A/N:

Hello again! Hope that life's been treating you all well! Not going to state anything regarding these next few chapters. I'll be back to some real (or more real?) author's notes before long. You'll understand once you read.

Over 30,000 views and 200,000 words. You guys are great!

Thanks as always to Lunar Knight Archangel for helping me get this chapter out there without all the errors I overlook! Truly a privilege to have you help man!

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"…" - Spoken dialogue

Italics - Michael's thoughts

'Italics' - Telepathic dialogue

/\/\/\ - Lemon Scene


"Underestimation of a person's intelligence, strength, and aggression just makes you less prepared. Expect anything from anyone."

-Sonya Teclai


Ch. 22 - Counterstrike

The deathly silence of early morning permeated the air around the towering prison. Guards occupied the towers as they always did, unaware of the fact that dozens of soldiers stood by ready to engage at any sign of conflict. Among the militants were the three Reapers, keeping watch of the apartment complex with their night vision activated.

A great deal of planning had gone into this mission. On each side of the heavily-armored CH-47 Chinook that had brought them there was an M134 minigun and an M240, as well as the daunting 50 caliber, tri-barreled GAU-19 mounted on the cargo ramp - all of which would utterly decimate any enemies that didn't arrive to the battlefield in tanks. Surely the traffickers wouldn't have access to those. Should they need such firepower, all they would have to do was retreat a few hundred meters over the hillside, and any ground forces foolish enough to continue fighting would be met with a brutal end.

And yet, despite all these preparations, nothing seemed out of line in the slightest. Dozens of armed personnel on stand by, and tens of thousands in weaponry alone, and it seemed as though not a shot would be fired. Nothing but the unnerving tranquility within the dark.

"I don't like this shit man," Kevin said over the comm. "This place is way too dead for my liking."

"Here's hoping that it stays that way," John muttered. "Do you want to get into a firefight?"

"Maybe."

"Okay, dumbass." Kevin simply ignored the comment, and instead shifted his focus towards the top balconies of the apartments.

"Still, need to keep watch over those five," he said, referring to the group of lit rooms they had taken note of scattered about the second and third floors. "Bit late for that many people to still be up…" One had the curtains parted and the doors opened, which could give anyone inside a possible vantage point over the prison.

"Especially that one," Michael said. "Bravo Team, any news so far?"

"Nothing," the leader of the CIC squad replied. "Highway's practically dead, and only a bunch of morons would try to invade near that Chinook."

"Think they'll be coming from our side," John said. "Be ready to back us if that happens."

"Sure thing."

They waited tensely, each clutching their rifles as they kept watch over the apartment complex. A light breeze drifted over the field, making the grass sway almost hypnotically and serving to be the one lone sound aside from their own breathing. The curtains within the room of interest lightly moved side to side as though taunting them. But as intently focused on their positions, the Reapers simply were not seeing any sort of action.

"Well… this is kinda a waste of time," Kevin said.

"We still got awhile to go, so shut the hell up and pay attention," John said.

"Whatever." Time dragged along, with everyone keeping mostly to themselves. That is, until a member of the CIC spoke up.

"We've got company on our side," he said.

"What's it look like?" Michael asked.

"An eighteen wheeler. He just parked on the side—shit, he's getting out now."

"Is he armed?" the Bravo Team Leader asked.

"…No, doesn't look like it. He's opening the hatch out back though." Instinctively, Michael flipped the safety off of his rifle. A few more moments, then he followed up in a much less concerned tone. "Ah, false alarm. He's gettin' shit to change a flat."

"Alright." The visors showed the time to be 3:34 - much later than anything they had been expecting. Perhaps this had been a false alarm. Intel could be wrong occasionally; that was just a given. There was only so much an undercover spy could obtain without seeming too suspicious, especially when the enemies in question were as careful as these were in covering their tracks. But then again, Johto was impeccable at gathering information, and everything they had learned about the traffickers had been pretty accurate until now.

"Commander, what's the plan now?" John inquired.

"Wait it out for a few more hours. If nothing happens by six-thirty, then it's clearly a bust. Surely they wouldn't try anything in broad daylight. The three of you can head back to base then."

"It still doesn't make sense," Michael added. "We've been right about every single mission of theirs up until this point. What gives now?"

"I'm not sure," Wesley admitted. "My guess is they might've had a change of plans. Maybe rethought the whole thing. As though breaking into one of the most secure prisons in Kanto might not have been such a good idea."

