(AN: So, first a bit of background. For those of those you who just joined us, this is a quasi-sequel to my other story Zulu Squad No Tsukaima, a Spec Ops: The Line and Familiar of Zero crossover. And if the premise seems far-fetched, I thought to myself what is the most out-here crossover that you could do and turn into a real story, not just a one-shot or one that turns into deadfic after like 5 chapters. Now, those of your who are jumping over from ZSNT, you know this has been in the works for over two years, but I promised myself I wouldn't start this fic until my other one was finished. There will be some shout-outs and similarities and dissimilarities. Because this is a Disney crossover it will be somewhat lighter in tone than ZSNT. I say 'somewhat' because it's still a SO:TL crossover.

In terms of similarities it is still following the same themes as in ZSNT, themes of Hero's Journey, Redemption Quest and Coming to Terms with one's Demons, but where it deviates is that this story is about the Damned 33rd coming to terms with its actions and decisions in Dubai, before, during and after going AWOL, the botched Evacuation, and the ensuing Mutiny.

And like ZSNT, it will be light-hearted and humorous because this is a Disney crossover. And yes, there will be shipping and ship-teasing abound. Oh, and since there are soldiers in this fic there will be plenty of crude military humor and general political incorrectness.

That being said, just as ZSNT follows the overall theme and tone, cruel plot twists and Nice Job Breaking It of SO:TL, this story will have elements of that, but most of all it will reveal what exactly happened that caused the Mutiny in Dubai, and its far-reaching after-effects. Just as ZSNT followed SO:TL's single player campaign, this story will focus on the multiplayer aspect of the game. The two factions in this story will be comprised of elements of the 33rd, specifically the 'Damned' and the 'Exiles'. Notice I didn't use the handles 'good guys' and 'bad guys', there's a reason. Whilst the 'Exiles' are nominally the protagonists of this story, they aren't the 'good guys', anymore than the 'Damned' are the 'bad guys'. Both have their motivations, and both believe that they are acting in the best interests of the 33rd. Over the course of the story it will be up to you as the reader to determine if they are truly 'good' or 'bad'. I will publish a Dramatis Personae in the ensuing chapters but this prologue is just to whet your appetite in the meantime.

Also, finally I listed this as a Frozen/SO:TL crossover, because originally when I had conceived of this story it was a stand-alone, and then as I sketched it out I found other movies in the Disney-verse that could work. So, basically the 'training mission' will be one particular Disney story, then will follow the 'Frozen' mission. If there's continued interest I'll have the Damned and the Exiles duke it out in other Disney stories, then have an epic confrontation with a Big Bad from a particular Disney story. And if not I'll have a couple of chapters that segue into the final showdown between them. Basically it will mean the difference between a 150K word story and a 500K+ story, just depends on how much interest it garners.

Oh, and just for legal disclosure, this story is being published for funsies and giggles, not for profit, Spec Ops: The Line and its intellectual property belong to Yaeger Entertainment, and all elements of the Disney-verse including characters, worlds, stories, etc., belong to, well the all-Powerful Mouse, Disney. Don't sue, I own nothing.


"We are our choices..."
― Jean-Paul Sartre


(Timeline, January 12th, 2012. Dubai, 2145 hours local time.)

To Colonel John Konrad and his staff, it had seemed only logical to throw a party. After all, the commanding officer of the 'Damned 33rd' had made his decision. Sandstorms had surrounded Dubai, the likes of which were of biblical proportions, and Konrad had volunteered his battalion to help evacuate civilians when it became clear that the Emir and his government were going to do nothing except leave. When the Pentagon ordered Konrad to leave Dubai, his command took a mere four hours to decide unanimously in favor of their commander.

So it had been announced earlier that afternoon to cheers and celebration by every soldier and civilian still in the city, and by the time the sun went down, it seemed like every one of them was partying. The night sky, clear for once in the ever-worsening storms, was lit up by fireworks and bonfires from all corners of the stricken city. Music and a general sense of merriment carried on the wind, and on this night, the last night like this Dubai would ever see, everyone was happy.

Everyone that is, except for one officer, Pilton. Captain William 'Wild Bill' Pilton, the controversial commander of the 33rd's Kilo Company, stood on the balcony of Konrad's penthouse suite at the top of the Burj Khalifa tower, seemingly oblivious to the party going on around him. Instead, the officer stared out at the city, a cigarette perched on his lips. Even choked with sand Dubai retained some of its lustre, the sand-torn skyscrapers looked like the ruins of a great castle. But it obviously didn't impress Pilton, his body language suggested he'd rather be anywhere than here. Without the slightest movement, he took a drag from his cigarette. He exhaled smoke through his nostrils and spoke up.

"If it were up to me, I'd be back at Kilo's AO right now, finishing Machiavelli's The Prince and maybe having a beer or two. And this... waste of time wouldn't even be happening."

