Chapter Text
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IF you had told her ten years ago on the Olympic podium with a gold medal around her neck and a Maple Leaf draped over her shoulders that one day she'd be elbows deep in a warzone, pulling shrapnel out of the thigh of a man whose name she never learned, she would've laughed in your face. And then checked you into the boards for good measure.
But that woman was dead, killed by one who bore her voice and shared her face. The woman who stood in her place was no longer Iris Wilson. No, she was now Sergeant Sabbath, the JTF2 medic who had seen more blood than any Olympian had ought to. That was why she wore the mask. To bury #9 deep down somewhere.
At first, the military felt like a calling. Sabbath had always thrived on busy schedules, so between hockey & university, she had somehow found enough time. Besides, she needed the money. Hockey gear ain't cheap, after all. So, she had enlisted in the army. Hockey gave her structure and a social life, yes, but the military gave her drive and purpose. Being a medic meant control, certainty, and order, all things she liked.
Now, she was halfway across the world in, if she remembered correctly from the intel, Siberia. The hostage rescue they had been tasked with had not-so-shockingly gone sideways. Snow annoyingly whipped around her, stirred up by the helo landing not too far away. Guns were still firing away as Sabbath worked to stem the bleeding, her fingers pinching on the femoral artery of the downed soldier as she searched with tweezers for a piece of broken metal.
"I've got you," she gritted out to the man below her, who was screaming in pain as she managed to retrieve a piece of the shrapnel buried in his thigh. The whirlings of helicopter blades signalled that Evac was here. "Just- fucking stay with me! You don't have permission to die yet!"
There was a rush of footsteps coming her way. A stretcher dropped to the ground. The man was lifted into it and taken back to the bird. She followed slowly, stripping off her blood-stained gloves. Some of it had gotten on her hands, but that was normal.
A loud, American voice shouted from the bird. "Sergeant Wilson! Let's go, we've got company!"
Of course, she thought numbly as she climbed into the Evac helo and sat back against the wall, strapping herself in. It was then that she registered that the voice was Kate Laswell. That made her sit up.
Sabbath tilted her head at the blonde woman. "Kate? Why're you here?"
Kate sat down beside Sabbath, propping up her leg. "You're being transferred." That never meant anything good.
Sabbath raised a brow. "Transferred? Why? To who?"
"I'll tell you when we're in private and you've packed. Immediate departure."
"Thanks for the two-week notice. Not. Love you though."
Her stomach twisted. Transfers hardly ever meant something good, but she didn't argue that she wouldn't even be able to say goodbye. She'd stopped arguing when she joined JTF2. The military tended to do that to people.
The moment the heli touched down after an hour-long flight, she was speed-walking her way to the barracks. She was given five minutes by Kate when she left. She packed in three.
Her barracks room was sparse, and she liked it that way. She didn't keep many personal belongings, only a couple keepsakes dotted around.
Sabbath's duffel was relatively light; she didn't keep much stuff anyway. Medical kit, custom gear, some clothes, dog-eared copies of Johnny Got His Gun, To Kill A Mockingbird, 1984 and All Quiet On The Western Front and a picture of her sister at her high school graduation was all she had in her tiny barracks room. The only home she had outside of the army was her sister's tiny apartment back in Vancouver.
The walk back to the airstrip was as silent as a military base could be. She watched the wind whip up snow across the tarmac, swirling in kaleidoscopes of white that would make Elsa jealous. Labrador winters didn't care if you were prepared for the weather. They assaulted you all the same, and Sabbath wouldn't change it for the world. The cold meant she was alive and the Earth was still turning; a comforting thought these days.
As she arrived at the airfield, she saw the usual RCAF C-130s, NATO helicopters and people gesturing wildly. But there was one she hadn't seen before.
