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The Fighting Irish: To Hell and Back, With Love	By : girlyhero Category: M through R > Predator Views: 3343 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own nor profit from Predator, Alien Vs. Predator, Alien franchises.

Chapter List
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Author's Notes: This is a prequel that was not intended to be described in such detail, but after Predators hit the screen, I could not resist. It may take some time to get Part Two and Three out because I have to edit them to allow for consistency with this story. I was requested to write it after being told not to because of the "in medias res" crap, and so I am ecstatic that I jumped on it. I have a tendency to write long chapters, so get settled before starting. Sorry, guys, no sex :( If this reads like it's based off an rpg, it is because the characters are set up to be playable on tabletop, stats and all, and I actually rolled dice for certain events. I t was more fun that way.
Sometimes the dialogue reads strange when the Predators and Humans are in the same scene, and I would appreciate some input on this. Here is a quick overview of the style::
Basic: "Lorem ipsum." When a person is speaking English. When Yautja are speaking Yautja around other Yautja or those who understand.
Italics: "Lorem ipsum." When a Yautja is speaking English. When a person is speaking Yautja.
Brackets: "[Lorem ipsum.]" When a Yautja is speaking Yautja around those that cannot understand.
Basic and italics: "Lorem ipsum. Suffae ium." May indicate a change in language or an emphasis in tone/emotion depending on the word, e.i. "I will fight you Jehdin-Jehdin." or "You are the most annoying being I have ever dealt with!"
Reviews welcomed and desired!
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Chapter One: Air-Traffic Report

The parachute deployed and the sound of fabric catching air woke the young red-haired woman. Jesse Danes was a heavy sleeper normally, and she was even groggy as she realized there was no ground below her feet. She lolled her head against her shoulder, the soft cotton t-shirt brushing her cheek. Her hair whipped and twisted into knots from the wind, the curls now masses of rats-nests. She grinded her teeth behind closed, pursed lips as she let herself believe it was a dream; a soft, cool dream about gliding through the air... much better than the bright-lights and missile dream...

Wait, that wasn't a dream. She straightened her head just as her legs pushed through the jungle canopy. Green and nature imposed her vision, and she continued to fall, kicking and gasping. She saw the ground below her and pulled her body into a ball from fright. The chute caught on the tree limbs and stopped her fall. She was maybe a few feet in the air. Her breathing increased and her chest heaved against the restraints of the parachute. Finally, she grasp the situation and screamed. She knew she was not dreaming, she knew she was away from home, she knew she needed out of the parachute. Still, she screamed.

"Oh God," Jesse managed a few words between her wails.

The red light on her restraints started flashing, then they released, letting her fall the rest of the short distance, landing on her feet. She spun about in place, the flat sneakers slipping over wet leaves. Her skin felt bruised as though she had been rolling around in a box as it toppled down a hill, but she was still pale and speckled with tan dots from birthmarks to sunspots with no indication she had been injured. She was silent for a moment, but her mouth was agape and trembling as though the noise was still echoing through her body. The questions in her mind grew in number. Where was she? How did she get there? Who did this to her? Why would they do this?

Who are those men with the guns...?
*****

The parachute deployed and the sudden jerk woke Rina McGuire from her deep sleep. It was an icy sleep, dreamless and unsettling. She didn't even feel the falling sensation from the drop. She was mildly glad she hadn't; she'd have vomited. No matter how many times she went through the drills, free falling was not her best suit. Even now, the sudden realization was giving her the shakes. She knew that once she reached the jungle below, she would regain her composure, and this is what kept her from retching down her chest.

She watched as she closed in on the jungle canopy. This was going to hurt. Tree jumping was not something they covered in her training, and the canopy didn't look nearly dense enough to even break the fall. As the trees got closer she pulled her legs up and curled into a ball. Branches and large leaves tore and smacked at her as she nearly plummeted through the greenery. The chute caught several times, slowing the fall but hurting just the same. Rather than slam the ground, though, she rolled off a winded tree and onto a leafy bed of debris. The air was knocked out of her as the chute caught fully on the tree and ripped her to a sudden halt.

Yells from nearby made her look up just in time to twist out of the way of a descending parachuter. A man kicked and flailed as he fell to the ground, his chute shredding all the way down. He grounded a few feet from her, writhing in pain, mouth contorted and teeth grit. His face was scratched and bleeding from the entry through the canopy. He sat up clutching his side, the one on which he landed so hard.

"Who pushed you?" Rina didn't think he was aware of her presence, but she didn't care how badly she startled him. He looked up at her with wide eyes of confusion.

