While I much prefer the original Criminal Minds series (Hotch will always rule the CM waves!), this one did grow on me as time went on, and I particularly liked the character of Mick Rawson (probably my British pride coming into play) and his interactions with the other characters. The largely unexplained but much hinted at history between him and Sam Cooper intrigued me and I thought I'd give it a go and explore one possibility.

Obviously this story is set largely in the military world, but any special terms or acronyms have been defined at the bottom; I am also English and many of the characters will be British, so there may be the odd colloquialism – please feel free to let me know if there is anything you don't understand.

The title is in reference to the Greek Mythology surrounding the Underworld. Charon, the ferryman, carried souls across for a fee. Both Mick and Sam will struggle through a lot in this story before they can escape their pains and struggles. This is a story about a strong friendship, not slash.

A huge thanks to PaulaP2013, who acted as my Beta on this story despite being unfamiliar with the show itself. Your help with grammer, Americanisms and general story flow have been invaluable, so thank you once again.

This first chapter is merely setting the scene and introducing the main players.

Sam Cooper ducked gratefully into the tent, where the shade afforded some protection from the unrelenting desert sun. It had been many a year since he had left behind the ever increasing bureaucracy demanded by FBI brass, but for all his time in Military Intelligence he was still unused to the fierce climates the current AOs seemed to offer.

The harsh winters on the slopes of the Hindu Kush in Afghanistan and the inescapable heat of the Iraqi desert offered such vastly different landscapes, and yet the desert at night could be almost as cold as the Afghani mountain ranges, while the opium fields in summer could be as unbearably hot as the sand dunes. Both countries were host to somewhat bleak but often very beautiful landscapes, the dull, earthy browns in high contrast to the vivid green vegetation that shadowed every waterway.

Cooper spent most of his time employed in PSYOPS trying to get the local population on side with the 'Hearts and Minds' tactic, and he enjoyed mixing with the everyday people; he had learnt so much about their culture and their customs. He had come to respect them and their fortitude.

At first, he had found it difficult to contend with the more mundane complaints he'd heard when he'd returned Stateside; forced to endure a lecture on the failings of the Bush Administration (as if he needed those to be pointed out to him) or on the rising cost of living. It all seemed rather ridiculous when the country he had just returned from was suffering through all the harsh circumstances of a war they had no say in.

He'd had to force himself to remember that everything was relative, that for some people in the States the rise in the cost of living really was a problem when so many people lived below the poverty line already. The problems were different, but they existed nonetheless.

His time spent with the local population, especially the children, seemed like time well spent, and he enjoyed acting the part of friend and teacher rather than profiler.

Of course, that feeling could never last long in the Middle East.

His time in the BAU had meant that he was often brought in to help with the interrogations of high value prisoners; most of them were relatively straightforward but some were far more problematic. He'd arrived at one FOB to find the prisoner he was about to interrogate had been stripped naked and was sporting several bruises; he'd been horrified and had reported those responsible but unfortunately it would not be the only time he would come across such abuse.

Cooper hadn't thought he'd ever fully settle into a military way of life, but he found that many of the men and women were good soldiers who wanted nothing more than to perform their duty. The atrocities of Abu Ghraib had, for a brief period, tarnished all soldiers with the same brush, but most soldiers had been equally horrified at the actions of a select few and strove to be better soldiers than the public seemed to believe they could be. These were the men and women Sam felt proud to work alongside.

Like many of the soldiers who had seen active service in Afghanistan, Sam preferred his time there than in Iraq. In Afghanistan, the enemy may have used guerrilla tactics and suicide bombers to tragic effect, but at least the Taliban was a clear and cohesive enemy.

In Iraq, once Saddam Hussein's Regime had fallen and it became clear that there were no Weapons of Mass Destruction the war and the reasons behind it seemed to fracture; there was no single enemy army, but instead a whole host of combative factions, each vying for control over their own little parcel of land in the turbulent Iraqi landscape.

Objectives that had once been so definitive (end the Regime and liberate the people, and find the infamous WMDs) became so blurry that it was not always clear which groups were considered enemies and which were considered, if not friendly then at least not a threat either. As if that wasn't complicated enough, there were the foreign nationals who entered the country with their 'Purpose of Visit' stamped clearly in their passports for all to see: 'Jihad'.

