Repeater looked up, his eyes breaking their long stare at the
deck of the Tomahawk as Falcon, the el-tee of the HUNTER and
KILLER teams and the leader of this particular element, started
to shout out the all too familiar commands for a fastrope into a
hot LZ. The big machine gunner rose from his seat, grabbing the
end of thick nylon as he went. Working quickly and letting his
air assault training take over, he quickly attached a snap-link
to a looped end of the rope before connecting it to a heavy duty
hook mounted in the roof of the helicopter's cabin. As soon as he
tossed the rope free of the aircraft, Falcon barked out the
commands.
"Go! Go! Go!" The officer shouted, starting his words
before the ropes had even uncoiled their length to the sand
below. Good. He wasn't stupid. With all the ground fire, they
needed to get out of the hovering Tomahawk as fast as possible.
Repeater quickly grabbed the rope, pinching the nylon between his
boot soles as he began the swift descent to the ground below. He
and Grunt landed within a few heartbeats, both immediately
unslinging their weapons and looking for cover.
"Gun emplacement! Six o'clock! Twenty meters!" Repeater
bellowed out in the same instant that he dropped to knee and
began to pour suppressive fire into the moderately-sized sandbag
structure. The door gunners on the helicopter had managed to keep
the enemy gunners away from the two 12.7mm coaxial machine guns.
The big machine gunner intended to keep it that way. As soon as
Grunt stepped into his firing arc he stood, still firing bursts
from his M-60 at the emplacement as he and his fellow soldier
sprinted towards the bunker, both ignoring the cracking sounds of
near misses that filled their ears. The more atheltic and light
loaded Grunt reached the target first, jumping up onto the
sandbag wall and firing a series of quick bursts from his M-16
down into the enemy position. A second later the soldier jumped
down behind the protection of the barrier, followed closely by
Repeater clearing the wall in a single leap. Without even pausing
to catch their breath, the two soldiers both rose their eyes and
weapons over the barrier and began to give covering fire to their
oncoming teammates. Repeater took a quick stock of the situation
as he continued to rake suppressive fire over the area. Most
importantly was the fact that the helicopter was still in the air
and still in the fight, it's doorgunners and it's chin turret
seeking out anything that wasn't in desert BDUs. Falcon and his
RTO, Owen, had been the next two down, both firing off hasty
bursts at any contact that appeared as they too headed for the
gun emplacement. The next pair had just hit the ground and were
getting their bearings. Good. Nobody was hit so far. Just as the
officer and the RTO had reached the hole, heard his headset
crackle to life.
"Christ! Zero-One, Zero-Once, RPG, we're hit"
A panicked voice came over the channels, the sound of warning
alarms blaring through the transmission. Before anyone could
respond to the call, the same voice, only more fearful, came over
the frequency again. "Zero-One, Going down. Auto-rotation is
failing, tail rotor lost, rear main rotor damage, we're in a slow
descent and rotation. I say agin, Ze-
"Damnit." Repeater cursed under his breath. Half of
HUNTER just went down. Repeater forced the transmission from his
mind, dwelling on it wouldn't help, it would only screw with his
actions. The pilot said it was low velocity. He himself had
survived a low velocity helo crash in 'Nam. Hopefully Alpha
HUNTER would be the same way. Shortly after the transmission had
ceased the last pair had hit the ground, immediately provoking
the Tomahawk above them to peel away. The downing of the other
helo had spooked command. No more CAS at this point. Again,
Repeater forced the thoughts from his head. He couldn't afford to
be distracted. He was the machine gun. He could be difference
between somebody going home or somebody going home in a black
bag. A few moments longer and the final pair of soldiers had
reached the safety of bunker, which immediately caused Falcon to
speak up.
"Listen up, once we clear this area we head towards our
rendezvous, dropping everything in sight. Let's do it." The
green beret spoke, his voice barely clearing the din of the
firefight that raged around them. As the minutes passed, the
resistance started to slowly thin out before it stopped
altogether, the area finally cleared of hostiles. The group of
soldiers carefully made their way out of the gun emplacement,
each with their weapon still up, all of them smart enough to not
let their guard down. Once the area had been double checked to
assure that all the terrorists in the immediate area were dead,
Falcon snapped his fingers three times before using hand signals
to move the team out.
The soldiers had arranged themselves in a loose column,
proceeding towards their target in an overwatch pattern that was
running parrallel to one of the roads that criss-crossed the
large camp. The group encounted hostiles with an alarming
consistancy; however, the density of the vast number of tents
kept nearly every firefight at close range while masking the
approach of the team. Appearently the terrorists had expected
them to use the roads since most of the resistance came from
groups that had obviously been waiting in ambush at the roadside,
their backs totally exposed to the team of Joes. Considering the
fact that Repeater could tell from the sheer number of hostiles
encounted that intel had grossly underestimated their numbers;
the team had done surprisingly well, the tight conditions and
abundance of visual cover allowing them to not lose a single man.
Repeater had stopped trying to count the number of times that
they had engaged the enemy, each time the pointman relaying the
enemy's position to Falcon who then gave a rough plan of who
would do what. However, one transmission did immediately spark
more than the normal amount of concern from the big machine
gunner.
"Sir, we got a big clearing up ahead. Looks like it got hit
by clusterbombs, there's a shit load of impact craters in the
area. I can see movement in the holes." The voice of Grunt
whispered over the team's channel.
