This is my first story so go easy on me (I do not own Call of Duty or any of the characters).

Makin Atoll, South Pacific

August 17th, 1942

2200 hours

The bright light of the lantern blinded Pvt. Miller temporarily as he awoke from unconsciousness. The first thing he saw when his eyes adjusted was the bloodied and disfigured face of his high school companion Pvt. Pyle. Both he and Pyle had been captured alive by a Japanese platoon in an ambush the previous evening.

The Japanese officer supervising the two prisoners knelt before Miller, and, in a mocking tone, said, "You think that just because you say nothing, you are strong?" Miller didn't answer, not even when the officer spat a wad of chewed-up tobacco right in his face.

The officer then walked over to Pyle and muttered something in his face inaudible to Miller. When he got up, Pyle looked over at Miller, a pleading expression plastered on what was left of his face

"Don't tell them anything," Pyle choked. "Please…"

No sooner had he said this than the Japanese officer held his head in a death grip. Miller watched in horror as the officer lit a cigarette on the lantern, forced Pyle's eye open, and extinguished the cigarette in it. The scream was not far behind. Pyle thrashed his head from side to side, what was left of his right eye splattering all over the wooden walls of the torture chamber.

At the officer's order, the Japanese sergeant-at-arms by his side pinned Pyle's head to a haystack, exposing his neck. Pyle was able to choke out one last "go to hell…" at the soldier before his jugular was sliced open, painting the wall crimson.

Miller started whimpering softly as the Japanese soldier strode toward him, blood-stained dagger in hand. This is it, he thought. Don't worry, Pyle old chum. We'll be together again soon.

The soldier jolted Miller's head back, exposing his neck as well. At about the time he expected the dagger to enter his throat, he heard the soldier grunt loudly, and fall to the dirt, dead.

Miller was wondering who pulled that off when he heard a voice he couldn't be happier to hear.

"Miller, you're okay. Thank God."

Miller recognized that voice all too well. It was Cpl. Roebuck, another close friend of Miller's.

"Don't worry about it, Miller," Roebuck said as he helped Miller to his feet and led him out of the torture chamber. "We're gonna make 'em pay for what they've done." It cheered Miller up a little.

Sgt. Tom Sullivan and the rest of the squad met them just outside on the beach. "Choose your weapon," Sullivan said, indicating a crate full of Japanese small arms. "And be ready to tear this damn place apart!" Miller helped himself to a Type 100 submachine gun and an American-made M1 Garand that was propped up against the crate.

"Roebuck, signal the strike team!"

Miller was wondering who exactly this strike team was when he heard explosions off in the distance. He didn't have time to give it a second thought before his cue to move forward came. Gunfire soon followed.

Miller dashed into the nearest hut on his right and rested his M1 on the windowsill, unloading his weapon at any muzzle flashes he could find in the distance. "This way! Follow me!" Sullivan shouted from outside. Miller could see Sullivan advancing up the middle. He followed close behind, taking advantage of all available cover.

"Take the catwalks!" Sullivan shouted, making a mad dash for the left, blasting through hut after hut with his M1897 Trench Gun. Miller followed suit, mopping up any last resistance with his Type 100.

O the other side there came a series of wooden catwalks and huts suspended on stilts over a lagoon. Miller advanced carefully behind Sullivan, opening up with his SMG on any Japanese dumb enough to poke their head out of a doorway or window.

By this time, the squad had already entered the stilted structure and was advancing forward. Just as Miller caught up to them, he got the sensation of getting smacked in the forehead by a hockey stick. He saw a bullet ricochet off his helmet before going dizzy.

Miller was only out for about 30 seconds. But after what seemed like an hour, he was finally able to sit up, grab his Type 100, find the enemy, and return fire.

Two marines advanced from behind cover but were immediately cut down by a Type 92 Heavy Machine Gun to the right. "Take out that MG!" Sullivan yelled to his sniper, Pvt. Denny.

"I can't get a clear shot, sir!"

"Then shoot through the damn wood!"

Miller had to admit, he never really liked that idea. It devoured ammo supply, and it had been at least two weeks since the last supply drop. But the Marine Corps was bred to NEVER question orders, especially not in such a situation as this.

Miller cocked his SMG and strafed the hut that the gunfire was coming from. Several screams and Japanese profanities shortly followed, and then nothing.

The squad advanced. After what seemed to Miller like a lifetime of shooting at every muzzle flash in sight, the boys happened to come across a well- concealed path slightly to the left of the Japanese camp. It was probably concealed for a reason, Miller thought as the squad started on the trail.

"This place creeps me out," Roebuck whispered.

"How do you think the natives feel?" Sullivan countered. "Okay, everyone. Eyes peeled."

Roebuck was about to continue the conversation when his ankle caught on a lasso, pulling him into a tree. Simultaneously, the squad was ambushed by a platoon of banzais, whom the squad quickly wiped out, Roebuck firing his Thompson upside down from the tree branch.

"Uh, guys," he said. "Are you gonna get me down from here or beat the crap out of me until candy comes out?" Miller snorted and cut him loose.

"Pick up the pace, people," Sullivan called out to his men. "Division's promised us a support team on the adjacent beach. If we can-" Gunfire suddenly erupted from the aforementioned beach.

"Dammit!" Sullivan growled. "They've been spotted!"

Miller couldn't believe what sight greeted him on the other side of the hill. A massive Japanese platoon had engaged the support team in a shootout. Miller even counted two more Type 92 machine guns.

He went prone on the summit, aimed his Type 100, and fired randomly into the Japanese crowd. He only paused to break out his M1 Garand and snipe the machine gunner on the left. Roebuck had already taken care of the second one.

As soon as the gunfire stopped, Sullivan and his squad advanced down the hill, putting a bullet into every corpse to ensure that the entire platoon was dead. The Imperial Japanese Army had a nasty habit of ambushing their enemy by 'playing dead', and advancing on them from behind as soon as they passed. That's not happening this time around, Miller thought cheerfully as he rejoined the squad at the start of a second trail.

"Listen up," Sullivan said. "I want to get through the rest of this quick and clean. Do you hear me? Quick and clean!"

Miller raised an eyebrow. I think that ship has sailed.

About halfway down the trail, the marines came to a clearing littered with Japanese corpses. Miller gulped, knowing what the Imperial army was famous for. He wasted no time putting a bullet into each skull. The Japanese, realizing their little trick didn't work, immediately came to life and engaged the Americans. The brawl couldn't have lasted any more than 45 seconds. There were no American casualties.

"Compound's just ahead," Sullivan said. "Keep moving!"

Reaching the compound, the first thing Miller saw was a pickup truck loaded down with full fuel barrels. Wasting no time, he grabbed the heaviest rock he could find and set it down on the accelerator. It careened right into the compound and exploded, silencing all resistance except for a small bunker to the left.

After the bunker had been surrounded and cleared out, Miller stole a demolition charge from the armory, armed it, planted it right next to the fuel reserves, and the squad dashed away to the extraction point, leaving a massive explosion and a burning outpost behind them.

Thanks for reading. And just so you know, I did clear the dialogue of strong language.