He turned, revealing more of his face. He was shorter than average, but with piercing slate-grey eyes that seemed to bore into your soul. His ACUs were impeccably neat and pressed, the trousers expertly bloused into the tops of his desert boots. He wore neither a boonie hat nor a helmet, Pilton was bareheaded, showing off his light brown hair, cut high and tight. Even in this casual setting, the captain was carrying his sidearm, albeit in a shiny brown leather shoulder holster, instead of a thigh rig. He shifted his position and leaned his elbow on the railing as he continued.

"Seriously, those officers should be relaying orders to the men to make preparations for the upcoming Evacuation. Instead? They're boozing it up and slapping themselves on the back like the mission was already accomplished."

Adjusting the shemagh scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, Pilton lazily ashed his cigarette over the balcony. He glanced over and spoke again.

"What? You didn't think I'd know you're there?"

He shrugged.

"Well, I know. I see you just as well as you see me standing here."

The officer took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled.

"I know what you're thinking. How can he do that?"

Pilton's stony expression broke into a small grin.

"Let's just say the the Man Upstairs gave me this informed attribute."

He lowered his voice to a stage whisper.

"You know, the Almighty and Godlike Author Avatar who goes by the handle of Country Ollman? Yeah, spoiler alert, I know."

The captain resumed his normal conversation tone.

"And yes, for the record I am speaking with a South Carolina accent. I'm make a snide comment about plagiarizing a Netflix series, but I don't want to be associated with that pedo cocksucker. And I don't want to arouse the Almighty's anger."

He chuckled to himself.

"Honestly I would have preferred to meet the Almighty's second in command."

Pilton turned to the audience and gave a knowing wink.

"You know, the smoking-hot elf princess with the green hair and the vapor wear? S'a shame really. I heard she was quite the looker. All I gotta say is that 1SG Crosby is one lucky fucker..."

He finished off his cigarette and flicked the butt over the balcony.

"Well, enough small-talk, let's get down to why I'm here..."

He turned and made his way back into the penthouse. As Pilton walked past the two infinity pools he began to speak as if a teacher in a classroom explaining economics.

"Despite what the vast majority of the lying recruiters and high-speed armchair operators would have you believe, popularity isn't an indicator of good leaders in the Army. Men who have a willingness to get the job done are. And sometimes when you're making an omelette ya gotta break a few eggs, as the philosopher would say. Unfortunately, that's the reason I'm here."

He slid open the door, and a cacophony of voices burst forth like a radio's volume being turned on.

"Some days I feel like I'm the only sane man in this battalion. All the company commanders, with a coupla exceptions, think that just because they're popular with their men that they're good leaders. That just isn't the case."

He paused at the entrance.

"Like I said, these 'mandatory fun' shin-digs aren't my scene, but it would be considered rude to excuse myself from such an event, and sometimes you must play the game to get ahead."

Pilton gave the audience a sly look.

"Watch and learn..."

Inside the penthouse a large party was going on. Dozens of uniformed men, some ACUs, others in blue Class A's or the older 'pickle suits' milling about: the entire officer corps of the Damned 33rd. Pilton expertly weaves through the crowd, carefully avoiding being drawn into a conversation. All the way, he provided a running commentary, pointing out various officers.

"That's Lieutenant Benson, the acting Air Wing commander,"

Pilton said, pointing to an officer wearing 1st Lieutenant bars on his dress blues. He was young, tall and lanky with bright blue eyes, looking pensive and making designs in the sand garden by the kitchen.

"He's reliable enough. But he's a thinker, and fancies himself an amateur philosopher. When this becomes a ground war- and trust me, it will- we'll see how he performs."

Pilton stared derisively at a group of men laughing around the kitchen counter-top. He stopped by the balcony overlooking the penthouse's great room. The captain jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the officers.

"Those three are exactly what's wrong with this fucking battalion. George Glynn, Ivan Wright, and Chris Hammond, some of my fellow Company Commanders. The lot of them are idealistic and undisciplined, totally blind to the harsh reality of our situation, and their men reflect that. When the shit hits the fan, they're going to be the ones to choke up, and that would be fatal for the 33rd."

From across the room, a voice calls out. It's source, a blonde officer wearing Captain's insignia, is obviously a little drunk and slurring his words.

"Hey Bill! You look miserable! Why don't you have a drink?!"

Without missing a beat, Pilton gives the man a grin and fires back.

"I'm fine, John. Wouldn't want to deprive you of any of your booze anyway."

As soon as the drunk officer turn away the grin left Pilton's face, and he looked back to the audience and rolled his eyes as he descended the stairs to the large open great room of Konrad's penthouse suite.

"That's Captain John Foley, the commander of Headquarters Company, if you can call that a command. With Lieutenant Colonel Long running the staff, Foley's sole responsibility seems to be pestering me."