"True. But then again, that shit hasn't stopped them before. They took an entire fucking city. "

"Yeah… I don't see what's going on with all this. They should be here by now," Kevin said. John stayed silent, despite this, and kept his attention towards the apartments. He then responded quietly.

"Movement."

"What? Where?"

"Third story, far right," John replied. "Give 'em a second. He was just there." Sure enough, a shadowy figure could be seen within the illuminated room. He appeared to be holding a large, cylindrical object as he reached for something else.

"What the hell is that?" Kevin asked. Just then, the other object was turned in a way that allowed for the Reapers to immediately understand what it was.

"Fuck! He's got a SMAW!" Michael said.

"That's them alright! Go get 'em."

The three sprung to their feet and sprinted towards the apartments. Michael didn't even want to think about how much damage they could cause with that—several soldiers or prison guards if aimed carefully. They couldn't give them that opportunity.

John took position right underneath the room as planned, ready to dispose of anyone who tried to make it to the balcony, while Michael and Kevin rushed up the stairs. Despite Kevin's speed, Michael maintained in front for a single purpose - he rammed the door with al his might, breaking it right off the hinges. Before anyone knew what had happened, the two Reapers were inside the side bedroom with their weapons raised. And yet, if something wasn't off before, it definitely was now.

Three were there - all of them looking to be in their forties, but with that unmistakeable look that only a toned, experienced soldier could give. They had moved the desk towards the side of the room, where they were playing cards and taking shots of brandy. As though nothing were amiss - like there weren't explosives and assault rifles on the bed.

"Y'all gonna stand there all stupid-like or what?" one of them - a tall, heavily tattooed individual- asked.

"Wh… what the hell is going on here?" Kevin asked, dumbfounded.

"Well if it isn't apparent, Taylor, Abe and I in the middle of a game of—."

"Like I give a shit," Michael interjected. "All of you put your fucking hands up!"

"Damn kid. You need to cool it," another individual - Taylor - said. Michael pointed the barrel towards his head, and he simply raised his hands nonchalantly, followed by the other two. "As you can see, we ain't got nothin' on us."

"Commander… what's going on here?"

"Hell if I know. These fools are playing it off like it's no big deal… I don't like this."

"How many of you are there?" Kevin asked.

"Just us," replied Abe.

"I'm not screwing around with you!"

"Neither am I. It's just the three of us."

"Check their shit," Michael said to Kevin, keeping his Tavor pointed towards them. Kevin paused for a moment.

"Hawk… you gettin' all this?"

"I am…"

"Fuck…"

"What is it?" John asked.

"This is some top of the line stuff. Each of these rifles here is decked out. My guess is at least six apiece. And all this explosive shit… That SMAW, C4, at least a dozen or so grenades… What the hell…"

"Where'd you get all this shit?!"

"Compliments of Doug," the third guy said. "Figured we'd go all out. Impressed, aren't you?"

"What… what are we gonna do Commander?" Kevin asked silently over the comm. "Wasn't expecting to take prisoners…"

"Neither was I," Wesley admitted. "As fucked as it sounds… they're not a threat at the moment. We can't kill them…"

"You sure?"

"Unfortunately. They're protected by law. Looks like the three of you'll have company for the ride home. I wouldn't take my eyes off of them for a second though."

"Got that right," Michael said. That much went without saying. As he stood ready to empty his magazine into whoever decided to test them, several CIC members arrived, including the Team Leader.

"Wes gave us the update," he said. "Prison's on full alert now. We were able to grab some cuffs from the guards there." One of the other soldiers wasted no time in apprehending the three traffickers.

"Was what he said true? Were they the only ones here?"

"We scanned the premises and didn't find anyone else. Right now, we got guys going through the rooms below us. I don't think they were lying." The three of them would need to be taken in for extensive interrogation; none of it seemed to make any sense. What had they been waiting for? Why didn't they strike? And why in the hell were they so played back as their plan had been compromised? These were but a few of the questions running through Michael's mind at the moment, and it all brought a daunting sense of unease.

They were frisked and escorted out of the room while Michael and Kevin stood over the weapons. "Damn," Bravo Team's leader said, "even we don't get gear this good…"

. . . . .

