Just a one-shot, that's all this is. Want more of this? Drop that review.
...
Grown ass 18- and 19-year-old men and women all were crying and praying, all curled forward as they hid their feared, pathetic expressions from everyone else. This is the fresh-out-of-boot-camp 1st and 2nd Platoon of Lima Company, all full of infantry-made men, and, yes, women. All being stuffed into an Osprey helicopter, they were heading towards their LZ deep embedded into the rubbles of Hamburg, one of Germany's cities. Though, this bird was not alone. Other Ospreys and Apaches zooms ahead to the smoking, battling large city. These were the reinforcements to replace the previous set of reinforcements for their previous set of reinforcements.
"Oh fuck man, I'm about to puke", a man blurts as he rests his gloved hands on his helmet, facing down at the floor with his eyes shut. "We're going to fucking die, I fucking swear..."
"Shit, are we seriously fucking doing this shit", a woman also mutters to herself elsewhere.
Just outside, everyone can hear the explosions and anti-air guns firing off elsewhere from another position, thank God. Though, everything had gotten serious once the platoon leader of 1st Platoon stood up.
"Alright Devil Dogs, get yourselves ready", he says aloud in his loud, drill instructor-like voice, "we're about to touch down!"
Everyone, felt a shiver up their spines at the notice, even the young 19-year-old Lance Corporal Johnny Spikes. He taps the heel of his boot repeatedly against the floor as he gripped his rifle's muzzle tightly. After shaking it all out, and once the call for "Everyone up!" is given, he stood up and faces the slowly-opening cargo doors. The turbulence of AA guns and cannons began to shake about the Osprey, making absolutely everyone visibly nervous.
"Oh fuck me", a guy says in front of him with a quiver in his voice once the cargo door revealed all the bullets spraying past their Osprey and into other birds at their rear. As Apaches returns fire with their miniguns and Hellfire Missiles, another Osprey began to go down and skid across the streets below as they took in the incoming AA fire. "Holy fucking shit...!"
Spikes began bouncing on his feet nervously, then held his rifle across his chest, ready to touch the ground once the helicopters finally were over solid ground where all the action was at. But, something went off...
"Holy shit, bail bail bail!" The 2nd Platoon leader screamed out as large caliber bullets pierces through the Osprey and into the cargo bay, ripping through the bodies of several male and female Marines.
At a response to panic and the command, everyone began to bail out just as the Osprey had gotten out of control. Spikes jumped out, thankfully landing on the roof of a tall business building with several others. Spikes, being so close to the edge, tried to climb away from the edge until he heard some screaming behind him. A Marine had just missed the jump, now falling down to his death, and another who crash right on the edge, trying to pull herself up but failed as she met the same fate of the previous Marine.
"Marines, sound off", the 1st Platoon leader shouted, seemingly to be alive.
"Davis!"
"Johnson!"
"Marquis!"
"Nuncio!"
"Spikes!"
"Gordon!"
"Kilani!"
The end of names brought the only platoon leader to panic and fall into disbelief. "This is fucking it?!" He cursed aloud then took in the surroundings. Everything was in turmoil; battle tanks taking the streets, floods of soldiers retreating into buildings, attack helicopters raining down hell (as if it wasn't hell enough), and, worse of all, the corpses this battle has left behind.
"I can't fucking do this shit!"
Everyone looked to a young man, another newly-made Marine who ripped off his helmet and kicks it aside. "I just graduated and you expect me to go through that? You expect any of us to go through that?"
The platoon leader hurriedly stomps towards the young man, grabbing him by his battle vest and stares dead into his eyes. Then, he spoke in a cold, low, quiet tone. "Pick up your goddamn helmet and fall in. We're moving out to our designated position. Either you move and die, or stay here and die." After that, he shoved the young man aside. "Don't listen to a word Davis just said, any of you! Saddle up and follow my lead!"
As the small remaining members of the platoon treads down the slightly demolished building, they finally began talking quietly to one another through the small formation soon after, trying to shake off each other's nervousness.