Arriving at the bottom of the stairs Pilton glanced around the room, and locked eyes with a tall officer with a silver oak-leaf cluster insignia on his dress blues. He had a classical handsome features, with dark brown eyes, a lantern jaw and graying black hair. The two men exchange a slight nod of acknowledgement.

"Speak of the Devil."

Pilton jerked a thumb at the officer.

"That is Lieutenant Colonel David Long, the only officer in the 33rd that I openly despise. I busted my ever lovin' ass to get ahead, I should've made major by now."

He pointed to a Master Parachutist badge velcro'd to his uniform, under his CIB but above the US Army tape.

"This ain't just for show, I requested, and got, a transfer from the 509th Airborne to the 33rd Infantry. Why? Because the 'Damned 33rd' is the most highly decorated battalion to serve in OIF and OEF. Bluntly put, they're where the action was. If you wanted to accumulate medals, get ahead and get noticed, you have to be part of the 'Damned'."

He paused as a burly man in ACU's with a major's insignia bustled past him with a tray of food. The man is about Pilton's age, but looks younger because of his round boyish face. The officer grinned at Pilton and offered his tray, speaking in a thick N'Awlins accent.

"Hey, Capt'n! How y'all doin' tonite now?"

Pilton gave a mostly genuine smile.

"Doing just fine, sir."

"Aw hell, y'all don't need t'stand on ceremony, Bill! Tonite I'm just Chef Bruce, jus' like Emril, Bam!"

He offered the captain one of the canapes on his tray.

"Try one of my specialties: pimento cheese stuffed hush puppies!"

Pilton paused, then took one of the canapes and popped it in his mouth. As he chewed, a large grin spreads across Pilton's face.

"Well, shit sir, doesn't matter where we end up in, your mad cookin' skills can whip up a delicious bite!"

The major grinned.

"Well, shucks, thank you Bill!"

Pilton took another hush puppy.

"Your cooking is shit hot as always, sir. Speaking of cooking, you have to share your recipe for gumbo with me some time."

Gavin gave a deprecating smile.

"That's a mighty fine compliment, but y'all know I can't share my family recipe. But thank you all the same, Bill."

Gavin said 'thank you' but it sounded more like 'thang-kew' because of his Yat dialect. The major glanced back.

"Aw shit, looks the Ol' Man and his command squad wanted a taste before the piranhas hoovered them up, so I gotta split now!"

As the major left, Pilton slowly ate the hush puppy, obviously savoring the flavors.

"Major Bruce Gavin, commander of Bravo Company, the mechanized infantry company of the 33rd. And as you might have inferred by his accent, he's from New Orleans. Gavin's a good joe, I respect him. You see, like me, he came from a dirt-poor family, joined the Army and mustang'd his way up to become an officer. He's also a helluva cook."

He glanced back at the retreating figure.

"I would love to have him on my side when shit hits the fan."

As soon as he finished the hush puppy the smile fell from his face.

"Well, enough playing nice, let's get back to business."

The officer paused in front of Konrad's medal display case.

"It's not that I don't like Konrad, it's just a spent a lot of time sucking up to his predecessor, Colonel Harvie. Harvie had commanded the 33rd since the 1st Gulf War, he was tough but fair, and a damned fine officer. Needless to say I wormed my way into his good graces, and for a while there it seemed like only a matter of time before I made major and got on his command staff."

Pilton's face contorted into a scowl.

"...but then he had to go and get his stupid ass killed in Kabul, by a fucking IED no less. Konrad succeeded him, and all my hard work went down into the blue waters of the latrine. It was that prick Long that convinced Konrad to assign me to Kilo Company, a bunch of oxygen thieves and walking clusterfucks, the lot of them. They said I had what it took to turn Kilo Company around and make soldiers out of them..."

His scowl deepened.

"...But I knew better, I saw it for what it was; a demotion to a bullshit post."

Pilton glanced down at the display case which held Konrad's medals.

"See, Konrad and Dave Long are buddies; they go way back."

The captain paused.

"Now, don't get me wrong I respect Konrad, he's a good man. Do I like him? Not really, but all you have to do is look at his record, and you can't argue with that..."

He gestured to the medal display case.

"Hell, he's got the Medal of Honor, and you don't get that bein' soft. Man's a fucking hero. But, even the great hero Achilles has his weak heel."

He paused in his monologue to look back as Konrad and Long shared a laugh.

"Konrad's weak heel is his loyalty to his friend Long. He's totally blind to what a terrible officer his second in command is. That's Long's one strength; he's well-liked, adored even, by almost the entire battalion, so most fail to see his many flaws. But behind that charisma, he's weak and indecisive, a product of the culture of risk-aversion and conformity that permeates today's military. In a worst case scenario, and mark my words, that is what this city is becoming, David Long will never be able to do what is necessary to survive."

