October 30, 2016

Five years…

The time that had past since Imran Zakhaev, the terrorist that was responsible for the death of 30,000 marines, the death of 890,000 civilians, was killed by John MacTavish…

The Russians fought beside us… bled beside us… just to secure the freedom of the world… just to save the people from the evil that Zakhaev had brought so he can reform the Soviet Union… so he can form the New Russia…

Yet now… The Russians say we 'murdered' their 'hero'…

History is written by the victor…

And here I am thinking we've won…

Bring down one enemy… a worse one replaces him… Makarov…

A mad-dog killer… he's pure evil… this son of a bitch was just another civilian hiding and avoiding gunfire… and then he decides he'd step into Zakhaev's shoes… form a terrorist cell and 'Fight the oppression'. Damned Communists…

He says he fights for Russia [sic] the Russians treat Makarov as their leader…

He ,then, declares Zakhaev a hero

Now, they honor him with a monument in his image…

'Imran Zakhaev, Hero of the New Russia, Hero of the People' inscribed below it…

Huh… what about our soldiers who died for the sake of THEIR country? My RANGERS who were killed in a blink of an eye? How about a little honorary for 'em, eh?

The six-day war between us and the Ultranationalists were 'rewritten' from the reports…

All S.A.S. and U.S.M.C. soldiers that was in Russia the day the war ended, with the exception of Sgt. MacTavish (who was safely transported back to HQ a day later), were incarcerated for their 'crimes' to the 'People of the Motherland'…

After they had been hospitalized, that is…

Damn…

The more things change, the more they stay the same…

Boundaries shift… New players come in…

But power always finds a place to rest its head…

Locations, objectives and rationales change…

Yesterday's enemies are now today's recruits…

Train them and hope they won't hate you for it…

Same Shit… Different Day…

Lt. Gen. Adrian Shepherd

U.S. Army Rangers

Day One

15:30:32

1st Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment

Fire Base Phoenix, Afghanistan

Private First Class Joseph Allen marched towards the shooting range of the Firebase Phoenix, their camp in Afghanistan. He was called for by Sergeant Foley. Foley had a look that was as if he ate bullets for breakfast. And because he was black, the soldiers nicknamed him the 'Son of Kong'.

"PFC Allen, meet our new recruits!" Foley shouted.

Allen nodded and took a look at the soldiers from the Afghan National Army. By the way they held their weapons, Allen immediately knew that they were still 'green'.

"Allen," the sergeant spoke, "these FNGs don't know how to shoot right! They keep sprayin' bullets all over the place! They keep on firin' from the hip!"

Allen smiled, he knew that Foley was a marksman and that accuracy was a big deal for him. Hell… this guy could shoot a target a hundred feet away with a M4A1 and still hit the bull's eye Allen thought.

"YOU!" Foley pointed at one of the recruits. The recruit's eyes widened and pointed at himself, asking if he was the one being called.

"YEAH, YOU! Demonstrate how you shoot for PFC Allen!"

The Afghan raised his M16 and, as Sergeant Foley had said, fired from the hip.

The bullets completely missed the target but one managed to get a centimeter close to it.

"ALLEN!!! SHOW THESE PUNKS HOW TO SHOOT THE RIGHT WAY!!!"

He obeyed. He raised his Adaptive Combat Rifle and looked down the holographic sight.

He pulled the trigger enough for around six bullets to come out.

They hit the target in a diagonal-like formation. One hit the bull's eye and the target hit the dirt.

"That's all there is to it!" Foley yelled. "If you want the enemy to go down, aim down your sights! Thanks for the help, Allen. Now go down to the Pit! General Shepherd wants to talk to you…"

Allen saluted him and he saluted back.

He ran through the basketball court and headed for the 'Pit', the base's CQB course.

He ran down the stairs leading to the entrance of the Pit. Corporal Dunn was waiting for him.

"Hey, Joe…" he murmured. "Welcome back… General Shepherd's pull up a shooter from our unit for some spec ops… anyway, he's up there in the observatory. Here!"

Dunn threw him a Desert Eagle. He also replaced Allen's ACR with an M4.

"Remember… switching to your pistol is faster than reloading. Knifing is also faster… Now, smile for the cameras and don't miss… best shooter joins the prima dona squad… if that's your thing…"

Private Allen smiled.

"Now remember… the timer starts as soon as the first target pops up. Now go!"

He entered through the door and ran upstairs. A voice boomed on the loudspeaker.