The three traffickers found themselves cuffed with their hands behind their back, and with Kevin and John on the opposite side of the aisle, with their pistols ready. They especially couldn't take risks when the aircraft they were flying on had as much weaponry as theirs did. Even the slightest unwarranted movement would be fatal to the traffickers.

Michael sat against the minigun, currently engaged in a silent conversation with the others. "It just doesn't make any sense," he kept saying. "Not a one of them put up fight, yet they were armed like they were about to take on an army."

"I mean, I'm sure as hell not complaining," John said. "But yeah… something seems off about the whole thing to say the very least. Like they wanted to get captured."

"You sure? We frisked them and they don't have anything on them. And not like it's in their best interests to attack, given their current situation," Kevin added.

"Whatever the hell they hoped to accomplish is beyond me," Michael stated.

"Won't do 'em any good now," Wesley responded. "Rest be assured - we'll find out whatever the hell they were going for. Though these guys look like they'll take awhile to break…"

"Yeah…"

The Chinook came to a landing at the nearest airport minutes after it had taken off. A refueling stop was necessary if they were to make it back to the base in an uninterrupted trip. They had no plans to remain there any longer than they needed, though, and everyone sat in relative silence while the workers outside went about their twenty minute endeavor of refilling the aircraft's sizable tank.

"I'd like to shoot that stupid-ass grin off his face," Kevin said, referring to the guy in the center. He seemed to be in his own world - not like he was getting ready to face interrogation of the most painful type or anything.

"He won't be smiling for long," the Commander said. "In an hour, he and the others are going to experience complete and utter hell. Maybe some resemblance of what they've put others through…"

"Doubt that they could experience that in one lifetime."

The guy outside had finished refueling the Chinook, and the pilots were given the signal by the aircraft marshal. The helicopter whirred to life once again, and they were gone as quickly as they had arrived. As they climbed into the air, the orange hues could be seen climbing up from the horizon. Still too damn early. Once they got back, he could sure as hell go for another hour or two of sleep.

"Ah, so you all must be the Twenty-Fifth, huh?" Abe asked, taking note of the number on the dagger sheathed at John's side.

"Good. You know your numbers," Kevin replied. Abe seemed to ignore the comment altogether.

"You Grim by chance?" he asked Michael. "I mean shit, can't see a damn thing through those masks, but you look like you fit the profile."

"Yep."

"Why the hell'd you tell him?" asked John.

"Ain't like they're gonna be telling anyone. Not where they're going. Plus, they know what the hell I look like if they've seen the news."

"Huh, kinda a shame they sent ya out here," Abe said. What the hell does he mean by that? Whatever - soon enough they would learn everything they had to hide.

"Also," added Taylor, "know what else is a shame? The whole fucked up situation with your father."

"He's not my father…"

"He helped bring you into this world. Like it or not, prick, he's your father. Or should say was." He blankly looked towards the floor, then shook his head. "Ethan… that was a good man you killed there. Been friends with him for as long as I can remember… only to be killed by some kid that doesn't know shit about what he's gotten into." Michael was trying to restrain himself from lashing out at the man - trying, he felt, in vain. But that wouldn't serve any purpose. After all, Taylor and the other two would be spending the rest of their days locked up - and that was if they weren't sentenced to death for their crimes against humanity. No… no need to lower myself like that…

"The others and I know full well what we've gotten ourselves into. And not a day goes by where I regret it. You will never know how rewarding it was to take out the shit Doug has built up. Shipment by shipment, brothel by brothel - hell, killing off you fuckers hasn't ever lost me one ounce of sleep. And now… we've just about destroyed every bit of what you thugs have created." Rather than taking this as an insult, Taylor just grinned.

"Alright. You go ahead and tell yourself that."

"Ignorance is bliss," said Abe.

"I don't like this shit one bit," Kevin said silently. "These assholes are planning something. Can we throw them out the hatch?"

"Sure, if you want to go to jail," Wesley answered. "But keep your weapons ready. If they try something, you know what to do."

"Tell me," Simon, the tattooed criminal, said, "do you know how this is all gonna turn out for you? What your reward is gonna be once you've walked away from it all? I'll tell ya, 'cause we sure as hell know. We lived this shit. You fools come out here and you're willing to risk your lives for all people - left and right winged. But in the end, only one of those sides'll have your back. The other will attack everything you stood for - indoctrinate the youth against you through the schools. Feed the future generations some bullshit narrative against war and against us. Call us every bad name in the book until they've somehow made us the villains. That's what happened in our country, and no one's been able to stop it. So you know what, why the hell shouldn't we take matters into our own hands?"

