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.