It wasn't RCAF. It wasn't even NATO. It was simple, black and unmarked. It was weird. But she knew it was the one as she saw Kate motioning for her to jump in. Sabbath jogged to catch up, her bag slapping lightly against her back. She hopped into the helicopter and the pilot took off the moment she was strapped in. While she hated surprises like this, at least this one came with a familiar face.
"Fancy seeing you here, Kate," she joked, pulling Kate into a brisk, one-armed hug and tugging her bandanna down. She trusted Kate enough to see her face.
Kate returned it without hesitation, something close to a smile on her face. "It's funny how things like this turn out." The bird swayed slightly as they reached cruising altitude. "Still hiding half your face?"
"Still hiding government secrets?" Sabbath chirped back. Despite her years off the ice, her wit hadn't dulled. If anything, it sharpened.
"Touché"
They pulled apart, both smiling faintly. The friendship they had wouldn't make sense anywhere else but the military. The pair had met during some NATO joint training op six years prior and somewhere in between fighting for their lives, way more paperwork than necessary, and ugly warzones, they'd kept in touch, and Kate had taken the much-younger Sabbath under her wing. Mrs Laswell was, surprisingly, a hockey fan and had called Sabbath 'the red-haired ghost with golden hands' the first time they'd met.
After about two hours of flight and small talk, they had successfully arrived in the middle of nowhere. Kate exited the chopper first, the wind of the blades disturbing her blue button-up. Sabbath followed, red braid swishing in the wind. She coughed slightly as the rotor blades sent flurries of snow into her face and waved it away with a roll of her eyes.
She looked around the grey area. The area was nondescript, with large fir trees dotted around with dying leaves and square concrete buildings rising against the horizon. There were no flags or emblems in sight, making it practically impossible to guess where she was except for the fir trees and snow. You know, typical CIA stuff.
"Where are we?" Sabbath asked Kate with an arched brow as she retied her bandanna.
"Technically? You're on a NATO-controlled base under joint intelligence jurisdiction." That didn't help narrow it down. "Practically? You're nowhere. And no one knows you're here." That definitely didn't help narrowing it down.
Sabbath paused, taking in the words. "Comforting. You CIA sure know how to make a girl feel at home."
Kate smirked slightly. "You'll get used to it. There's a lot of that where you're going."
Patrol soldiers nodded as the pair entered the largest building. The interior was just as sparse as the exterior, the only decor was the bottles of hand sanitizer mounted to the walls and room labels. They entered a glass-walled conference room and Kate pressed a button that made the walls turn opaque. No matter how many times she saw it, Sabbath would never get used to it; it still felt like witchcraft. She dropped her duffel heavily on the floor but remained standing.
Kate stayed silent for a moment as she shut the conference room door, eyes narrowing. "You look tired," she commented, though not unkindly.
"Sleeps a luxury," replied Sabbath, crossing her arms. "Especially with all the shit that's been happening lately."
"Tell me about it," Kate muttered, brushing a strand of blonde hair away from her face.
There was another beat of silence, this one thicker. Then Kate started flipping through an overwhelming amount of papers on her desk and sighed heavily.
"You're being permanently transferred." Sabbath liked how Kate got straight to the point. "Effective as of right now. You'll be under my jurisdiction for the foreseeable future, with new clearance levels and a burn-on-sight policy for all existing affiliations. You'll be off the book from here on out."
Sabbath blinked. "Yeah, I figured. But to what unit?"
Kate tapped the file. "Task Force 141." The word 141 hung in the air like smoke. Sabbath just stared with an eyebrow raised.
She didn't speak right away; not out of confusion, but because she was busy absorbing this absolute bombshell of information just dropped on her. The 141 were literal legends in the military. They went places and completed ops no other unit could. They had stopped World War 3 about fifty times in the past five years. No one knew who they were. They were like phantoms, in and out of any location before anyone could take notice. And to think that she, Sabbath, was being permanently transferred to the 141? It was unreal.