"Damnit." Falcon returned, his voice sounded slightly
disheartened. "Alright, that area's practically right on top
of the rendezvous point, so we can't bypass it or call in arty,
we have to take it. Repeater, Hardball, get up here."
Repeater acknowledged the orders before he started to low crawl
towards Grunt's and Falcon's position; shortly after he arrived,
the trio was joined by Hardball, a tall and lanky black
grenadier. "Here's the deal," Falcon spoke slowly, as
if trying to test run the plan in his head as he spoke.
"Hardball, I need you to hit a few of those holes to throw
'em in disarray. Once that's happened, I'll throw some smoke
between us and them. Repeater, you'll lay down covering fire
while the team head towards the set of holes closest to the
smoke. Once we've dealt with some of them and we've got cover
then we'll take out the rest of them." The big machine
gunner quickly crawled off and found a semi-hidden spot to fire
from while the grenadier had reached his own point from which to
attack. After a short moment of waiting, the officer gave the
command. He heard the high pitched pop before a dull explosion
blossomed from one of the impact craters, the product of the
M-203 grenade launcher slung under the barrel of Hardball's M-16.
The first grenade was followed shortly by a second then a third.
Before the echoing of the third had ceased, two objects where
hurled out into the clearing, each beginning to spew forth thin
white smoke. That was his sign. Repeater immediately opened up on
the bomb craters, making sure that nothing would dare to pop its
head up. With the protection of the M-60's suppressive fire, the
members of the team began to rush forward, each trying to get to
a series of craters just on the safe side of the smoke. Grunt
went, followed by Falcon, then Owen, next was Haegar. It was his
turn. Still laying down a hellish field of fire, the big machine
gunner stood before he sprinted forward. The weapon's bolt
clicked empty as he reached one of the make-shift foxholes,
instantly causing him to jump in before ducking his body down and
out of exposure. As he went about loading another belt into his
machine gun, he noticed that he'd ended up in the same hole as
Falcon and Owen. As he slapped the cover back down on the M-60's
chamber, he heard the all too familiar sound of an RPG-7 being
launched. Before he could react he saw an explosion raise between
Hardball and Cowles. The reservist was thrown backwards by the
blast, while the grenadier fell forward. Everything processed too
fast for him to catch all of it. The arterial bleeding that
pumped like a fountain from a ragged and gapping hole in
Hardball's calf. The twitching of Cowles' feet. Flash running out
towards their two teammates. Repeater shook himself out of his
daze. He couldn't dwell. He was the machine gunner. He could make
the difference. He wouldn't lose his squad again. Ignoring the
snapping sounds of near misses and the animal-like cries of pain
from Hardball, he turned his body towards the hostiles and raised
both himself and his weapon into the fray. He raked the area with
fire, not letting his finger off the trigger as the 7.62mm rounds
were spat out of the M-60, the bullets turning anyone that didn't
duck down into a mangled mass of crimson before dropping into a
loose heap to the sands below. Repeater still kept firing, smoke
starting to raise from not only the muzzle but the barrel itself
too. The burn of the hot shells and links coliding with his thigh
didn't pull him away from his field of fire. After what felt like
an enternity but couldn't have been more that a few seconds due
the fact that he'd never let off the trigger, the bolt started to
dry fire, his belt expended. It wasn't until then that he'd
realized that the wounded animal-like scream had been coming from
himself rather than Hardball. He quickly regained control of
himself, shutting his mouth before he slid down into the crater
again. As he went about reloading, he ignored the wide-eyed gaze
of Owen, instead searching for signs of his hit teammates. He saw
Haegar, the medic, dragging Hardball's quaking body towards
another hole, a tourniquet tied around his calf, just below his
knee. Repeater averted his eyes from the sight of the grenadier.
A tourniquet. He'd survive, that dressing would assure that. His
lower leg wouldn't. The next thing to catch his eye was the form
of Cowles, still laying on his back, out in the open. His team
wouldn't leave wounded men behind. Cowles was gone. He also saw
Flash off in a hole by himself, popping up every once in a while
to fire at the hostiles. As the big machine gunner finished
loading the next belt, he stood again, firing on the still
remaining hostiles. He hoped to hell that the others got there
soon.
Ripcord did his best to focus on the tents and other hastily
erected structures that littered the sandy ground a mere eighty
feet below. The task was made even harder over the steady beat of
the Tomahawk's armored rotor blades and the clatter of small arms
fire that sounded out from every direction. As his hardened green
eyes searched the landscape he first spotted several columns of
thick black smoke that rose into the cloudless sky from various
points around the terrorist camp. The majority of the damage was
centered on two very specific points of the camp, one cluster of
oil-rich smoke rose from an area, which was supposed to be a
motorpool according to the maps of the complex, while another
series drifted up from a large clearing that should have been the
helipad. Good. GOD had done their work. Hopefully all four of the
terrorist's Mi-24 helicopters and their modest armored force were
successfully destroyed by the airstrikes. The armor didn't worry
the paratrooper that much, rather the Hind-Ds did. He'd seen
pictures from Afghanistan in situations where the Soviet forces
had used the dual-role helicopters as anti-infantry air support.
The rebels had loosely resembled chopped hamburger. The human
body simply wasn't designed to absorb 12.7mm cannon rounds.