"Good day, Private Allen… This is General Shepherd… On the count of three I'll start the course and the timer will run. One… Two… THREE!!!"

Three targets popped up. One of them was a cardboard civilian. The two terrorist cut-outs didn't even last two seconds since Allen had already gunned them down.

"Area clear. Run to the next one!"

Allen sprinted towards the entrance of the next building. Adrenaline filled his body. Being a regular of the Pit, he already memorized where civilian and terrorist cut-outs appeared.

Five terrorists and two civilians in the next area.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! All the terrorists went down.

One bullet almost hit a civilian's shoulder but instead hit the terrorist behind the cutout.

"CAREFUL WHERE YOU SHOOT AT!" said the general. "UP THE STAIRS! GO! GO! GO!"

He skipped the stairs by two steps. He knew that at the top of it there would be a—

"KNIFE THE TARGET!"

He grabbed his BlackHawk Tatang and stabbed the cardboard.

He stepped on the cut-out and shot the remaining targets inside.

"AREA CLEAR! JUMP DOWN!"

Allen jumped through the large pane-less window and hit the ground.

"LAST AREA!"

He, noticing that his M4 was empty, switched to his pistol.

The Desert Eagle had a lot of recoil, he had to use it with both his hands. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

"NOW SPRINT TO THE FINISH!!!!"

Allen ran as fast as he could, after all, the clock was still ticking.

Corporal Dunn waited for him at the exit.

"Holy shit, Joe! 34.48 seconds! You made that course your bitch!"

Allen, flattered, smiled.

"But still, you don't break the record. Some dude with a Mohawk and a funny accent, British I think, rolled that course in 18.26 seconds. Made our D boys look like they were movin' in slow motion."

"Whoah…" whispered Allen.

Private Walden came down the stairs and said, "Hehehe… Yeah… But that Mohawk guy's friend, you know him?"

"The guy with the skull ski mask?" Dunn asked.

Walden confirmed, "Yeah… He ran that course in 18.28 seconds… with a Colt 1911!"

"WOW! That's whacked!"

"Yeah! Oh, Allen, the general said that you should go to him in the observatory. I think he wants to talk to ya…"

"'kay…" the private then took off. He climbed the stairs and the ladder. He was now up in the wooden tower.

A man wearing a blue fatigue camouflage with a beret.

"Hello, Private."

Shepherd shook hands with Joseph Allen.

"I read your file… It says here that you speak Russian fluently. Is that correct?"

Allan proved that to him, saying, "Da, comrade general."

"Very good. The computer says that your grade in finishing the Pit is… VETERAN. Well, son… you should be proud of that. Y'know why? Because we are the most powerful military force in the history of man! Anyway… for now you'll—

BOOM!!!

"What in God's name—? Allen get back to your squad!"

"Yes, Sir!"

As Allen got down from the tower, the siren rung loudly. Humvees were parked on the yard. Sergeant Arnett came out of one and brought out a wounded Ranger.

"They blew the damn bridge! We gotta move!" Arnett hollered.

Walden approached the sergeant and assisted in carrying the wounded.

He exclaimed, "BCT One is trapped across the river in the red zone! We've lost contact!"

Foley yelled, "DAMN! We let our guard down! That bridge was important! Everyone to their vehicles! We're movin' out!"

The bridge was of high priority to the soldiers. It was the only way to get to the Red Zone, the rebels' hideout.

Allen jumped into the Hummer. Beside him, someone, probably one of the wounded, had left a Beretta M9. He grabbed it and replaced the Desert Eagle in his holster.

Dunn entered the vehicle and sat to Allen's left.

"Allen, man that minigun!" he ordered.

Private Allen did so. He stood and entered halfway through the hole in the ceiling. The GAU-2 was mounted on the roof. He, then, grasped the left and right grip. There were two buttons on it. The left one was to spool the barrels and the second one was to fire them. To operate, one needed to push both.

Private McClouskey drove the Hummer to the bridge. It didn't really take them long to get there… It was just a few klicks of desert.

The Humvee in front of them stopped. As was reported by Sgt. Arnett, half of the bridge was destroyed.

"Jeez… McClouskey muttered. "How the hell cou— RPGs!!!!"

Like bees going for a sting, two rockets soared through the air, directed to hit them!

"SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!!! EVERYONE GET OUT!!!"

Allen immediately went down. But just as he opened the side door…

Too late…

BOOM!!!!