Captured

The Mission

Anxiously, Milo paced outside his tent. He had to leave for a mission with Ghost in just a few minutes. He could hear the man in question outside, arguing with Soap. Something about stealing the Jeep overnight.

Whatever it was, Milo wasn't concerned with it. His gear was ready, the trucks were about to move out. His face was covered with protective eyewear and his nose and mouth was wrapped beneath a cloth. Men shouting and cursing outside soon flooded his ears, drowning out the sound of Ghost and Soap.

"Show time..." he mumbled, picking his rifle up and heading out. "Lieutenant!" He called, trying to find Ghost in the sea of men. But he didn't even get a chance; gunshots started ringing out, those who got hit screamed, and those who didn't started shooting back.

Bullet shells were falling to the ground like rain. Milo frantically ran to duck behind a truck, panting from the sudden attack.

It all happened in a flash. Almost as soon as it began it ended. Gunshots stopped, and he could hear the sound of trucks driving off. Slowly, carefully, standing up, he saw bodies everywhere. Most were unharmed, though, merely trying to avoid the line of fire.

But a groan behind a tent caught his attention. It was the sound of intense pain.His body went tense, as he froze in place, listening. *"What if it's the enemy...?"* He thought, as he crept forward. As an afterthought, he drew his gun, ready to shoot if this did prove to be a sick trap.

But the small stream of blood that touched his boot proved him wrong. Fear overtook him, but he was more afraid of being the reason a man didn't survive. After hearing a few more groans, he continued forward.

The sight of what he found shocked him.

The man he found was unfamiliar, and far larger than any of his teammates. With the boots, the stranger was easily 7 feet tall.

A black and orange mask was covering the injured one's face, a helmet bloodied and scratched. One leg was bent at an odd angle, and the blood was coming from his right knee.

Milo sucked in a breath, and finally, his muscles let him move again. He went straight to the giant's side, not noticing the labels on his vest, instead focusing on stopping the blood. "Hey, hey," he said quickly, picking up the man's leg.

The sound he was met with was a loud exclamation of pain, and a curse. The voice that made it was low, gravelly, and heavily accented.

But Milo didn't have a chance to even recognize the accent. "Shit..." he whispered, quickly getting the cloth off his face to use it to stop the bleeding. Even after all that, it wasn't until he looked back up the soldier's body that he saw his lettering in German.

And... the German flag was on his sleeve.

And Germany's colors were sewn into his vest.

All color drained from Milo's face.

"We were just supposed to go kill you..." Milo whispers, shaking. That was the whole point of their mission, to eliminate as many enemy soldiers as possible.

After reaching for the German's dog tags, he reads the name, squinting against the sun's glare. "Konig..." he mumbles, furrowing his brows. The worst of the bleeding has stopped for now, giving Milo a chance to think.

He sits back, slightly rocking on his heels; the blood-moistened grass squelches beneath his weight, and the coppery scent fills his nose. But the summer breeze whisks it away, leaving only the slight lingering smell.

Sweat gathers at his forehead. The German's unconscious now, probably from blood loss. "What am I gonna do with you...?" he mumbles.

After a few more moments, he sighs and stands up. Even with boots and gear, he only reaches 5'4. And he has to move this 6'10 **enemy** soldier.

"Goddammit..." He mumbles. Looking around, there's slight commotion; everyone else is going to the med bay and mess hall. He has time. "Alright, buddy, let's get this shit done." At first, the plan is to kill the German and dispose the body. But when Konig starts to groan again, just as the knife is about to slit his neck....

"Aww..." Milo whispers, setting the knife aside. He can't kill him; not when he's already weakened. But either way, Konig is still unconscious, and needs medical attention.

The sound of the cot falling over makes Konig flinch, and he bolts upright, hitting his head on the metal rod across the side of the tent. "Ow!" He exclaims. "I'm sorry!" He quickly adds, his voice a deep and gravelly German accent.

"Woah!" Milo exclaims, equally startled, trying to right everything again.

After reassuring that the fire is still burning and nothing is broken, he goes to the German's side, trying to ease him back down. "You're hurt," he says quietly, holding both of his hands up to show that they're empty.

Konig complies, suddenly feeling grateful to have the mask covering his burning face. A slight look of confusion flickers in his eyes, though, as he takes in his surroundings. The tent walls are dark green, one side illuminated by the setting sun. It's cozy, but too small for someone as large as the Colonel. A small fire sets in the middle, just big enough to give off some heat.

"Where am I?" Konig eventually asks, in his rough German accent. He's sat back down, but he's still tense, untrusting of the environment. No matter how attractive the captor is.

"My tent," Milo says, finally realizing the weight of the situation. *"There is a fucking giant, foreign soldier in my tent,"* he thinks to himself. His gloved fingers run through his soft, dark brown hair, with a quiet sigh.

Looking back up at Konig, he realizes the other soldier's mask is soaked from the rain, sticking to his face. "Here, you're gonna get fros-" the moment he reaches for the mask, his wrist is caught in Konig's grasp, not letting him take it off.

"Mask stays on," Konig whispers, his voice raspy, and... is he nervous? His voice does have a slight tremble in it. And his touch is so incredibly gentle, even using his thumb to gently rub Milo's palm. Like he doesn't mean any harm.

The British soldier's face flushes bright red, his eyes locked on Konig's. The way the fire gleams makes Milo's eyes a honey brown, staring back into the German's hazel ones. 

 He feels terrified, being in this intense moment with a man that's twice his size.

Eventually, though, Konig releases him, and looks away. "I need to get back to my troop," he says, in his low, rough accent. Immediately, though, Milo protests and puts a hand gently on Konig's chest to ensure he stays laying down.

"Definitely not! You're hurt." The shorter man says firmly, slightly narrowing his eyes. However, his hands are still slightly trembling from what had happened a few moments ago.

"It's a bullet, nothing life threatening," Konig shoots back, narrowing his eyes back. But no matter how big he talks, he easily does as Milo instructs, staying on the ground and trying to relax. But he doesn't move again until the Brit tries to take his hand away from Konig's chest.

Soon, Milo's blushing even more, his hand still resting on the German's chest. "What?" he murmurs quietly. But the Colonel doesn't answer, instead using one hand to keep Milo's hand on his chest, and the other to caress the smaller man's arm.

"Your shirts are softer than the ones the officers give us..." Konig says quietly.