"Huh, guess that being politically repressed just naturally warrants trafficking…" John sneered.

"Say what you will," Simon replied, "but some of the very people you've saved are going to stand against you one day."

"When that day comes, we'll be ready to face that as well," Michael said.

. . . . .

Time dragged on without much more conversation; once the traffickers figured that they had no hopes of winning the Reapers over to the alt-right, they shut up for the most part. One thing that Michael couldn't help but notice was that now, they seemed a lot more serious - the reality of their situation must have been finally setting in. Or could it be something else? Abe, despite his rough demeanor, was lightly sweating, seemingly deep in thought. In a slightly croaking voice, he spoke up.

"None of you would happen to have the time on you, would you?"

"Why do you need to know?" Kevin asked. "Ain't like you got somewhere else to be."

"I get that. Just asking."

"About a quarter till six," John said, all while tightening his grip on his pistol.

"Keep your guard up boys. I'm starting to regret having them brought up here…" Wesley said.

"Any orders?" John asked.

"….Not if they stay still. But I mean it - if one of them so much as blinks without permission, you—." The comm line went dead.

"…Commander?" Michael waited, but he received no response. "Commander Hawkins?" Moments later, and still nothing. And not only was Wesley silent, but Kevin and John couldn't be heard in the silent communication either. Michael looked over at them; they seemed equally confused.

"You too?"

"Yep. Lost him," Kevin said. "The hell happened?"

"I… I don't know…" John said. For minutes, they waited to see if the comm lines would restore, but they had no such luck.

"Shit… that could be an issue." Michael turned to face the pilot. "Hey, how long before we get back to base?"

"Won't be for at least another twenty-five, maybe thirty minutes. Something wrong?"

"Our communication line was just cut…"

"Eh, shit happens. Kinda hard to keep a signal in one of these things."

"Haven't had an issue with this before."

"First time for everything." To the side, one of the traffickers slightly moved in his seat.

"Well, guess now's as good a time as ever," said Taylor. John immediately pointed the gun at his head. "Shit, calm down son. Was just gonna let you know that I got something here. Need to stand up to get it, though." John motioned for Kevin to cautiously approach him.

"You step outta line, I blow your brains out." Slowly, Taylor got to his feet and turned around.

"Back left pocket." It was clear what he was referring to - a folded up note peaked out of the pocket in his jeans. Kevin took it out and went back to his seat.

"The hell was that?" Michael asked.

"I was asked to give you all a letter. Chances were you guys would show up to a supposed prison outbreak."

"What do you mean by 'supposed?' You all were about to level the fucking place!"

"Just read the damn letter," Simon interjected. Kevin unfolded it, then turned it the other way. The page was filled with the smallest, yet most orderly penmanship any of them had ever seen. Kevin read the letter.

Time flies, does it not? It seems as though one day you have everything figured out; life couldn't be going better. And then someone has to go and fuck everything up. Thousands of hired men killed, routes and shipments shut down, hundreds of millions of dollars that we had gathered - all of it wiped out in the matter of a year. I have the Twenty-Fifth to thank for that.

The highest members of my organization have always been supportive of troops. After all, how could one possibly find a more respectable occupation than the man who is willing to lay down his life for the safety of millions of people that he doesn't know? It is truly the most honorable of professions. But it also must be done in the service of people deserving of such protection. And that is where you all are wrong.

Johto has its faults, just like every country on Earth. We are humans, after all. It is by far superior to all the others in its political climate, but it will one day suffer from the same infestation that has dragged both Hoenn and Kalos to hell. Now it is working on Kanto, and despite me not being native to the region, I have dedicated my life to defending it from falling into the hands of the unworthy. The left wing is the embodiment such people, its ideals representing by nothing but jealousy, entitlement, and selfishness. As long as the world tolerates them, everything we believe to be right will be destroyed. I cannot let that happen, and am willing to make the hard decisions that need to be made to ensure the very survival of our ideology. And yet you counteract what I have tried to do.

The naivety of you all has only assisted the left. While we have halted the dishonest media from pushing its own agenda, secured the red districts in the polls, and have stopped the courts from ruling against the will of the honest, hardworking people, you have fought us. You are clearly not with us, so you are against us.

