Sigh. A true man wears his mistakes on his front with his achievements on his back, so... I can't count for shit.
DAMN STRAIGHT.
A-Archer?
Bloody hell. So, go on... tell 'em what you did.
Odd... okay, well, I've been saying that there were only four men left. This is untrue. You see, when I started writing there were eight people. Eight minus two is six, not four, so... yeah. I just went on in this chapter like I never made that mistake, okay?
No.
Yeah? UP YOURS.
I'll shoot you in your fugly face you dickless son of a-
RIGHT, sorry about that... he's violent sometimes. I'd like to thank the following:
Mirai, I like him too. Although my favorite is the Irish bare-knuckles boxer... as I think of him.
VerityA, thank you very much. I give it the same rating XD
AG Acid... uh. Him being a Russian is a bad thing, since the opposing force is Russia... yeah. I like Archer too.
Thanks, guys. Keep reviewing and I'll keep writing, deal?
The entire line of veterans broke out into shouts, Rolls drawing his sidearm (which he wasn't supposed to have) and Shepherd screaming for order. Finally, the old General drew his ever-present .44 Magnum and fired a shot straight up in the air. This quieted us all down, and Shepherd slowly loaded another round into his gun. He seemed to relish the dramatic effect…
"As all of you seem to have noticed, we've a Russian among us. He is a liaison for the Russian Militia, AKA The True Red Army. Come inside, to the briefing room and I'll explain in deeper detail." He sighed, waving a hand to tell us to go in. He also waved the pilot out, and the drone of the plane's engines was cut off as they shut the thick door behind them.
"Sir, I object to-" Rolls started, but was quickly cut off by Shepherd.
"No, you don't. The liaison is perfectly safe; he is simply here to assure us that some of Russia is allied with the US and UK. If you shoot him, I'll shoot you. Simply put." They reached the briefing room and sat down, once more, around that long table. With the new additions, they had ten members, not including Shepherd. "You see… This'll take a while." He sighed and buried his head in his hands.
"This whole war… was a mistake. You all remember that day, about two years ago, that Blerten Air Force Base was assaulted. Well, rewind three months. Two years and three months ago, the President of the Russian Federation was assassinated. Now, this is one of the very, very few instances where the killer was not apprehended. Upon further inspection of the crime scene, they discovered a hotel room, set up with radio jamming equipment, other electronics that would not only fool sensors but make them believe the room was there but unoccupied, and a weapon. The man who did this was not sloppy by any means; all of this equipment was American-made. He purposely left his equipment behind in order to blame the United States. The slug casing was also left behind; a 243 Winchester. This ties into two things; one. It is fired from a hunting rifle; the President of the United States gave a speech exactly three weeks before this happened. The closing lines were: "We shall hunt our enemies down!" Anyone closely analyzing the situation would make note of this. And, two. The bullet used is recommended for killing bears… do I need to elaborate on that?"
He didn't, and he paused to put a cigar in his mouth. Unlit, as usual. "Very well. This… incident gave Russia a reason to believe America was at fault here. Thus, the stealth jet was used. It was supposed to scope us out, pick up any radio chatter, check any troop movements; it was not attacking. When we guided her down, Russia knew they had to get her back. So, they launched the assault, going on a gamble; America had, in there eyes, assassinated their president. When we took that as an act of war, Russia realized that we weren't prepared for a battle; they realized their mistake. However, they continued fighting, simply because they felt they had to. Now, most of the politicians are corrupted, and most government officials believe that America was at fault. This war has been going on for two years over a mistake, and most citizens in Russia know it. Thus, the TRA formed. Now, they are attempting to aid America in defending the invasion; if Russia takes control of America, the UK is next. Then, the war is over, and Russia is the number one superpower."
Shepherd sighed. "That's all I know. Now, hit the firing range in pairs; Rolls, you take Gecko, Mech, you take Broadsword, Flip, you take Gecko, and… Archer, you take Sergei. All the rest of you are on your own; DISMISSED!"
