaks, and she frowns a little. "We're out f'r a stroll. Stoppin' and smellin' the… napalm." She loves the smell of napalm in the morning?

As for Ryans? His little insult gets him a kick to his side. "Hey. Watch your words, Sugartush. You kiss your mother with that mouth? Disgraceful."


Isabella squeezes her eyes closed, and waits for the needle to plunge… and it doesn't come. Instead her nurse is starting to hyperventilate, and the woman opens her eyes again. "Hey," she snaps. "Lady."

And off she's running. "Hey. Lady! HEY! Ow!" Yelling, ow. Broken collarbone. "Bitch! I'm fucking bleeding here! Give me the goddamn— oh christ." And down Delia goes. She thumps her head back into the mud, snarling to herself.

'Alright' is good enough for Daniel "Austin" Linderman, even if Lexington gets the addition of a speculative glance at the mention of his first name — the rest of it are so many words as he moves quicker to tend to Isabella, planting a hand on the shoulder that doesn't seem sodden with blood. The instant effect of healing is— well, instant, and it feels more like an absence, a numbness. The bullet is pushed out of healing flesh, and Isabella will feel the metal pellet rolling down her torso beneath her shirt to plop out the hem at her waist.

"Just relax," the healer advises her, making no move towards medical supplies for all that he's the supposed medic. He's looking up bright blue eyes to cast an incredulous look Delia's way, and barks a breathless laugh. "You alright, miss?"

Dallas doesn't scoot nearer Lexington and Ryans, just stares at the lady. "Lady, you're in Vietcong territory, so you're gonna lower your weapon from me before I get impatient," he says, but he directs his attention to the much abused younger man. Though he doesn't introduce himself right away, his stripes claim him to be a sergeant. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Norfolk…" His gasped out, from where the kid is curled up on his side, arms curled around his stomach where he was just kicked. It's instinct to use the nickname given to him. He takes a moment to clear his throat, sending a sharp look to the woman before directing his attention to 'Dallas' again. "Private Benjamin Ryans, US Army…" of course he's also thinking, 'I should have gone Navy like my daddy.' Thankfully, there are no telepaths about.

"Helicopter was shot down… Everyone was dead… 'sept the Corporal and Sanders." There is a heavy sigh from the kid, "Guess it's just me now." He actually sounds a bit hurt at being abandoned.

Delia is where Isabella should have been right now, in a white fluffy cloud of heavenly drugged bliss. "Imunuhjusleepkay?" Maybe she didn't calculate the shot right when she'd filled them at home, maybe she accidentally grabbed one of the ones that was filled for someone Jaiden's height and weight. Whichever the case, Delia weebles, then she wobbles, and then she slumps, face first, over the log.

Lifting her bleary head up to Daniel, she gives him a silly grin and then laughs. "Yousuckedthebulletout… heh heh heheh… Nooneshgunnabelie — lee — lievemeee…" Her glossy blue eyes close and deep breathing strongly suggests that she might be down for the count.

"I really don't give a solid brown shite what territory we're in. I'm here t' make sure this li'l pecker makes it t' the end've the day. And I did not leave my brother, my shop and my favorite beer and come all this way to fuck it up by lowerin' my weapon." And she doesn't lower it, either. "If the VC shows up, I'll let ya shoot people, promise. Just leave that one over there in tact. We call her Charlie, but she's not really from Vietnam." Lexington doesn't look away from Dallas as she addresses the others, though. "Lindy? This boy here needs a bullet yanked out've his arse, when you've got a moment. Don't mind Loopy over there." She'll live.

"Thank fucking god. You a medic?" Isabella tries to talk through steady breaths, staring up at Linderman. … Right up until he magics that bullet right out of her. The woman — 'Charlie' — goes deathly pale and she looks like she's in serious pain as she grits her teeth and stares at Linderman. But really? That's just the pain of trying to appear grateful that a fucking Evolved fixed her up. Because really, pissing off an Evolved when you're in the wrong time… well, it's not the smartest thing. So she'll just snap her jaws shut, thankyouverymuch.

"Well, if you want Private Ryans, here, to make it through the day, we should all think about moving out unless I was just imagining the sound of gunfire a few minutes prior. Hey Austin!" Dallas barks. "Luck of the Irish here wants you to heal this young private's ass, whenever you're about ready. We got a report to make, and it's gettin' longer by the minute."

"Right as rain," Linderman tells Isabella, a glance to where Delia is half out of it over her log over there. "And just fit enough to take care of your friend." If there any suspicion about the woman's ethnicity, it's clearly set aside, as if forgiven out of the proximity of so many white people — and her obvious fish out of water status here in the dripping jungle. He gets to his feet, offering her a hand up.

"Of course, she wants him too since she is the one that put it there in the first place!" Ryans growls out, pressing a hand to the painful wound on his ass, the blood mingling with the sticky mud that clings to most of him.

"Just don't leave me here with these crazy skirts." It's added hastily, worry coloring those youthful features, since he's already been abandoned once already. "I already feel like I'm loosing my damn gourd, with a guy making water move through the air and people disappearin'… and Sanders gittin' up after being shot dead."

"Jaysus, Ryans. With this whining, do the other guys beat the shit out've you every day? It's war, damnit, you're supposed t' get shot." Lexington Lane, very warm person. "Alright, Dallas. I can agree that sittin' here all day is probably a bad idea. Once everyone can walk again… we can head out. Hey, Charlie! Can ya see if ya can get Giggles over there on her feet?"