Ripcord's train of thought was shattered as a new, more unnerving
noise was heard over the sounds of battle. The piercing scream of
one of an aircraft's warning tones.
"Sonuvabitch!" The helicopter's pilot shouted out in a
thick Southern accent, his anger allowing his deep pitched voice
to carry over the various sounds. "Sonsabitchs took my
cannon hydraulics 'at! Get on dem guns an' give 'em hell
boys!" With the orders of the grizzled reservist warrant
officer, the cabin of the Joe helicopter grew much louder as the
M-60D machine guns mounted just inside the doors of the aircraft
opened up, spraying out brass shell casings as they rained their
7.62mm rounds on the terrorists below.
"Team! Prep for insertion!" Goldfine, a staff sergeant
reservist and the leader of KILLER Bravo, shouted out to the five
other soldiers aboard the aircraft as it pitched back in
preparation to go into a hover. Goldfine threw a sign across the
cabin to Blackburne, another Joe reservist, as the Tomahawk
finished its flaring deceleration move. As soon as the aircraft
was mostly level, Goldfine and Blackburne both stood, withdrawing
thick nylon ropes from under their respective seats on the
opposite sides of the airframe. Working quickly, the two soldiers
attached snap-links to a looped end of the rope, then secured the
rope to heavy duty rings mounted on the roof of the cabin before
kicking the remainder of the olive drab ropes free of the
Tomahawk, letting gravity unravel them as they fell to the sandy
ground below. "Alright, by the numbers men, once we
hi-" Goldfine never finished his sentence. The dull cabin
exploded with color as crimson sprays erupted from both Goldfine
and the left door gunner. The soldiers watched in horror as the
gunner slumped lifelessly forward in his restraints while the
momentum of the rounds carried Goldfine's limp body into the lap
of a hysterical Sergeant Addams.
"He's dead! The Sarge is dead!" Addams screamed as he
stared wide-eyed at the surprised pair of motionless eyes that
returned his fear filled gaze.
"Fuck." Ripcord grumbled as he slipped free of his
restraints and reached an arm forward to pull the NCO's corpse
free of Addams' lap, the body landing heavily on the deck while
the paratrooper wiped away a gout of blood that had landed on the
right side of his face. Addams was shaking badly, his pale face
locked on the lifeless eyes of Goldfine. He was useless to the
team in this state. Ripcord took a firm grip on the suspenders of
Addams' ALICE gear and gave the junior NCO a violent shake.
"Sergeant!" Ripcord shouted into the Ranger's face,
causing the soldier's eyes to snap to the younger Specialist's
face. "Listen to me Sergeant. This war. This is what
soldiers do. Shit happens. You're no good to us down there like
this. Now either you snap the fuck out of it and take command
like you're supposed to or keep your sorry ass on this bird when
we leave."
"You guys had better git your asses on the ground quick,
sonsabitches'll be on us faster 'an flys on shit an' now I'm jest
down ta the starboard sixty!" The pilot shouted back into
the cabin. They were out of time.
"Alright people here's the deal!" Ripcord shouted,
pointing to people as he called them. "Shaw, with me on this
rope! Zap, Blackburne, on that rope! Hit the ground running! Stay
together! Find cover and fire at anything that moves!"
Ripcord waited the briefest second to see a collective nod from
the three soldiers then reached for the rope. He quickly pinched
the rope between his boots, loosely closing his hands around the
thick nylon an instant before he pushed away from the airframe.
The swift descent rated among the longest seconds of the
paratrooper's life. He hated this air assault shit. He barely
knew how to do it. He couldn't return fire. The pressure between
his feet was the only thing between making it down safe or
falling eighty feet to the ground below. Everything went into
slow motion. The clatter of automatic weapons fire, the air
ruffling the fabric of his desert BDUs, the spinning of the rotor
blades on the shadow of the helicopter. Everything. Then it
happened. He hit the ground. Reality snapped back into place. He
was in a war zone. "Cover! UAZ! Two o'clock! Thirty
meters!" Ripcord shouted out in chopped words to Blackburne
as he immediately broke into a sprint towards the relative safety
of the Soviet made UAZ 469b utility car. As the two soldiers ran,
Blackburne sprayed the enemy positions with fire from his M-249
Squad Automatic Weapon while Ripcord took hasty shots at exposed
troops with his M-16. Some bodies would fall, some wouldn't. The
paratrooper didn't care as his hardened eyes quickly lined up on
forms of the terrorists in the sights of his assault rifle. He
could worry about his sins later. Right now staying alive and
doing his job were his only concerns.
With a final dive, Ripcord hit the ground, kicking up a cloud of
sand as he landed prone behind the UAZ, keeping the small
jeep-like vehicle between him and most of the terrorists in the
area. Immediately upon reaching his goal, Ripcord spun around and
rose to a knee, training his rifle back towards the drop point.
The first thing to catch the paratrooper's sight was three
figures running towards the UAZ, each firing into their
surroundings. Good. Everybody made it down. Even Addams. The
small feeling of success was quickly banished as he finally took
an estimated stock of the number of hostiles as he provided
covering fire for his approaching teammates. It didn't look good,
around a dozen terrorists still were dotted around the area. And
unfortunately all the stupid ones were already dead. The ones
that remained obviously fully understood the concept of cover and
concealment. Ripcord pushed the negative thoughts away as best he
could. He'd learned a long time ago that whining didn't work in
the real world. The Joes and the terrorists kept trading hasty
shots at the other's emplacements with out any sign of either
side hitting anything until the other three Joes finally reached
the cover of the UAZ. It was the moment that the paratrooper had
been waiting for. All friendlies were behind cover.