The man drew a sidearm and pointed it at her. She didn't flinch; this wasn't the first time she had a gun in her face.

"Who pushed you," she asked again.

The man calmed his breathing, though still audible, and studied her. He noticed the lit device strapped to her chest, exact to his. It was the device that opened his chute. Was he shoved out a plane? "I-- I don't know," he struggled to say. "I didn't see anything. I-- I woke in the clouds. I didn't even see the plane." He lowered his weapon. She could see its design, a Colt .45; not a standard issue of any sort as of late, but it was popular among gangs and mobs of the American south from what her last briefing had told her on the subject. It was a hobby to know who carried what, for the knowledge came in handy on multiple occasions.

He had been holding it wrong, too, as though he'd learned to fire a weapon from experience and not formal training. Criminal of some sort?

"Did you hear a plane?" She remained calm with the man, not wanting to jostle him into re-aiming his weapon.

"Nah," he replied in exasperation. "You?"

"My parachute opening is what woke me," she replied.

"Great!" He raised his arms in defeat then let them slam into his sides. The movement made Rina squint her face, as she feared the pistol would go off-- it didn't. "So where are we?"

Rina turned her head slowly to either side, eying the foliage and trees. Their size and shape was unlike what she had encountered previously, though she had only been in African jungles. Usually, she could identify a plant of some sort, but even the nearest one to a fern seemed too strange to identify. "I do not know. I can't even tell you a general idea of what continent we're on."

The man nodded as she spoke. He had ruffled brown hair and was wearing a dirtied suit under the chute; the chute was the same as hers. His face was long with a large brow and cleft chin. His mouth was agape and his brow was furrowed intensely. He'd continued to study her. "You, uh-- you some sort of cop or military?"

"No." Her reply was dry. She didn't stop looking at her surroundings.

"Yeah? Me neither. What are ya?"

She could smell something nearby. It was familiar, pungent and almost like onions. They were not alone. "Please," she said to the sweaty man behind them to their left. "Come out and say hello. Did you fall from the sky, too?"

A large, heavy-set man, bald with a broken nose possibly from the impact stepped out from the bushes, a Sig-Sauer 9mm aimed carefully at them, particularly the mop-headed man. He aimed carefully with skill and training. He wore a green uniform but no chute. A few badges decorated him, nearly ripped from the trees. They read not in English, though. One of them that Rina could see said "Polizei."

"Du sprechen der Deutsch?" It had been a while since Rina had spoken in German, but she thought she hit the simple question. She wasn't sure if it was supposed to be "der Deutsch" or "die Deutsch."

"Ja," he said with a quick nod, understanding Rina's bad German. "Und American, too."

"Did you see the plane?!" Mop-head didn't even care the gun was pointed at him.

The German lowered his gun but continued to hold it at the ready, well aware of the Colt in Mop-head's hand and the fact that Rina had yet to reveal anything deadly. "No. Nothing. Just falling and sky."

Mop-head now eyed the German wearily. "You a cop?"

"Police?" Rina clarified for the man.

"Ja... yes," the German said with a nod.

Mop-head looked back to Rina with the same eying caution. "You ain't said what you are yet?"

Rina stared up at him. She gave him the same dry tone as earlier to match it. "Neither did you."

Mop-head's Adams-apple visibly shifted in a gulp. Now, he was nervous, and Rina couldn't have him get too nervous.

"It doesn't matter. Someone pushed us from a plane into an unknown jungle. I think the least of our concerns are who-does-what for a living. Unless you're a doctor, a botanist, or a geographer, it means very little."

"I'm more 'geographed' for the streets," Mop-head replied.

"As am I," the German commented, not realizing "geographed" was not a real English word. The context was understood, though.

"Well, then what about you? You may not know where we are, but do you know anything on jungles, or forests..." Mop-head asked Rina, "Or even camping?!"

"I have survival skills, if that's what you're asking," Rina replied. She stood up from her haunches. Doing so, she took hold of the tree to steady herself, legs still hurting from the landing. That's when she realized she still had all of her gear with her. The weight of her pack on her back, the belt of defense mechanisms, the grip-gloves on her hands, she still had all of it. More calm washed over her.

Mop-head got a better look at her once she stood. She was tall, maybe five-foot-nine, almost his height. She was muscular, short blond hair with brown eyes on a soft face. She had a pointed chin and thin lips matching high-cheek bones. He looked at her attire as she pulled off the parachute straps. "You sure you ain't military," he asked again.

She'd appease him with a vague but relieving answer. "Government and military are not necessarily the same thing. Now, like I said: I don't care what you did or what you do-- I just want to find my way back to my mission and maybe, if I have time, beat the hell out of whoever shoved me out a plane. Feel better?" She pressed insinuation on Mop-head being a criminal and her not caring.