The briefing he was attending in the tent was about one such foreign national. He was waiting on the superior officers with his colleague, Hassan Saifa.

Saifa's parents were from Lebanon, who escaped to the USA after the Sabra and Shatila massacre in 1982 when Hassan was just a baby. He had quickly grown to love his new country but being raised in the Islamic faith, he found post 9/11 America a scary place to be; with his ethnic origin so clearly based in the Middle East, his religious beliefs were, for the first time, being held against him in the 'Land of the Free'.

He had been in New York at the time of the attack, and like many in his community he was shocked and appalled by the massive loss of life that fateful day. He had only waited to finish his degree in Philosophy at Colombia University before applying to the military in order to appease his parents, who had both been so proud that their only surviving child had been offered a full academic scholarship to an Ivy League University. Due to his intellect and his language capabilities, he quickly found himself in Military Intelligence.

The Military had been quite frank with Hassan about the fact that they were going to utilise him as a tool. His looks, his religion, his ability to speak Arabic, even the loss of his older brother in the massacre, all of it would go on to make Hassan a truly capable interrogator. The prisoners were more likely to react to his presence, positively or negatively, and therefore more likely to reveal something.

Sam had instantly liked the young man, who, in spite of his inexperience and a rather incongruous idealism that he still held tightly onto, had a good head on his shoulders. His quiet, watchful nature made him a natural at interrogation and Sam felt sure his partner would go on to achieve great things in his life.

However, he still couldn't help but feel a little sad that the young man's mental prowess and abilities, his very personality were being used as intellectual weapons in the war, something that surely could only lead to a jaded man by the end of it all.

"Looks to be quite a party gathering for tonight's operation," Hassan nodded to the soldiers waiting for their briefing.

All ready and waiting in the tent were various members of Special Forces, both American and British; the Americans had a large team from the US Army Rangers, while the British had one troop from the SAS with back up from a team of Paras from 1st Battalion.

The joint operation was in response to recent intel that suggested a HVT was operating out of a small hamlet, over 40 clicks away in hostile territory. There had been an increase in insurgent activity over the past two weeks that had already resulted in the deaths of two young US Marines out on patrol and several members of a local Shia mosque. The arrival of Syrian national, Abu Maktara, in correlation with those events seemed unlikely to be mere coincidence.

They had been unable to say what particular faction the man seemed to belong to as he had already been linked with three different groups, but his hatred of all things American was clear to anyone who understood a word of Arabic.

Sam took a moment to look around the room at the soldiers waiting for the mission briefing. He had never worked with Adams before, but the man's reputation within the US Army Rangers was almost legendary among his soldiers. He'd risked his career by running a lot of interference between his men and the higher ups as one of his former CO's had been looking to make a name for himself off the shoulders of the men beneath him, calling in unnecessary danger-close fire-missions and even firing on unconfirmed targets in his eagerness to earn a shiny new medal. Adams had not only managed to shield his men from following the ridiculous example set by their Captain, but had also managed to have the man removed from the battlefield altogether.

The SAS troop were chatting happily with the Paras, a few steaming mugs settled by their feet. Sam had come across a few men from the UKSF during his time out in the Middle East, and he knew that they tended to get most excited when they had a chance to do some real 'green work', which they considered to be classic, behind-the-lines SAS soldiering; going into hostile territory to do what should be a covert grab on a HVT was just such a mission.

He noticed one of the Paras seemed too young to be in the company of such hardened soldiers; his easy manner and bright grin seemed incongruous with their surroundings and gave him the appearance of someone who should still be in school rather than in the military.

So intent was his focus on the men around him that he missed the entrance of the officers who would be leading the briefing.

"Sorry to keep you gentlemen waiting," one of the UKSF officers, Briggs, offered as he headed to the front of the crowded tent. "Let's get down to business."

"Abu Maktara has been cropping up in our local intel for a couple of weeks now and none of it is good," an American Officer from SOCOM called Mullins continued. "We have evidence linking him to an attack on a Shia mosque in Mirsana which left twelve dead, and as I'm sure most of you are aware, we lost two Marines just the other day.