"Blackburne! Addams! Covering fire! Zap! Shaw!
Grenades!" Ripcord barked out in rapid fire succession while
he freed an anti-personnel grenade from it's position on the side
of an ammo pouch. "Now!" He ordered as he pulled the
pin away and forcefully tossed the grenade in a high arc over the
UAZ, Zap and Shaw following suit as the team was rewarded with
three dull explosions within seconds. Before the sound of the
grenades had faded, Ripcord's headset came to life, the
paratrooper straining to hear the transmission over the hail of
gunfire that erupted between his people and the remaining
hostiles in the area.
"This is Bird Zero-Four, we are Ar-Tee-Bee, I have sustained
damage and can not stay on station, out." The pilot of the
Tomahawk called out over the open channel. Ripcord shot a quick
glance skyward as the twin rotored helicopter quickly pitched its
nose downward, beginning to accelerate free of the enemy ground
fire.
"This Kilo Bravo, we have inserted and are proceeding on
mission, out." Ripcord spoke into the boom microphone on the
side of his face as he grabbed another grenade from his ALICE
gear. Shaw didn't catch on, however Zap did as the demolitions
expert mimicked his friend's move, as they sent two more grenades
towards the positions of the terrorists. "Okay! This place
is too fucking hot to dick around in! Zap, take Addams and
Blackburne with you to Bravo Target! Shaw, you're with me on
Alpha Target! Rendezvous at Point Bravo once you've taken the
communications array out!" Ripcord ordered as he looked over
the faces of the men under his command. "Move out
people!"
"Vaya con dios mi hermano." Zap offered solemnly to his
friend as they exchanged a hand slap.
"Y tu." Ripcord responded with a nod just before the
five men parted, each heading towards their objective.
Ripcord broke from the cover of the bullet riddled UAZ with Shaw
in tow, the two soldiers firing almost without aiming at the
remaining hostiles. The paratrooper was so intently focused on
the still firing terrorists that he didn't see another attack
coming.
"Ripcord! He's still kickin'!" Shaw shouted out,
causing Ripcord's eyes to divert in time to catch a blur of
motion in his lower peripheral vision. The paratrooper jerked his
body to the left just in time for the end of a knife to narrowly
miss a disabling blow to his knee cap, instead only tearing the
fabric of his BDU pants and raising a superficial cut to the side
of the joint. Ripcord didn't give the wounded terrorist another
chance to kill him. He immediately flashed the same leg out
toward the half-sitting Arabic man, the combat boot catching him
under the chin, sending the enemy soldier back to the sandy
ground as blood, teeth, and spittle flew forth from his mouth.
Without a second thought, Ripcord slammed his boot down onto the
man's face, hearing a cracking sound as he felt bone and flesh
give under the powerful stomp. The next attack, the paratrooper
saw coming a mile away. The edge of his eyes caught sight of two
forms rushing towards him. Acting almost entirely on instinct,
Ripcord raised his M-16 and fired at one of the terrorists. The
two rounds connected with the man's neck and face, sending him
down in a thick spray of blood while a burst choked out of his
AK-47 as nervous reaction tightened the dead man's fingers. The
bullets harmlessly chew at the ground, kicking up sand and
serving to distract the man's comrade a heartbeat before he too
fell lifelessly under fire from Shaw's rifle.
Ripcord and Shaw half-fought and half-snuck their work towards
the camp's ammo dump, trying to avoid firefights for the most
part, but swiftly dealing with any patrols they'd come up
against. Every now and then a sitrep would come in from the other
teams. The convoy appeared to be stopped for the most part, Alpha
KILLER had completed one of it's two targets, and HUNTER was
doing a good job of drawing the majority of the hostiles away
from KILLER. Still, intelligence had apparently underestimated
the sheer number of troops that were present at the camp. The Joe
forces weren't getting overwhelmed, but they weren't mopping the
floor with the terrorists either. Hopefully JACKAL would arrive
soon. In battles of attrition, it was usually just a matter of
time.
After what felt like a small eternity to the pair of soldiers,
they were finally close to the camp's ammo dump. Ripcord slowly
eased an eye around the corner of the tent he and Shaw were
hidden behind. The paratrooper's vision scanned over the area in
front of him that was mostly taken up by a sizable area that was
sectioned off by a thick wall of sandbags and roofed by
camouflage netting. It was the contents of the makeshift bunker
that concerned Ripcord most. It was his target. Within the
temporary walls rested several rectangular crates of various
sizes stacked in neat rows and sections. The crates themselves
seemed to lack a common thread to a casual observer, some were
made of wood, others of metal, some were stenciled with Russian
letters while other were lettered in Chinese. In any case,
Ripcord knew he'd reached his target, the ammo dump. He didn't
really care what sort of weapons were contained in the various
crates. Within a few minutes they wouldn't exist. Content that
intelligence had gotten something right for once, the paratrooper
focused his attention to other matters, namely the obstacles
between him and his target. At what he guessed to be the 'front'
of the ammo dump, the six foot high wall of sand bags shrank down
to four feet and had two large gaps in the wall. Positioned
between the two 'doors' were two fixed 12.7mm machine guns that
were fortified by sandbags. In addition to the gun emplacement,
four other soldiers equipped with AK-47s were stationed at the
front of the ammo dump. Looks like they'd been ordered to hold
their post. Ripcord hated the smart ones.
