By the time we docked, we had maybe an hour until the contractors made landfall. Not enough time to finish preparing, just enough time to think about how fucked we were.

"Briggs, get on the horn to Valentine, let Blackwater know that we're feet dry and heading her way."

I nodded, keying up, "Whiplash Four to Rasp, feet dry and rolling to OP Valentine."

"Rasp copies all, be advised Four, OPLAN has shifted, You and Five are to move to location 'Hotel Mike' to rendezvous with Oxide and assist. How copy?"

She was sending me to Hotel Moscow territory, why?

"Rasp, confirm your last?"

"Confirmed, Four, move to Oxide's position and assist."

I looked at Dave, he shrugged.

"Four copies, moving to 'Hotel Mike,' will advise, out."

Kelly walked over as Dutch and Revy helped Rock up the gangway.

"She's got other plans for you guys; it seems; I'm sure we'll cross paths again, good working with you guys, well done all around."

He shook mine and Dave's hands, in turn, giving us a small smile.

"See you on the other side."

"Hey, Briggs!" Dutch called out, passing Rock off to Revy and Benny; when I looked his way, he tossed something in a high arc that glittered in the early morning sun.

I snatched it out of the air, hearing a small jingle; when I opened my hand, the shock must've shown on my face.

"Take care of her!" He yelled as he bundled into Whiplash's Suburban; I was still staring dumbly at the set of keys in my hand.

The keys to the GTO parked behind me.

I couldn't call myself a man if I didn't floor it.

Dave and I roared through the deserted streets of Roanapur, a little mood music lighting our way. Oxide was another SAD squad, a three-man element like Whiplash; they were working the perimeter of Sofiya's territory setting up a hide to observe the port and coordinate the drone strikes that would be our opening salvo. Hotel Moscow guys were manning a sandbag perimeter about eight blocks from the Hotel, one held up a hand, and we rolled to a stop.

The guy closed in, reaching up and pulling his mask down.

"Hi, Vik."

He regarded me for a long moment before a small smile crossed his face, and he reached up with a gloved hand and tapped his vest over his heart.

Right where his brand was.

"The Captain told us what you did; for all of us, I knew you were still family." He reached his hand in and grabbed mine, giving it a squeeze.

"When this is over, we'll have a drink."

I rolled my hand over and grabbed his, "Hell yes, we will, brother, stay safe."

He grinned, "No promises." And waved us through to nods from the Hotel soldiers.

"My boys," I whispered, more to myself than anyone else.

I saw Dave smile out of the corner of my eye, "You really made some friends here, didn't you?"

"Nah, man, family. Just like you, Kathy, and the boys."

"So sending you here was the right move?"

I nodded, pulling up to the nondescript high-rise where Oxide was setting up. I thought back to everything that had happened in the last year and change; a smile broke across my face, bittersweet in places but genuinely happy in others, and I nodded again.

"Yeah, man, understatement of the year."

He seemed happy with it, smiling contentedly as we bailed, grabbing our rifles from the back and jogging into the building. The elevator ride was thankfully brief, and we popped out onto the top floor. Oxide was milling around; one guy sat behind a massive telephoto lensed camera, surveilling the dock.

"You guys Whiplash?" He asked without looking up.

"Briggs and Mason, Rasp sent us, said you guys needed a hand."

He nodded, "I'm Reilly, over there is Davis, and the guy in the corner is Andrews."

I gave Davis a wave, he smiled behind his mask, Andrews was fiddling with a crate, he waved over his shoulder. I was about to ask what the game was when Reilly called out, his voice filling the empty space.

"We've got contacts on the horizon, Two ships; they're not heading for the port, Fuck! I've got transports disembarking!"

I walked up next to him, my heart thundering as I stared at the bloody death headed our way, "What can we do?"

His eye never moved from the viewfinder, "Get back to Valentine and let them know we're gonna need them to keep it coming; our plan just went to shit." He keyed his radio, "Grizzly, Oxide, new targets, multiple armored amphibious vehicles inbound, engage at will; I'll call the shots!"

Dave and I ran for the elevator as Grizzly started their run, the circling drones dropping Hellfires on the transports, trying to hold back the tide.

It wasn't enough by a long shot.

