I'll never forget that day – rather, it'll never leave me. Sometimes in your life, maybe only once, maybe a few times, the path you take boils down to a single choice you make. Either you regret it for the rest of your days, or it's the best goddamn thing that you ever did. In my case, I'm still trying to figure that one out.

Afghanistan. I was a confused 19-year old with a lack of direction or purpose in life, just like every other kid in the sandbox. We had just hauled ass from a dismounted patrol gone to shit after we walked straight into a cluster of IEDs. The goddamn things blew up half of my squad, but at this point in the war, it was a daily occurrence. Maybe a year before, it would have fazed me – the first time around, it sure did – but that's not the kind of thing that sticks for long. Especially not when you're a 68-Whiskey, combat medic, in other words. You're the poor bitch whose job it is to be in two places at once: stuffing holes to keep your guys alive, but also returning fire to keep your guys alive.

"'No time to wait for EOD,' they said," I complained, in true Army style. "'We can't miss this opportunity,' they said."

We could always count on those dirty fucking dirtbags sitting in their cushy CP to screw us all over. OPFOR knew that we thought that area was clear, and we knew that they thought that we knew that area was clear, so somewhere in that mess of words was the fine text saying that we were the ones who were gonna suffer for it. Because their advantage in that engagement was somehow our opportunity. But, hey, what could I do? Were we supposed to expect contact? No. Did we? Yes. Did that change anything? No.

I took off my helmet and let it hang by the chinstrap, wincing each time it knocked against my slung M4. I had such an awful headache. I always did. It was a miracle I wasn't addicted to Motrin. At that point, I'd stopped caring about the job. It's pointless fighting a war you can't exactly win by calling in fire support and CAS, and going home, leaving the locals to pick up the rotting pieces. A war where you're not sure when someone is a friend or an enemy. A war that's not about winning.

"J-Jenna," a young, timid voice called from behind me. "I, um… is everything all right? I'm worried about you."

I turned around to find the one person who I still bothered to give a damn about anymore. The only reason I had to fight in the first place. The two of us had an uncertain relationship, a romance both of us clung to because it was really the only thing either of us had in the world anymore. Not to say I didn't love her, or vice versa, just that under normal circumstances we would have gone our own ways.

"I'm fine, Brooke. Absolutely fine," I lied, throwing up an OK sign and a grin. "If anything, I should be worried. Are you hurt?"

She wasn't hurt, and actually, the enemy was the one who should have been worried the most, as long as she was under my care. I already knew that she probably didn't sustain any injuries except maybe a bruise or so. She wasn't really fit for an infantry medic, but there was a perpetual shortage of us because the bad guys would always look for the bastard wearing a bigger backpack. When bullets were flying, she didn't shoot back like I did, she kind of just operated like a traditional doc and focused on the casualties. I was the one who told her to do it in the first place, but it was obvious that's what she was intending to do anyway. It worked out. In her defense, that was technically what the Geneva Conventions said medics should do, but it got to the point where the Army realized that the enemy didn't give a fuck, and started sending us out with weapons too.

Brooke was a tiny girl, standing at maybe 5'2" and pretty much eaten whole by her SPCS vest, as well as by me when she wasn't wearing it. She had her strawberry hair cut up in this adorable kinda bob where the ends curved inwards a bit, but kept her bangs out of her face to expose those innocent cerulean eyes of hers. She also had cheeks that I liked to pinch a lot to tease her. At first, a lot of guys got off to the whole fact the two girls in the platoon had a thing together, but after a while it became pretty much part of everyday life.

"You need to take better care of yourself. I'm always scared when we walk into an engagement, because you never do."

Well, she had a point. I looked like I accidentally walked in on a drug deal or something. Some RPG shrapnel grazed my cheek, but the cut wasn't deep enough to leave a scar or anything. I rubbed my thumb along my ACH and found a 7.62 lodged in it… lucky day. I half-sincerely wished it went the whole way through the helmet. Maybe it would have solved the pounding headache.