"Alright," The paratrooper started in a whispered tone
as he turned to face Shaw. "I'm gonna blow the emplacement,
as soon as it goes, I want you to help me to take out the other
guards. Once they're down, we haul ass in, clear it, set charges
on the most volatile shit we can find, set 'em for three minutes,
then run like hell. Clear?" Ripcord asked, only getting a
single nod from the reservist demolitions expert. That was enough
of a response for the paratrooper. He quickly pulled a grenade
from his ALICE gear and freed the pin, keeping the spoon
depressed as he carefully thought out the best way to throw the
grenade. Just a few feet to the right and it was all over. They
were far too close to the ammo dump to survive an ordinance
detonation. Screw it. You gotta take chances. If he did mess it
up, then at least the ammo dump would still be gone. Without
another thought on the issue, Ripcord tossed the grenade into a
lazy arc and threw himself prone onto the sand, waiting for the
explosion. Thankfully, he was rewarded with a small, dull
explosion instead of a catastrophic one. Ripcord hoped that he'd
hit his mark as he quickly leveled his rifle around the corner of
the tent. Luck was apparently on his side today. The machine gun
nest and its two gunners lay in unrecognizable husks, while
another guard was squirming on the sand, blood freely running
over his fingers that were placed over his mouth. Ignoring both
sights, he and Shaw opened fire on the three remaining guards,
each of the stunned men being cut down by the Joes' fire before
they even realized which direction the attack had come from.
"Move!" Ripcord barked out before the echoes of the
gunfire had faded. The paratrooper quickly shot to his feet and
sprinted towards the bunker, putting two more rounds into the
head of the wounded guard before he finally leapt over the sand
bag wall of the ammo dump. What he saw caught him totally off
guard. Before he could be sure whether or not it was just his
imagination, the clatter of AK-47 fire tore into air, causing
Ripcord to immediately dive for cover behind a stack of crates as
the rounds tore through the air where he'd just been. Shit. He
shouldn't have dropped his guard. The shooter was an amateur, he
was firing the AK on full auto. He'd be dry in a heartbeat.
Almost in an instant, Ripcord heard the chamber of the Soviet
assault rifle click empty. "You are so mine asshole."
The paratrooper mumbled to himself as he quickly twisted his body
around the crates and leveled his M-16 at the shooter.
A kid. He hadn't been imagining things. A little boy that looked
to be about twelve was working to frantically reload the magazine
of his AK-47. A fucking kid. In combat zone. Ripcord's initial
wave of shock wore off quickly and was replaced by a determined
anger. Wrong. It wasn't a kid. It wasn't a civilian. It had fired
on him. It had tried to kill him. It was a hostile. The soldier
squeezed the trigger. At that range, he couldn't miss.
"Clear!" Shaw's voice shouted from further down the
ammo dump, serving to break Ripcord from his daze as he stared
down at the prone form of the hostile with emotionless eyes.
"Alright," The paratrooper responded, taking a moment
to tightly close his eyes and physically shake his head clear
before proceeding, not letting any trace of emotion bleed into
his tone. "Find explosives, missiles, anything that'll make
this place go up like the Fourth of July. Set your charges and
get the hell outta Dodge." Ripcord stepped over the corpse
of the hostile without a second glance as he quickly scanned the
stenciling on the crates, frantically running his gloved hand
along the boxes, searching for English writing to guide him on
the contents of the ammo containers. Finally ten seconds later,
and what Ripcord felt was ten minutes too long, he found what he
was looking for. A plastic crate with English stenciling that
apparently contained missiles for the M-72 LAW. Ripcord quickly
took hold of the top box in the stack, forcefully pulling it and
the whole stack down to sand floor before he swiftly went about
opening the boxes and throwing the missiles around the small
area. Another few seconds and the paratrooper had emptied the
majority of his charges out of his LC-2 ruck and scattered them
almost haphazardly around the area. This wasn't exactly a
precision job. The ammo dump was like a powder keg, it just took
the smallest spark. "Shaw!" Ripcord shouted out across
the ammo dump to the other soldier.
"Set!" The reservist returned.
"Mark!" Ripcord shouted as he pressed the arm button on
a detonator, causing the single red LED light on all of his set
C-4 bundles to blink while 03:00 burned onto the display screen
of the detonator. 02:59. 02:58. Ripcord had no intention of
staying around any longer. "Displace!" He shouted out
as he proceeded back through the halls of crates, heading for the
back of the ammo dump instead of the front. He had no intention
of taking the risk that the entrance might be guarded. The
instant he saw Shaw emerge from the rows of crates, Ripcord
immediately took a knee and slung his rifle, allowing Shaw to
quickly climb up Ripcord, then the wall, straddling the three
layers of sand bags before he helped Ripcord over the six foot
wall. The two soldiers instantly leapt to the sand below, hitting
the ground running, scanning the surrounding area for hostiles as
best they could at a full run. However the possibility of an
ambush didn't worry the Joes much, their primary concern was
getting as far away from the ammo dump as fast as possible.