We hit the lobby at a dead sprint, making for the GTO, the distant explosions of the Hellfires making impact rolled over us. I keyed the ignition once Dave was in, grabbed a gear, and smoked the tread off the tires.

The battle for Roanapur had begun.

I jogged into the church to a command post in chaos. The redhead I'd met before the op, Jackie Carter, was pouring over ISR feeds, her guys ran back and forth checking weapons and gear, loading crates into a van parked out front.

Eda was on a sat phone, hopefully getting us a fucking nuke.

"No, I need…negative, we cannot hold without those drones…Jesus Christ… Lie. To. Them. That's the whole fucking job…Yeah, good, alright, I'll be in touch."

She hung up, rubbing her eyes.

"How fucked are we?" I asked with a smile.

She sighed explosively, "The Thai government spotted the drones, only for a minute, but long enough that they started asking questions. I'm handling it."

Whiplash arrayed around the room; Kelly was talking to Carter in hushed tones, his expression grave.

"So where do you need me, Eda? Call the shot." I was itching for a fight.

Her exhaustion drained away, and a lascivious smile graced her beautiful face.

"Ever wanted to fuck a nun in a confessional?"

Dave snorted around his bottle of water.

I grinned, "Get your habit, and we'll go hands-on, Blackwater."

She stopped smiling, "Are you serious?"

Was I? There was a good chance we'd all be dead soon…

I opened my mouth to say…something when I heard a noise that froze my blood.

Dave heard it too.

The conversation around us died instantly.

Coming in from the bay, big thumping Russian made twin engines. As one we rushed the stained glass windows, I jumped up on a crate, pressing my face to the glass.

Three Hinds were roaring in low, less than three miles from the docks, flanking the transports that had survived.

And there were a lot more than I would've liked.

"Oh fuck…"

Eda's voice boomed, "There's two crates of Stingers in the van!"

"Whiplash! We're moving!" Kelly shouted.

I grabbed Eda, pulling her tight against me, "I'll see you on the other side."

"You better. Go get 'em, cowboy."

I let her go and ran after Whiplash, boots slamming the hardpack as we piled into the van. Seconds later, the first Hind started firing, rockets streaked in, and explosions rocked the thankfully unoccupied residential blocks. Kelly floored it as soon as I slammed the sliding door. I settled in and watched the carnage as we roared down the hill, tapping my boot against the corrugated metal floor, not out of nerves but all-consuming rage.

They were destroying my home.

RPG's rushed up to meet the gunships, and they easily jinked out of the way, hammering the positions with cannon fire, reducing buildings to rubble. Tucker and Scott worked as we drove, popping the latches and passing Dave and I a grip stock unit each for the Stingers.

"You know how to use that?" Scott asked.

I nodded, "Thanks to our resident spook, yeah."

"Good, we've only got a few tubes, so make 'em count!"

I flashed him a thumbs-up, "Ready to kill some fucking Russians."

A grin broke across his face, "Hell yeah."

"Almost in position!" Kelly shouted

Tucker passed me a tube, and I slid it together.

"When we stop, pop out and hit 'em! We'll have to play a little hide or get fucked!"

"Good to go, boss, just say when!" I called back as Scott handed Dave and I a BCU or Battery Cooling Unit each; the coffee can looking device was integral to firing the missiles; I screwed mine in and looked up just in time to see a Hind take out half the port in a barrage of rockets.

Oh, you're mine motherfucker.

Kelly jacked on the brakes, the van skidding to a stop in a spray of gravel. Dave and I were already out and moving. Time slowed as the Hind circled into the bay, preparing to come in for another pass.

I raised the launcher up, sighting on the clear blue sky, my thumb snapped the actuation switch, tones lighting up even through my Peltors, the steady ringing paired with the vibrations from the transducer.

"On target!" Dave yelled over the pounding of the approaching rotors.

I sighted on the Hind, feeling as much as hearing the tonal shift.

"On target! Rocket out!"

I pressed and held the trigger as the helo hit the gas; they knew they were being painted, jinking, and trying to run.

BANG-WHOOSH!

The rocket fired gloriously, kicking up dust from the hard-packed street and corkscrewing toward the bird, the pilot dumping flares like his life depended on it as he pulled into a vertical loop.

"TWO AWAY!" Dave called out.

BANG-WHOOSH!

