Chapter 1

When later asked why she signed herself up to the British army, Jennifer Todd would only smile in such a tired way that one only masters from being asked the same thing over and over again.

She never could answer them, and instead only smiled that smile and gave the same reasons over and over again.

"P.E. was my favourite subject is school."

No one could ever tell if she was joking or not.

Truthfully, she was joking, it just took more than an outsider to realise that she had hated physical education with a passion, and that she had many reasons for her current career choice. Her reasons were her own, and her sardonic answer would always do its job; whoever was asking would smile uncomfortably and give a half laugh before dropping it like a pinless grenade.

Jennifer was like that. Sure she had a few close friends, but none of them were really as close as they thought. Sure, she had hated P.E., but she was brilliant at it. Sure she thought that learning advanced algebra was a complete waste of time, but she still sat A-Level Mathematics and passed with an A. Her mother had always taught her:

"Never give up on something just because you don't like it. Life's always going to throw obstacles your way, and you can either lie down and let life go to shit around you, or you can grab it by the balls and work hard to shape it into something that shows your achievements."

Her mother was a strong woman who had calloused hands from years of difficult work and little pay. Despite her gruffness and sharp tongue, her mother had been a loving woman and had raised Jennifer and her sister as best she could with what little money she could scrape together, often working two or three jobs at once. She had passed away a couple of years ago and left her two daughters with a head full of life lessons and a meagre trust fund each. Jennifer had cried when she learned that the second job's wages had been put directly into those accounts. The rich bank manager had sneered at her and offered a pack of tissues held between a thumb and forefinger.

Jennifer's dad had never really been on the scene. She used to quiver with anticipation every time he had leave, waiting by the front door with her sister to pounce on him the moment the door opened. She loved him very much, but his duty had always come first. Jennifer was never told very much about her father's work; only that he was in the army and was out of the country a lot. She never begrudged him for it – she was desperate to leave her boring town and see the world. How could she blame her father for doing the same? She took after him in many aspects, whereas her sister took mainly after her mother.

He was always very serious, with a sarcastic sense of humour and a mouth that could turn the air blue. He was fiercely loyal, and determined to see anything through to the end. Jennifer admired him greatly.

The real reason Jennifer had joined the army wasn't because she loved P.E.; no, Jenny Todd had joined the army because she knew that it would be a hard job with a just cause. If there was one thing her mother had taught her, it was that hard work paid off. What better way to collect that payoff than to save someone's life? The feeling of knowing that she helped someone, despite the fact that she'd probably never see them again, and that she had made their life even just a little bit better.

Secretly, although she would never admit it, a part of her hoped that she might see her father more often if she followed his line of work. It was a tiny, inconceivably small part of her, but it was there noneless.

When Jennifer was deployed to the Middle East along with the rest of her squadron, she didn't know what to expect. Nothing could prepare her for the heat, or the screams, or never knowing if her meals would be her last, the feeling of helplessness at the sight of dead civilians, not being able to shake the thoughts of dead teammates that would haunt her in the night.

[0500hrs]
[26th April 2005]

Sadam Hussein, the bastard dictator who has people executed regularly for saying anything that isn't propaganda, is the reason Jen is now sitting here in this "base". Her team have temporarily set up in an abandoned building, and she sits with a couple new recruits and lights up a cigarette – a terrible habit that she swears is all her father and his sweet smelling cigars' fault - leaning back on the wall with her rifle lying across her lap. She doesn't even give a shit if he has nuclear warheads or not. Nobody should have as much power as he does – this is exactly what happens when they get it. Iraq is hot and stuffy and dangerous, and that's just for the civilians.

"Never ever leave your weapon lying about," She explains to the greens. She calls them green in her head, brushing off the fact that she is only 18 years old herself. "You never know when you're going to need it. My drill sergeant used to make us lap the whole base every time he found a rifle more than a foot away from someone." She lets out a short bark of laughter. "He was an old bastard, that one. Great sense of humour though," The private directly in front of her smiles a little.