"Our most recent intel was gathered by a British recon team," Mullins gestured towards the British soldiers in the room, which Sam took to mean that some of them had been involved in the information gathering exercise. "They've managed to find a possible residence, a small compound located near a hamlet about 15 clicks from Mirsana."

"As with any intel gathered on a recon mission in hostile territory, it is not necessarily going to be one hundred per cent accurate by the time we arrive on scene," Briggs warned. "I know a few of you have been getting pretty restless waiting for some proper green work, but don't get your hopes up just yet. We hope to have Maktara in a cell for interrogation by morning, but the enemy has been pretty mobile so far and there are no guarantees he'll even be in the area by the time we're ready to step off."

"The Brits have informed us that there is a pretty heavy insurgent presence in the surrounding area and not just in the hamlet," Mullins informed the men as he took a note passed to him from a nervous looking Corporal. He read it with a deep frown before continuing. "Our own techs have managed to pull some satellite images that back that up; the terrain is pretty flat and very arid, but there are some inconsistencies in the satellite imagery that suggests the earth has been disturbed where previously it wasn't. It could be nothing but the Shamal kicking up the earth, but you need to be prepared for some shallow little hidey-holes hiding some nasty little surprises.

"Provided all goes to plan, we'll get Maktara back here where Sam Cooper and his colleague Hassan Saifa will help with the interrogation; hopefully we can gain some intel on his friends and see about reducing the attacks in the area."

"Now that's a brief overview, obviously," Briggs stated dryly, earning a few chuckles from the men. "We'll be going into more detail of the terrain, infil and exfil points, team positions in the AO and so on and so forth. We're going to be at this for a good part of the day, as we're hoping to be Oscar Mike at final light; so lads, you've got fifteen Mikes to get yourselves something to eat and drink and get your arses back here. Opsec is to be maintained at all times, so I trust you'll keep chatter to a minimum. See you in fifteen."

"Sam, Hassan," Mullins greeted the two men. "It isn't necessary for you to attend the rest of the meeting if you have other things to concentrate on. The details of the op aren't all that crucial to your part in this and I know you're supposed to be heading back into Al Sariya to the school, but I thought you'd like to know the rough outline, as well as the timeline."

Sam nodded. Mullins shared a similar distaste of bureaucracy, especially when it got in the way of looking after the men under his command, and the two had compared and contrasted the ridiculous demands made upon their time over an MRE and a cup of coffee many a time.

He had come to greatly respect the older man for his sensible and grounded approach to his job. There was never any glory-hunting with the man; his men and the mission always came first and the fact that he wasn't out to make a name for himself but had done so anyway was testament to the type of soldier he was. Mullins was a popular CO and one that commanded respect from all allied troops and not just the American soldiers.

Briggs was another highly respected and well decorated soldier whose men in the UKSF were fiercely loyal to him. He had a much more stern countenance than his American counterpart but all that did was prove that looks were indeed misleading. The man's sense of humour was as dry as sand and as biting as the Arctic air and he could say more with a sardonic lift of one eyebrow than a whole Platoon could manage with the entire dictionary at their disposal.

"I appreciate the offer sir, but we are expected in Al Sariya," Cooper said, a little disappointed as he had hoped to sit in on the briefing; he enjoyed watching and listening as the plan for an operation took shape. "We shouldn't be there for too long though, certainly no more than three hours. Would it be a problem if we came and sat in on the planning after that? It's always helpful to a successful interrogation if we start off with more intelligence on our suspect."

"I agree," Mullins responded with an understanding smile; Cooper had never liked being out of the loop. "There will be a guard outside, but I'll let him know to let you in once you return."

"If there's time after the planning has all been wrapped up," Briggs started, "Then I'll introduce you to the men that took part in the recce, or at least let them know to give you an overview. They'll be able to give you a brief outline of our suspect's current holding ground, his followers and such; it means you're free to use whatever is useful from that knowledge in the interrogation."

"Do you think you'll get much out of him?" Mullins asked.