"Damn, this fuckin' sucks", Nuncio whispers to Marquis. Nuncio was a white country girl with light freckles and dark blue eyes. Everything else of her was hidden beneath her gear and uniform.
Marquis, a French-American, nodded as he smirks nervously. "Damn straight, Nuncio."
"Shut the fuck up back there", Johnson whispers loudly over her shoulder from behind the platoon leader. "You might just grab some Russkies attention in the break room, fucking retards." Johnson was a Native American girl with chocolate brown eyes, though with a fucked up attitude.
"Everyone up there, shut the fuck up." The platoon leader stopped as they reached the bottom of the stairs, looking over the small formation. "Shut up and move. Shut. Up. Got it?"
"Aye, sir." All members reply altogether.
As the small platoon exits out the half-destroyed, they were greeted with a Armata MBT followed by two T-90's battling a single German Leopard 2A7 MBT, which was reversing in retreat. Though, as the Armata fired its main cannon, it pierced through the Leopard's armor in one shot and sent it up into a large explosion.
Seeing this, the small platoon retreated back inside and hid behind whatever cover they can, hoping and praying they have not been spotted.
"Holy fuck, a fucking Russian Armata?!" Kilani blurts aloud as she double checks her AT4 launcher.
Spikes peeks over from his cover slowly, then curses aloud. "And that fucker has two damn T-fucking-90's behind his ass."
Gordon curses under his breath then looks over to the platoon leader behind his cover. "Sir, what do we do? Dig in or call someone in?" His accent was a deep Scottish accent.
The platton leader peeks over his cover, a set of chairs, and glanced over towards the set of Russian tanks. It wasn't looking good. The other exits were pretty much buried in rubble, so this main exit was their only means of advancing anywhere else.
"We can't call shit in..." The platoon leader began to think as he kept his eyes on the battle tanks rolling forward slowly. He saw a Russian pop out from the hatch of a T-90 so he can get a look of their surroundings of the large streets surrounded by demolished buildings. This gave the platoon leader an idea. "Since we're on our fucking own anyway and that there's a fucking battalion of Russians closing in several hundred meters south of these tanks-..."
"Wait, what?" Davis interrupted. "When the fuck did you spot those guys?"
"From the roof, dumbass. Shut the fuck up and listen." The platoon leader sighs as he recollects his thoughts. "Okay. To be straightforward, we're destroying these tanks. Once we take them out, we gotta hike out, fucking fast. We'll use Kilani's AT4 as our main weapon along with Spikes' C4. We toss a shit ton of grenades into the T-90's portal as our kick-off for the game, leaving us with just the other T-90 and the goddamn fucking Armata. The Aramata is our main worry. Oorah?"
Everyone was dead-ass silent as they stare over at their platoon leader with a look of disbelief.
"Sir, just what the fuck-..." Gordon was cut off as a rain of Hellfire missiles lit up along the tanks just outside. The two T-90's went up in flames as the Aramata was immobile.
The platoon leader cursed with a grin then rushed outside. "This is our fucking chance! Move it!"
The other Marines cursed aloud as they followed.
"We're going to take out that Armata?!" Nuncio shouted her question aloud.
"Damn straight Nuncio!" The platoon shouted back as the Apache rushed past overhead. He climbed atop the tank then looked down at Spikes. "Spikes, C4! Two blocks!"
Spikes rushed through his gear then tossed two blocks of C4 to his platoon leader. "Hurry the fuck up with that."
The platoon leader quickly sets the C4s atop the hatch of the Armata then hopped back down and rushed behind the destroyed Leopard. "Spikes, on your mark, and make it fucking quick!"
The other Marines quickly followed, Spikes having to ready the detonator before sliding behind cover. The Armata moves its gun towards the Leopard where the Marines were at, everyone's hearts dropping quickly.
"Holy fucking shit..." Johnson says under her breath as the main cannon of the distant Armata was trained on them.
Just before the Armata fired, the two blocks of C4 had rocked the ground and sent the Armata into a twist of metal.