Ripcord shot a glance at the detonator after the two had ran a
good distance. 00:34. They had to find cover. The paratrooper
thought that they were far enough away to be safe but he didn't
want to tempt fate. A quick scan of the area revealed a impact
crater with the still smoldering wreckage of what looked to once
be a ZSU-23 overturned a good distance away, half-buried in the
loose sand. "Cover! Crater! Twenty meters!" Ripcord
shouted. As the two Joes finally reached the impact crater, they
dove into the unintentional foxhole, daring only to reveal their
heads to eye level, watching to ensure the destruction of the
ammo dump. They didn't have to wait long, for within a few
seconds the nearby sky burned as a huge fireball rose from the
spot where the ammo dump once was and a deep rolling boom echoed
across the large camp. As soon as the fireball subsided and the
columns of smoke began to rise, Ripcord keyed his mike.
"NESTEGG, this is Kilo Bravo Zero-Three, objective one is
destroyed, I say again objective one is history, out."
Ripcord said into the microphone, allowing a nod to Shaw as he
spoke. Mission successful. He'd remembered hearing Zap call in
the destruction of objective two some time ago, so that meant
that KILLER Bravo had completed their demolition operations. Now
to just link up and support HUNTER. However before Ripcord could
think about merging with HUNTER, he had to deal with getting his
own team back together. Ripcord's eyes quickly drank in his
surroundings, trying to place his location from memory, so that
he could find his way towards Rendezvous Bravo and hopefully, to
the rest of his team.
Much to the paratrooper's surprise, the two soldiers were
practically on top of the rendezvous point, which was just over
small dune that rested near by. Lady Luck was definitely shining
on him today. Hopefully it would hold out till he could get outta
this shithole. Ripcord began to stand but was stopped short as he
caught a distant motion out of the corner of his eye. On sheer
reaction, he quickly twisted his body, bringing his rifle up as
he lined the figure of a man up in his rifle's sights. As soon as
thought bled into his reaction, he lowered his rifle, the
approaching figure was wearing U.S. Army issue desert scheme
BDUs. It was a friendly. No, it was more than a friendly, it was
Zap. The Hispanic demolitions experts ran towards the two
soldiers, swinging the barrel of his rifle in slow arc in front
of him. Just because their were friendlies in the area didn't
mean that the zone was friendly. Within a few seconds, Zap
finally reached the two other Joes, sliding into the impact
crater and immediately angling his body around to scan the area
he'd just came from.
"Good to see ya again buddy." Ripcord said, not daring
to take his eyes away from the sights of his rifle. "Where's
Blackburne and Addams?"
"Back there about a hundred meters." Zap stated flatly
as he slid down into the hole taking himself out of view as he
took several deep swigs from one of his canteens. "Told 'em
to stay put while I scouted out the rendezvous point."
"Alright, let's go back and get 'em." Ripcord said as
Zap popped back up into his guard position, causing Ripcord to
slide down into the hole to take a drink himself. "Once
we've linked back up with 'em we'll head to Rendezvous Charlie to
meet up with HUNTER." Once the two Specialists had allowed
Shaw a slightly longer moment to catch his breath and down some
water, the trio of Joes carefully emerged from the crater before
they began to work their way back towards where Blackburne and
Addams were hidden. They covered most of the distance to their
teammates without event, traveling in a leap frogging overwatch
line, constantly scanning the surrounding area for hostiles.
Judging from the radio traffic, most of the enemy force was
focusing their efforts on the general area where HUNTER and Alpha
KILLER were located on the other side of the camp. However,
despite the very logical reason for the lack of resistance,
Ripcord still felt uneasy, like he was blindly walking into an
ambush. He hated being right.
The paratrooper was kneeling down beside a tent, intently
watching the area for signs of enemy activity, waiting for Shaw
to work his way forward from the back of the three man line. He
saw the reservist Private First Class pass by him, heading for
the corner of the tent when suddenly the air was filled with the
deep rumblings of a heavy diesel engine coming to life. Without
thinking the paratrooper instantly reached out and grabbed the
back of the Joe's Y-suspenders, forcefully jerking Shaw behind
him, positioning the soldier between himself and Zap. Within a
matter of a few seconds that the trio spent holding their breath,
the hulking metal form of a Soviet made T-72 main battle tank
slowly worked its way into view, emerging from the front of the
tent that they were beside. After a small span of time that felt
like an eternity, the tank finally disappeared behind a clump of
tents and temporary structures, never reversing its direction to
confront the Joes. Seconds later another T-72 slowly entered the
trio's field of view before disappearing at the same spot as the
first. This wasn't good. Moving very slowly, Ripcord eased
himself into a prone position before he low crawled to corner of
the tent, daring to only expose a single eye as he scouted the
area ahead. This really wasn't good.
The first thing to catch his eyes were two soldiers, his
soldiers, Blackburne and Addams, stripped of their gear, kneeling
and bound in an open area. From the bruises on their faces and
blood stains on their BDUs, they'd obviously been beaten. Several
of the terrorists were gathered around the two, with one shouting
in a language that Ripcord could only assume was Arabic. After
the initial shock had worn off, the paratrooper realized what was
going on. The terrorists were trying to find out where they were.