The newly manifested Evolved blinks then, and she does let her gun drop to her side to address the clearing at large. "Where'd the boys go?" There were a couple of them here a second ago, wasn't there?

Ass over teakettle and facing a murky puddle, Delia's breathing stops with a snort and she scares herself awake. "Hey… HEY!!" The jungle may be full of Vietcong but someone apparently has something really important to say. "How many…"

The redhead pauses and rolls over onto her back. Arched over the log, she's suddenly staring at the gray sky and trying to focus on a waving tree front above her. "How.. Haaoooowww…" She's also trying to pronounce the word how. "How.. many.. gorillas does it take to screw in .. screw in a lightbulb?"

She turns her head to look at Isabella and then raises her arm, pointing two fingers at the women weaving in front of her. "TWO! But!! Hoowwww.. How.. HOW!! How the hell did they get in there?!"

Isabella sits up and rubs her collarbone fiercely, like the whole experience gives her the heeby-jeebies. And she's lost a bit of blood, so she's a little dizzy, but hell if that'll stop her from smacking Linderman's hand away. "No. … Thank you." Staggering to her feet, the little Asian woman looks over at Lexington, and folds her arms before staring down at Delia. And her joke. "There's no help for this one," she huffs. "I don't think she's capable of standing, with or without help. And beats me, I barely saw the guys."

"Maybe we should just leave them here," Austin notes, between Isabella's handslap, Delia's loopiness and Lexington's— well. Strong female presence that is still reasonably objectional for the next couple of decades, especially in the jungle. "And you think I've been drinking the water," the healer adds to Dallas as he moves to kneel by Ryans, placing a hand on his shoulder and letting healing numbness sap away the sting of the bullet bite.

As soon as— as soon as— Lexington is lowering her gun, Dallas is moving, his hand viper-quick and inches away from grabbing her wrist to twist and deftly disarm—

But he freezes. And this time, it's not a vision. Sadly.

The world is frozen all around them, with only the three remaining women left to move, get to their feet, or flail like beached seamammals, variously. Then trudge of Hiro's footsteps only heralds him by a couple of seconds, gripping his side and looking either pained, wearied, or sick. Or all three at once. "The others," he says, as if in natural respond to Lexington's query, "are safe. They were brought back to the present before the ambush.

"Not by me."

Troublesome. He tricks his gaze over where the frozen form of Linderman is kneeling by an equally frozen Ryans, where Dallas is reaching for Lexington, time-suspended. "That is Daniel Linderman," Hiro says, like they didn't already know, "and Arthur Petrelli. I believe that Benjamin Ryans will be safe from them. Kensei was attempting to lose him in the jungle." The implication being, he was found.

"Thank you," is strained, but genuine.

"Oh Fu-" Lexi is just starting to say as Dallas comes at her. and then stops. "…uck? What the…" Oh, but then there's their other little Japanese person. "Oh… Good to know," she notes, about the boys being safe, while she worms her way out of Petrelli's grip. And then she looks at him for a moment…

…and pushes him over. "That's for being an asshole, luv," she says to the prone, time-frozen body. Because he was an asshole. But when she turns back to Hiro, dusting her hands a bit, she nods toward Austin. "This guy saves my brother's life later," she notes, just for the record. "What are the chances he'd come across us here." And looking back to him, she takes a moment to rip the bottom tier off her skirt, a little, mud-stained reminder of something that hasn't happened yet, slipped into one of the many pockets on his uniform. And then she picks her gun up out of the mud. And pets it a little. Poor baby.

"Why's he tryin' to lose my dad? Doesn't he know that I won't get born if he loses my dad?!" Delia slides down from her arched position on the trunk and sits in the mud, not even bothered by the fact all that diseased water is getting into her fruit of the looms. "See… if he was smart? He'da waited 'til after I was born… but before Keira was born… because she's … uuuhhhh… uhhhh… got a potty mouth like Charlie."

She lools her head to the side and forces herself to look back and up to spot the other woman's legs. "Sorry.. but you do. Your mouth is like… uhmm… uhhm… uuuhhhhh…. You got a dirty mouth boy… Deliverance! YES!!"

Isabella jumps when time stops, and she lets out an irritable breath. "So. Can we go home then?" she grumbles. Her hands plant on her hips and looking pale though she is, this is not one to be showing weakness. She sets her jaw, though when she's addressed by Loopy McDelirium, her eyes narrow and she looks down. "My name is not Charlie," she snarls. "And my mouth is perfectly fine, you dim-witted little bitch! Jesus, I can't believe you drugged yourself. I was right there. All you had to do was fucking jam the needle in, but nooooo. God, get yourself together." And she steps over the log back towards the others… only to slip and fall in the mud. Karma, it's a bitch.

There is vague disapproval for pushing over poor time-trapped people, bitchery followed by mud slide, and irresponsible drug use, but— if Hiro has learned anything, it's that heroes come in all shapes and sizes, and so his tense glance that bounces between all three women gentles after a few seconds. He takes a breath, words stalling out as it hitches, but the urge to topple over himself is suppressed for the time it might take to click the heels of ruby slippers and wish real hard. All he has to do is shut his eyes.

"Yes," he simply tells Isabella, bowing his head in gesture as opposed to compulsion, and all four vanish in the same time it takes for the three men in the middle of a Vietnamese jungle are brought back to life, for better or for worse.

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