After a few minutes of recollecting what just happened, the small platoon of Marines cheered happily, the platoon having a grin flash on his face. "Okay Devil Dogs, that is one less Armata on our asses! Let's hurry the fuck outta here, Oorah?!"
"Oorah!"
After reporting to their position, the small surviving platoon found themselves in a building looking down at large, open streets below with dozens of other Marines. In fact, most of the buildings in the area were filled with Marines. And apparently, they were here because the battalion-size army of Russians from before were supposedly moving to meet with their brigade-size force along with another brigade. And this is where they were all headed, along with MBTs and attack choppers.
The next hour, everything was complete war. Marines flooded the streets with their M1A1 Abrams tanks in front as their main defensive line. Nuncio and Marquis were behind a MBT of theirs, firing off at open Russians. Spikes was with Gordon and the platoon leader, firing off rounds from behind another tank as Johnson tried to patch up Davis. Davis was utterly crying like a bitch, gripping and squeezing at Johnson's arm. What was missing was Kilani. Her corpse lies ahead at the ground separating the Marines from the Russians, along with dozens of other fallen Marines and Russians.
"Shut the fuck up Davis, it's just a damn flesh wound!" Johnson shouted at Davis, completely driven insane and pissed off at Davis and his irritating tantrum.
Spike glanced over to Nuncio and Marquis, right when the tank they used as cover went into a twist of metal and flames. "Shit, Nuncio and Marquis are out!"
The platoon leader glanced over to the demolished tank then cursed aloud. "FUCK!"
Gordon cursed under his breath as he reloaded his M240B LMG, then focused fire back ahead once the tanks slowly began to push forward. A Russian attack chopper began to spin out of control over head, falling and falling until crashing behind the line of defense into a ground of corpsman trying to patch up several Marines. This infuriated every Marine that witnessed it, bringing the Marines who were behind, even the injured ones, to take up positions behind a few of their tanks.
"Fuck these Kamikaze Russkies...!" Johnson cursed as a corpsman took care of Davis. She picked up her M16 rifle and looked overhead. Their Apaches were engaging the Russian Hinds, having their own aerial warfare.
It was now raining. The Russians were pushed back by several hundred meters, and the aerial warfare was dying down just a bit, which left demolished helicopters to crash nearby the Marine's positions.
"Another battalion is forming up the Russian's brigade", shouted a Marine.
"Fuckin' hell brother, they really want this route, eh?" Gordon asked Spikes, who was emptying his clip of his M4A1.
"Damn straight brother."
Johnson wrapped a bandage around her arm which sustained a gun wound through, thankfully, only her flesh. Their number of tanks were even reduced by just a little. "But we gotta hold this damn line."
Suddenly, a wave of Russians rushed out of their cover and towards the Marine's defensive line.
"Look alive Devil Dogs, their rushing us!" The platoon leader shouted, fixing a bayonet onto his M16A1 rifle, along with Spikes and Johnson doing the same. As the Abrams opens fire on the wave of Russians, several had slipped past the firing line and into the line of Marines. The Marines slams their bayonets into the bodies of Russians as others opens fire from their distance. There was now a fight inside the line.
Marines now returned the gesture after finishing off the Russians, rushing ahead as the tanks rolls forward and provide covering fire. The Marines yells at the top of their lungs as they ran toward the Russians, slamming their bayonets and butts of their rifles against the faces of the Russians.
"Take 'em all out, Devil Dogs!" The platoon leader shouted.
Johnson stabbed her bayonet into the face of a Russian soldier repeatedly as she yells and screams, Spike pretty much swirling his bayonet all around inside the guts of another Russian, screaming and yelling with other Marines.
The platoon leader went hand-to-hand with another Russian, first tackling him into the muddy ground then taking off his helmet and using it as a blunt weapon where he would repeatedly slam the helmet against the Russian's face over and over again. Other Marines were getting shot up by distant Russians, but that didn't mean they would retreat. These Marines were pissed off. Abram tanks from behind fires their main cannons up ahead and overhead fellow Marines, bombarding the shooting Russians. The hatches of the Abrams swung open as the gunner took hold of their .50 cal gun and fires ahead in burst fire.
