This is a short series i'm doing to tie in with my other story, Modern Warfare Restruction. I go deeper into the fight for Virginia, highlighting the things that was missed in Restruction.

Hope you enjoy.

West Virginia.

My left hand shook as I wiped dried blood off of my face. I balled it into a fist to make it stop, but it did little to calm me. I imagined that my eyes must have looked bloodshot from the lack of sleep, and that they were huge. Like the size of a golf ball. Or a ping pong ball. That thousand yard stare was starting to find its way into my soul. Right now, I was staring out the window of a two - story home located at the end of a street, frantically searching for any movement. Any straight line that didn't look right. If it was straight, then it was man made. If it's man made, then it could be made by the Russians. They were out there some where.

That large blue house on the left hand side of the street looked suspicious. I didn't like the way the curtains would very slightly move every other minute. I also didn't like the number of windows that lined the walls. Each one of them was an opportunity for a gunner to fill in the position. They would have fire superiority. Which would be bad. Real bad, indeed.

"Talk to me, 2-1. Gimme a sitrep." Lieutenant Jacobs sounded tired and worn. Sort of like how a person might sound after they've been through some deep, mentally challenging shit. I figured that was what it was.

"We got held up by a small force of enemy foot - mobiles, sir. We're sitting tight right now. But we're all good to go." Sgt. Foley was upstairs. In my right ear, I heard his muffled voice. In my left ear, I heard a crackle of static, and then his voice, as if he was right next to me.

"Proceed with the task, Foley. We should be leaving this part of the city by the evening." Jacobs answered. "I want to get us all out of here before the Russians burn this whole damned place to the ground."

I heard Foley speak to the eltee a little more, acknowledging the order passed to him. We waited. One beat. Then three. Then ten. And ten turned into 25, before we piled out of the house.

"2-1, we're moving out to the street. Keep a combat spread and keep your eyes and ears open."

It was inevitable. We would have to go sooner or later. Better we keep up with the timeline. It's not good to keep the eltee waiting.

"Shit, we gotta go out there..." I heard Dunn whisper from across the room. Dunn was always afraid to fight the enemy, like any normal person, but he was excellent in a firefight. The tall, dirty blonde hair guy was always moaning and complaining. But I liked him. He was smart and efficient. An above average soldier who was adapted to the front lines. It's hard to come by those.

"Ramirez, on point." Foley said as he came down the stairwell at the back of the room. The usual call. Standard procedure, for the most part. Put the private out front. When the bullets get to flying, he'll go down, instead of the guy with the experience and stripes. If you've got more than one private rolling with you, assign the newbie to the task. If you've got two who are green as grass, Inny Minny Miney Moe, catch a tiger by the toe.

I stood up cautiously, keeping a firm grip on the modified M4. By modified, I was holding an M4 with a fat ACOG scope attached to the top. Extra accuracy, extra weight. To balance it out, there was a grip on the barrel that helped keep the rifle stable when aiming. By having a grip, that automatically disabled any chance of having a grenade launcher, but grenades weren't my thing anyway. There was an attachable red laser sight to the side of the weapon, purpose built for operating at night in close quarters. Which makes sense. Fighting in a city like this one meant fighting in tight spaces. I preferred to use a SCAR, but the M4 will have to do.

I stepped onto the porch of the house and strained to see what I couldn't see. There was always the chance that I overlooked something. I kept on the pace, stepping onto a gravel drive way and crouched down slightly. I waited and I watched. Fair enough. Raising my left hand and motioning slightly, the rest of the squad left the building and got into formation. Combat spread meant wide spread.

They all followed me down the road. We clung to the sides because there was little to no cover in the street and sidewalks. Clinging to the sides meant that we had to hop over low fences and walk through bushes and step on gardens and other crap that ordinary people put into their yards. Nobody would just bust out of a window on us, because there was nobody. We checked. We always had to be thorough. You only needed to slip up once. They catch you slacking with your pants down, it's over.

So far so good. We regrouped at the end of the road and took cover under a circle of high bushes. We talked about different things. This and that. Several klicks to the RV point with the eltee. In the time it took to talk about all that stuff, I detached the ACOG scope. It was bulky and heavy and unreliable at close range. To be honest, I should've done that from the start. The ACOG is designed to zoom in on targets that are far away. By looking through one, you'd have to close the eye that wasn't being used. By doing that, you could only see stuff far away. Which meant that your peripheral vision was cut off by a lot, and that's not good in battle. Back in training, the instructors never let my group practice with them. I remember when qualifying time came. The long distance shots were the easiest to me. I wasn't the best shot in the platoon, but I was damned good. The targets would go down a second after they rose. I qualified expert.

"I'm ready to kill one of those Russians again. The bastards think they can take us on..." Sandler spoke to the group. He was fierce and determined and angry at the Russians and blood thirsty. Sandler's grey eyes stood out on his darker complexion. The short red hair that framed his face was matted. He carried the big M249, which perfectly fit his style. He liked to throw more bullets than necessary, but it was effective. "I hope we find some."

"How far did you say we have?" I asked Sgt. Foley.

"2 klicks east. Not too far, not too short."

"Are we expecting company?"

"This area's still a designated hot spot. Chances are good."

"What about friendlies?"

"Everybody's at home base except for us."

"Then the convoy will leave with or without us. Which means we don't have all the time in the world."

"Exactly. The soon-"

An explosion of fireworks and bullets dominated all sound. We all instinctively dived to the ground.

"Incoming!"

"Contact front! Contact front!" someone yelled.

I gritted my teeth and crawled over to a bricked wall hidden by the bushes. I slid into them and got reasonably comfortable before I risked a peek. Dust and pieces popped off from the wall, which meant they were out front somewhere. Out front was to the east. I raised my head up a bit and tiny pieces of yellow brick hit me in the face.

