Salamu Alaykum Jihadists! This is me finally put my thoughts onto digital paper... err, I think that's about right? Anyway moving onto the reason why I created this!
I just felt like there wasn't enough fiction on R6 Siege so I just wanted to add to it, by introducing a badass Peshmerga killing terrorists like it's second nature. I'll try to be as inoffensive as possible but won't make any promises. I like to think my OC reflects me and my personality, for example I'm patriotic, reckless and a little immature. Though I think it should be said I'll try to ground the character and universe into our current history as best as I can, it'll be in current time (2018), and I will explain how things would've have changed. But I digress let's get on with it! Into The Breach!
B.S (Before Script not Bull Shit XD) I also might get a little frustrated when it comes to the subject of operators, because it's a little disrespectful that they'd add an Italian, or Spanish CTU but not literal Terrorist exterminators in the Middle East! I know it's a game based on CTUs, but if you're going to creat a game about anti terrorism then why not have the leading soldiers in the matter, Peshmerga and Iraqi soldiers risking their life's everyday to keep ISIS from spreading even further or at this point leaking out of Syria. It also seems Ubisoft is waddling around the Middle East completely. Like come on what's the point of the concept of Anti Terrorism and not having the modern equivalent of a person who kills pure evil on a daily basis! Like team Rainbow do!
Location:- North East Syria, 100km south of the city of Hasaka. YPG/PKK controlled territory.
Time:- 0648 hours KSA
Primary Objective:- Recruit K.C.
"Click!"
Another component slid into place, freshly oiled and cleaned to a professional standard. The metal itself seemed to reflect the rays of morning light like a mirror. Sweat trickled past a masculine brow, for it was too thick and unkept to be otherwise. The perspiration slid down the arc of the man's nose, before hanging on the tip, and free falling onto the dusty table on which he worked on.
"Click!"
A bolt carrier carefully set down onto the receiver, while its bolt lay ready inside. Like a piece of an intricate puzzle, a dust cover was placed over shielding the components under from the elements.
"Click!"
Once again the mess of plastic and metal gained character, seemingly taking shape. A masterpiece of design most would call it, perfect for Middle East was a better description.
"Boom!"
Cheap, easy to maintain, easy to produce, and easy to use.
What's not to like?
"Crack! Crack!"
The loud roars of battle penetrated the silence of the small room, as the sound of maintenance was drowned by the racket of death and battle.
"Click!"
Some more "cogs" were placed into the machine.
"Boom!"
This time the interruption was close enough to cause the very foundations of the small hut to shake from the force of about 20 kg of explosives, that is to say if the minuscule shelter had foundations. Dirt and dust fell through the cracks in the wooden ceiling, chips shaking loose from the cinder block walls and adding to the dirt already on the ground.
" جهات الاتصال! استمر في اطلاق النار (CONTACTS! KEEP FIRING!)"
"Fuck's sake." The Soldier grunted, grabbing a curved magazine clad in a single stripe of red coating, clicking it into the receiver.
Getting up from the chair he'd been sitting in, the Man moved with heavy footsteps over to the window taking a look out. Before promptly ducking back inside when a sniper round embedded its self into the wall next to his porthole.
"كاكا جكدار هاتن!(Sir we have armed hostiles!)" A masked gunman burst through the door, only to find himself staring down the barrel of his commander's sidearm.
" خوم عزانم(I know already.)" The soldier replied letting his pistol fall back into its holster, equipping a friendly smile instead.
Telling the man to go join his comrades, the Soldier walked over to his table, grabbing his AK and walking out the door. Once outside the Soldier was hit with a new wave of smells and sounds. The Syrian heat tingled his adapted skin, as the odor of smokeless powder, burning metal and rubber crashed into him like a tsunami. "Wait for it..." The Man whispered to himself waiting in habitual pause.
"! الله أكبر (Allahu Akbar!)" Came the mandatory proceeding for any battle anyside of the Middle East.
"Ahhhh... That's it, now to get to work." The Soldier let out a sigh of content.
Walking past a shoddily built ring of sandbags protecting a small group of officers barking orders into radios and old Nokia phones, he moved with pride each step pushing through the sand beneath him like treads on a tank.
'Of course we have enough for military grade everything, but not for decent fucking telephones.'
His musings were promptly cut short when a 7.62 round went whizzing right past his center of mass and deep into the wall of the cinder block and sandbag hut he had just occupied.
" حاملة جنود مدرعة تتدحرج في ١٠٠ متر! ضربة جوية! (APC rolling in at 100 meters! Airstrike incoming!)" A strained voice shouted close by. Hmm... was it odd that the cavalry were early? He walked on trying to get a good look on the APC.
The sickening screeching sound of 500 kg of ordinance careening towards the ground slowly crept up on him, adding to the symphony of sounds.
"!احتمي (TAKE COVER!)" The Soldier found himself shouting.
