Author's notes: Hey everyone. Hope you all liked the first chapter. Sorry about the cliff hanger ending but I figured it might help to keep your attention. I understand that many of you may not be familiar with the game "specops the line", if you are a fan of shooters or the voice actor Nolan North I highly recommend that you pick that game up. It was action packed, intense and had a dark, gritty and interesting story. Sorry for not putting this in the cross over section but there is not Specops the Line section yet. Enjoy and please review.
Captain Walker couldn't see a thing in front of him. He knew he was at the head of his seven-man team, that he was on the right flank of Captain Yamamoto and his team, and that they couldn't be more than a few meters away from each other but the white out in front of him was so thick and bright that he couldn't help but squint (even with his shaded goggles on). They had been walking through the white out for ten minutes and the strong frigid wind constantly tore into him and the others. The cold bit him to his core; he briefly began to miss the scorching heat of the Middle East but then a vision of a chard woman and child flashed into his mind like a hot poker. He shook the image from his mind with all his strength and realized that perhaps the cold wasn't so terrible a switch after all. He listened into his earpiece constantly for word from Yamamoto; the wind howled so loud around him that it would be impossible for the three teams to communicate without radio contact. It was still wasn't dark enough to use night vision so the best the teams could do was continue heading toward the city and hope they didn't wonder too far from each other.
"Captain Walker, I have a situation here," the voice of Sgt. Rico broke the silence in Walker's head set. Walker couldn't tell if Rico was serious or pulling his leg.
"Mission critical, sergeant?" Walker asked into his mouth piece. He had only known Rico for a day, the seemed a good enough soldier; though he could get a bit cocky from time to time. He reminded Walker of Sgt. Lugo.
"Yes sir, very much so," he answered, his voice seemed to have lightened in tone.
"I'll bet," Walker thought. "Well then take it further up the chain of command," he grunted, with a feeling of déjà vu.
"Roger that," said Rico. "Captain Yamamoto, I have a situation here," he said casually.
"What is your status Sgt. Rico?" asked Capt. Yamamoto. Yamamoto spoke English fluently; he could have been mistaken for an American. The rest of the Special Forces Group soldiers were fluent in English but maintained their accents and could be difficult to understand at times. Yamamoto had been listening in on the entire conversation so far, so Walker had a feeling the man knew what to expect from Rico and didn't mind an excuse to use the radio; it would remind the teams that they weren't alone and the quality of the transmission would give them a good idea of how far from each other the teams were.
"Status is cold as fucking Hell, sir," replied Rico. "Recommending a hot coco break to boost the team's moral and assure overall quality performance of the mission, sir," he continued, not even trying to hide the humor in his voice.
"I thought Hell was supposed to me hot, sergeant?" Yamamoto asked, allowing his voice to betray a sense of entertainment.
"Thought so too sir, everyone always told me that but look around you sir," he said and paused, presumable to allow his audience to look around. "Can't see anything, constant pain, can't hear anything but wailing and grinding of teeth…strike that…chattering of teeth," he continued, a few brief chuckles could be heard over the radio. "So I put two and two together there, hey. I mean think about it, we're all a bunch of hard core, merciless killing machines; we could have died somewhere along the way to here right? Where do you think a bunch of killers like us would end up, hug Captain?
Rico probably meant Captain Yamamoto but every word he had just said sent a rush of fire through Walker. Even the bitter cold of the wind couldn't shield him from the fire burning inside him. Walker fought back the urge to stop in his tracks and take a swing at the first soldier to come up behind him (hoping it would be Rico).
"What the fuck was that suppose to mean, sergeant?" Walker asked. He could tell at the briefing, the day before, that the rest of the team wasn't certain of him yet. They had all heard the official story of what happened in Dubai, but they had also heard the rumors; which, Walker knew, were much closer to the truth than the official story. Rico paused for a long time, probably realizing what he had said and how Walker might have taken it. An uneasy silence fell over the radio.