The road ran across from left to right about 20 yards from the brick wall. Beyond the road was another line of bushes and vegetation. That's where they were shooting from. I could see them.

I crawled along the wall, heading to the left, to get a better angle. The sounds of battle filled my ear, all I could hear was gunshots and destruction. The brick wall was taking a pounding. Chunks of debris shrugged off of my helmet and landed all around me. I heard the response of Sandler's machine gun, rattling away at the enemy. I glanced over my shoulder to see him setting up the bipod on the M249. After a few more yards of somewhat crawling, I leaned against the wall and opened fire.

Battling at close range is much different than what most people think. It's terrifying. The sounds of war are magnified 10x. Bullets fly faster and are more dangerous. A lot more movement and locomotion took place in CQB. Fighting in America was extremely different than when I was overseas for that short time. Fighting in an actual battle is nothing like training and shooting pop up targets and playing airsoft. You can actually die, which changes everything on a Huge scale. And it's hard as hell to see. I didn't have a clear view of what I was shooting, but I knew the general direction to aim. I centered the sights and lightly tugged at the trigger, discharging rounds. The M4 was loud as hell. There was slight recoil, which allowed me to pump off a few more rounds.

They responded to me, and immediately opened up on my spot. The wall was hammered with bullets and was being shredded. The force of the rounds sent me into hiding down below. My heartbeat was in gear 3 and climbing fast. My mind flashed back to my brother and sister, immediately wondering how they would respond to the news of my death. They'd be beside themselves. My sister would be worse off than my brother, because my bro Joseph was a marine. But I wasn't dead. Not yet, at least.

"Roger, there's one flanking to the right!" I barely heard Sgt. Foley's voice. He sounded distant. A few seconds later, I heard Roger's weapon firing in single shot.

I stuck my head back up over the wall, risking getting it shot off. The Russians were using Ak 47's, probably the deadliest assault rifle out there. It's loud and distinct sound made it a terrible noise. I wasn't even sure if they had the ability to switch to single shot. They were pure bullet throwers. One of them was using an AK47, I could easily tell. He didn't see me.

I aimed the M4 and leveled it at his chest and lightly squeezed the trigger several times. The gun recoiled a bit, but the bullets were on the mark. Two hits, center mass. Tactical M4's like the one I was using was built more so on the job of wounding targets, rather than killing one. The bullets weren't as deadly as the AK47's the Russians used. But two shots to the chest and heart area were definitely kill shots. Blood splattered and ruptured from his body before he toppled to the ground.

It wasn't my first kill, but I still hadn't gotten used to it. I'd killed several people during my short tour in Afghanistan. Taking someone's life, no matter the circumstances, is a challenging thing. When I signed up for the military, I wanted to go to the Marines, but I figured that I'd see less action if I went to the Army. I wasn't scared of the Marines, I just didn't want to do a lot of fighting. I was wrong as hell. My first few days on the job had me in the grinder. Maybe that was because I went to Rangers. It's easy to see how someone could lose their minds after doing this for so long. I don't remember my first firefight very well although it wasn't long ago, but it was sickening and death was everywhere. Kill or be killed is the truth, and very few people who haven't seen action can truly understand that, if any. It's either you or them.

"I think they're running! Run bitches! Run!" Sandler yelled, still shooting the machine gun. I glanced at him and saw a slight smile on his face. He lived for the firefights.

"Cease fire!" Foley commanded. Everything went quiet and I gripped the handle on the M4 even harder. We all waited for a few beats, aiming and immobile. No sound. They were either all dead, or they'd gotten the hell outta there like Sandler said. Foley pointed forward and did a few more hand gestures.

"Roger, Ramirez.." Foley whispered.

Roger and I clambered over the low wall, rifles aimed and ready to shoot anything that moved. We progressed forward at a slow but steady pace, closing in on the site where the enemy had taken cover. Bushes and shrubs and branches were all tossed and thrown about. It looked like a lumber jack had gotten hold of this area for a few minutes. Messy.

I took a quick glance at Roger. His dark black eyes were relaxed and patient, like always. Roger sported a short buzz cut and no side burns or facial hair. You couldn't have facial hair, because it would interfere with gas masks and stuff like that. His dark face was always laid back and relaxed and not worried. I liked that about him. Always cool, calm, and collective. He signaled for me to go first.

Wasting no time, I stepped forward and entered the haze of vegetation. I watched my step carefully. The damned Russians could've left a surprise. Back in Afghan, and fellow I knew had stepped on an IED and lost his leg. He was a good guy. We sure could use that soldier now.

I found a body. Four of them, clad in the reddish Russian equipment. I looked at their faces. They were young, not as young as me, but they were in their twenties. Their faces were feature less and dead and empty. Roger's voice was background noise as he called out to the rest of the squad.

I walked to the one I'd killed and knelt next to him. He couldn't have been any older than 25. I didn't hate him. He wasn't much older than me and had the same job as me. He probably liked to go fishing and playing games and drawing pictures and writing short stories, for all I knew. He probably had a girl friend back in his mother land. All of that was gone now. His entire story was over, because of a war.

I searched his body and found a small notepad with words in it. Flipping through the pages, I searched for something familiar. I couldn't read Russian. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be written in anymore. The tags around his neck were written in Russian too, but his name was written with English letters. Demitri Markovich. I laid the items back down on his chest.

"Ramirez, we're Oscar Mike. Com'mon all ready!" Dunn called out. I stood up and thought about wiping the dirt from my knees, but discarded that thought quickly. If I had been a civilian, living the normal life, I would have said a prayer or something weird like that, maybe. But there was no time to mourn and remorse in war.

We still had a ways to go before we reached the RV point. And we didn't have all the time in the world.

"On my way." I said, jogging back to meet the squad.