The impact shook the earth with tremendous force, as debris and big chunks of sand rained back down to the ground. The shower continued keeping the inhabitants of the big entrenchment pinned down.
"Stop stealing our kills Amerikan!" Several angery peshmergas stood up and shaking their fists at the jet circling above. Wait... why was it still circling?
'Oh no...'
It was common sense that if an American stayed longer than need be in the Middle East, then hide yo oil, cuz Uncle Sam was coming to reap a reward. Not to mention they usually hightailed it out after an airstrike to prevent surface to air from locking on, because we all know that a certain country is a little trigger happy when it comes to shooting down jets. Ahem! *Cough* Turkey *Cough*.
"STAY DOWN! There is still a sniper out there, and our trespasser hasn't left yet!" The man yelled scaring most of those standing, if not all. It proved to scare those still taking cover, it didn't help most were older than him. The brigade quickly followed the order as it was translated along the lines.
In all honesty the sniper was either strewn about 100 metres across the desert making good compost or was shitting his trousers.
The silence however was deafening, strange... the man never understood the saying, or what it implied at first. Now it was staring him in the face. War like many things in life had its awkward moments. This would have been one of them had a sudden interruption or explosion broken the rare peace in north-east Syria. But it hadn't seemed like Allah had finally smitten all those who deface Islam for their own agendas, not that he probably would anytime soon. The silence continued on a little longer before the sharp crackle of gunfire was ambience once more.
Figures in black breached the left over smoke screen the APC had produced before it was obliterated. Parting the fog like fish in the sea, the forty or so men ran rifles and machetes first at the entrenchment.
"تهمة العدو!(Enemy Charge!)"
Someone else announced before he could, for he was too preoccupied with unslinging his AK and aiming down site.
The first shot flew out like a signal, braking men out of their stupor, forcing them backing into their training. The rest of the shots, well they just ripped through the lines of figures in black.
"Click! Click!"
Came the sound most Soldiers dred, however it paid to be prepared, the empty gun quickly thrown to the side for an alternative.
"Shit." Grunted the man.
Many may think the alternative may have been the sidearm convinently strapped onto his chest plate, but no this was the Middle East so you either fought with explosives or in melee, it was just the way it went... The sound of Damascus steel tearing its way out of a scabbard decorated in gold, quickly made itself apparent, and with a few figure eight waves of the two pronged blade, the Cobra was ready to strike. The first combatant, wearing a green kevlar vest over black damned robes, came charging full tilt, a measly rusted machete upheld, going into a fore swing. Then into a backswing, quickly transistioning between the first and second attacks.
The Cobra dodged the first and sidestepped the second, leaning in to send a rebuttal of his own, all the while cracking a victorious smirk. The well maintained blade ate through fabric and flesh like it would air, severing multiple essential organs in a single cut, just like the curving in the blade was made to do. The first man slumped over face first intro the dirt, blood and guts spilling out of his abdominal cavity.
The second opponent came forth in the same manner as the first, but slowed to a halt a few metres off leveling the scimitar parallel to the ground. Both swords gleamed a geart hue of yellow, looking more like glow sticks than the sharp metal tools they were.
The terrorist lunged forward the scimitar coming down in a diagonal arc downwards. It was swiftly met with the in built hook in between the two prongs of the Zulfikar, as the scimitar lay trapped. A quick twist of his wrist sent the trapped sword tumbling out of the black clad man's grip, rendering him unarmed, and unprepared.
The terrorist threw a hasty punch to prolong his life, only for it to be brutally lobbed off halfway through the forearm. The next attack was more of a mercy kill, hurriedly finishing the man's life before he could scream in agony. The two prongs found flesh once again ripping past the windpipe probing the spinal cord, and out back where it once came. The sickening squelch of flesh being torn, sperated, and hewn; was all he was awarded.
Another body to add to the pile mounting behind him. Another arrival came holding another scimitar, though this time learning the mistakes of his predecessors and waiting for a numerical advantage. And his comrades seemed to notice, loyally bunching up next to him poised to attack or defend. A silent agreement past between the terrorist as the few on the flanks started taking out rifles and pistols. A few stray shots from the entrenchment saw to the wings as they became occupied with Peshmergas firing from cover.
Three came at once. The middle man held his sword like a spear, lipstick ametuerish, while the other two were set on just going in from the sides. The Cobra managed a grin, deftly pulling put his sidearm. Two shots were fire, the flanker on the right fell to a kidney shot, while the other toppled over from a bullet to the shin. The Cobra's venom was most potent against unsuspecting victims.
The last man standing undeterred by the loss of his backup, thrust forwards, leading into a swing. The charge was halted has the terrorist staggered as the Cobra shoulder checked him after the swing. The battle raged on around them, but only they mattered only one of them was winning, and the terrorist knew his end was nigh.
"!الله أكبر (ALLAHU AKBAR!)" The desperate bastard scrambled for a grenade in his pouch, before pulling it out, and holding it across his chest.