Mop-head nodded. He was still on edge, but his thoughtful eyes said it had nothing to do with her or even the German cop. He noticed she was trying to pull her chute from the tree. Awkwardly, he approached to help her. "You wanting that down?"

"It could help with shelter," she said.

Both Mop-head and the German helped her pull the chute down, tearing it some more. As they balled it up, Rina pulled a glove off with her teeth and rubbed her fingers over the chute fabric. It was strange and similar to micro-fiber, but the underside was stiff and there were no weaves or knits. It wasn't a skin or pelt-- it was too large... or it came from a something too large for her to fathom. Either way, she couldn't identify it. Nor could she place the design to any known brand or entity of government.

She looked up at the German. "Can you tell where the sun is in the sky? My watch is busted."

He looked up and squinted. "It looks like it is midday, but as for whether it is before or after noon, I cannot tell. You have a compass? Maybe if I find east and west..." His voice trailed off as he mumbled to himself.

Rina reached to her belt and opened a pocket. She pulled out her compass and waited for the needle to find north. Her jaw dropped slightly and Mop-head's eyes widened as they watched the needle spin out of control at an alarming speed.

The German noticed. "Is it broken?"

"No, not this top-of-the-line magnetic compass... It can't find a magnetic north." She was about to close the compass when a sudden thought hit her. Slowly she twisted her wrist to the side, turning the compass vertical to the ground. The needle stopped its spin and pointed straight to the ground. Her eyes widened as she inhaled deeply.

"What's that mean?" Mop-head looked at it in concern.

"It found the north pole."

"Which way," the German asked.

"We're standing on it."
*****

They walked through the denser part of the jungle for several hours. The German law-officer introduced himself as Flynn Kappel. Mop-head said his name was Trevor Phillips, but Rina still referred to him as Mop-head on occasion, if not only to amuse herself to keep her sanity. Along the way, the three came across more parachuters. An American Armed Forces Colonel, scarred and aged into his fifties, had settled the other group-- five including himself-- into slight peace, still holding strong its worry. Colonel Rick Bradon had been plucked from battle by a bright light. It was an effort to press the Middle East into submission. In the middle of battle in Iran, a flood of white light took him, plucked from the sands and into the jungle. After which, he awoke in the same state as everyone else; falling helpless through the sky into the unknown. He too noticed issues with his compass.

A marine by the name of Donnelson, and that was all, was on the other side of Iran as the Colonel. He wasn't a standard issue from what Rina could tell. He was intense in his stare, and his manner of watching the others in strict observation was too similar to Rina's. If he were ever a marine, he wasn't anymore. Black ops. Rina knew the type; she had three with her less than a week ago, or as far as she could remember time. Even his uniform screamed secret-services operations. Like her, he had been taken in the middle of a mission.

A British military officer of some sorts introduced himself as "Lou." Again, just that. He did not seem of a similar type as Donnelson or Rina herself. Something seemed amiss to him though. No one seemed to notice, especially their focus was on the Iranian.

Rahim Omid Samadi was an Iranian military officer the Colonel subdued and disarmed. He did not broaden his introduction as to what he did in the military which irritated the Colonel and Donnelson even more. He wore a white and tan uniform with a white and black-dotted cravat tucked into his coat and a red head-band over his forehead; he grabbed at his head as though he wore a hat, and shrugged as he remembered he'd lost it. They and Rina believed he was of high rank; he spoke and understood English very well, near fluent with an occasional mispronunciation, which could have very well been purposeful. He gave similar recollections as the others except he claimed he had a dream of large green hands rolling him into the sky. At first, no one wanted to listen to him (green hands!?), but Rina requested he continue in a more polite manner-- not with a rifle butt to the face. The more he talked about it, the more everyone listened.

"I was on a metal platform of some kind. I could not hear anything, and above me, I only saw red. Then two large, green clawed hands reached out and rolled me off the platform. And then I was falling through the sky," Samadi explained. Though his hands were bound by the parachute string, he continued to talk with them, motioning the push and the falling. "It was the sound of the wind in my ears and the lights on my parachute chest-piece that I became aware I was actually falling. For a time, I believed I had--" He cut himself off and looked at the red-headed woman sitting near the Colonel. The Colonel made an approving nod; he didn't have to tell Samadi to shut-the-hell-up.