I tried to ignore you all. I really did. But you have become far too much of a thorn in my side, and the organization can bear it no longer. You have all brought me to the verge of bankruptcy and destruction, so now I must act accordingly. Though it pains me to say this, Johto has earned what is now coming.

I know not who all was deployed to Rossner to "resolve" the situation. But to whoever the recipients of this message may be: by the time you hear this, it will have been too late. It will take years for me to rebuild what you all have destroyed, and by then we will have lost several footholds around the globe. It can and will be done, though; I am not down for the count. But you are. If any of you remain after everything's said and done, then you will come to understand what it feels like to have everything you worked so hard to protect destroyed from underneath you.

-Stone

A feeling of terror had taken root within the Reapers; none of them liked where this was heading. John sprung to his feet and shoved the gun in Taylor's face. "What the fuck?! You have five seconds to explain this shit right now!"

"Are you stupid or something?" Abe retorted. "You really can't wrap your mind around any of this? It was all a diversion, you stupid fuck."

"Wh…what?" A deep, rumbling sound permeated the air - like the very earth had been shook to its core. But nothing as far as the eye could see. "Arceus… what was that?"

"Heh. Well, been awhile since my high school physics class to say the least, but I think the sound's caught up to us."

"What sound?" John asked.

"Why… the sound of those MOABs Douglas sent to your base." Michael leaned forward, unable to restrain the tears, unable to fight the sheer panic. Nearly everyone he cared about was within those walls. And now…

"Get this thing back now!" Kevin shouted to the pilots.

"Copy that!" the main pilot said. His tone was frantic and scared, but he was trying to keep his cool. That was something that Michael wasn't capable of doing. His vision blurred, and the scene before him seemed to occur in slow motion. Simon lunged forward, his hands freed from the handcuffs, and slammed into John. His hand shot forward as he made an effort to grab the pistol - an effort he succeeded in, following a swift elbow to the smaller Reaper's head. Michael tried to snap out of it, tried to unholster his own 9mm in time, but was only able to watch as he fired a several shots into John's torso, then one towards the front of the aircraft.

The sound of glass breaking, followed by a violent thud. The copilot quickly reached forward to grab the controls, bloodied from the brains of the pilot. Kevin was the first to react, swiftly taking up his pistol and rapidly placing shot after shot into Simon's chest, only to be thrown to the ground by Abe. Broken as he was now, Michael had to act. He snatched up his Tavor and jerked the trigger. Bullets sprayed in the attacker's general vicinity; some ricocheted throughout the cabin, one met its mark. As soon as it had, though, his visor cracked and went dead. Taylor had taken up John's pistol. Bullet after bullet impacted his body, and he fell to the ground as he watched Taylor take aim into the cockpit. It was a suicide mission.

Another shot was fired, then he hit the ground as Kevin swept his leg. Michael threw his broken mask to the side, finally able to see clearly again and grabbing his rifle. Taylor smacked Kevin's mask with the pistol, cracking it similarly to Michael's before placing it against the one weak spot in the Reapers' suits - the uncovered part; the back of the head. No! Michael emptied the remaining bullets in his magazine the moment Taylor pulled the trigger. Kevin's body tensed up while Taylor unintentionally threw the pistol in response to the bullet blowing through his wrist. The ear-splitting sound echoed throughout the Chinook, making his ears ring and disorienting his senses.

"Fuck!" he yelled. Michael stumbled to his feet and rushed forward, ramming his full weight into the wounded trafficker. He pushed him towards the end of the helicopter in an effort to hurl him out the hatch.

"Go to hell," Michael yelled through gritted teeth.

"I'm taking you with me!" Michael head butted him, then delivered a sharp hook level with his head. Taylor ducked the blow and grabbed Michael by the waist, then in an impressive feat of strength, hurled him towards the opening in the rear of the aircraft. In his panic, the Reaper withdrew his pistol and was able to release a few haphazard shots that impacted Taylor's chest. He didn't stop though. Rather, he used what remaining strength he had to shove Michael out the hatch. He froze up; not due to fear of falling out of the aircraft, but because of what was before him.

Taylor had quickly picked up Kevin's rifle and had it aimed at his chest. No amount of self-healing would save him from that. "So much… for the Grim Reaper," he said in rasping breaths. Suddenly, his head snapped forward. A pistol had gone off, and an opening had been formed in his forehead. The trafficker fell to the ground, revealing John to be the one to have shot him.