You never heard much about them on official channels, just rumours that spread through the barracks like wildfire. The task force cleared entire terrorist networks off the map. Operators with no names, records, or boundaries. A modern myth covered in camo and gunmetal.
"You're serious," Sabbath said finally.
"Dead serious," Kate smiled.
"And why me? I'm just a combat medic with history."
"You're you. You've kept men alive through conditions most would have folded under. Your record's clean. You don't ask questions you're not meant to. And you follow orders—but only the right ones."
Sabbath tilted her head, eyeing Kate nervously. "Is that a compliment or a warning?"
Kate grinned. "Both."
"And you're sure they... want this?" She didn't like how unsure her voice sounded.
"I'm sure I want this," Kate deadpanned. "They'll adjust. They always do."
"Alright," Sabbath sighed, moving to grab her bag before Kate waved her hand.
"Don't. You'll come back in here soon."
Sabbath hesitated again, brows furrowed as she second-guessed herself. Then she caught herself. What the fuck was she doing? She didn't hesitate. Hesitation led to casualties, something she couldn't afford. "Once I step into this Task Force, there's no stepping out, is there?"
Kate didn't even try to sugarcoat it. "No."
She shrugged. Go figure. Then she nodded. "Alrighty then. Let's get this show on the road."
Leaving her bag behind, which she was still uncomfortable about, Sabbath and Kate stepped out of the conference room, which the blonde locked behind the pair. They walked in silence again and ventured deeper into the NATO compound. The redhead felt a strange thing in her chest—like something close to apprehension. Once she joined this team, it was likely she wouldn't see JTF2 again. But that was life, she supposed. She shook off those thoughts before they showed in her eyes, then adjusted her bandanna.
The pair paused at a set of reinforced doors and Kate started clicking buttons on the little panel. She didn't look up as she spoke. "They're already inside; I've told them they're expecting a new member and the briefing's about to start. Just sit in, observe, and try not to let Soap get under your skin."
"Soap?"
"You'll know him when you see him. Or hear him, for that matter."
Sabbath turned back towards the door. This day was just getting weirder and weirder, from being knuckles deep in a stranger's chest cavity to now being in the middle of nowhere joining Task Force 141 and being warned about someone named 'Soap'. She adjusted her bandanna one last time, breathing deeply and swallowing the knot in her throat.
"You've got this," Kate murmured, her hand briefly resting on Sabbath's shoulder. "And, by the way, my wife says she misses you."
Sabbath snorted, a short smile crossing her face before it disappeared underneath the polished military composure she wore like armour. "Tell her I said I'll be at your American Thanksgiving dinner. Probably, at least."
"I will."
Then, Kate opened the door with a steely expression taking over her face and she stepped forward, Sabbath on her heels. The room inside was, as usual, grey and held as little furniture as humanly possible for the briefing room. The fluorescent lights decorating the ceiling hummed and cast a yellow-white light over the faces within. At the head of the wooden table that was bolted to the floor, two members of the brass probably hadn't seen combat since Y2K, each decorated with pins, medals and too much authority.
Then, there were the soldiers; four of them sitting around the table. All male, because of course she was the only woman. The one closest to the brass had a thick brown beard, a boonie cap, and crow's feet along the corners of his eyes, he looked about forty, likely her new commanding officer. Beside him was a man in a UK patch baseball cap with a rich complexion, tapping some rhythm with his pen.
Across the table was a man with a mohawk, an odd hairstyle if you asked her, and way too much restless energy if his bouncing foot and fidgeting hands were any indication. Then, sitting as far away from a table as possible to not be near anyone but not considered rude, there was a man in a mask. A skull mask, specifically. Sabbath almost raised a brow. All of his clothes were dark, he was wearing eye-black inside, and his gloves had bone prints on them. However, she did appreciate how the bone print was biologically accurate. It made the nurse in her smile, though only slightly.
All eyes turned to her slowly, staring at her with raised brows, tilted heads and very obvious judgement. Well, she was off to a great start. What could go wrong?