"I didn't mean it like that, sir," Rico answered, his humorous tone replaced by a sincere professional one. "Just trying to keep it light here, it's been too silent for too long, sir."
"I'm certain he didn't mean any disrespect, Captain," said Yamamoto. Walker knew better than to sigh. He had gotten worked up, which was a mistake. He knew he had to earn his men's trust, and that he couldn't do that if he allowed himself to slip up. Command had given him a second chance as a field operator, a second chance that he had no intention of blowing.
"Very well then, Rico," said Walker, his voice calm and controlled again. "Carry on then." The silence lingered.
"I gotta agree with Rico," said Cpl. Ramirez, the team's radio operator. "Some cultures may argue that this is Hell. When a climate changes this drastically over night, isn't that a sign of the apocalypse; like revelations or something?" Ramirez was known to be a devote catholic, which earned him a mix of respect and distain from the rest of the delta team, the Japanese soldiers hadn't shown any disrespect for the man's faith; Japanese were known for politeness and etiquette.
"Hell, I'll take this shit over, the damn scorching desert any day," said Lt. Picket, Walker's immediate subordinate. Picket was a West Point graduate and claimed ancestry from the famous Civil War general.
"I'm with the LT on this one guys," Cpl. Campbell chimed in. "This shit reminds me of home," he explained. Campbell was from a small town in the mountains of Alaska; cold weather was his specialty. He was already trained to use an AR-15 (the older, bigger, civilian model of the M-14 now slung on his shoulder) years before joining the army. He had hunted wolves in the mountains growing up and learned to survive on his own in the wilderness from his father (a former army ranger). In short; Campbell was a born Delta operator.
"Well, look at it this way mo chachos," said Rico, now confident that he could speak without offending Walker. "Freezing to death out here, beats the hell out of dying of exposure in a desert. Funny thing about freezing is, you go numb pretty quickly…then you feel nothing. When you burn to death, you just keep on feeling the burn till it burns down to the nerve endings under your skin; and until then you'll scream," Rico paused for a moment, as if he could somehow feel Walker's rage building up again. Walker kept his mouth shut, he told himself that Rico was just venting; the man was cold, blinded by snow and miles from home on his first combat op with a man he didn't know if he could trust. "Then again, the sun don't burn hot enough to melt you down to the nerve endings, so in the desert you can look forward to feeling the sunburn till you pass out," Rico finished.
A few of the Japanese soldiers chimed in with their own opinions of the weather and if Hell should be hot or cold. Walker blocked it all out as best he could. He knew that Hell is more than just fire and brimstone, that there was more to it than chains, burning lakes and all horned monsters with pitch forks. Hell is guilt, regret, sorrow and all hope abandoned. It's a place where you look into yourself and see the decisions you didn't know you had made; like shooting first and asking questions later, charging in half cocked without any clear idea what was going on or why. Hell is where the heart doesn't want to be. Walker knew this because he had been there for several months, it took him time and patience but he finally broke the chains and freed himself. He had to soldier onward; he owed it to his country, to Lugo, to Adams, and to himself. Walker wasn't entirely sure about God or heaven, but he knew Hell was real. Many people in modern times scoff at thoughts of heaven and hell; superstitions, they call them. People like that made Walker laugh, they have no idea what they're talking about. Walker had learned that Hell works on a personal basis; nothing is a superstition when it happens in your mind. The white out began to fade and Walker could make out trees in front of him.
"I have a visual," said Walker. "The white out is clearing." He continued walking and the white out vanished in a matter of seconds, revealing a grove of trees ahead of him.
"All units halt," Capt. Yamamoto ordered. Walker stopped and looked over his shoulder; all six of his team members were behind him. Some of the men started removing their scarves and shades, Walker removed his as well. It felt good to feel air on his face again, even if it was piercingly cold. He turned to his left and saw Yamamoto at the head of his team, about ten yards away from him. Beyond Yamamoto he could see the third team with Lt. Yoshimitsu at the head of it. Walker was surprised that the teams had managed to stay so close together through the white out. Ramirez would call it a miracle, Rico would call it luck and Walker wasn't sure what to call it. "Team leaders, report," Yamamoto ordered.