Everything seemed to go into slow motion as Addams' beaten face
slowly panned in the direction of the trio, making direct eye
contact with Ripcord. No. Addams was gonna give their position
away. Ripcord was shocked when the green Sergeant offered only a
slow wink. The wink was the last thing the paratrooper saw from
Addams. An instantly later his face disappeared in a spray of
crimson. He been shot. Before Ripcord could fully process what
happened, Blackburne shot to his feet and rushed the shouting
terrorist that had shot Addams. The machine gunner wasn't fast
enough. The terrorist turned and put two rounds into Blackburne's
chest before he began laughing. They had been shot. They were
POWs and they had been shot. "Motherfuckers!" Ripcord
hissed out, his rage being the only thing that kept him from
screaming it out at the top of his lungs. The paratrooper started
to rise and move forward but was stopped as Zap threw an arm
across his chest. Ripcord hadn't even realized that his friend
had moved to his side.
"Easy buddy. Easy." Zap said slowly, trying to calm the
paratrooper down.
"Fuck that. There's just six of 'em." Ripcord hissed,
never taking his eyes off of the prone forms of his people.
"Yeah, but what about the tanks?" Zap asked, realizing
that he couldn't hold back his friend if it came down to it.
"What fuckin' tanks?" Ripcord returned in an anger
filled tone. Zap didn't respond, instead only pointing to several
tents that dotted the area. The paratrooper followed his friend's
gaze to the various tents, each one housing a T-72. A hidden
motor pool. The tanks were only visible at ground level. Roughly
a full tank platoon was concealed in the area. This could turn
the tide for the terrorists. It had to be stopped.
"Zap," Ripcord started with a caged fury to his voice
as he withdrew a map from his leg pocket and began checking the
girds. "Take Shaw with you to Rendezvous Charlie and link up
with HUNTER."
"What about you?" Zap asked in a concerned tone, which
served to raise Ripcord's hardened eyes from the map and place
them towards the terrorists who now kicked at the lifeless bodies
of men that had been under his command.
"I'm gonna waste this whole Goddamned area."
Good to go! One of the medics who'd checked him
out told him, patting him on the helmet, giving Fast Draw the
green light to go ahead with the other survivors of Bird
Zero-One. He was still sore as hell, but he knew how lucky he
was, how much worse it could've been, especially after
seeing Wilke. He noticed Hopewell off to the side, his arm
bandaged in a sling as he clung to his M-16 with his good arm,
hanging back to help guard over the soldiers moving out the dead
and wounded. The kid still looked like hell, pale and almost in
shock. Fast Draw gave a quick nod towards him, the sounds of
battle coming from the west were making him even more anxious to
get into the fight. Surrounding them were several craters, little
souveniers left behind by the GOD strike, a stray tent here and
there standing in stark contrast to the otherwise desolate
looking area.
Waiting around was bullshit, each second seeming like minutes
before Leatherneck finally started to move them out amongst the
small tents which littered the ground in front of them, causing
Fast Draw to avert his eyes and concentrate once again on the
task at hand. The big Marine pointed towards him and Pederson,
sending the two of them out first amongst the tents while the
Marine and Prata were to provide cover. The pain in his back grew
more intense as the two soldiers cautiously made a slow jog
towards the first tent, covering any small craters they
encountered. Luckily they were encountering nothing but bodies.
The raging battle heard from over the dunes towards the west let
him know Bravo wasn't having the same luck.
He and Pederson stood on opposite sides of the tent's entry flap,
Pederson holding up 3 fingers to which Fast Draw nodded. Go on 3.
He hit high, while Pederson crouched low, both frantically waving
their firearms towards the inside of the empty tent before
entering. It was clear. Once exited, they motioned to Leatherneck
that it was safe to advance, both he and Pederson now providing
cover for the next two soldiers sent to investigate the next
tent. The going was slow, but necessary, again luckily, they
encountered little resistance. GOD had made sure of it.
The area cleared, Leatherneck motioned for the men to head
towards the large ridge to assist Bravo. Once again, he and
Pederson the first two up, the soldiers each taking out one of
two terrorists they found crouching on the far side of the dunes,
Fast Draw making sure to punch an extra round into 'his' for good
measure, adding a muttered under his
breath. Pederson waved the others forward to advance on the
ridge, the soldiers now on their stomachs, weapons raised
surrounding Fast Draw and Pederson. He could see Bravowell,
see the firefight ensuing. The dust kicked up from bullets
digging into the sand made it difficult to see anything clearly,
but still he could tell Bravo was taking a beating.
A bright flash from the left caught his attention, him now
swinging his eyes off to another set of dunes off in the
distance. It almost was if someone had been sending signals with
a mirror.
He called out, the soldier to his left
handing him a pair. Before he could even check, he heard a loud
whistle followed by an even louder blast, letting him know they
were trying to take out the team with RPGs. Fuck. He searched the
rough terrain quickly, his eyes falling on a small cloud of white
smoke providing a dead give-a-way for the men firing on Bravo.
I don't think so! He cried out as he unslung one
of the LAWs from his back and readying the disposable missile
launcher. Clearing himself from the others, he lined up and took
the shot, creating his own loud whistle and blast, followed by a
secondary blast after his missile had hit. Motherfuckers never
even saw it coming. Raising the binoculars to his eyes he could
see what remained of a three man team he'd successfully
eliminated. He didn't have that much time to admire his
work, as Alpha had already begun advancing down the dunes. Nearby
gunshots let him know that the area was anything but clear as he
half ran/half slid sideways down the sandy dune firing towards
anything which fired at them. The team held up again by a large
grouping of rocks towards the base of the dunes, now returning
heavier fire to the troops popping up from the trenches.