As gunfire flew over the Marine's head, they began to pushed the Russians back as they yell and scream their battle cries. Gordon inches forward with his M240B LMG raining ahead as he yells. T-90s began to come into view, though Apaches overhead that were free of their aerial fighting rains down whatever guns and missiles they have left. This was a losing battle for the poor Russians.
"Johnson!" Spikes cried out as he trained his rifle to a Russian lying on the ground, dying as he pulled the pin off of a grenade from his belt right beside Johnson, who was firing her rifle up ahead. As Spikes shot, he rushed over to Johnson, but was too late as the grenade had went off, killing Johnson almost instantly and sending shrapnel to hit hit vest. "FUCK!"
Gordon slaps the butt of his LMG against the face of a Russian, then fires a barrage of rounds up ahead. Suddenly, a mortar slams atop of his figure, killing him just as instantly as Johnson. A hail of mortar rounds rains atop the Marines, who were now retreating. As Spikes slipped off his vest, he hurries into a building close by with other Marines, along with his platoon leader right behind.
"Spikes, where's Johnson and Gordon", the platoon leader asks Spikes as the ground shook with mortar fire.
Spikes re-focuses his mind as he took off his helmet. "Johnson is dead. Gordon... I don't where he is."
The platoon leader cursed aloud in frustration, then looks around the crowd of Marines. "Just you and I left in our platoon then, right?"
Spikes nodded then looks at the ceiling as it shook. Supposedly a mortar hit their building.
"Hey guys!"
Everyone focuses their attention to a pair of Marines.
"We're completely un-fucked!" One of the Marines held a confident smile. "Alpha Providence had just arrived!"
"Yeah, their out taking care of the mortars right now!" The other Marine had a small smile of relief as he added in that last part.
"Yeah?" A Marine stepped out of the crowd. "How the fuck you know? I mean, what, did they call you about that info? Nobody in God's fuckin' kingdom never knows where the fuck these guys are and when they're comin'."
After that Marine finished, the mortar fire suddenly stopped.
"See what I tell ya, brother?"
The Marines slowly floods out of the building and back onto the muddy streets. The rain grew slightly thicker.
"That's it?" Spikes looks to the platoon leader for an answer.
The platoon leader smiles then patted his shoulder. "Sure the fuck is." He slumped down to a squat, burying his face in his bloody hands. "Sure is..." He began to cry and tremble. Other Marines were cheering and others were sulking for their loss like Spikes' platoon leader was.
...
"Mortar team is done for", the earpiece of a masked mercenary says. "Advancing to the Federation's stronghold, 0-4 out."
The mercenary who heard the incoming radio traffic was standing atop a building, looking down at hurrying Russian soldiers. At his sides were his squad members, all dressed in black combat attire and metal-looking masks with different color designs and etch marks.
"0-1, drop." The mercenary says in his deep, gas-mask-like voice. He, along with the rest of his comrades, slowly leans forward, then plummets below with their top-grade rifles held across their chests. Once they met the ground, they landed hard onto a kneel, then quickly raised their rifles up and shot a barrage of rounds al around at surrounding Russians. It took only several seconds to completely annihilate the company-sized Russians with only a few return-fire.
"Don't forget to reconfigure the jump gear before moving forward", another mercenary reminds everyone, standing up and checking his wrist OPSAT, dialing in a few codes and commands. "Enable cloaking device, too. Sir, your orders."
The deep-voiced mercenary checks his magazine of his M416 rifle, then loads it back in. "We'll destroy the Federation's weapons cache, leave the destruction of their communications with Teams 2-4 and 3-7, and then regroup with 0-4 and a Delta Force team. Ooyah?"
"Ooyah, sir." The mercenaries reply.
"Let's move it, Alpha." As they walk ahead, their figure's had flcikered with digital codes before they became completely invisible of their cloaking devices.