"Tell me about it. Marching on the spot for hours at a time, just because someone loses a water bottle on exercise." He shakes his head nostalgically. Her eyes glaze over a little, lost in a memory of her old squad at the Logistics Corps, when she's brought abruptly back to reality. The private sitting on her right has a gaping hole in his forehead, and his eyes roll back into his head as he begins to slump towards her.

The weapon must have been silenced.

"Take cover!" She screams, grabbing the private on her left by his assault vest, not giving him time to gawk at his dead friend as she throws him behind a wall. She ignores the uncomfortably warm wetness on her cheeks and neck, knowing that the sticky red substance does little to calm the panicking private.

"Shit shit shit shit…" She mutters under her breath, pulling her rifle up to her shoulder and ducking her head out to get a position on the enemy. Bullets fly past her head, and she's forced to pull back quickly to avoid sharing the dead private's fate. She sees what she needs to see though; in the half light of morning, the enemy's weapons light up like fireworks as they fire on her and give them away. A well placed flashbang and a few retaliating shots, and the team is in the all clear for the moment. Captain Thompson gives her an approving nod, and gathers them to move out.

"Alright team, we need to relocate. Our position has been compromised, we need to find a safe place to set up and wait for orders. Todd, you take point. Michaels, you get on the wire and try and find out what the hell is going on. This was supposed to be friendly territory. Everyone clear?" His orders are met with a "roger that" and they head out into the warm morning air.

It's not long before everything starts going to shit again.

Thompson ducks behind the overturned car she's using as cover, kneeling down to her level. She can tell by his grimace that this is not going to end well.

"Sir, what's the situation?" He shakes his head.

"At least twenty tangos to the north of our position and closing in. RPGs on the rooftops, more ground-mobiles on their way from the east." He sighs. "No chance of an extraction." She nods. She never thought it would end like this. She didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't this. Never this.

"It's been an honour, sir." He grasps her proffered arm.

"Same here, corporal, same here." He ducks out of cover and lays down some covering fire for one of the newer recruits who's been caught out in the open. As soon as Thompson needs to reload, she takes his place. The young recruit frantically tries to crawl back towards them, but one of the militia runs out from behind a nearby dumpster. He pulls the pins out of the grenades strapped to the recruit's chest before kicking him squarely in the ribs towards their car and booking it out of there. The recruit's eyes go wide and he freezes in his panic, stumbling back all the way.

The last thing she remembers is the ringing in her ears and the weightless feeling of her body being thrown through the air and into the side of the nearest building.

She wakes in a hospital bed two days later at a dilapidated medical facility, tucked in scratchy army issue blankets and bandaged head to toe. News comes to her of her squad; the nurse says nothing and holds out her hand. Four sets of dog tags jangle slightly as they fall into her outstretched palm, the topmost reading "David Thompson". She cries that night, almost as much as the night her mother died. Survivors guilt ravages her for the next few months, and rage – so much rage. Why couldn't the ground team have gotten there earlier? Why didn't they listen to the radio? Why did she survive? She can't help but be angry at herself, despite the knowledge that there was nothing she could have possibly done. It takes her a long time, but she learns to lock it away in a corner of her mind – never forgotten, a mental scar that has made her harder.

[1430hrs]
[08th July 2011]

The memory of her lost squad didn't leave her incapacitated with pain anymore. Instead, Jennifer used it to drive herself forward, to never let it happen again. She couldn't help but play the memory over again and again in her head as she stormed the broadcast station, M16 pressed into her right shoulder, her right pointer finger itching as she lined up another ultranationalist in her sights.

Lieutenant Vasquez gave the signal, and she squeezed her finger briefly before muttering into the comms "Tango down." with a cool indifference that five years in the force had instilled. Jennifer no longer felt a piece of her die every time she took a life. Sure, this guy was somebody's son, somebody's brother, husband, father…but they were fighting on the wrong side. They picked up that gun willingly, and they shot at her with the intent to kill. The bastards deserved no sympathy from her, just like she expected none from them. This was war. War was no place for soldiers who couldn't kill – it was the brutal truth. She still felt a surge of pain for every kill, but her trigger finger moved reflexively, as if it knew the mission.

She shot down another tango with precision and whispered into her radio "clear, move up."