One pointless debriefing and a lot of body bags later, when I was lying around in the medical tent, I heard someone with a heavy step approach, a rattle of gear synchronized with crunching of dirt. My CO, specifically, the company commander, came to see me. The guy didn't really care for us much, actually I'm pretty sure he didn't want to be in charge of us, so it was surprising he'd personally talk to me.

"Moore," he began. "The way you act is pretty notorious around these parts, and we both know you're not going anywhere in this military. I'm not even sure how you haven't been discharged by now."

Honestly, I wasn't going to argue that. He was kind of right. I hadn't even enlisted of my own accord. All I'll say is that my dumbass did something especially stupid a few years back. And yeah, frankly, I was a lazy pile of shit. Had I not been in a combat zone and regularly outside the wire, I would have been gone a long time ago. I had a rep for being a pretty crappy soldier. Sure, I was definitely athletic, and more than capable of pulling my weight beyond the super low fitness regs, but none of that mattered. At the time, I had four Article 15s under my belt, one of them being a demotion. As if that was really that special in my company. My platoon in particular consisted of delinquent and unfit soldiers the Army just couldn't afford to send back to the States and discharge. Ever since the 2011 nuke, they needed all the bodies they could throw. This included soldiers who were given the choice between jail or enlistment like myself. That definitely wasn't a thing before the war happened.

"But, the opportunity of a lifetime has arrived, and you are under orders to accept it. Remember how we pulled you out of the pipeline for Airborne School?"

About when I left AIT for being a medic, I tried to enter Airborne just to see how long I could postpone being sent to Afghanistan. I really didn't want to go to Afghanistan. I threw my name on the roster for pretty much every school, and hoped that the war would be over before I ran out of them, but they caught on.

"It's been approved, and as it so turns out, the powers that be consider it important enough that you'll return stateside immediately. You're probably about to ask why, and I'll stop you right there, because I really don't want to hear you mouth off. When you're done with jump school, you are to report to RASP, then to SOCM."

To the average person, this would sound like a whole lot of gibberish. To me, it sounded like a whole lot of gibberish. Not because I didn't understand it, but because it sounded like total bullshit. To translate, I would be going through training to join the 75th Ranger Regiment, as well as go through the proper course to qualify as a special operations medic. All big league shit that would test even my limits. And go figure, we had women pass Ranger School, but none actually in the Regiment. I'd be the first.

Back then, I didn't think much of that. Brooke might have convinced me to join the Army, but she couldn't encourage me to keep going. Every day I wished I could take a round in the skull and go down like a hero. Like my parents did. I still found it odd they chose me to be the first candidate for the first female Ranger. Why the fuck would they choose a lowlife delinquent like myself? Later on I'd find out it had more to do with politics than anything else. It was rigged from the start.

"One condition, you take Steller out of here as well," I said, referring to Brooke.

"No can do. They chose you. She's not part of this."

"We can't possibly arrange for her to come too?"

"No. Listen, I know the whole thing you guys have going, but this is bigger than that. And I'm sure that if you do well, they'd be willing to hear you out. You gotta prove yourself first, and that doesn't just mean passing the courses, it also means displaying satisfactory performance in a Ranger Bat. Otherwise, it seems like the option is finishing this deployment and probably being discharged while she gets to stay in without you. So make up your mind."

He forced my hand. It was a lose-lose, but if it meant getting her out, I'd take the harder option.

"Fine," I replied, not even bothering to look into his eyes. "Nothin' to lose."

"Good, you've made my life easier for once in my goddamn life. They've arranged transport home for you. We've already prepped your personal shit, and we'll just pretend that we didn't find a shitload of tequila. Twenty mikes, and you're outta here and on your way to Bagram."

Yup, I'm sure he was glad to have finally gotten rid of me. The only other person in the tent besides us was Brooke, and she was trying her best to bury herself in a manual that she was clearly holding upside-down. She always made an effort to try and convince me to get my shit together and try my best, but it was becoming futile at that point. The fact that she was the only one who really accepted me for it was just another reason why she meant so much to me.