Pederson, hit it! He called to his temporary partner
providing cover fire while the closer soldier lobbed a grenade
into a nearby trench covering a few hostiles. Both men took cover
as the small explosive sent up a light blast of sand after
hitting its mark. Fast Draw was the first over the rocks to
advance, falling on his stomach at the top of the trench and
firing downward without looking, not caring if the men inside
were dead, wounded or alive. It may have been overkill, but he
wasn't taking chances. Sons of bitches had taken enough of
them already.
Let's Go! Move, Move Move! The Marine called,
sending the men charging forward this time firing more
cautiously. They were close to the check point, meaning there'd
be friendlies in the area. Trenches now had to be checked before
fragged. Once hostiles were confirmed they went about eliminating
them in the same fashion, hit em with a few grenades, send
in a soldier for the sweep. Sweeping was his favorite part.
Motherfuckers were going down.
The first soldier he'd recognized at Charlie was Repeater,
the big man laying down a massive amount of fire, taking out
anything in front of them that moved. He looked as spent as the
countless shells which lay at his feet. A quick visual let Fast
Draw know Bravo was hit hard, sustaining plenty of casualties of
their own. Even the big man looked almost relieved to see back-up
had finally arrived, and although it couldn't be described
as joy, to see Repeater with any emotion was almost frightening.
He didn't give any of his usual banter, still shook up from
both the crash and everything which followed, instead he sank to
a seated position inside the trench and closed his eyes. How much
worse was this going to get?
His question was answered by a simple from
Repeater, as he himself noticed the ground beneath him shaking
slightly. Grunting as he strained to stand up, he could hear the
engines before he even had the chance to look.
Fast Draw echoed. Tanks. Pulling himself next
to Repeater to check over the side he saw his fears were correct.
Tanks. Two of them. T-72's. Once again, the shit was hitting
the fan.
Zap was reluctant to leave his friend, especially after Addams
and Blackburne were executed, but he trusted Ripcord to do the
right thing. His friend was crazy and brash, not stupid and
careless. He couldn't help feeling responsible for Addams and
Blackburne, he'd given them the orders to wait. But what was done
was done. He couldn't change the past. They were with God now.
Vaya con dios. He and Shaw began to swiftly work their way
towards Rendezvous Charlie, which happened to be in the same
direction that the pair of T-72s had gone off in. Hopefully the
tankers were still concerned with stealth and keeping their base
intact, if they weren't then two Joes had no chance to beat them
to HUNTER's positions. Roughly two minutes after they had left
the paratrooper, Zap heard his friend's voice, still dripping
with anger, call out over the open channels.
"GOD, this Kilo Bravo Zero-Three, status over."
"This is GOD, we are off station and have expended all
stores, out."
"THUNDER this Kilo Bravo Zero-Three, I need fire mission at
my coordinates, I say again, bring down Arty on this
transmission, over."
That crazy bastard. He was calling in artillery fire on his
position. He was the gridsquare. Zap thought about turning back
but it was useless. He'd only catch himself and Shaw in the
volley and not be able to head off the tanks that were moving
towards HUNTER. The demolitions expert immediately let the issue
go before it could effect his awareness. Ripcord was a
professional. He knew what he was doing. The two Joes quickly
worked their way towards the rendezvous point without any real
opposition, they did have to slow down once to narrowly avoid a
stray group of hostiles but other than that they had made it to
their destination as quickly as possible. It wasn't quick enough.
The pair had worked their way up a small dune, which should have
had HUNTER on the other side. HUNTER was on the other side as
they should be, but so were the T-72s and the tanks had picked up
some friends in the form infantry support. Zap had to act
quickly.
"Shaw, stay down and to my left." Zap said simply as he
unslung the two M-72 LAWs he had been issued for the mission. The
tanks were already firing their cannons at the various impact
craters, they hadn't hit any ones that held HUNTER but it was
only a matter of time. Working as fast as he could he quickly
prepped both LAWs for launch. As soon as he hit the tanks the
infantry would be all over him. He would have preferred a TOW or
even a Dragon for the job, a LAW couldn't do much against a T-72
but a tank was like any other suit of armor. It had chinks. You
just had to know where they were. Zap shouldered the first LAW
and waited. As long as the more distant of the two T-72s stayed
on it's current course, he'd have the shot he needed. God was on
Zap's side today. The T-72's driver hadn't been paying attention
and had run his tank into an impact crater, the tank could easily
escape it but it opened up a shot on the weakest armor of the
tank. Zap pressed the button. The light anti-tank missile
screamed out of its launch tube and closed the short distance to
the tank in a heartbeat. With the tank on a downward slope, the
bottom of its back end was exposed. The thin armor under the tank
couldn't hold the warhead at bay. The hot gases easily ate
through the metal and continued to travel their path, directly
into the tank's engine block. Before the fireball had even risen
to full intensity from the first tank, Zap had the second LAW in
hand and fired on the tank's comrade. Zap aimed for the top of
the turret, his missile not breeching the thick armor but serving
to destroy the periscopes and various sensors that allowed the
tank's crew to see well enough to operate it's main gun. It was
still drivable but was totally without offensive capability.
Mission successful. However as expected, the infantry came alive,
pouring hundreds of rounds into the space that he'd just
occupied. He and Shaw ducked down behind the relative safety of
the dune. Time for someone else to save their asses.
