Him? I've heard of him. It happened years ago.
He was a true soldier.
There was a soldier, by the name of Stanley, he was a close friend of the stallion I sought for.
7 years ago was a war that engulfed his world. "The war of the Damned" or as most of you call it World War 3.
And in that war was a soldier, who bravely fought through the battlefield, and disappeared from his worlds history.
He was a lone wolf who fought without fear nor hesitation.
The story begins.
It was a dark and cloudy day...
August 16 2016
11:15 AM
Sgt. Connor "Reaper" Sanders
Delta Force
Manhattan, New York
War, it destroys everything it touches. It destroys anyone who is caught up in it physically, mentally and emotionally. It messes with the minds of the people involved. It creates fear and death, hate and anger. But what would happen were someone from war entered into a land of peace? Would fear take control? Would the soldier bring war and the harm with him? Would anything change at all? In a world of uncertainty, one can always fear.
The name is Connor. Sergeant, U.S Army, 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta. I served in this unit for most of my life from a young age. I am still under aged and by law I shouldn't even be in the army but barely anyone knows anyone who does know is probably dead. I barely even talk much anymore ever since the "incident". I fear what would happen if I were to tell any of my few surviving friends or any of my superiors. All my life I have feared every second every minute of it. War was the only thing I knew. My friends all went to serve a month after the war started, so I soon followed. After basic training we were deployed into the war. Within the first few weeks most of the people I trained or grew up with died. After a month, many more followed. Now I don't know if anyone I knew is alive. I don't know if I might ever make it home, hell, I don't even have a home. The only thing keeping me going is habit. Wake up, drill, eat and then go kill. That defines my life in a nutshell, interrupted only by the death of a friend or going to the local battlefield hospital. It was like what George Patton said, "May God have mercy upon my enemies because I wont,"
"Sanders! Sanders! Wake Up!" My ears were making a deafening ringing sound. It slowly subsided, it took a while but eventually I could hear clearly again. I was lying in the corner of a downed Black Hawks internal cargo hold. Both the pilots were dead only a few lucky survivors remained. Wires were hanging from the roof outside I could hear multiple fully automatic gunshots, explosions and shouts, American or invader alike. There were also sounds of screaming civilians and wailing sirens thanks to the evacuation that was still underway.
"Sanders! Get your sorry ass of dis pile of shit!" I snapped back to reality after hearing the distinct reggae accent of the sergeant major Tyrone Callais. I grabbed my custom Scar L with an acog sight, a grenade launcher and multi-cam camo.
I slowly looked up to analyse his features He was the oldest person out of all of us despite him looking like he was on his mid-20's. He wore combat overalls in the woodland marpat camouflage and on his torso was a black Kevlar vest with pouches for ammo and grenades. On his face he wore a red bandanna.
"C'mon ya skeezer!" Tyrone barked over the noise of gunfire.
"YES SIR!" I yelled back. I sprinted to the nearest piece of cover which was behind a burnt car that Tyrone was letting a few rounds loose behind.
"Sir what are my orders!?" I shouted before being forced back by a nearby detonation from a grenade.
"To shut up and do as I say," he primed and chucked a grenade of his own clearing out a group of reds. It wasn't the most specific set of orders I received but orders are orders. I laid down suppressing fire killing several soldiers with perfect head-shots, causing blood and bits of brain to gush out.
"Everyone move up," Tyrone barked. We were on New York's famous high street, it was now littered with burning cars. The bodies of civilians and soldiers littered the streets, the billboards were cracked and faulty with skyscrapers collapsing and going up in flames.
"Enemy Ambush!" A soldier yelled he pointed at the direction of the enemy, but was immediately shredded by machine gun fire. I avenged the fallen soldier with a salvo of bullets and ran to the downed team mate. He was filled with holes with crimson red blood oozing from them. There was a sudden streak from bullets that few past me I sprinted to the next piece of cover I could find and began using the grenade launcher attachment to shoot a frag grenade, blowing up a car burning and anyone near it sending them flying.
A fellow soldier next to me took a shot to the head and blood sprayed out of the gaping hole in his forehead. I cocked my rifle looked down the scope and pulled the trigger, my target lost his footing and sprawled to the floor. As he tried to crawl away Tyrone shot him with his side arm.
But every communist soldier we killed ten more took his place until... "RPG!" Tyrone yelled. That was the last thing I heard from him, he and the group of soldiers were caught in the explosion killing them instantly. I was knocked back by the shock-wave, making my lip bleed.
Every communist soldier we killed ten more took his place until... "RPG!" Tyrone yelled. That was the last thing I heard from him, he and the group of soldiers were caught in the explosion killing them instantly. I was knocked back by the shock-wave, making my lip bleed.
"Long time no see buddy. You still alive?" I heard a familiar voice. It was a calm and young voice distinguishing a male in his late teens, there was an eerie silence as I slowly looked up.
I hoped it wasn't true but it was. From the smoke and fire from the previous firefight was a black cloaked figure with a black ballistic mask and a ripped, blood stained black trench coat with body armour underneath. Following closely behind him was a squad of Spetsnaz soldiers.
"капитан go up ahead and clear the area of filth." The man with the ballistic mask said.
"да командира," the captain of the squad said with a thick Russian accent. He issued orders with different hand signals, and the three Fireteams split up to finish of any allied troops or civilians in the area.
"So," the man said "Ready for our long awaited joust?"
"You bet Azrael!" I yelled.
Azrael chuckled," I thought you would say that." He says before sprinting at me. With natural reaction I pick up my scar L, firing fully automatic bursts at him. He swiftly dodges and few bullets managed to hit him. The ones that did pinged off of his armour or grazed him. After realising I won't be able to hit anything at this distance, I pulled at my combat knife. He did the same.
We were soon thrust into blade on blade combat. I swung my knife at him, just managing to graze his ballistic mask. In return he swiftly cut my wrist and slashed at the side of my chest. I quickly removed my side arm from its holster and shot several rounds. Before he had time to move away the bullets hit his shoulder, torso and arms.
"Now's my chance!" I dashed in with my knife attempting to give him the finishing blow... I was a fool. Before I could even touch him I felt a sharp pain. I look down to see a gaping stab wound in my stomach, crimson-black blood pouring from the wound.
"Reaper, the bringer of death, dies," Azrael chuckled. "Oh the irony!"
His voice then deepens with a hint of steel as he pulls out his side arm, an MP-443 Grach. "So any last words?" Azrael asked.
Actually yes," I said as an evil grin formed on my face. "See you in hell,"
I revealed a ticking frag grenade at the palm of my bloodied hand. Before he could react the grenade went off killing us both.
I then saw a sudden flash of light then darkness.
"oh my goodness," a quiet, shy voice said.
"Is he okay?" mused a high pitched, raspy voice.
"Somepony! Anypony! Call an ambulance!" Exclaimed young calm voice.