Yes, people probably another worthless fic, but hell, my muse won't go away and I'm driving myself absolutely crazy.

This is my first fic in this genre, if you don't know, my first movie one. I saw the movie and decided it was one of the best things to happen to the world since the invention of the wheel. Can't figure out why, but I loved it.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything used in this fic! At all!

Even though I'm in the Navy JROTC (Navy Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps) at my school, I'm not that well versed in my military and naval history and jets and stuff. I'm only a seaman and first year cadet! So I'm sorry to all you military people out there. I try.

So I give you the first fic I have of "Behind Enemy Lines."

The Sorrow in the World Cannot Add Up to Now

The Jell-O on my plate was fresh. I have to admit, you don't get fresh Jell-O that often. And when you do, you usually don't have to time to properly enjoy the blessing that you have been given. But the gods had decided to be good this day and I looked across the table at Lt. Stackhouse in bliss.

"Good Jell-O," I said, pronouncing my words as if I was a child. "Good Jell-O."

"Knock it off, Chris," Stackhouse replied, his words playfully stern. "You aren't serving the Navy in a way a naval officer should."

"Shut up, Stack," I said, piling the food in my mouth, now only hunger in my mind.

"So what are you Navy boys doing?" said a pleasantly amused voice. I looked over my shoulder. Rodway, the High and Mighty Marine, sauntered over, confidence in his every move. I growled in my throat a little and went back to my Jell-O. "Do any dangerous stuff lately?"

"Shut up, Rod," Stackhouse said, his mouth full of food. "You're full of yourself."

"Seems you are," Rodway answered, his dark eyes pointed directly at Stackhouse's laden mouth. "So have you done anything lately?"

"Well," I said in a sarcastic tone. "I'm eating Jell-O . . . he's wiping his hands." They exchanged looks plainly, but I continued on as if they were nothing. "I mean, you can't do anything more than this!" I shook the table. "I mean, we're supposed to be doing something here. We're sitting on our asses, eating our freshly made Jell-O. You write home and how are you supposed to describe you're actually doing something? You're fighting for someone today and the enemies the next. For one thing, I ain't doing anything. I'm stuck here, eating Jell-O."

"At least you get to fly," interjected Stackhouse emphatically. "Watch yourself, Burnett."

"I mean," I clambered on. "Just look at it! Nothing! Nothing at all! It's infuriating."

"Check out those guys," said Stackhouse, in a last ditch attempt to divert me from my primary focus.

I turned my head. A crowd had gathered in a circle around two guys, one Marine, one Navy. They were engaged in a war of push-ups, typically rivalries on the USS Carl Vinson.

"Look at that!" I exploded. "Look at it! Nothing worth anything!"

Our country, the grand United States of America, was engaged in protecting countries. I had joined the Navy to help. Now I was just sitting on my ass. It was totally annoying, especially being with Marines, Navy and Coast Guard people, not to mention Army guys dropped off at times. It was quietly disheartening and I wanted out.

"Lt. Burnett!"

I looked up, surprised.

Master Chief O'Mally stood in the doorway of the mess hall, peering down on me imposingly. "Admiral Reigart commands your presence."

I stood up and smiled down at Stackhouse and Rodway. "See you in hell," I said and went after O'Mally.

Damn, the gods had started off good, but now my good Jell-O sat uneaten on my plate.

What a nice way to start a day.

"I hold your letter," said Reigart, his broad voice filling the cabin. "It seems you wish to . . . withdraw from the Navy, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, waves breaking inside of me. "I believe it's time for me to move on, sir."

"Move on?" barked Reigart sarcastically. "Move on to what? Flying an air bus full of civilians?"

"Well, sir, if that's what calls me," I said tensely.

"Son, do you have any idea what you are doing? I remember when you came on board. Bright, young, extremely smart. But now you want to withdraw." His voice was brimming with anger. "You have given me a reason why, but I don't like it."

"Sir," I said, my eyes burning. "I've given the Navy seven good years. I think I've served my country, sir."

"You don't know a goddamn thing about serving your country," he spat, his wrinkled face jutting up.

"Sir, people around here run around like we're at war or something," I said, equally as angry. "I mean, war isn't supposed to-"

"You don't know a goddamn thing about war either!" he snarled. I stopped speaking as he stood up, his old body shaking with anger. "You haven't seen your enemy fire at you, or the people you are sworn to protect die in front of your eyes, innocent civilians caught in enemy fire! You haven't slept in a foxhole or watched your men die in front of your eyes. So until you've been in war, don't you goddamn speak to me about it!"

He was staring at me like I was supposed to have an answer. I didn't reply.

"You have two weeks left on this tour," he said, his voice burnt. "I expect you to behave with behavior befitting of a naval officer. Until then, I will carry your letter with me and think about what you have said and haven't. Dismissed, Lieutenant."

I stared at him for an instant. How dare he tell me what to do? How dare he, goddamn him, I wanted out!

I did an about-face and stormed from the cabin.

"We're so proud of you," my father told me, his voice swelled more than I ever heard it.

"Yeah, Dad, I love you. Bye." I hung up the phone and cast my gaze to the board sitting on the other side of the hall. I went toward it, squinting as I read what the seaman recruit had written:


"Damn it!" I cursed as Stackhouse came up behind me. "They have us flying holiday mission! Man, they don't like us."