"I don't think we can say yet, sir," Hassan replied. "If he's here for Jihad and not a national, then he could be a true cause believer and we'll likely not get anything out of him, but there is always a chance he'll slip up."

"Well let's hope so; these attacks need to end. The note that young Corporal handed me earlier had news of another attack in Mirsana, only this time it was on the school. Thankfully the explosion was weaker than the one at the mosque and so far there are only three dead: two children and a teacher," Mullins shook his head in dismay. "The civilian casualty rate for this war is unacceptable!"

"There are no guarantees," Sam began hesitantly. He didn't like the recent hike in the death toll any more than Mullins, but he also knew that an interrogation of a HVT didn't always yield results.

"I know that, Sam," Mullins nodded resignedly. "Just do the best you can, and fingers crossed, huh?"

"Of course," Sam agreed. There was never any doubt that the two men would do their utmost to gain any useful intelligence from Maktara before handing him over to the Iraqi authorities.

It turned out that Sam and Hassan had to stay in Al Sariya longer than they had originally planned, as one of the local goat herders who tended flock out in the surrounding desert-like landscape had possible information about a militant group of Ba'ath Party hardliners who were attempting to coerce people into fighting their cause.

By the time they arrived back at the camp, the briefing had just about wrapped up and the soldiers were sorting out the final logistics for the operation. Sam could hear them discussing how much in the way of ammo and supplies they would need, and whether or not they would need any explosives, should a full-frontal assault on Maktara's compound become necessary.

"Now then," came a thickly accented voice as a young Para came forward with an easy grin and offered a hand. "I understand you want the low-down on the recce work we did a few nights back?"

He received two nods in return.

Sam looked the newcomer over; it was the soldier he had deemed too young to be in with a group of hardened Special Forces soldiers. However, the easy, relaxed manner in which he interacted with the other soldiers during the mission briefing spoke of a man who was not simply comfortable with his position, but revelled in it.

He had left a seat at the centre of the table, not one on the periphery, and the rifle he had been cleaning before he noticed the two men had been placed down with great care without resorting to an almost pantomime like slowness to the action that you would expect from someone brimming with self-importance.

Sam glanced at the rifle; definitely a sniper.

He couldn't help but fall back on his profiling days and think about the LDSK's he had come across during his time with the bureau; they tended to be intelligent, disciplined and highly focused, but they were also very controlling, with huge egos and a detachment to the people they killed.

He could already guess at the young soldier's prowess with a rifle given his position with the UKSF, which also implied that his intelligence, at least, wasn't in question.

He gestured for the man to continue and tried to ignore the urge to further profile him. The soldier led them to a side table after snatching a file from the large desk in the middle where the other soldiers were slowly beginning to disperse in order to get themselves sorted for the mission.

"There's not really a lot we can give as we were under orders not to get too close in case we were spotted and gave Maktara an unintentional heads up. The compound walls were high enough, and the surrounding land low enough that we were rather limited in seeing what went on inside the place.

"However, there was plenty of activity outside! There are regular two man patrols and they have a couple of dogs around the perimeter too. One is chained up by the main entrance, but the other goes on the patrol; it's why we're all smelling so sweetly," the soldier offered an unapologetic smile.

Sam knew that for many operations that required stealth, reconnaissance work or a grab mission such as the one they were heading for, the soldiers didn't wash or shave in the few days running up to them in order to allow any chemical products to wash off their skin and make a dog's ability to track them a little more limited. A potent enough aftershave could give even the best of ghillied up snipers away to the freshest recruit of an enemy army, never mind the dogs.

"We counted about fifteen different armed men working their way around the outside, but we've no clear idea if there are more inside the compound. This building here," the young soldier pointed on a map and then at a photograph, "seems to be where most of the men come and go, so we're assuming it is acting as temporary barracks.

"There was a truck that pulled up to the compound when we were there, but it didn't go inside; crates were unloaded and carried in. I think it is pretty safe to say these," he held up a photo of thick, wooden crates with heavy Arabic script printed on the side, "are not a result of their weekly grocery shop, so we're working on the assumption that they've got a mini arsenal in there, at least."

"Did you get eyes on Maktara?" Sam asked.