Oblivious to Pilton's aside, Long waves the captain over to where he is standing with Konrad, Sergeant Major Wolfe, and Major Taylor. Without hesitation, Pilton put on a fake smile and made his way over. He acknowledges the 33rd's XO with a feigned smile and grabbed a beer from Captain Foley without missing a stride.

Pilton winks conspiratorially at the audience.

"Time to play the game, be back in a sec..."

He turned and laughed at one of Long's jokes, joining in the merriment as if his previous discourse didn't happen.

But then, in a flash, Pilton disappeared, then reappeared in the ruins of the failed Evacuation. He is standing on a pedestrian bridge that overlooks the interstate, clogged with wrecked buses, ambulances, vans, cars, even luxury cars like Bentleys and Ferraris. The captain looked at an improvised sandbag fortification, where the desiccated corpses of two soldiers lay, mummified by the blowing sands. His face softened as he spoke.

"Staff Sergeant Robert Arnott and Specialist Javier Davies. They were part of Kilo's 3rd platoon, I believe."

He looks at the audience, and his hard look returned.

"When I dream, and granted, I don't do that here lately, but when I do, I see all the faces of my men, the ones lost in the storm."

He gestured to the two corpses.

"Their deaths and the other casualties of Kilo company are the fault of those spineless officers under Long's command, their blood is on his hands."

He pointed to the ruins.

"This was where him, Foley and Hammond should have stepped up to the plate and done what was necessary to ensure the survival of 33rd, and my men, instead they dithered trying to save civilians."

Pilton strode up to one of the ropes and rappelled down into the ruins of the Evacuation.

"In the end it didn't matter, when the dust settle over 1,500 men, women and children died because of ineffective officers."

He walked among the wrecked cars, passed a large charter bus with suitcases strewn everywhere. The captain paused to nudge a camel's corpse with his boot.

"Yeah I know you've seen it all before, but let me tell you it was something terrible to witness...Almost as if that sandstorm was some sort of sentient monster."

Pilton stepped around the wrecked bus, and the scenery changed. Now the captain walked through the ruins of Dubai International Airport. A protracted gun-battle raged near one of the international gates as he continued talking.

"This was where it all came to a head; this is the start of the Mutiny, and when the 33rd went to war against itself. When that spineless coward Long turned Konrad's command squad against him."

He smiled grimly.

"You see, after the failed Evacuation, Konrad understood the score. He knew that difficult decisions had to be made. He knew that the sandstorms wouldn't let us leave Dubai. So he did the sensible thing and ordered the 33rd to gather up as many supplies, food, water, and wait out the storms. Hell, he even decided to take care of the surviving civvies. Which is more than I would have done."

Pilton turned his attention back to the gun battle as a HUMVEE blew up, courtesy of an RPG.

"But Long, he was too weak. A fucking West Point football scholarship armchair operator who didn't have the stomach to take difficult decisions. Like when Konrad ordered 5 men, family men mind you, executed publicly for trying to steal water..."

He paused in front of a ruined tanker truck.

"Now, I'm not heartless, I know it was a tough call to make, but if the Old Man hadn't ordered them killed, and for others to see as an example then others would try. And before you know it, you'd have an mob of a thousand thirsty insurgents swarming the Aquatic Colosseum. But Long? He thought it was 'too extreme, too draconian'. He didn't understand the concept of the 'lesser of two evils', he didn't see the big picture, that Konrad understood; that to ensure the survival of 5,000 civilians he was willing to sacrifice 5 desperate men. So what did Long do? Bastard convinced Konrad's command squad to confront him about it. Made some bs case about 'cutting our losses' and maybe defying the Pentagon's orders wasn't such a great idea..."

The captain snorted derisively.

"Considering Long was the biggest cheerleader for staying and helping, that makes him a class A chickenshit coward."

Pilton jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the Exiles and Damned firing on each other.

"Which lead to this. Long and Foley turned the command squad, and three whole companies against Konrad. You see, one of Foley's boys found two intact 747's at the airport. Apparently they were sheltered from the storms in a maintenance hangar. So Long and Foley come up with this cunning plan to fuel those jets up, and use them to desert. To abandon their posts, their comrades, and their CO Konrad. Of course their excuse was that Konrad was off his rocker and they were off to warn Command."

He chuckled humorlessly.

"Hell, they would have gotten away with it too, except they were stupid enough to try to convince Wolfe to join their cause. Now, if Colonel Konrad is the brains of the 33rd, then the Battalion Sergeant Major Wolfe's it's heart. He was sympathetic to what Long was saying, but in the end, he was still a soldier, and a good soldier doesn't abandon his post."

He stopped.

"Y'know, a picture's worth a thousand words, why not just see how it went down..."

