Somewhere in Afghanistan, 0900 hours. Al Qaeda territory.

My name is Corporal Mitchel "Legion" Daniels, United States Marine Corps. Age 19. I've been here for little more than a week. Today is June 6, 2013. I hold the position of the automatic rifleman in my squad. Today is the day that the world as I knew it changed forever. This is my story.

"CONTACT!" I heard Sergeant Jackson yell, all of us hitting the dirt and opening fire on a pair of enemy soldiers running for cover, killing them both.

We came under heavy fire, the enemy having set up an ambush. A enemy PKM machine gun had opened fire, as well as a squad of AQ with AK-47s and some old bolt action rifles. 'Mosin Nagants' I thought, remembering my World War 2 history well.

Private First Class Anderson was hit within seconds as we struggled to find cover. The enemy had the high ground and had just killed one of my brothers in arms. 'What am I going to tell his wife?' I thought, my blood boiling in my veins. I had gone through bootcamp with Anderson. He was a good man who didn't know what he was getting into.

Being 19 I suppose I didn't either. I had the image of the Twin Towers burned into my mind though. I had lost my parents on that day, September 11, 2001. A day that will also live in infamy. These bastards were responsible for taking my happiness, for taking my life from me and turning into a fucked up existence of hatred and resentment. I hated the bastards who attacked us, I resented the foster family I ended up with, I resented the fact that my country wasn't able to figure out exactly where to strike to take the head of the snake, and I wanted revenge.

I returned fire with my M249 Squad Automatic Weapon, the machine gun suppressing the AK and rifle fire, the PKM still trying to suppress and pin down my squad as I finally managed to shoot and kill the gunner. I continued to suppress the enemy positons, making sure to get shots at the machine gun so that none of the bastards would get a chance to use it on us.

Sergeant Jackson advanced, taking Private Ramirez and Lance Corporal Petrenko with him to take out the enemy that was suppressed. I got up from my position and advanced, continuing my suppression fire as I moved. I saw the Sergeant get hit by sniper fire, dead before he hit the ground.

"RAMIREZ, GET A GRENADE ON THAT CLIFF!" I yelled out, knowing the sniper was nearby by the way the sergeant fell. I heard an explosion and saw a body come down behind a low wall where the enemy squad was pinned down. My magazine ran dry and I pulled a grenade that had the ring around a hook on my vest with my left hand and chucked it, taking out three of the eight enemy troops.

I drew my Beretta M9 and continued firing as they appeared over the walls, killing two more. 'Three left.' I thought. "GET TO COVER!" I shouted as I dived to a low wall off to my right and reloaded my M9 before reloading my SAW. I saw Ramirez and Petrenko at a low wall opposite of me, the enemy focusing their fire on their position. I ejected a shell to make sure I had a bullet in the chamber before I opened up on the enemy once more. I hit two of them, the remaining one just managing to get his head down before I could kill him too.

Ramirez launched a grenade from his M203 grenade launcher mounted underneath the barrel of his M16 into the wall where the enemy was hiding, hitting dead on target. We all took a moment to reload all of our armaments before we even thought to move to get our fallen comrades' dog tags. "Ramirez, you get Anderson, Petrenko, you carry Johnson. We aren't leaving them here for these bastards to drag off. I want to make sure their families actually have a body to bury, not just a tag."

Sergeant Frankie Jackson was my foster brother, and he was like a father figure to me. The higher-ups didn't know that and I was glad to have been assigned to his squad. Up until now. I had to remain alert. I wouldn't let my brothers die here, not any more of them. I tried not to think of how Frankie would have been done with his tour of duty tomorrow.

I found us higher ground and a much more defendable position, not able to return due to the enemy surely having set up an ambush for us on a return course to relay the situation to our commanding officer. We waited for what seemed like hours when I heard a footstep outside of a foxhole we had dug, all of us popping up and firing, taking down an AQ grunt who wanted to recon the high ground. I heard the most God-awful noise I could have ever heard. The sound of more than a hundred AQ shouting, what they said I don't know. I don't want to know.

"DEFENSIVE POSITIONS!" I shouted, the marines coming to my side as AQ forces came running up the hill, trying to over-run us. We opened up with all we had. I thought they would never stop coming. The onslaught was endless, having already killed at least fifty on my own, not that I was keeping count. "Petrenko! Get your ass back to base! We're running low on ammo and I'd rather have reinforcements sooner than later!"

"Aye sir!" He shouted, climbing out of the foxhole and sprinting in the direction we had originally come from when we were ambushed on the road.

"Last mag!" Ramirez shouted.

"Take more off of Jackson and Anderson!"

"I already did!"

"Fuck! Check my pack, I grabbed a few extra magazines!"

I could feel the shift in weight from little to almost nothing in the pack as he grabbed what magazines I had for an M16 out of the rucksack, which emptied it completely of ammunition, setting them out next to him before returning to firing. He had already fired all the M203 grenades we had by this point. I continued firing until I ran out of ammunition. "Pick your targets, I'm out!" I tossed my SAW to the side, grabbing Jackson's M16. I kept firing into the onslaught when Ramirez fell into the middle of the large foxhole we had dug, shot in the head. I continued my defense as I grabbed his M9 out of his holster, tossing the M16 off to the side when it ran empty. Ramirez had just finished the last of the M16 magazines, so I drew my M9 and used the two handguns I had to keep killing off the AQ grunts.

I felt a pain in my ribcage like I had never felt before. Another in my left arm, causing me to drop one of the M9s. I was shot twice, then I was hit in the left shoulder, and I fell into the middle and saw a burning object in the sky, seeming to head to my position. 'That IS heading to my position! A missile?! How'd AQ get a missile? And why would they waste it on a single Marine?!' I thought, shooting a grunt who tried to jump into the foxhole to finish me off. I got up and went back to my position and saw them turning tail. "Fucking cowards! Beaten by a man with one good arm?!" I looked down and got Ramirez's tags. I couldn't move him, and I could barely get out of the foxhole myself. I got out and was heading towards the base when the object, whatever it was, hit very close to me. I was thrown to the ground by the sheer force of the landing, and was knocked out.

Little did I know, I wasn't the only one alive within 30 feet. The last thing I recall seeing is a red face-like symbol on the Unidentified Hellaciously Large Falling Object, and something big getting out of it.

Author's note: Sorry for the short chapter, needed something to get started with. I intend to have the second chapter be plenty longer than this one and have it actually get into the Transformers world fully.