The days were unlike anything Bulleit had ever faced before.
She had somehow stabilized Forge and Greaser and kept them alive.
She had lost Throttle twice. Through some miracle, Bulleit brought her back each time. Throttle's leg was the first limb she had had to amputate. She'd put tourniquets on many lost or mangled limbs. Her job had always been stabilization, not actual amputation.
Bulleit had been keeping Throttle heavily sedated.
The Joes had moved four times in two days in response to the heavily armed Cobra Patrols sent to locate them. The attacks were always the same; first came the thundering explosions of mortars raining down near their location, sending dirt and debris flying into the air.
After the mortar fire ceased, they were met with the chilling silence of Cobra's heavily armed Fangs, their dark silhouettes stark against the sky as they launched their payloads of missiles and rockets, which detonated with bone-rattling force perilously close to the Joes' position.
Finally, before the smoke had begun to clear, the unmistakable sound of heavily armed vehicles approaching would echo through the air, accompanied by the harsh chorus of soldiers storming in to secure the area.
Their survival hinged on the vigilance of their Autobot allies. Twice, they had provided an early warning, allowing the Joes to stay one step ahead of Cobra's forces; this was not one of those times.
Each time Bumblebee and Beachcomber rushed into action, surrounded by a whirlwind of calculated chaos, Bulleit worked tirelessly to evacuate the wounded. Overhead, Powerglide soared above, unleashing a near-endless barrage of cover fire to protect the Joes' retreat.
Four times in two days.
Even sedated Throttle screamed in pain. The sound was seared into Bulleit's mind, playing again and again, a loop of memory she kept trying to shut out.
Four times in two days.
Suddenly, Bulleit felt a hand rest on her shoulder.
She reacted instantly, turning and raising a knife to the throat of the person grabbing her. For some reason, she didn't follow through with the thrust of the knife.
The world swam around her.
Four times in two days.
Standing in front of her was a person, hands in the air, a trickle of blood running down their neck; she was fascinated by the way the red liquid slipped down, mixing with beads of sweat, staining the skin red.
She looked up and saw a man.
Four times in two days.
She knew she recognized him but couldn't recall his name. Their lips were moving slowly. She shook her head, her knife nearly slipping. The lips kept going, repeating something she couldn't hear.
Falcon stood motionless. His hands are up and out to the sides, motioning for the other Joes to stay back. He felt the tip of Bulleit's knife prick his skin. He knew the moment the blood had begun to drip down his neck. He kept stone still, his voice low and steady, "Bulleit, it's okay, put down the knife."
Her eyes were glazed. At that moment, Falcon knew Bulleit wasn't all there. The strain of the past few days had taken its toll on one of his most reliable members.
Four times in two days.
She'd barely slept, hadn't eaten, and only drank water when forced to. She knew better. Like all Combat Medics, she knew she needed to care for herself. However, Cobra hadn't given them the chance.
She had stepped out of the shelter to get some fresh air.
Four times in two days.
They had been pushed back to an area that had been wiped out in the early days of the ZomPoc. The buildings were little more than piles of rubble. The Joes worked to find whatever they could to create a makeshift roof to keep the wounded out of the elements.
They were being pushed further and further from their original base.
She longed for her barracks in that run-down office.
Four times in two days.
She shook her head again. The sound of that voice kept repeating.
"Bulleit, it's okay. Put down the knife."
Slowly, the fog began to lift from the recesses of her mind. Spots of focus grew larger, and sounds began to clear.
With a final shake of her head, Bulleit came back, her knife drawing blood from Falcon. She immediately dropped the blade. It fell to the ground with a thud. She took a step backward, horrified.
"Bulleit, it's okay. You're okay," Falcon's soft voice said, his eyes full of worry.
"I... I'm..." Bulleit struggled to get the words out.
"It's okay, let's sit down. Everything is going to be okay."
"I can fix that," Bulleit nodded toward the wound on Falcon's neck, a thin line of crimson marring his skin.
"It's no big deal. Just take a seat," Falcon replied, reaching for a bandana tucked in his back pocket. He carefully pressed the fabric against the cut, applying gentle pressure to stem the flow of blood.
"I'm so sorry..." Bulleit's voice trembled.
"It's okay, really."
Bulleit settled on a stack of weather-worn bricks while Falcon crouched on one knee.
"It's been a rough couple of days, huh," Falcon offered, keeping his eyes on her.
"Yeah, I guess it has..." Bulleit's started, but her voice was abruptly drowned out by a deafening explosion nearby. The ground trembled violently beneath them as billowing smoke rose ominously a mere 100 yards away.
Falcon sprang to his feet, the bandana falling from his hand onto the rubble-covered ground. "They found us!" He shouted as he began barking orders. The Joes had quickly become experts at this harrowing game of survival, expertly coordinating to move the injured. As the doors of Bumble Bee and Beachcomber swung open, ready to receive the wounded, the Joes hustled to load the two transports.
Bulleit felt the intense rush of adrenaline spiking through her veins, sharpening her instincts. In one swift motion, she dashed inside, her heart threatening to burst through her chest, grabbed her essential bags, turned, and lept into Bumble Bee with Throttle. The door slammed shut behind her with a 'thud,' sealing them off from the disorder outside.
Five times in three days.
High above, Powerglide soared through the sky, his sensors searching for enemy contacts to engage and eliminate. Meanwhile, many of the Joes mounted their dirt bikes and quads, the engines roaring to life as they prepared to speed away from the approaching danger. Still, others fled on foot, their minds racing as the sounds of the Joes quickly retreated beyond the horizon.
Falcon was among those on foot. He had given command to Bulleit each time they were forced to retreat. He and the Joes accompanying him stopped every so often to set explosives in hopes of slowing Cobra's advance.
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