Vasquez nodded in her direction and checked his corners, following the barrel of his rifle around doorframes. He let off a couple of shots before motioning the squad forward. Sergeant Griggs followed close behind and entered the room on the left, clearing the rest of the floor so that enemies couldn't sneak up behind the group as they passed. They quickly cleared the bottom floor after a run in with an RPG in which Private Jackson managed to dive on top of Jennifer and subsequently save her neck.

"Thanks," she breathed, glancing wide eyed at the scorch mark on the wall over her head. "I owe you one." He merely grinned from ear to ear and crouched behind the desk in front of them.

Jennifer made extra sure from then on that Jackson didn't sustain any life threatening injuries.

When Jennifer planted the brick-like charge on the studio doors and stacked up behind Griggs, the team tensed as one with bated breath. This could end it all – the war could all end today thanks to them. It wouldn't be about the glory, it would be about stopping all this bloodshed and murder.

Vasquez tapped her once on the shoulder, and she squeezed the detonator with renewed determination. The splinters were still flying through the air amidst a cloud of smoke as three of the team stacked up barrel over barrel into the room, tensed for an immediate firefight. No such thing happened.

"God damnit!" Griggs punched a gloved fist through the nearest image of Al Asad's flickering form, driving his hand into the now exposed wiring behind the glass of the old television.

"Sir, it's a recording. Looks like he was never even here." Vasquez spared enough energy to nod at young Private Jackson to show some acknowledgement, but he scrubbed a hand over his face as he did so. Jennifer may not have been an amazing people person, but sitting on the sidelines teaches you a thing or two about reading body language. She'd noticed this mannerism often around Vasquez when something wasn't going his way – it was amusing to watch the rest of the younger (and some more seasoned) members of the team mirror his actions subconsciously as if they all thought on the same frequency their radios were set to.

"Alright, I need to radio this is. Jackson, Griggs, set up on the rooftop. Radio Todd as soon as you have any hostiles in your sights. Todd, I need you to hack into the terminal here. See if you can pull up any useful information on where Al Asad may be." Jennifer nodded her head and moved swiftly over to the control room, vaguely aware of Jackson and the Sergeant making their way back the way they came.

Spending time in the Logistics gave Jennifer a little background knowledge on hacking and electronics, something that Vasquez knew well. When at the base, bets were often placed to see who could hack into her computer after she had set up all of her own firewalls. So far, Jennifer had earned quite a bit of cash from all the sore losers, and only one other soldier had managed it – the man that had taught her everything she knew about tech.

'Now is NOT the time to be thinking about family. Focus. You're doing it for them. Alright, basic level encryption nothing you haven't faced before. Hell you've hacked harder than this with your eyes closed, should be easy enough to –'

"Got it! There seems to be an increase of enemy activity around this sector here, sending you the co-ordinates now. It's not hot at the moment, no friendlies in the area." Vasquez nodded and brought his hand up to his radio.

"Griggs, we're on our way out. Time to regroup at the LZ. We'll meet you outside."

"Roger that."

"Alright Hammer 2-6, let's go. Todd, take point." Jennifer hurried to the front of the group and they retraced their steps carefully to the foyer of the broadcast station. She motioned for them to continue, and slipped out the front door towards the short alleyway. It was relatively easy to make their way back to the LZ, where they met up with another two teams. One team seemed to have three injured soldiers, their wounds varying from scrapes where bullets had grazed their limbs, to a man who lay clutching his thigh. Blood spilled from the knife wound and started pooling around him and his comrades.

"Can't anyone do anything to stop the flow? A bloody tourniquet or anything! He's gonna bleed out pretty quick otherwise," She snapped at the nearest of the soldiers. He shot her a startled look before glancing at man on the ground.

"SHIT. Gary, c'mon, stay with me!" The man grunted in pain, and the kneeling soldier looked up at me.

"He wasn't this bad earlier! Any of you guys a medic?" Jackson stepped forward and knelt on the other side of the soldier.

"What's your name, Corporal?" The man gritted his teeth, but managed to spit out a few words.

