Kinda bored so I'm making a weird Maria Hill fic. Welp.
[Fallujah, Iraq]
[24 November, 2004]
[USMC First Recon Battalion]
"HILL, LIGHT THOSE FUCKERS UP!"
Maria Hill- lance corporal, American, Recon Marine; this is what she was trained for. She squeezed the butterfly trigger of her Humvee's mounted M2 .50 machine gun, and actually shook as she fired off each round.
Bullets whizzed and cracked overhead, to her side, on the Humvee's shields- everywhere. Don't even get her started on the RPGs. Speaking of…
"ARR-PEE-GEE!" yelled Corporal Tim Stevens, emphasizing each syllable. Said explosive warhead flew by and hit the second Humvee in the convoy, effectively blocking the road. Hill cursed, moving her machine gun onto an enemy machine gun nest on a three story house. She let loose about 75 rounds, each one tearing the wall apart.
Several explosions rocked the building as Staff Sergeant David Hernandez made short work of the building with his MK-19 from behind Maria. Each 40mm grenade impacted in a weak spot, and if it didn't, made weak spots. The whole face of the building collapsed.
"HILL, WATCH OUT, ONE O'CLOCK!" shouted Sergeant Victor Cheryno, firing his M4 carbine from the driver seat of their vehicle. She swiveled the turret towards that direction, seeing two technicals, and about 7 foot soldiers. She took aim, breathed, and squeezed…
And nothing happened.
"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" she swore, racking the bolt, trying to get her gun working again. She looked up and saw and RPG heading right for her. Her eyes widened as she literally fell down, watching it sail overhead. She grabbed her M16A3, and fired that from the turret instead.
"CHERNYO, FORM A PERIMETER!" hollered Captain John Fielding. Cheryno reloaded his M4, and then moved his Humvee into a position of the 3 vehicle wall. "Hill, dismount and clear this fucking house!" he called back. "Aye, Sarge!" she barked, climbing out of the Humvee, over the lap of Private Daisy Moore.
The poor kid was still in shock, or so Hill thought. When she got out, her hand felt warm. She looked at it, seeing it covered in blood. She whirled around, looking at Moore while screaming, "CORPSMAN!"
Moore had a nickel-sized hole in her thigh, just from what Hill could see. "C'mon Moore, stay with me, Marine," she muttered, wrapping a tourniquet around her upper thigh. Daisy turned to her, starting to say something when a gunman fired from the window above them.
Hill fell backwards, crawling away. She took aim from the ground and fired off 13 rounds. A body fell out with an old AK74 next to it. She turned back to Moore and fought the urge to vomit.
The bullets had shredded her leg to bone and flesh, continuing up her body until it her collarbone, where her vest ended. Her head was a mess of red and grey and blonde and white, blood and brains and skull pieces and her hair all over the rear of the Humvee.
"You ca- HOLY SHIT!" cried out corpsman, Navy SEAL, and Petty Officer First Class Frank Angelo. His M4A1 hung used and abused by its sling, the barrel still slightly burning. Hill ignored him, getting back up and stacking with other Marines on the building. She crouched under a window, firing at rooftop shooters across the street.
She vaguely heard a Marine counting down, before an R870 blew the door off its hinges. Marines surged in, one saying, "Cle-." Before he finished, as Hill got to the doorframe, an RPG was fired from the staircase, and it tore apart several Marines. The others fell to crossfire of strategically placed machine guns. Arms and legs and heads and hands all came off, falling this way or that. One Marine tossed a grenade, only to have it bounce back at him and blow him up.
Maria charged in, eliminating one machine gunner, tossing a frag at the other, before turning.
Straight into the face of a suicide bomber.
A fucking kid.
Probably 10 years old.
A fucking KID!
He screamed, "ALLAHU AKBAR!" once, pulling the string on his vest. Hill barely had time to cry out before the explosion blew her straight out of the house. Little pricks of pain sprouted all over her chest, legs, and face. She saw Angelo stand over her, mouthing words- probably screaming- but heard nothing.
Beyond him, she saw Marines running into the house to escape the kill zone. Her Humvee sat burning, ammunition inside cooking off as the flames licked the boxes. One lay on its side, Marines still strapped to their seats lying dead inside.
Doc A pulled her into the house, and set her up on a table. A dozen other Marines lie dead or dying besides her. Darkness caused vision to swim and falter. She felt sick.
Next to Maria was Captain Fielding, yelling into a radio. Bullets cracked and blew holes in the house. As Maria's consciousness finally gave way, her hearing returned.
"THIS IS CHARLIE 3, WHERE THE HELL IS MY MEDEVAC?!"
"No medevac available at this time, Charlie 3. You're on your own."
"DAMMIT!" Fielding swore, turning back to his shattered platoon.
"MARINES, HOLD THE LINE!"
"OORAH!"
On that final battle cry, Maria fainted.
[Line Break]
"And when I get Heaven,
Saint Peter's gonna sa-a-a-a-y
'How'd you make your living?
How'd you earn your pa-a-a-a-a-y?'
I will reply with my kni-i-i-i-i-i-fe,
'Shut up, bitch! I'm gonna take your li-i-i-i-i-i-fe!'"
CWO4 Christopher Anderson was brushing dust off his cot when the call came in.
"All pilots, code red: First Recon Charlie 3 is pinned down in Fallujah's Red Zone. Scramble all available aircraft. Coordinates will be given upon takeoff."
He was strapping in the peter pilot seat within five minutes. His pilot and aircraft commander, 2LT Sarah DeLong, flew in a moment later. Their crew chiefs, Gunnery Sergeant Brock Muter and Staff Sergeant Raymundo Crosby, manned the two M60 machine guns that were the UH-1Y's defense and offense.
Air Force Pararescue Jumper Technical Sergeant Yohan Dougal hopped aboard, his medkit prepped and ready. As the bird lifted off the ground with utter silence, Sarah broke it first.
"ATC, this is Spartan 2-1, lifting off in response to medevac request. Heading into the Red Zone, over," she reported crisply. ATC acknowledged, and said, "Message from repair crews and HIGHCOM: don't get too many holes. Good hunting, Spartan 2-1."
Sarah nudged the throttle up and angled the helicopter downwards a tad, and they flew into the shitstorm called "Operation Phantom Fury".
"Lock and load, boys," Anderson said, checking that his MP5K was loaded under his legs. "Hey Muter, how many you think you'll get today?" asked Raymundo. "More than you, smartass," Muter growled back.
Dougal chuckled from his "seat". In actuality, he was sitting in the open door with his legs against the landing gear, holding on only through the hole in his ass.
Sarah cracked a smile before chipping in, "Boys, cut the chatter. Make sure we don't ge-." She never finished that sentence. Below them, an enemy AA team had been waiting. When they reached the right spot, they achieved their goal.
A technical with mortar sat right beneath them. When they fired, the shell went straight up. Straight into Spartan 2-1.
The crew didn't even feel it as the shell tore them and their helo to shreds. Only a few blocks away, the Recon Marines of Charlie 3 were fighting for their lives.
And they were losing. Badly.
"And when I get Hell,
Satan's gonna sa-a-a-a-a-y,
'How'd you make your living?
How'd you earn your pa-a-a-a-a-y?'
I will shove my rifle right in his face,
'I was a Recon Marine. I'm taking over this place!'"