"Not us," Stackhouse corrected as I turned to face him. "Not us, you. You, Chris." He smirked at me and motioned. "Come on, Burnett, let's go get ready and miss the one decent meal of the year."

"Damn you," I replied and followed him.

Reigart is a fool, I told myself, staring at the trees fluffed with snow streaming by underneath us. I've done everything I set out to do and now I want nothing more to do with the military. I do nothing here and they don't need me. I'm just one navigator with nothing and they need me. Damn them all.

"Damn" seemed to be my favorite word today.

"And look at the lovely lake," said Stackhouse, drawing me from my revere. "And kudos goes out to lovely American taxpayers for their millions of wasted dollars for fuel for this damn Hornet." The country of the Bosnia lay below it. It was a beautiful, rough country, but war was tearing it apart, and the United States military was supposed to be protecting it. Of course, we just sat most of the time.

"Good job, Stack, now you're getting into it," I said, watching the scope carefully. "But try to relax a bit. Make it seem natural." A green light was flickering on the highly electronic scope. It showed me positions of everything and movements of people with firepower. Nothing was supposed to be out here. "Stack, there's something up on that ridge over there."

"You sure?" he asked, doubtfully.

"Scope dosen't lie, bud," I told him, craning my neck to try and see the through the dense trees.

"Probably just some natives screwing around," he told me. "It's off our range, anyway. We're not supposed to fly over there. This is strictly reconnaissance."

"C'mon, Stack," I coaxed. "It'll give us a chance to try our shiny new digital camera."

"Why do I listen to you?" he said, his voice pitiful.

"Because you love me," I cooed.

"Fuck you, Burnett." He angled the plane towards the ridge.

"So violent, young one," I told him. "So, so violent, young one. So-"

The plane tipped sharply down.


"Shut up," he said, almost lazily as we sped over the forest of trees. "You're getting on my nerves.

"Damn you." My favorite word again came into play. We zoomed over a clearing.

Tanks and men dominated the scene as I switched on the camera. I could barely see, but I wondered. It was probably just rebels.

"Say hello boys," Stack said. "You're on TV."

"It's a camera, gumball brain."

"Gumball brain? Are you calling me a gumball brain?" He went sideways, giving the camera full view of the rough terrain as we sped by in different courses. "Very original, did you think of that one yourself?"

"No, my mother told it to me. I was an unloved child."

"Damn straight. The effects are obvious."

"Is it showing? The therapist told me I might never be the same. I'm such a poor boy."

"I wouldn't say that. We get supplied decently from the Navy. It's not much, but it's good, and we get to see the world."

"Shut it, Stackhouse," I told him, aware of what he was doing.

"C'mon, Chris," he said, his voice urgent. "Where else are you gonna get to do this? Where? Not flying some damn airplane for the damn President!"

"Listen, rock stars need their people too! Richie Valens was pure talent and Navy pilots wouldn't have gotten him killed!"

"Burnett, listen to yourself! You're absolutely crazy!"

An alarm began to sound.

"Holy shit, we're being aimed!'

"What?" Stackhouse yelped, turning the F-18 into a wild roll.

"We're being aimed at!" I furiously punched in some keys. "It's a missile! We're being aimed at by a missile!"

"I can see that!" roared Stackhouse as he continued to move the F-18 wildly. "I'm trying, I'm trying!"

I looked out the top of the Hornet. I could see the sleek missile sliding towards us, gaining on us. "One hundred yards, Stack! MOVE!"

"I'm trying!" he yelled again.

Another alarm began to blare.

"Another one!' I shouted, unable to keep it in. Fear began to claw at me. Who would be aiming at us? Not the people in the mountains, only the government had that type of power! Whose country was this, goddamn it, I couldn't even remember! "STACK!"

"I'm working on it!"

"Pull up!"

"Too much weight!"

"Dodge!" A missile zoomed by us. "Drop the fuel tanks, Stack! Drop them!"


Two tanks went flying off into the snowy mountains.

"Repercussion!" I shouted. "Pull up!" Stackhouse yanked the plane into a steep uphill climb.

The tanks, propelled by the pressure, exploded.

I watched the scope for the missiles. It was too fuzzy to read and I looked behind the F-18. One missile slammed into the steaming pile of smoke and ash. "Straight into the fireball!" I yelled.

"One more left!" Stackhouse jerked the plane around. "NO!"

"Fifty yards!" I screamed. "Fifty yards! STACKHOUSE!"

"We're gonna get hit!" he screamed back. I looked back and stared. The steely face of the missile glared back, its cloud of fire and smoke billowing behind it like a tail.

"Turn!" I roared. He yanked it around.

The missile slammed into our tail.


I could fell air pulling at me, rushing at me, heat licking at my back.


We were going to die! I was going to die! NO!

I frantically pressed buttons, anything to stop this freefall.

I ejected.

I haven't explained yet, so I will. This is totally like the movie, the way I think it should have been instead of the way it was. T he movie left a lot of unexplained answers and feelings and that's why I'm writing this, to give closure to myself.

Extremely poetic and stupid, but hey, sue me. I'm sorry if you don't like or think it's fake, but hey, again, this is the way I wanted to do it. Thanx.

I'd really like it if you'd review!