"Gary Sanderson," he whimpered in pain as Jackson moved his hands away from the wound and exposed it. Inspecting it carefully, he nodded and tore the bottom of Sanderson's trousers off.

"Alright, Sanderson. You're going to be fine, it's quite a clean wound for it being a stab. I'll be able to patch you up until you get back to base, but it will only be temporary. You'll need a squad mate to help you back to the LZ so you don't put any pressure on the wound. You got that?" While he had been talking, Jackson had managed to wrap Sanderson's leg securely, and was now checking over his handiwork.

"Th-thanks," Sanderson nodded, panting a little as his squad mate hoisted him to his feet. Jackson smiled and returned to his own squad, lifting his rifle back into his shoulder. Jennifer wondered if he got the same sort of satisfaction she did for helping people.

"Alright, let's get the hell outta here." Jennifer continued on towards the LZ, taking down a few stragglers as they moved further out of town. It was strangely quiet out here when compared to the explosions and chaos they could still hear echoing outwards from the centre of the city. Soon, chopper blades could be heard over the faint eruptions of gunfire, and the LZ came into view.

"Alright, there it is, move up! Move up!" Jennifer could taste the sweet victory almost in her grasp; get to the helo, get there and everything would be alright, get in the air and she'd be safe, get to the chopper –

A sharp pain just below her knee had her spinning around in a full circle, driving her to the ground in agony. Jackson turned around at her desperate cry, and she felt an arm grab her waist. White hot fire coursed up and down her right leg as she was yanked onto somebody's should, one arm dangling uselessly next to her head.

What the fuck just happened?

"Come on, Corporal! We need to get to the chopper! You lot are coming with us, there's no room for the other helo!" The sound of Griggs strong voice brought her back around, and she blinked the tears out of her eyes. She suddenly realised that he had been the one to carry her, and heat flooded her face. Here she was, being carted about like some useless, pansy, bloody woman! A quick glance down at her throbbing calf let her know exactly what had happened.

Blood coated her combats and boots, material flapping outwards where the wound was. And exit wound.

"Fuck! I was shot?" Griggs set her down in one of the seats near where Jackson was manning the MiG and took in her wide-eyed appearance with a small chuckle.

"What, you sound so shocked, Corporal. We're in a warzone, people get shot." He smiled playfully and called Jackson off the gun as the chopper lifted off to look at her leg. She felt woozy, like she was about to be sick if she moved her head too much. Another Private quickly took his place and began shooting the enemies surrounding the LZ. Jackson kneeled at her feet and prodded the area around the gunshot wound gingerly.

"Well, you're lucky. It only glanced off the bone. It's mostly muscle damage. You should be able to walk fairly soon when we get you patched up." She hissed through her teeth when he brushed against the tender skin, and he shot her an apologetic look.

"I got fucking shot." She repeated the phrase in her head repeatedly, not quite understanding, like it was still trying to get through to her. The pain was dulled slightly, like it was detached from her. She knew that if she was shot then it should hurt more than it did, and she knew that she was in pain but it was almost like a phantom pain. Perhaps the adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream was numbing it for her? All of these things she thought about, accompanied by a half-smile on her face as if she were amused at her own befuddlement.

"Shit, okay I think she's gone into slight shock. Todd?" She shook her head in a dazed way and bent her right leg up to inspect her wound closely. Jackson slapped her hands away and pulled her leg back down, but it was too late. The tensing had caused the wound to weep more, and blood started dripping down her leg much faster. Jennifer's skin started to take on a white hue as she steadily lost more and more blood. Apparently, tensing her calf muscle had also broken through her state of shock; she screamed loudly as all the pain she had been staving off ripped through her. A sweat broke out on her forehead, and any blood that had been left in her face quickly drained.

"Aw crap. We need to get to base. NOW. There's nothing I can do for her." Jackson gave her a hand to hold on to as tears streamed down her face, cutting pathways through the grime and dust that had accumulated from moving through the arid environment.

"Alright," Vasquez switched on the comms link to the pilot and gave him the instructions. "This is Hunter 2-6, we need to go directly to Hotel Quebec, we've got a soldier bleeding out back here. How fast can you make it, over?" He looked over at Jennifer, who seemed to be passing out, and then down to the large pool of red liquid that was dripping in between the grated flooring. He ran a hand over his face in agitation.