"Delta team reporting; all present and accounted for, sir," Walker replied. A similar response came from Lt. Yoshimitsu.
"Very well," said Yamamoto. The Captain removed his own shades and looked down to a hand-held GPS system strapped to his wrist. "We're close to the mountains edge; we should have a visual of Objective Ice Heart soon. All units advance."
The three teams moved forward into the trees. There was enough space between the trees for the soldiers to pass them without much trouble. It only took a few minutes for the task force to reach a clearing at the edge of a steep cliff overlooking an entire valley. Miles of open snow covered ground came into view and in the center of the valley, only a few miles from the task force, stood their objective. An entire city caked in snow and ice, many of the buildings were in ruins; crumbling, tilting and some with large gaping holes through them. Snow piled up in different places, Walker wondered if parts of the city might be completely buried. It all seemed somewhat familiar to Walker but he had anticipated that. General Abrams (of Delta Force) had briefed him, privately. He had explained to Walker that he was handpicked for this operation specifically because of the incident in Dubai. The General had access to classified information; he knew from Walkers' after action report and his psychiatrists' report what had really happened in Dubai and he saw the similarities in the situation.
"We need someone who has faced a situation like this before," Abrams had said. "What happened in Dubai has never happened to US soldiers before. In the midst of a similar situation, I need to know that I have at least one man on the team with experience. That was some fine soldiering you did in Dubai, Captain. You did what was necessary, even if you don't fully realize it yet. We may need that again or at least someone who'll know what mistakes not to make." Walker knew exactly what the General meant. With him involved in the op, if things did go to shit, there would be someone there who'd climbed his way out of it before.
"Gentlemen," Yamamoto's voice rang of the radio. "Welcome to Objective Ice Heart," he said. Walker turned and saw the captain gazing out over the city from the edge of t he cliff. Walker realized that he was standing on the edge himself. He looked down, the drop wasn't very far; thirty feet at most.
"Looks dead to me," said Rico.
"Lock it up, Rico," ordered Walker.
"Just making an observation for the benefit of the mission, sir," replied Rico, with the tone of a man not seeking to benefit anyone.
"Sergeant, do you not recognize a direct order to shut the fuck…," Lt. Picket began but was quickly cut off by Yamamoto.
"Enough!" his voice wasn't loud, but his authority was unmistakable. "Dead or not, we have a job to do. All teams break out climbing equipment, prepare to repel," he ordered. With that men from all three teams started breaking out repelling lines and tied them off to nearby trees. When the repelling lines were in place, Yamamoto gave the order for the teams to repel to the bottom of the cliff. Picket volunteered to go first and was followed by Ramirez. The rest got in line. The Japanese teams were all at the bottom a minute before Delta. Walker was impressed with their speed. Eventually only Walker and Rico were left at the top of the hill. Rico's face was covered by his shades and scarf but see the automatic shotgun slung over his shoulder (he was the only team member armed with a shotgun; a personal preference of his). Rico hooked onto the repelling line and moved into position.
"Hold up, Rico," Walker ordered. Rico stopped. Walker approached Rico and looked into his shades. "You got something you'd like say to me, sergeant?" he asked. The man's shades looked back at Walker, reflecting his face in both eyes. Rico removed his shades and pulled down his scarf; he looked a lot like Lugo.
"What's there to say, Sir?" he asked in reply. His face and voice showed no emotion but his eyes burned with rage. "You went into Dubai with your squad, you survived and my cousin didn't. Shit happens like that in combat," he finished and eased himself over the edge of the cliff. Walker watched him as he repelled to the snowy floor of the valley. He couldn't blame Rico for blaming him for his cousin's death, he blamed him too. Walker had learned to forgive himself but, from the looks of things, Rico may not so understand. He hooked onto the repelling line and eased over the edge.
"Once more onto the breach," he quoted to himself as he lowered down to the rest of Delta.