Everyone stood and roared back, "SIR, YES, SIR!" I walked over to Sergei; the poor guy was biting his lower lip and staring at his shoes. I felt bad for the bastard; he'd done nothing wrong. He was just a surprise… and the Task Force didn't like surprises.
"Sergei, your with me. Which do you prefer, the long-range… range, the close combat range, or the obstacle course?" I extended a hand and muttered, "Archer. Sniper."
The man looked surprised, his eyebrows raised. "Uh, Sergei… that's my name, not a callsign. Uh, what's the obstacle course like?" Oh, he would like the obstacle course… if he was insane, like me, that is.
A couple of minutes later, I had led him there… and he didn't look so sure of himself. No one in their right mind would; the place was called HellHole to all who knew it. It started on a high ledge; you jumped from the ledge, and moved forward to where the first few targets were. There were crates scattered around, and the targets were shaped like men. They were cardboard, and riddled with bullet holes; when shot, they flew backwards into the ground. After that first set of targets are downed, a door springs open from an apparent wall. You proceed into the building, where more targets pop up, some of these holding hostages. If you hit the hostages, you lose time. You run up the staircase, take out more targets, then "blow up" (with a small circle of clay that looks exactly like a small explosive, but really just knocks down the cardboard when thrown at it) the "steel" door barring your way. You proceed to run through a (fake) minefield, where each "mine" stepped on takes away time. You run into a circle, and pray you passed. Because if you didn't… you retry it until you do.
"Welcome to the HellHole, Sergei. It's pretty self explanatory, actually; shoot enemies, don't shoot friendlies. Whatever your time is determines how much I'll like you- just messing with you. If you don't, however, make it in three minutes on your first try, you redo it until you do. Understood? There are some confusing parts; just adapt to the situation and don't waste time thinking. Okay?" I clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, "I'm sure you'll do fine. Unless, of course, you don't. In which case… we'll probably be here for a while." I smiled and unlocked the weapon case, which had pistols, SMGs, shotguns, and light machine guns.
Sergei walked over to the case and selected a Browning L9A1 pistol, loading it and taking three extra mags. I wondered what would happen when he ran out, which he most certainly was, but I was going to let him learn on his own. I hadn't been cushioned by Division Twelve, and I wouldn't cushion him. He walked over to the edge of the ledge, and looked back at me. "I'll start the timer once you jump." I grasped the stopwatch and walked over to the small box that was all one-sided windows. He would see his reflection while I would see him. The booth had a surveillance camera in the room, and you could watch the rest of it because it went in a small circle.
He leapt off of the edge and I hit the button. Sergei hit the ground and stumbled, almost falling over. The first five targets popped up, and he shot twoof them before missing the third. He cursed, and hit the last three before the door popped open. Unfortunately, he didn't notice this until he had finished reloading, and by that time about thirty seconds had passed. He ran inside and ten targets popped up, three of which had hostages in front of them. I switched to watching the surveillance feed, and saw him stab the target closest to the door. He then shot four more, and was aiming for the fifth when he tripped. He hit the ground and his pistol went skidding across the ground, with him crawling after it. He rolled, picked it up, and fired at the last two hostage-less targets. He then took careful aim, shot the "bad guys" and ran over to the door.
I keyed the intercom and shouted, "Grab the explosive charge on the table and throw it at the door!" He looked startled to start with, before grabbing the clay ball and hurling it at the cardboard door. The door crumpled, and he dashed through it, grinding to a halt at the minefield. He high-kneed it across, not stomping on one. He stopped in the circle and I stopped the timer. Holy crap.
I hopped down the steps out of the booth and ran over to him "Hey. You got, uh… damn. Two minutes and fifty-eight seconds. Good job. Let's head over to the long-range firing range and see how good you are with a scoped weapon, alright?" And it went on like this until 0930, where we headed to the mess hall for breakfast.
How'd you like it? I like Sergei, too, poor guy. If you need clearing up on the basis of the war, just tell me and I'll re-write it.