"Th…thanks…"

"Don't mention it," John said as got back on his feet and made his way over to Kevin. He pressed his fingers against the fallen Reaper's neck, then nodded. "Out cold, but he's fine. Lucky bastard caught one right at the edge of his mask. Quarter of an inch over an he'd have been fucked." He picked his comrade up and set him on the seat while they surveyed the damage.

The pilot had been killed, with the copilot being the sole reason they had not driven the Chinook into the ground below. "You okay?" John asked.

"Yeah… I'm fine," he said. Aside from the death of his own comrade, something else was visibly bothering him. Michael joined the two of them in the cockpit, and it was obvious as to what it was. They were still over twenty miles away from the base, but among the mountains, the mushroom cloud could be seen all the same.

"Arceus… oh shit…" Michael felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. John, however, seemed to be deep in thought about something.

"Wait a second…" John said. "The living quarters are eight and nine floors below the entrance level."

"Y-yeah?"

"Dude, a nuke wouldn't be able to blast through that much rock. There's gotta be people still in there!"

"Th… then they're gonna need our help," Kevin stammered.

"Welcome back," John said. "You're right. We need to get shit in order. There very well could be enemies there." With a new sense of determination, they all readied their gear again. Michael looked at his mask - the 9mm bullet had embedded itself in the visor. Setting it on the ground, he slammed the butt of his rifle into the visor, effectively breaking it out. He put the mask back on and went about reloading his weapons while Kevin tossed the bodies out the hatch. The tri-barreled Gatling gun was ready to go.

"I dunno what the hell we'll see up here," John said, "but we'd be best to stay near the machine guns."

"Good idea," Michael said. He made his way to the GAU-19, while Kevin and John each readied themselves to use the minigun and the M249, respectively. The sun was ascending behind them - a tactical advantage on their part. As they drew closer to HQ, the sounds of heavy gunfire and missiles grew more prominent, and smoke began to encompass their vision.

"Get ready!" the copilot said. "I'm gonna swing around so we can flank 'em! Use the weapons on the right!" The Chinook approached the ongoing battle from the east and made a wide hook downwards. Several aircraft could be seen through the haze, every one of them firing at the base. Michael said a silent prayer as they ascended over the mountaintops, his fingers resting on the trigger of the fifty caliber cannon. Explosions - one after another - sounded; the very earth seemed to quake.

The remaining soldiers stood in the what was left of the second and third floors, and they were taking fire from both ground forces and a group of Apaches that hovered in place, spewing forth a storm of lead. "Those aren't ours!" the copilot said. That was all the confirmation they needed. His maneuver had been successful; they had flanked the enemy aircraft and had a perfect line of fire with all three machine guns. "Hurry! Those birds are way more maneuverable than this thing!" Their own weapons hummed to life as they each aimed at the closest two. Whereas Michael cut the tail of the Apache off with the .50, Kevin sprayed countless bullets into the cockpit, blowing the two pilots' heads off. While it spiraled into the canyon beneath them, Michael barraged anything in the air that he could. Another explosion, and Apache that had received the most concentrated burst of fire fell towards the base. Fuck! It crashed into the combatting forces below, and it was impossible to see who the following explosion had taken out.

Noticing the presence of the new arrivals, the remaining helicopters swiftly pulled up and out of the range of fire. "Shit, everyone hold on!" The copilot jerked the large helicopter to the side in an effort to keep them from taking heavy fire. Michael lost his grip on the GAU-19 and was flung into the side, rolling down the hatch until his left hand caught a lone piston responsible for raising the platform. None of his flights with Ver could have prepared him for the sight of the canyon hundreds of feet below given his current predicament. Sparks started to fly on the hatch - someone was firing at him.

"Turn this thing around!" Kevin yelled. The copilot took notice of the situation and nodded. He quickly rotated the plane, and it was everything Michael had not to let go. The other two, taking advantage of the slim opportunity, downed their attacker. The Chinook stabilized, if only for a moment. Quickly pulling himself back inside the aircraft, Michael got back into his own position.

"All they've got is their guns!" the copilot shouted. "As long as you guys can keep from getting hit through the windows, you'll be fine - this thing's armored like a motherfucking tank!" They evened out in the air, if at least for a short time. The insurgents had all but taken over the top of the mountain and the second floor, the first having been completely destroyed. That meant anyone they could put their sights on was fair game.