Directly under the Colonel's care was the young red-headed woman, Jesse Danes. She was in her mid-twenties, dressed in street clothes-- jeans and a t-shirt. Her eyes were a bright green with little flecks of grey toning them down. She was pale besides the mass of tan freckles spread across her arms and face. She was a poster-child for Irish stereotypes. She was a Wyoming State University student, slightly pudgy in the midsection from a cushy, college lifestyle. Her large thighs made Rina think that at the very least she could run, strong, large muscles under a small layer of fat. She was also near the same height as Rina. She was shaken and afraid. It took great convincing by the others for her to understand she was not dead and in Hell. It was what she believed, and what Samadi had questioned of himself as he had fallen. "If you'd seen what I had, you would all have believed you had died-- came back or rejected from where-ever," she said, knowing Samadi had stopped his explanation because of her initial panic.

"What did you see," Trevor asked her.

She laughed a sad laugh, the kind one does over irony. She hadn't told her story yet; no one was all that interested at first-- she was civilian. "I was in the library, fallen asleep. I've always been a heavy sleeper-- slept right through a cyclone once, roof ripped off before I woke up. It was strange-- the fire and security alarms, and even the sprinkler systems, went off in there, and then suddenly shut down once I was awake. It was in that quiet I could hear the sirens outside-- the ones they set up for bombing alerts back in the fifties. By then, I had just enough time to run out of the building and watch the missile streak down from the sky. It was funny...like slow motion. Then the light. And then the falling... Ta-fuckin'-da."

The Colonel stood up and looked down at her with widened, fierce eyes. "Are you telling me a missile launched into Wyoming?!"

"Guess so."

Donnelson punched the tree trunk he had been resting against. His face was contorted in an angry despair.

Trevor hissed between his teeth. "Damn. Fuck. My. Life. Really?!" He spun and looked at Samadi. "Thanks alot, asshole!"

"North Korea," Rina said before a fight and violence could ensue. "It wasn't the Iranians. They didn't have their WMD's anymore. North Korea." She felt her lip tremble. It had been longer than she expected. She'd already failed her mission without even attempting it.

The group was silent for what seemed like much longer than a few seconds. It was the Colonel who spoke first. "I believe we should get moving before nightfall. We need to find the high ground."

"We need to find water," Rina corrected.

The Colonel eyed her in mild annoyance. "Is that so? And how long before sundown do you think that will take? Or are you curious to see what pumas are running around out there in the nocturnal?"

"There may not even be a 'nightfall'," Rina replied with a bite in her words. "If you'd have been paying attention, the you would have noticed the sun hasn't moved since before even we came across all of you."

The Colonel and everyone else took a quick glance upward to the skies. She was indeed correct; the sun had not moved over the canopy even in the slightest since they sat down and talked, since before Rina and the other two stumbled upon them. Samadi mumbled something in Persian; similar to "dear merciful God" and all that mess from what Rina could translate.

"Maybe," Flynn said softly, "We truly are dead..."

While the others stared off in deep reflection on the issue, Donnelson and Rina glared at him. Rina was privy to information the others had not been, and she could assume Donnelson was also from his irritation-- either that or he was hitting the denial stage sooner. She had other options to consider besides death. "We are not dead. We did not die."

"What other explanation is there, lady?" Trevor took a step to her. "You know, maybe we're ghosts, and the sooner we accept that, the sooner...we pass..."

"Bullshit," Donnelson commented, making a spitting noise after-which.

"I have to admit," the Colonel said quietly, a defeated tone of voice overtaking his militant attitude. "It seems the most sensible, though outlandish, explanation. The sun, the compass. We're standing on the equivalence of the North Pole. In a hot, wet jungle. The sun hasn't budged since we fell. Where else could we be but in some surreal afterlife."

They looked to Rina for a rebuttal, but the words that shook them came from Jesse.

"Uranus spins on its side."

"Wha-?" Lou looked at the girl with interest.

Donnelson merely glanced to her, keeping his face on Rina. Rina noticed this. So he does know, she thought almost forcing the effort to not say it aloud.

"Come again, Miss Danes," the Colonel said, regaining his tone.

"The planet Uranus spins on a 'horizontal' axis," she explained, "The North Pole of Uranus always points to the sun."

"Are you saying we're on Yer-anus?!" Trevor slurred the planet's name.

"Uranus is a gaseous mass," Rina chimed in, cold but amused at Jesse's sudden change of heart. She could have read Rina's mind, their thinking was so alike at this point. "This is a different planet. In a different system--it would have to be to be in just the right spot, not too close and not to far away from the sun to even support our kind of life."

"Okay," Trevor said with a grin, "Now that is surreal."

"It is ridiculous!" Samadi hissed, feeling challenged and upset, confusion settling in nicely on him.