"Well, Brooke… guess this is it," I said once the CO left. "I'm finally leaving this shithole. I feel absolutely horrible for having to leave you behind, but you heard my options. This is my out, and I'll die trying to find you one, too. If it means you can go home fine, I'll take a few more years of this shit."

"Jenna, I…" she choked, trying to form her words, but seemingly finding different ones. "I'm gonna miss you. You're all I have left."

"I'll meet you again when this is done. I'll wash out in no time, knowing me. You can leave the Army, and we'll start a new life together. I promise."

I saw her biting her lip, holding back tears, trying to stay strong for me. I was her crush ever since the beginning of high school, and here we were finally parting. We spent the rest of the time talking, making sure we had each other's contact information and agreed on a spot to meet in the event we both ended up getting out without seeing each other, and just talking about our future. We must have kissed each other five times, and by the time I had to go, we were sitting on a cot pressed up against each other, her head resting on my shoulder for the very last time.

"I won't be able to protect you anymore, all right? So please, in exchange, promise me you'll be there when I'm done."

"Jenna..." she mumbled. "I love you."

I walked away, and the second I turned around, she was already sobbing. We both knew that neither of us really had any way to keep our promises.

I had absolutely no idea what I was getting into.

Two years later

"We're going to be experiencing some slight... turbulence for a little while. I would tell you guys to buckle your seatbelts if you had them."

Operation Wolverine

August 13, 2016

Pvt. Natalia Petrova

98th Guards Airborne Division, VDV

Airspace over Virginia, USA

Natalia quietly fiddled with her AK-74M assault rifle as her AN-124 rocked from the explosions going off outside the aircraft. She started her service as a srochniki, a conscript of the Ultranationalists in the aftermath of 2011's civil war, and eventually found herself pursuing a career in the VDV. Now, she was deployed to invade the United States after US-supported terrorists attacked Zakhaev International Airport.

Or so she was told.

None of it really mattered, she was going to have to die for her country either way. The United States was supposed to pay for their mistake of messing with Russia. But Russia would send a bunch of draftees who didn't want to go. The war was doomed from the start. Unlike the angry men crammed into the cabin with her, she didn't care for any of it. She regretted her mistake of choosing to remain in the military, but it down to supporting her family, or returning to a life of financial instability. Neither would matter if she died.

She didn't really have much time to ponder why she was fighting. Everyone's attention snapped to the intercom as it crackled to life.

"You all know what we are here for. Many of you have lost loved ones. You have a duty for your great nation! We will exact revenge on the murderers who spilled our people's blood on our soil! We stand for what we, as a country, believe in! Remember the massacre! Make these filthy pieces of shit pay for what they've done!" the speaker blared.

A dim red light flooded the cabin, and the door was opened, allowing the brilliant rays of the sun into the plane.

"All right, guys, that's the United States down there. Their land, their blood!"

The sky over America was, in a way, the same sky over Russia. The soil beneath them was not the same, and that somehow made it different. The intermittent anti-aircraft fire was a good reminder.

"HOOK UP!"

Natalia reached upward to attach her snap link, struggling as the plane shook and bounced violently. Gritting her teeth, she stood up on her tiptoes and snapped it on with a click.

"CHECK STATIC LINES!"

She reached up and tugged lightly on hers, suddenly realizing that her hand was trembling. A nearby blast knocked the aircraft banking to the side, nearly causing her to fall over before the soldier behind her took hold of her vest and yanked her back to her feet.

"CHECK EQUIPMENT!"

Everything seemed accounted for. She took special care to keep her rifle secured, because there was no knowing what kinds of people she would be facing on the ground.

"SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK!"

The sounds of rustling, smacking, and knocking gradually grew louder as each soldier in line slapped the next. She half-expected one of the pigs in the plane to smack her ass, but for once, it seemed their minds were outside of their pants. A minute passed, and the explosions outside grew more and more frequent.

"A-Are we actually doing this?" Natalia asked nervously. "Is this real life?"

"Shut up, you dumbass! Not the time to talk! Save it 'til we're on the ground!" another paratrooper snapped.