"Second floor!" Michael yelled. "Cut 'em off!" Most of the insurgents never saw it coming. Altogether they mowed down anyone standing there, dropping one body after another. Ground forces began to fire back at the Chinook to no real effect. That is, until John noticed a certain weapon aimed at them.

"SMAW! Get us the fuck away from here!" The anti-aircraft weapon fired while the copilot veered over the base in an effort to evade it. An effort for naught. The side of the aircraft opposite to John and Kevin disappeared completely, and the Chinook violently shook as it began to spiral out of control.

"H-hold on to something!" the copilot yelled in panic. They crashed into the side of the mountain; the propellers snapped off and were flung away from the rest of the tattered aircraft before it tumbled loudly to a forceful stop. Everyone on board was sprawled out on the ground, likely in the same state as Michael - not able to hear anything over the ringing of their ears. But they didn't have time to waste - forces would close in on them in a matter of seconds.

"W-we gotta get up," Kevin groaned. "Come on… Ah shit, where's my rifle?" He crawled over to the M249 - at least that hadn't been lost in the crash. The copilot was dazed; a stream of blood had trailed from a gash on his forehead down.

"Need to get inside," John said. "They… could be after our friends." Or… the girls… Bullets started plinking the exposed inside of the Chinook, and they all took cover behind the remaining walls.

"Give me a hand!" Kevin said. He lifted the ammo belt from the M249, giving a clean shot at the post mounting it to the aircraft. Michael took out his dagger and struck the post as hard as he could, then again. After five or six shots, the machine gun had been freed from its confines. Kevin took the weapon in both hands and crouched by the large opening while Michael slid the ammo box beside him.

"There's no chance in hell we're getting through the front," John said. "Does anyone know any other way inside?" The copilot shockingly nodded.

"There's… an elevator up top. Right beside the landing pads - you've probably seen it before. It's used for unloading."

"Then I'm wasting time here," Michael said as he got ready to run out the hatch. "I've got to get down to the girls now!"

"Don't be a dumbass," John said. "You think you're any good to them dead? You're staying with us." Michael glared at him, but as much as he hated to admit it, John was right. Though every fiber of his being yearned to run to them, such an action could very well get him killed.

"Fine. But we need to get outta here. Any ideas?"

"I say we make a break for it," Kevin said as he quickly peeked outside. Shots were fired, bouncing off the side of the plane and making him duck back into cover. "Fuck, they're closing in. We can't stay here long."

"Kevin, you provide cover fire. We make a break for it the moment they back off." He looked at the copilot, who had regained his senses. "You come too."

"What? I haven't fought before…"

"Wanna stay here and test your luck with these guys?" he asked, motioning outside. He remained silent, but took out his M9.

"A-alright."

"Good. Now you guys ready?"

"Yeah," Kevin said, placing his hand on the trigger.

"Yeah."

"Now!" Moving as fast as he could, Kevin raised the weapon and held down the trigger. Brass cases were launched everywhere as the M249 launched bullet after bullet in the direction of the enemies. Everyone outside reacted immediately, some jumped behind the wreckage of turret-mounted Humvees. Others hit the ground. He aimed underneath the vehicles, placing shots at their feet.

"Bought us a minute. Now's the time to get the fuck out." John and the copilot ran towards the back hatch, followed by Michael. Kevin held the trigger for ten more seconds before dropping the weapon and running out with them. It wasn't worth bringing, not when he'd have to carry that exposed belt everywhere.

They had reached the wreckage that had previously been their landing zone before the enemies has realized what had happened. By then, they had all but escaped their line of sight. "Think we're good… for a moment," the copilot gasped. "This thing only goes to the first floor…"

"So then everyone'll try to kill us when we get off…" John said. Kevin cautiously looked around the corner.

"We're clear. Don't doubt they'll come after us."

"So we need to get a move on," John stated before hitting the button. The doors opened, much to their appreciation. At least one thing was working. They boarded it, waiting for the almost guaranteed confrontation they were about to face. Despite trying to remain in control of his emotions, Michael was terrified. Everything he loved was now at risk, and the thought of one of his girls dying…

He had to stop; forfeiting control could get him and his comrades killed. He needed to survive for all of them, lest his fears become true. He only prayed that it wasn't too late.