The scene dissolved into a ruined department store, the Dubai Market Plaza. It's open to the air and camo netting provides shelter from the burning sun for Kilo Company. Off to the side several soldiers are cleaning the sand out of the engine compartment of a Stryker IVF, while in a shelter several other soldiers work out in an improvised gym. Captain Pilton is sitting in a leather lounge chair under a large beach umbrella going over a stack of after action reports. CSM Wolfe approached, and was greeted by several of the soldiers, before he stopped by Pilton's chair.

Knowing protocol the sergeant major waited until Pilton was done reviewing his reports, then cleared his throat. Without looking up the captain greeted Wolfe.

"`Afternoon, Sar'ent Major."

Wolfe saluted the officer.

"Sir."

The captain returned the salute and spoke.

"What brings you to Kilo's corner of Paradise Lost?"

Wolfe looked uncomfortable.

"Ah, sir, there is something I would like to discuss with you...if you're not too busy."

Pilton smiled what appeared to be a genuine smile.

"Well, shit, are you kidding? For the 33rd's senior-most staff NCO I'll make the time! Pull up a chair and take a load off, Sar'ent Major."

The senior NCO fidgeted in his boots.

"Well...sir, what I have to say is private, for your own ears only."

The captain raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, gossip from the E-4 Mafia, huh?"

CSM Wolfe held up a hand.

"Ah, no sir, nothing like that."

He looked around.

"You know what, sir, sorry to waste your time. I'll just come back later."

Pilton turned his head to address the audience.

"Here's where I knew what he had to say must've been some serious shit. You see, Wolfe's been in the Army for over 30 years, longer even than the Old Man Konrad. Wolfe's seen it all. Panama, Grenada, Berlin, Gulf War 1, Kosovo, Afghanistan, Iraq and probably more shit that's classified. Guy's got a chest full of ribbons and hash marks up to his elbows. He's tough, he's made of galvanized steel. So when someone as calm and hard as Wolfe is nervous, you know it's more than just idle E4 Mafia gossip."

He turned and gave Wolfe a reassuring smile.

"Hey, don't worry about it, I got this."

The captain shut his report folder and stood up out of his chair, and grabbed his M4. He barked an order out to one of the soldiers on the Stryker.

"Lt. Hatcher! Take over while I'm gone!"

He heard a 'roger that' and led Wolfe through a doorway that led to a dimly lit corridor. Once upon a time it was a gallery that displayed overpriced jewelry for oil sheik's trophy wives, but now it was just a place to take respite from the desert heat. Pilton noted that non of the display cases were looted. It made sense, for one thing the 33rd may be AWOL but they were not thieves; they still had their military discipline. And more importantly, diamond jewelry was worthless in a place like Dubai.

Pilton gestured to two chairs by a cooler. Wolfe unslung his weapon and took a seat, and Pilton followed suit. The captain opened the lid of the cooler and pulled out a beer. He offered one to Wolfe, who declined.

"Sorry sir, I'm on duty."

"Hell, Wolfe you're the senior staff NCO, you're always on duty! Anyways, it's okay these aren't rations, it's Kilo Company's private stash. One of my boys ran across some rich guy's man cave that still had electricity and was able to salvage a plasma TV and an Xbox."

The captain popped the top off the beer and took a sip.

"And he also had a well-stocked beer fridge."

Instead the sergeant major took a bottled water and for a few minutes just savored the cool water. Finally Pilton decided to break the ice.

"So, Wolfe, what's on your mind?"

"Well, sir, it's like this..."

As the sergeant major continued to talk, Pilton turned and addressed the audience.

"And that's when he told me of Long's treachery..."

The scene dissolved again, this time back to the gun battle at the airport. In the background there was a Emirates Airways 747-800 on fire, billowing out clouds of choking black smoke. Pilton pointed out the burning wreckage.

"Well, that was one of those coward's tickets out. Fortunately my boys were there to stop them with a well-aimed RPG."

Pilton gestured to the chaotic gun-battle as a bullet ricochets off the tarmac right in front of his foot. He didn't flinch as he continued.

"After that, Long ordered his men to open fire to preserve the last remaining passenger jet, and with those shots fired the 33rd went to war against itself and committed fratricide. Individual soldiers took grievances they had against other soldiers and used the Mutiny as an excuse to settle old scores, whilst entire platoons and companies took sides."

He paused and watched as one of the Exiles manned a .50 cal turret on a HUMVEE and opened fire on a platoon of Kilo Company, who scrambled to take cover.

"...Six months. That's how long it took for Konrad to restore order. For six long months the Mutiny raged on, almost tearing Dubai apart in the process. The Exiles, as the men loyal to Long called themselves, made initial gains, taking large chunks of Dubai in the process, but in the end the Damned, as the ones loyal to Konrad called themselves, had more numbers, and more firepower, we pushed `em back. In last few weeks of the Mutiny, in desperation the Exiles decided to train and arm the locals, who in turn evolved into the Insurgents..."