The soldier held up another picture.

"He didn't seem too keen on venturing outside much, and he never went further than a few metres from the entrance, but it was enough to confirm his presence. Of course, all of this is now a few days old, but a spy plane flew overhead this morning and images confirm there's still a pretty heavy military presence there."

"Wasn't that a little risky?" Hassan asked.

"These planes tend to fly about 3 miles up, and it didn't circle the area it just did a pass over before heading on towards Basra. Maktara would probably be more suspicious if the airways were clear; we're in a war torn country and military planes passing overhead are not an uncommon sight. Besides, these are relatively new to the RAF; chances are they wouldn't have been able to differentiate between our spy plane and a C130 from that height."

"So they're prepared and he's certainly got a few men willing to serve him," Sam mused, trying to get them back on track. "What about the villagers?"

"No real interaction as far as I could tell; they all seemed pretty determined to steer clear of both the compound and the barracks. There aren't many people there; a few women, children and a couple of elderly civilians with no signs of any men."

"Lost in the fighting," Hassan mumbled.

"Probably," the soldier agreed. "A lot of the local towns and villages had men strong-armed into fighting for the Republican Guard; the consequences were usually pretty severe if they refused. Men were executed and if their families were lucky, their deaths came on pretty quick too."

Sam noticed the slight tightening of the man's voice but there were no other outward signs that he was at all bothered by what information he had just shared. Sam had seen the evidence of what had befallen families whose patriarch had refused to pick up a gun in the name of Saddam Hussein's regime. The men were usually executed after being forced to watch the fate of their families; rape was not infrequent and a painful death was guaranteed. They acted as a good incentive for the remaining candidates, but Sam could have done without seeing what a five year old looked like after being stoned to death.

"Anyway, basically our guy, Maktara, is paranoid and very careful. He's either got a strong enough character or a large enough bank balance to keep these men guarding him. I'd go with the former, because these guys seem prepared to mow down a goat that wanders too close to the compound and that speaks to more than a paid professionalism; these guys are devoted to the man.

"They stop what they're doing for prayers, even when out on patrol; their actions, their dress, right down to their actions in Mirsana all speak to die-hard Sunni fundamentalists.

The way his men seem to react to him suggest that they fear him as much as they respect him, but they never seemed to hesitate acting on any orders that we saw. The villagers, who go out of their way to avoid him and his men, seem downright terrified of the whole lot of them. Maktara is going to be a tough nut to crack," the Para shrugged with his conclusion.

"It sounds like we've got our work cut out for us, Sam," Hassan grinned. He always liked the interrogations to be at least a little challenging.

"Thanks for sharing," Sam offered. "Don't think we caught your name, though."

"Oh, yeah, sorry about that," came a rather bashful grin. "Corporal Rawson, British Army's Parachute Regiment, 1st Battalion; everyone calls me Mick," he offered a sloppy salute and a mischievous wink.

"Sam Cooper and Hassan Saifa," Sam gestured to each of them by way of introduction.

"Mick? Not a very original nickname," Hassan responded, thinking of the many colourful nicknames he had come across during his time in the military.

"Sorry?" the young sniper asked, his confusion clear.

"Yeah, you know, being Irish and all, Mick just seems kind of obvious," Hassan pointed out with a shrug.

"You think I'm Irish?" Mick responded, amusement clearly tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"Your accent…" Saifa replied, unsure; clearly he was missing something.

"Welsh," Mick informed him with a small laugh.

"Welsh?"

"Yeah, Welsh, from Wales; Swansea if that means anything to you."

"Oh, fuck!" Hassan exclaimed. "I'm sorry if I've offended you or anything, but…"

"I'm not offended, mate, no worries," Mick interrupted and offered a friendly smile. "A few of you Yanks have got confused over this; if we don't talk like the Queen or with a heavy Cockney accent, then you guys tend to be pretty much in the dark. Then again, if you tried to get me to tell you the difference between someone from Canada and someone from the US, I probably wouldn't have a clue either."