"STAND IN THE DOOR!"

Natalia was the second person in line, and she watched the first jumper take his position. He recoiled slightly, eyes widening at the sight before him. He shook his head and braced himself.

A deafening noise came from the other side of the plane, where another stick of jumpers was ready to deploy. An explosion tore off a chunk of the fuselage, vaporizing a couple of soldiers and sucking a few more out of the gaping hole. She gawked at the sight momentarily before the soldier behind her punched the back of her head. She turned back to the door and saw that the dim red light had become a blinding green.

"GO! GO! GO!"

She quickly leaped off the plane, her chute deployed just like the past million times.

Unlike the past million times, there were people shooting at them.

"Son of a bitch," she gasped as she saw the thousands of parachutes around her, the bursts of anti-aircraft guns going off, and the massive landscape of Virginia below.

Pvt. Jenna Moore

1st Bn., 75th Ranger Regiment

"Mom, what the hell? I'm done with school!" Jenna muttered as someone violently shook her in her bed. "MOM WHAT THE FUCK-?"

"Moore. I freaking swear! First of all, Mom's not in here, he's outside," her friend Pvt. James Ramirez snapped. "Second of all, get up! Russkies are falling from the sky, and I'm just as lost as you are!"

Jenna fell out of the bed, slamming against the floor forcefully with grace. She rose to her feet, stumbling and leaning against Ramirez momentarily to regain her balance. Did she just hear what she thought she just heard?

"M-Moore! G-Get off of me before someone gets the wrong idea!"

"You're kidding me. Right?" she asked, backing off. "This is one of your sick jokes, isn't it?"

Before James could answer, Sgt. Foley nudged his way around the other Rangers kitting up, adjusting his Ranger Green plate carrier over his Army Combat Uniform. His strides were more rushed than usual, and that was a sign something was fucking wrong. Foley was probably as chill as Sergeants could get.

"Oh no, it's no joke, Moore. We barely believe it either. Get moving, and I'm serious this time. We're up to bat, and we gotta secure an HVI," Foley ordered. "Time's wasting, what the hell are you waiting for!?"

"Oh, hey, Mom," the two greeted in unison.

Jenna and James both started gearing up. By now, it was routine, but it all felt so different. Probably because on a normal work day, Russians weren't out for blood.

"You know," James said. "If you're gonna keep sleeping in like that, you're never getting that promotion you want. If it weren't for the brass constantly blowing you, you'd get kicked out in a week."

"Where'd you put my shirt?" Jenna muttered. "No time for this."

"Hey! Don't ignore me like that!"

Jenna lazily threw her Eagle Industries MBAV on top of her T-shirt. The United States was under invasion for the first time in centuries, so who actually gave two shits about the regs? Definitely not the Russians. The two Rangers jogged out to the armory, and Jenna took up her M4A1, a SOPMOD Block II to be exact. She chambered a round and joined the rest of the troops scrambling to their vehicles. James spotted Cpl. Dunn, who motioned to the two to get in the Humvee.

He quickly leaped into the passenger seat, and Jenna took her spot in the back.

"Seriously?" James shot, holding up a picture of a girl he found on the dashboard. "You still have this damn photo? WHY IS IT SO STICKY!?"

"Your sister's hot," Dunn sheepishly grinned. "What-!? Hands off the radio, dude!"

Ramirez chuckled, turning on a Bluetooth speaker and tapping his phone's screen. "It's Raining Men" by The Weather Girls began to play over the speakers. A nearby vehicle honked loudly while the Ranger on its turret turned and flipped them off. Even with the very existence of the nation at risk, they just couldn't resist cracking jokes. It was their way of coping.

"You have a sick sense of humor, James," Jenna giggled as the Humvee rolled into its place in the convoy.

"Ladies, gentlemen, time to show these vodka-drunk commies what we do for a living! Time to show them a force that actually shoots back!" Foley addressed over the comms. "Rangers... let's make Ivan cry!"

For the record, "Никто, кроме нас!" is the Russian VDV motto.

Buckle up, readers. You're in for a helluva ride.