He held up an hand as if to whisper conspiratorially.

"Spoiler alert, the other plane gets destroyed, and Long and his men, well, you were there when Walker found `em, or what was left of `em."

Pilton continued walking into the ruined airport, stopping at a gift shop. All the glass was destroyed by the sandstorms, and anything edible or drinkable was long gone. Interestingly enough, two mannequins wearing designer clothes stood at the cash register, a large wad of Emirates dirham stuffed in the female's plastic hand. The captain regarded the scene, then spoke without turning.

"Why not show how the Mutiny ended?"

He turned to face the audience.

"C'mon, you know you want to see Long's final moments as a free man. Plus, as an added bonus, we're going to get a cameo from an old friend."

The captain paused.

"...Nope, not giving away any more, you're going to have to trust me."

There was a long pause before Pilton smiled.

"Glad to see that your curiosity got the better of you. So, without further ado..."

The scene dissolved to the dead of night. Pilton took cover behind a sand dune, near a crashed jetliner. He held a finger up to his lips and pointed in the distance. There was a lone HUMVEE driving at full speed towards the desert.

LTC Long and Hammond, along with two last Exiles, attempt to flee into the desert by night. The battle for the airport was over, its outcome never in question. All that was left was to flee, and hopefully make it back to civilization and tell the world of Konrad's insanity. Their vehicle was getting bogged down in the sand, while a pair of Black Hawk helicopters buzz overhead. The driver swerved to avoid gunfire whilst the passenger frantically spoke into his longe-range radio.

"...I say again, to anyone that is listening this is Checkmate Five Actual Romeo, transmitting to anyone who is listening...we are elements of a U.S. Army Battalion stranded in Dubai, requesting immediate evacuation, over!"

Their HUMVEE was bathed in a blinding light as the nose-mounted spotlight on the lead Black Hawk caught up to them. Tracer fire from the miniguns streamed down at them, and it took every bit of the Exile soldier's training to avoid them.

Then there was a loud THUNK! and a black cloud of oily smoke stained the windshield as a high-caliber round hit the engine block. Too late, the HUMVEE ground to a halt as the engine coughed and sputtered to a stop.

The driver turned to the two passengers in the rear. One of them was LTC Long, the leader of the 33rd's Mutiny, the other was Captain Chris Hammond, his adjunct.

"Sir, we'll provide covering fire as a distraction, you have to get out of this!"

The other soldier, a young private operating the radio, also chimed in, but Long held up his gloved hand.

"Save it, Private. Either we all get out of this, or none of us get out of this. Enough of our boys have died today, I'll not have you guys' deaths on my conscience. Even if it means facing Konrad."

Hammond peered through the window. The one Black Hawk helicopter had them pinned in place, but he could see the other chopper had settled into a hover and figures were fast-roping down. Long put a reassuring hand on the driver's shoulder.

"It's alright. You did everything you could. I know you don't want to hear this, but we're going to surrender. The odds of our survival are higher, and I don't want you to throw your lives away."

The driver turned to the radio operator, a young private, who set down his receiver and hung his head. Long could tell the boy was conflicted, but finally he nodded in consent. At Long's signal, all four of the doors opened at once, and they stuck their hands out the door frames, while the leader of the Exiles shouted out over the howling wind and the buzzing of the chopper's engines.

"We're coming out and we're unarmed!"

Long looked over to the two soldiers, then to Hammond and nodded. He stepped out into the blinding glare of the spotlight, his hands raised above his head. Hammond followed suit. A voice blared from the Black Hawk that hovered above them.

"No sudden movements, you are surrounded!"

Beams of red laser light pinned the driver and the radio operator as soon as they emerged from the truck to the spot. The two soldiers froze, their hands in the air, the driver could see that they were surrounded, and he could make out figures emerging from the darkness. As they stepped into the light the driver let out a gasp. He saw that their assailants weren't wearing Army Multicams or ACU's. These soldiers were dressed in sinister black uniforms, wearing orange and white armored shoulder pads. Their faces were concealed behind scarves made to look like skull faces, and mirrored orange goggles, adding to their inhuman appearance.

Their captors were Zulu Squad, the feared elite heavies of the 'Damned' faction of the 33rd. He turned to the radio operator but saw the young private had panicked and had turned to run.

"No! Don't, you'll-"

But the driver's words were cut short as several beams of infrared light pinned their chests, then loud cracks echoed in the desert night. Long stared in horror as the two soldiers crumpled to the ground like marionettes with the strings cut.

Chris Hammond looked over to Long, but his commander was still staring in shock at the two dead soldiers. One of the Zulu Squad soldiers, obviously their leader, stepped forward.

"Sir, I need you and Captain Hammond to get down on the ground with your hands behind your head."

The voice was cold, clipped, and monotone. But something about it seemed familiar and jogged Long's memory.