"Fair enough," Hassan laughed, relieved. On the whole, the US/UK rivalry was little more than banter; gentle and not so gentle ribbing seemed to be a way of life for some of the soldiers stationed together. However, there were always one or two soldiers, on either side, who seemed determined to find fault with those who were supposed to be their closest allies. He was glad Rawson seemed to be of the more amiable sort.

"So…Mick?" Hassan queried.

"Short for Michael," the sniper shrugged. "But I only ever got called that if I was in trouble for something; it's pretty much always been Mick."

"So no Army nicknames then?" Sam asked.

"A whole load of them," Mick grinned. "Most of them probably not fit to be repeated, some of them I have no intention of sharing and others I'll probably shoot you for using."

"Hey Annie!" came a shout from behind.

"Like that one," Mick offered with a roll of his eyes and a low moan.

"Annie? Do I want to know the reason behind that one?" Sam asked, amusement threatening to overtake him.

Before he could give an answer, the soldier who'd shouted at him jumped onto Mick's back and mussed up the younger man's hair.

"Get off me, Gav, you bloody idiot!" Mick swiped his hand behind his head, swatting the other man on the side of his head.

"Is that any way to greet a friend? I'm telling you mate, you've got to stop being so bloody mardy! Can you believe this op. mate? We're getting some proper green work!"

"Birmingham?" Hassan asked Mick quietly, guessing at the newcomer's thick accent.

"Liverpool," Mick offered with a short laugh.

"Aye, we Scousers are so much better than those Brummie bastards!"

"Better not let Briggs hear you say that," Mick warned the older soldier with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

There was always a lot of banter about where people came from; whether it was about the North/South, East/West Divide, rural versus urban, the 'best' cities to come from, or even the countries themselves, there was always a joke on hand. Being Welsh, Mick always got more than his fair share of comments directed his way and he was always glad to hear banter that didn't involve sheep or coal-mining tenors.

"No way is Briggs a Brummie!" Gav hotly denied.

"Yeah he is; Solihul," the sniper informed his friend.

"Well there you go, then, posh Birmingham," Gav shrugged, as if that explained everything.

Mick just shook his head, well used to Gav and his ways. The man was older than him by almost four years but he was easily the most juvenile of all the soldiers Mick served alongside.

Gavin came from the ideal nuclear family: two parents and two children, they had even had a golden Labrador growing up. His parents had both worked and while they had never had an overabundance of money, they had never lacked for the necessities either. Gav liked to play the part of the working class hero, if only to wind up his staunchly Tory father who had served in the Falklands and was a huge fan of Margaret Thatcher.

Mick had never much cared about politics, finding most politicians to be pretty much the same no matter which party they claimed to represent, but he did like arguing with Gav if only to watch the older man struggle through arguments that he didn't really believe in.

"So…Annie?" Sam asked Gav, curious about its origins.

"Yeah, you know, Little Orphan Annie," Gav offered as though it were obvious.

"I wouldn't fit in the red dress," Mick grumbled as he glared at the older man and Sam was sure this was a frequent argument between the two. The former profiler wondered if Mick shared Annie's orphan status or if there was some other reason for the moniker.

"Then there's Annie Oakley, too, of course," Gav gestured to Mick's sniper rifle.

"Of course," Sam nodded and directed an amused look at Mick, who responded with an eye-roll and a long-suffering sigh.

"You want to know the worst thing?" Mick asked. "He actually tries to be this stupid; guy's got a degree from London's Imperial University in chemical engineering but he likes to spend his time talking like a Jerry Springer special."

"Ah Jerry," Gav nodded to himself. "Now that is entertainment!"

"I'll leave you to your delusions," Mick shook his head in dismay. "I've got a shopping list I need to see to," he waved a piece of paper that contained the extra equipment necessary for the forthcoming operation. "See you again soon, Agent Cooper, Agent Saifa," he nodded before heading out the tent towards the armoury.

"You seem like good friends," Hassan said to Gav as his eyes followed Mick's exit.

He had been worried when he first joined the military whether or not his ethnic background would leave him an outsider, but on the whole, the soldiers saw the uniform before all else. He had suffered through the odd racial slur, but nothing severe and never without another soldier there to stand by his side. Now, years after joining, he was not only a part of the camaraderie but he revelled in it.