"Yeah?" Rina started to get alittle irritated at the whole lot of them. "Well, it's the only goddamn thing that's supported by the evidence and facts." She looked over to Donnelson. "What was it called again: Project Exodus?"

He didn't say anything, he didn't shift his sight from her. He continued his hard gaze.

"So Project Exodus ain't a load of wasted-bullshittin' time and money?" The Colonel started to raise his voice.

"It wasn't," Donnelson finally said. "A planet was found, a course was set, and a group of people supposedly dead were sent in cryogenic freeze, due to arrive and settle in fifteen years or so."

Again, the group fell silent. Lou broke the silence eventually. "Let's just keep the theory open until we can get some definite answers. I mean, let's face it. Fact or fiction, we're in a mucking, bloody mess. Let's go find that water, then see if we can't find some more clues as to the hell is on around here."
*****

The only water they had found were in small holes in a limestone-like platform open to the sky. They drank as much they could and rested, but Rina urged them to keep moving, not comfortable in the open-- the Colonel concurring. Rina and the Colonel took the lead with Jesse in their stride, the Colonel slowing a bit to help coach her on occasionally. Then Donnelson held Samadi next to him by the arm. Trevor slinking oddly behind them, nervous of his surroundings. Flynn took up the rear, Donnelson giving him a rifle to carry. Surprisingly, it was Lou who came to inquire about Project Exodus.

"So," Lou said pushing by Jesse with a "sorry, love" to get to the two heads, "I've been thinking about what Donnelson said, and I thought I might run this little tidbit by you, because quite honestly, Donnelson scares me."

The Colonel looked over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised, to watch Lou. He looked to Rina curious to her reaction. Though, she was listening, she didn't show any care. Jesse seemed interested enough.

"What if we are another part of your Project? What if we were chosen to 'colonize' a world--"

"I'm sorry, son," the Colonel put him off as they reentered to forest, "But I highly doubt that. You see, Project Exodus is a United States operation. Something tells me they would have chosen a better qualifying officer besides myself--one alittle more 'spry' to say. Something also tells me they wouldn't have picked a German officer, an annoying limey, and the goddamn enemy to join in on all the fun!!"

"There would be more women, too," Jesse murmured.

"What?" The Colonel didn't mean to bark at her.

"If we were to colonize a planet, they would have chosen more women to go around. Also some form of supplies. I have to admit, though, Lou makes some sense. Most of you are military--"

"Government," Rina added.

"...and government officials of some sort," Jesse continued. "I'm starting my doctorate studies in applied biology and botany. It is a clue to our puzzle."

"What about the hippie in the back?" The Colonel was referring to Trevor, the Mop-head.

"A test for the Average-Joe?"

"He's a criminal of some sorts," Rina said in a hushed voice. "He carries a weapon recklessly and has a distaste for officers of the law."

"Humph?" Lou looked back at Trevor. "Well, scratch that idea."

"Wait," Rina stopped them. She spun and faced the four, her eyes wide with realization. She let the others fall in before she continued. "What if we were chosen? Never mind where we are or who chose us for what purpose, just think of why we're chosen. What makes us 'special'?"

Everyone looked around to each other, the Colonel drawing Jesse nearer away from Trevor.

"I think it's time we threw secrets out the window. The Koreans nuked the States, which meant I failed my mission anyway, so I'll start. I specialize in information gathering."

"Espionage," the Colonel inquired.

"Yes, but particularly infiltration. I get in, get the goods, and get out. No evidence, not even a dead body. I'm good at what I do and rarely have to put someone out temporarily. Stealth. That's my strength. Colonel, you're a warrior and a leader. Miss Danes, you're a biologist."

"I'm a sniper," Lou said, finally owning up to more than he was willing to in the beginning.

"You're a killer," Donnelson sneered at Samadi.

"And so are you," Rina rebuked for the prisoner. "In fact, who here has ever killed a man?"

Unsure, the hands started to raise. All but Rina and Jesse's.

"More than once?" The hands stayed up. "Four? Ten men? Fifteen? No, lying. Twenty?" Trevor finally lowered his hand, thinking of only sixteen, if he could include three he helped with. "Fifty?" Flynn dropped his hand quickly, astonished the others still had theirs raised. "You've lost count?"

Donnelson, Lou, Samadi, and the Colonel looked at one another almost in shame, that shame strengthened by Jesse's soft gasp.

"What about you," Trevor asked Rina quietly. "How many you kill?"

"Like I said, I'm good at what I do. Not a soul."
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The Fighting Irish: To Hell and Back, With Love