"Crosby?"

The leader let go of his FN P90 submachine gun and let it dangle against his armored assault vest. He pulled back his goggles, then pulled down his skull balaclava, and fixed the exiled officers with a cold glare. Long suppressed a gasp. He recognized the face, but the eyes, once a bright blue now were cold like ice in a Siberian winter. Robert Crosby was the 33rd's Battalion 1st Sergeant, a senior NCO second only to Sgt. Major Wolfe, but now he was also apparently the leader of Zulu Squad.

"Sir, you are to comply with my commands, or else."

Long tried to reason with him.

"Look, sergeant, there's more to it than just that...the Old Man, Konrad, he's let go of the rope! He's not himself, he's going to lead the 33rd to damnation to feed his ego and his fantasy of becoming the ultimate hero-"

His words were interrupted by the crack! of a pistol shot going off. As it turned out one of the Exile soldiers was still alive, and Crosby just finished the wounded soldier off in cold blood. He lowered the still smoking massive handgun, a Desert Eagle, and holstered it into his thigh rig, then spoke again in the same cold-clipped voice.

"Sir, with all due respect, your actions tore the Damned 33rd a-fucking-part, you're one to talk. You and Captain Hammond are face charges of mutiny, fratricide and attempted desertion."

Long glanced over to Hammond, whose eyes were wide with fright as more Zulu Squad soldiers emerged from the darkness. One of them, brandishing a SCAR-H, aimed his weapon at the officer. Long turned his attention back to Crosby.

"I don't suppose we can negotiate Hammond's release for my surrender? Under Article 3, the Geneva Convention demands-"

That earned a scoff from the Zulu Squad leader.

"Demands? If you haven't noticed, we aren't in civilization anymore. And as for your sitch, we have you surrounded and you are unarmed, you're not in any position to demand anything."

He patted the Desert Eagle on his thigh.

"I, on the other hand, am in a position to grant you...nothing. Except your apprehension."

He turned and nodded. Several Zulu Squad soldiers advanced, covering the two officers, while two other Zulus grabbed Long and Hammond, zip-tying their wrists together, not gently either. Crosby continue.

"We've already rounded up the rest of Konrad's command squad, you're the last two."

Hammond spoke up as he was hauled up to his feet.

"W-what's going to happen to us?"

One of other soldiers spoke up. Like Crosby, he also spoke in a cold, clipped voice.

"Execution, if order is to be maintained an example has to be made."

Long was also pulled to his feet, protesting.

"But that's barbaric! How can you do that? We're soldiers!"

Crosby fixed his captives with a cold glare.

"We are soldiers, you are the ones who are mutineers. Soldiers follow orders. Something you know nothing about!"

Pilton watched the exchange from his vantage point on the airline jet's wing. He continued watching as Long and Hammond were led back to the Black Hawk. When the chopper lifted off the captain started walking back towards the ruined fuselage.

"Those two Exile soldiers got off easy, as far as I'm concerned. Should have been burned along with their mutinous CO..."

He glanced over to the audience and gave a sadistic grin.

"...And yeah, I know for those of you who are coming in from the other story its jarring to see your cuddly, witty and occasionally sarcastic Sgt. Crosby who mingled with cute witches with big eyes and even bigger titties acting like a cold-blooded bastard, but trust me, he was a completely different man back then."

Pilton's eyes softened as his disposition sobered.

"Fact is, the Mutiny broke him, just as it broke a lot of good men."

He entered the fuselage, and the scene changed again.

"Which brings me here."

He turned a corner, and this time was standing at the very edge of the storm wall. Pilton stared at a stop sign at the edge of the storm wall. He then turned to the audience again.

"Oh, that reminds me. You're reading this, probably because you were a fan of the game, and/or the previous story, so that means you probably don't shock easy. But on the off chance that you're one of those pussy civvies who blundered on this because you're a huge fan of the new wave of Disney movies, which quite frankly in my humble opinion suck, you can stop reading right now. If you're someone who gets triggered easily by violence, toxic masculinity, military humor, graphic violence, harsh language, political incorrectness, objectification of women, gun porn, junk food, the NRA, and the Alt-Right, stop reading right now."

Pilton chuckled.

"Sorry, just checking to see if you were still paying attention."

The soldier turned away from the stop sign, walking out towards the Storm Wall.

"And no, for the record I don't support any of that political shit, can't stand those assholes almost as much as a I can't stand the SJW's. Buncha high-speed low drag fuckwits the lot of them, only difference is one faction roots for the left and the other roots for the right, all acting 'triggered'."

He paused.

"Come to think of it, if you're one of those pussy snowflakes that use the term "triggering", you need to stop reading just on general principle. And don't have any kids, while you're at it. World's got enough retards as it is."