"Aye, he's a good lad, good soldier too; there's no one I'd rather have at my back," Gav nodded.

"You mind me asking?" Sam started. "Why the Army if you've got a chemical engineering degree?"

"Why not?" Gav shrugged. "I was never really fond of school all that much; I'm not thick or anything, I just never found it the be all and end all of life, know what I mean? And don't let Mick fool you for one second, because the guy might not have even finished school but he's still the smartest guy I know; I'm not the only one who plays the idiot."

"I gathered that," Sam smiled, having already guessed that Mick Rawson was not the uneducated soldier he seemed happy enough to portray.

"I've got my own crap to get together before we step off, but I'll see you on the other end of it all, hopefully," Gav offered a sardonic grin, before waving his farewell and heading off to gather his supplies together.

"Sometimes I find it rather scary to meet the guys behind the guns and find out just who is first on the defence line," Hassan wryly stated. "A soldier who chooses a rifle scope over a microscope brings up all sorts of questions, even without the quirks," he nodded to the departing soldier who had taken to running in a dramatic but slow motion manner towards another of his brother-in-arms.

"Yeah, but then so does an idealistic Philosophy major who decides to specialise in Military Intelligence and interrogation," Sam replied with a pointed look. "Besides, they seem capable enough, even if they do make me feel like I'm one step away from a retirement home! Come on; let's go see what experimental gloop they're serving up in the mess tent this evening."

And so it starts. Please let me know what you think; constructive criticism is welcomed. Thanks!

And a glossary for those that need it...

Brass – slang term usually for the upper echelons of command, often referring to the bureaucrats rather than a Front-Line man.

AO – Area of Operation – a military term used to denote an area where operations are being carried out; it can be as small as a village or as large as a country.

PSYOPS. – Psychological Operations – the 'Hearts and Minds' tactic relied upon emotional or intellectual arguments to win over both enemy combatants and local residents to the other side, using all sorts of methods, including air-dropped propaganda leaflets.

FOB – Forward Operating Base – a secured military position, usually a base.

Abu Ghraib – a prison near Baghdad, where 17 US soldiers were accused (and 11 charged) of human rights violations and torture.

Jihad– Arabic, meaning 'struggle' or 'to strive' and while it means more than the usual translation of 'Holy War' that is what it refers to in this context. It can also refer to a personal struggle to follow the Muslim faith as well as possible, or even striving to build a better Muslim society.

Paras – slang term for anyone in the Parachute Regiment, which is the Airborne Infantry of the British Army. The 1st Battalion is permanently attached to the Special Forces Support Group.

HVT – High Value Target.

Clicks – military slang, it can stand for time or for distance.

Danger Close – is a military term used to denote that friendly forces are in close proximity to a requested air-strike, artillery support…etc…The danger increases/decreases depending on the weapons being used and of course on actual distance.

UKSF – United Kingdom Special Forces – it includes both the SAS and SBS and many more to boot. Typically in the SAS, you have four men in a patrol team and four teams to a troop, each with their own specialities.

SOCOM – Special Operations Command.

Recon – Reconnaissance – military term for the gathering of intelligence, also referred to as 'Recce' work.

Shamal– a wind that blows over much of Iraq and the Persian Gulf, often kicking up some pretty violent sandstorms.

Infil/Exfil – Infiltration/Exfiltration – drop off and pick up locations.

Oscar Mike – military slang for 'On the Move'.

Mikes – military term, used to denote either minutes or miles.

Opsec – Operational Security – pretty self-explanatory, basically, keeping those who need to know as the only ones in the know.

CO – Commanding Officer – again, self-explanatory, although you should note that it is more an American term and that the British tend to use 'OC' which stands for 'Officer in Command' or 'Officer Commanding' although COis becomming more frequent.

LDSK – Long Distance Serial Killer.

Ghillie Suit – is a set of thick, camouflaged clothing, designed to resemble thick foliage and to break up the silhouette of the soldier wearing it.

RAF – Royal Air Force.

C130 – a military grade plane that is mostly used for transport, but can also perform gunship duties, aerial reconnaissance and even aerial refuelling.