Tight Quarters (Out of Uniform 6)

“I’m tempted to just jump it.”

“Last thing we need is you with a broken leg.”

“Okay, okay. Damn, I wish we had ropes.” Bacon kicked at the ground. “Get on your stomach and let me use your hand for extra support, but if I start pulling you over, just let go.”

“Not happening.” Spencer wasn’t going to let Bacon down, not now. Heart pounding, he followed Bacon’s directions, tried to take as much of Bacon’s weight as was safe, then with a mighty curse, Bacon was dropping to the ground beneath them.

“Your turn. Go slow. The drop’s more than it looked.” Bacon’s voice was pained. “I did a Shiny and turned my ankle landing.”

“Hell. Think it’s broken?” Spencer slowly lowered himself over the edge, dangling from both hands, trying to sense the ground and failing.

“Not broken. You can do it.”

Spencer wasn’t so sure, and he feared for his surgically repaired knee, but he had no choice but to let go and trust the universe wouldn’t punish his blind faith.

“Ooof.” He landed hard, jarring both knees and ankles and scraping his palms, but otherwise survived.

“Gonna need to use you as a crutch to get over this last bit.” Each word of Bacon’s was strained. “Fuck. I better not need to shoot.”

“Lean on me.” Spencer could live happily for the rest of his life without Bacon shooting anything again, but even as he had that thought, he knew it was damn unrealistic. Bacon grunted softly as they made their way across the rocky shore, and judging by the way he was gripping Spencer, he was in more pain than he wanted to admit to.

“Boat.” Bacon pointed ahead of them to a murky shape hidden between boulders. It was small, just a hull with an outboard motor and two oars. Barely enough space for both of them. And they were about to leave the relative safety of shore and go out on the ocean in that? “Help me get it in the water. We’ll want to row out before risking the motor.”

The water was colder than Spencer had expected as they worked together to get the craft into the churning sea. The weather did not seem to be cooperating for a launch—stiff winds were kicking up and the waves were unrelenting.

“Maybe we should hunker down on the shore, wait—”

“We have orders.” Bacon’s tone left no room for alternate plans. “And besides—shit.” Behind them, somewhere up on the ridge, gunfire sounded. “In. Row hard. Now.”

They tumbled into the boat, and Spencer manned the oars while Bacon crouched low with his gun. Long, desperate moments passed as Spencer strained, grateful for every hour he’d spent on the water as a teen and young adult, while Bacon scanned the shore. Spencer braced, expecting a boat to give chase any moment or shots to ring out.

“Oars in. I’m gonna gun the motor now,” Bacon said tersely. “Turning on our beacon too.”

He did something with the outboard motor but nothing happened. Fuck. Spencer found himself holding his breath, willing the engine to catch. But nothing happened. They were alone in a turbulent sea, shore rapidly retreating, nothing but glimmering stars to light their way. For the first time that night, Spencer knew true fear, chilling him through his soaked clothes. They might not make it. They had each other, but that might not be enough.

* * *

Bacon didn’t do panic, not after this many years as an operator, and he didn’t panic even as he messed with the unresponsive engine. He’d discarded the night-vision goggles and his gloves as they weren’t helping, but even messing around by the light of the moon wasn’t getting the job done.

“Should we row back to shore?” Spencer asked. He had done an admirable job holding it together, even better than some rookie SEALs Bacon had seen over the years, but Bacon still detected a waver in his voice.

“You really want to go back, take on an unknown amount of hostiles, who may or may not be better armed than us? Not to mention that we could get caught in the crossfire when the rest of the team catches up with them. And then there’s the whole thing of me ignoring direct orders.” Bacon wanted to take Spencer’s suggestion in the worst way, so bitterness leached into his voice. Doing the responsible thing sucked. But he had to keep Spencer safe at all costs.

“Guess not. I just hate doing nothing.”

“Join the club. But by staying out of the fray, we are doing something. I have coordinates. We can row best as we can, but even if we don’t make good headway, the beacon will lead the boat team to us. Eventually. We just have to be patient.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me this was a possibly? You and I leaving everyone behind?” Spencer sounded more bewildered than angry, but there was some of that too, Bacon was sure.