As he approached the Storm Wall, the sky darkened, as if the storm was threatening to overtake Pilton. But instead, the scene dissolved again, revealing a darkened cavern lit by an ominous red and orange magma that bubbled out of crevices in the floor. Pilton seemed unconcerned and pulled out another cigarette.

"Oh, yeah forgot to mention. I got killed in the opening salvo. Bastard Long shot me himself."

He lit a cigarette, and heard a roar overhead.

"Which is why I'm here. In the afterlife. And no, I'm not in Hell."

Pilton paused as he looked up at a dragon flying overhead.

"Well, yeah, technically it's not Hell it's called the Dark Realm, and basically functions as the afterlife where all the bad folks go when they die, but I'm just visiting."

The dragon roared again, and landed near Pilton. He took a drag from his cigarette and looked back at the audience.

"Oh, excuse me, I have to take this..."

Pilton strode over to the dragon, seemingly unconcerned that the enormous monster could swallow him whole in one bite. Instead, Captain Pilton started a conversation with the creature. After the dragon spoke in a hissing, rumbling voice like continents colliding, Pilton nodded once, and with that the dragon flew off without another word. Captain Pilton turned to face the audience.

"Well, luck is apparently on my side today, even if God isn't. That big guy just made me an offer I just couldn't refuse."

He paused.

"The TL:DR version is, I continue Kilo's mission to apprehend Long, because apparently he and his group of Exiles are out relaxing, smoking and joking and generally having a great time going AWOL. I'm tasked to bring him to justice, and I'll even get help along the way. Yeah, yeah I have to throw a coupla bones His way by having Kilo Company do some of His dirty work, but nothing we haven't done in the past."

Pilton took another drag from his cigarette, exhaled some smoke.

"Now, I know what you're probably thinking...Pilton, why are you dealing with that monster, he's clearly the bad guy blah-blah-blah...well, that's the idealism talkin'. Now, idealism is a wonderful think in fairy tales and teen-aged love stories, but in the real world it's also a load of horseshit."

He jerked a thumb towards the dragon flying off into the darkness.

"You see a monster, I see an asset, and a means to an end. Hell, in Afghanistan we made deals with warlords that would make Tall Dark and Scaly there look like a choir boy. No different. And if he's tellin' the truth, hell I'd shake hands with the devil himself if it meant getting a shot at Long, and making that bastard pay for tearing the 33rd apart."

A door appeared in front of Pilton, and he started towards it.

"So, I know what you're thinking, am I the bad guy in this story? Well, truth be told, if this was a conventional fairy tale, then yes, I would be the villain."

He smirked as he exhaled smoke through his nose.

"But, given the source material, we both know this isn't going to be a conventional story, isn't it?"

He shrugged and finished off his cigarette, then opened the door. Just before disappearing for the last time, Pilton spoke.

"To answer that question, you're just going to have to follow me, and find out for yourself if I've earned that title or not."


Terminology:

AO: Area of Operation

Mustang'd: When a soldier rises up through the ranks as enlisted and enters Officer Candidate School as an NCO.

E-4 Mafia: An informal group of Specialists who are 'rank stripes don't matter'. The E-4 Mafia is also a gossip mill, it has all the info on anything you need, if one person does know, they can pass it through the line until they find someone who does and it will get back to the original person within a very short period of time, someone, somewhere knows everything, everywhere.

Hash Mark: A ribbon worn on the sleeve of US Army Class A's, or dress uniform.

(AN: Well, hopefully that's enough to whet your appetite. And yes, in case you didn't get it I'm basing Captain Pilton off Frank Underwood (at least the first two seasons, before HOC started to suck), so his asides and Fourth Wall Breaks will be a thing. I also wanted to make a more nuanced foil to LTC David Long, I hate one-dimensional villains who start out as raging revenge seekers. All monsters didn't start out that way, they started out gradually crossing the line until they jump off the slippery slope and get more and more obsessed, just like Walker in the game. The Walker in the beginning of SO:TL wanted to save people to be the hero, just as the Walker at the end of the game wanted to avenge Lugo to be the hero. As for whether or not Pilton will cross the line like Walker and become the villain, well you'll just have to find out.
As for the structure of this story, if you're familiar (no pun intended) with ZSNT this story will have a large cast of characters, including characters from other franchises. These first few chapters will be introducing characters and even doing a sort of 'training mission' like in the video game. Once all the characters have been introduced there will be Chapters that will be story arcs divided into different parts. I'm doing this because I don't want to make the same error of having a 200+ chapter light novel, this way it will be easier for people to catch up to chapters they want to read and re-read.

Also, I am shooting for a monthly update schedule, and that will be a 3K-6K chapter, depending on the context. The prologue chapters introducing the characters may come out quicker, but that is because I have them sketched out and anywhere from 50-80% done. So stay tuned, Fav and Follow if you want moar, and if you like or even if you dislike, don't forget to leave a review!)