The pin never left the explosive, as a blood drenched Zulfikar embedded flesh biting down harshly, cold metal emanating how the dying man's body was feeling. The blade didn't so much as leave the man's chest, as the body just slid off the serrated steel. A fast changing in air behind alerted him of danger as he rolled forwards barely missing the edge of another machete. Another smirk found itself on his face. This time at the spryness of his evasion. He made brief eye contact with his opponent, the feeling of guilt soon washed over him.
Then he focused on the whole picture, this man did not deserve a slow death for it was unnecessary, he would give him that little mercy, but his opponent was a cold blooded murderer lynching those who weren't the right kind of backwards Muslim without remorse.
The grin he had worn evaporated, leaving a hard glare as the Cobra reared back for one last strike.
Or he would have had if a second Airstrike had not shaken the earth, and thrown his enemy on top of his weapon. A little pathetic... but it got the job done. The ringing of his ears definetely apparent.
"God bless the U.S. Airforce." A gruff voice spoke up from behind him, very unlike the others native here.
And Allah smite you for the heart attack!
Why couldn't there be a ceasefire of sound for two seconds in this Allah forbidden country!? Ok that was a little exaggerated, ironically you'd also expect a veteran to be used to loud sounds. Turning around to greet the second trespassers to stick their noses where it doesn't belong. Both human and jet alike. The Soldier calmed down, easing his breathing, also giving time for his adrenaline levels to balance out.
Moving onto the second unwelcome visitors. The pair both clad in familiar marpat desert camo, Kevlar vests, trauma plates, not to mention more military equipment (Definitely not tourists...), and a thin layer of perspiration. To the left a tall well built male, on the right a blonde female who looked way too sexy to be roughing it in Syria. If he was taking a well educated guess which he always did, he'd say there weren't Kurdish... yeah "well educated" in big quotation marks.
"I wasn't aware we had 'embeds' in this brigade." He grinned noticing the two regard him with a curious gaze, one he was mirroring with more discretion.
"We aren't here officially, we've been sent to look for someone, you could say we're here no strings attached." It was the female's turn to show off her voice, it lay tainted...no tainted was a harsh word, dictated, delivered in way much more befitting a temptress. An American no less, not a bad thing.
'Not a bad thing at all, though she could be bad to me all she wants!' A more primal and treacherous state of mind hissed in the background.
"Even more reason to tell you to kindly bugger off. This is YPG territory, which if you hadn't noticed is currently set as engaged in active combat with ISIS remnants and Al Nusra cells." The tired and logical part of his mind spoke up before the Soldier could embarrass himself, causing American on the left to let out an annoyed grunt. If he hadn't just laid waste to approximately six men just then, he probably would have flirted.
"We're here on behalf of a CTU looking to recruit someone who specializes in terrorists, their behavior, their mannerisms, and all their little tricks, and from what we just saw here I think we've got the right man." The woman imterrupted tactfully hiding her partner's annoyance.
"Terrorists aren't some sort of wild animal you need to study, it all depends on their backgrounds i.e if they're ex-military or not, their equipment, phycogical preparation, You can't be an expert on something that's always changing and shifting. For example Al Nusra tend to attack in waves wearing down defences, while ISIS tend to send in mechanized infantry in first if they can, but those tactics change depending on constantly shifting factors." The Soldier rattled off.
"And that's what we were told you'd say." The woman grinned.
"Who are you looking for?" The man asked in a whisper.
"The Kurdish Cobra." The Male spoke this time, voice coming out more in a angry huff. The very name seemed to make every man in hearing distance tense, some seemed to play with their weapons checking if they're ready to use at a moments notice, while others looked away awkwardly. Except the two Americans who weren't so... familiar with the title.
"Wait wait wait, isn't that what the CT in CTU stands for? If you need me of all people to tell you how to kill terrorists then you need to look else where, and if I hear the phrase, 'you need to be a terrorist to understand a terrorist' I will shove this up your ass!" The Soldier fumed banging a taunt fist onto the pommel of a still blood soaked Zulfikar. Accidentally revealing the Cobra to the trespassers.
"It's nothing's like that, we just wanted to offer a formal invitation to hi-... you, mainly because there's been some recent developments we need new personnel for."
It seemed innocent enough, better than most contracts he had been offered anyway.
"What's the catch?" He asked. Like everything in life ,there always was one.
"Nothing too restricting, we trust you to keep this meeting, the CTU, and its actions confidential. Once you get to HQ we'll give you more details."
The Kurd stroked his goatee the feeling of his prickly facial hair assuring to him.
"I don't see any harm in it."
Because if there was one thing the Kurdish Cobra knew it was that no matter what precautions you took, death was a certainty. So it was either get busy living or get busy dying.
And he wasn't set on dying anytime soon.
A little author's note, I hope this was a good enough intro for my story, I will go into depth what my OC specializes in in the next chapter, which will be longer. Peace be apon you Jihadi and I will see you later.