They had been so close to just getting out of there and going after Al Asad. One injured soldier, and the whole team had been rendered useless. Not that he blamed Corporal Todd, of course, but he was disappointed. He had been itching to see this through. At least the intel Todd had managed to pull had been useful, and that made him relax a little further into his seat knowing that his team had still been important in the takedown of the dictator.

"We can be out of the city limits in five minutes, back at base in fifteen tops, over."

"Alright, let's hope that's fast enough. Over and out." Griggs sat across from Vasquez and grimaced at him, mirroring his expression perfectly. This wasn't the first time someone had been shot on their watch, but neither of them had ever gotten used to the soldiers reactions. Griggs still had scars himself, one on his shoulder and one on his upper right arm from bullets and a piece of thin metal debris. Each soldier would get injured at some point in their careers, and most of the older or more experienced soldiers had learned to detach themselves from seeing their friends and subordinates hurt and dying.

It happened, it was always going to happen. It was just a case of who it happened to next.

"Griggs, radio in our escort, tell her the game plan – she'll need to be kept up to date on why the hell we aren't heading the same way as everyone else." Griggs nodded his affirmative and quickly tapped in to the right channel.

"Eagle 4, this is Hunter 2-6, we're heading back to Hotel Quebec with an injured soldier and what's left of Hunter 2-2. What's your situation, over?" He released the transmit button quickly and a response came almost immediately.

"Hunter 2-6, this is Eagle 4, copy your last, I'm on your tail, over." Griggs glanced out the opening at the machine gun, and sure enough another helo pulled into view just behind and to the right of their own transport. He could barely see the pilot from this distance, but managed to make out a quick thumbs up which he returned. He sat back down, but felt a sudden lurch as their chopper swerved to the left.

"What the hell was that?!" Jackson shoved the private of the main gun and took it up, spinning the barrel to face behind the chopper.

"I'm hit! I'm hit! Shit, I'm going down!"

"It was a bloody RPG! Our escorts down, she's crashed and it looks like the militia are closing in!" Vasquez looked from Jackson, who was gunning down the enemy frantically trying to keep them away from the downed pilot, then to Todd, whose eyes had rolled back into her head. He made a decision.

"Hunter 2-5, this is Hunter 2-6, are you still in the area and what is your status, over." A faint crackling came through the radio.

"Hunter 2-5 here, we are on your tail, minor casualties, heading back to base for refuel. We saw your escort go down, over."

"Hunter 2-5, do you have enough fuel to pick up that pilot, over?" There was a longer pause this time, as their pilot conferred with the team leader before the radio crackled into life.

"Landing now, over." Jackson could see a chopper peel off from the group and head back in the direction of the flames, feeling a surge of pride. Good men, going back for one soldier. He knew that had it not been for Todd and the other injured soldiers depending on them, there would have been no hesitation in their own team's return. Vasquez probably would have gone back had there been no other option, but this way there was a chance that both the wounded soldiers and the pilot would get out alive. No one gets left behind.

About five minutes of uninterrupted flying later had the whole team (minus Todd, who was still passed out cold) and the mobile soldiers of Hunter 2-3 gathered around the open loading hatch. Sanderson was leaning heavily against his buddy, pale faced and eyes wide.

"Holy shit."

Jackson couldn't form a coherent word let alone sentence, but he guessed if there was one thing that summed up all of his jumbled thoughts; yep that'd be it.

A huge mushroom cloud loomed over the centre of the city, rushing outwards at such a speed that nothing stood a chance. It ripped through the streets, picking up speed as the massive orange storm ravaged everything in its path.

"That's…" Griggs swallowed dryly, willing his voice to work. "That's nuclear, isn't it." It wasn't even a question so much as a statement. There really was no doubt in anyone's mind, but he wasn't sure if his voiced thought was simply to confirm the absurd notion, or if he was hoping to be proven wrong. To his dismay, a couple of the soldiers around him nodded dumbly, transfixed on the terrifying sight.

"Holy shit," the stunned man echoed.