I watched my missile chase the flares… but Dave's slammed into the side of the helo, cracking the gunship in half in a fireballing starburst of shrapnel that pinged off the buildings around us even a half-mile away.

"Move!" I shouted, and we hauled ass back to the van, ripping the overheated BTU's out of the launchers, discarding the tubes as we ran, diving into the open back doors.

"We're in, go!" Dave called out, Kelly gunned it, and we roared into the city, towards the sound of cannon fire and the remaining two gunships.

My radio crackled to life, Eda's voice was as calm as I'd ever heard it, "Valentine to all elements, be advised, hostiles have landed and are engaged with friendlies at Phase Line 'April,' any available units not otherwise tasked, move to support."

I drew a map of the city in my head, the Phase Lines superimposed.

"April"…the fight was down on the waterfront, the Triads were taking it to the Reds.

A gravelly voice answered, "Valentine, this is Butcher, moving to assist. Will advise."

"Valentine copies all, good luck Butcher. Valentine to Whiplash."

"Go for Whiplash," Scott answered.

"Great guns on the bird, once remaining air assets have been neutralized, move to support Butcher."

"Whiplash copies all. Out."

We hopped the curb, chasing the Hind that was raining fire on the red light district, blowing buildings apart in clouds of debris and fire. I seated another tube, rage flooding through me.

What was the point? Lomonosov was dead; they had no reason to go through with his orders.

Not unless this was personal.

I wondered just how close his contact was with Wagner.

We blew through downtown, weaving around abandoned cars.

"Scotty, you got eyes on the helo?" Kelly called out; Scott scanned out the window, opening his mouth to answer.

The gunship blew overhead, knocking tiles off rooftops and kicking up dust for three blocks in every direction.

"…Nevermind."

We banged a right down an alley, chasing the bird down as it laid waste to everything in sight.

"Gotta get ahead of it! Hang on!" Kelly yelled.

We braced in our seats as he cranked the wheel, taking the next corner sideways; the helo shot off again, spraying cannon fire all over the place; target selection was not a priority.

Somewhere along the way, they'd decided to burn the city down.

We finally pulled into the same intersection where the Maid had almost killed us way back when the bird was circling around; we had seconds.

My boots hit the ground, hell on earth greeted me, fires burned, throwing up thick clouds of black smoke, rubble lined the streets, and for a moment, I was back in Syria, running through the alleyways of Kobane, desperate to save as many people as I could.

Dave spun on a heel as soon as we made safe distance from the van, sighting in on the sky.

"ONE AWAY!"

BANG-WHOOSH!

I shouldered my own launcher as the gunship popped flares, the tones changing.

"TWO AWAY!"

BANG-WHOOSH!

The helo dropped out of sight, and my rocket slammed into a building while Dave's took a nosedive after the flares and impacted a street.

"FUCK!" He shouted, calling out to the van, "We need more tubes! He knows what he's doing!"

The bird popped up, and there was a horrifying moment where I could feel the gunner make eye contact with us. The monster turned, lining up its guns straight on with us.

"PARKER, HURRY!" I yelled, knowing we were already dead.

I watched death come for us…and closed my eyes.

I'm sorry, Sofiya…Eda….

Without warning, the helo exploded in a fireball that spread over ten blocks, dust and frag rained down, my eyes snapped open as I felt something hit my leg hard enough to knock me off my feet; the pain was immediate and terrifying as I slammed into the hard-packed dirt.

"Motherfucker!" I snarled, twisting to get eyes on the wound…

No blood, my pants weren't even ripped, Dave was already on me.

"Where are you hit?!"

"My right leg, took something in the shin," I growled through gritted teeth.

He pulled my leg up, the skin was already turning an ugly purple, but it was just an impact wound, nothing more than a bruise.

Dave grabbed my vest, pulling me right into his face.

"Buy. Fucking. Lotto. Tickets."

I couldn't help but laugh," Will do; who the fuck took down the helo?"

"Contacts," somebody called out, sounded like Tucker; the lack of urgency in his voice was surprising.

Dave hauled me to my feet, and I looked over his shoulder to where a group of masked men were walking out of an alley. One of them held a smoking SA-25 "Willow" launcher.

I'd recognize those uniforms anywhere; the small subdued Russian flags on their shoulders and helmets only added to my certainty, heavily customized AK's sealed the deal.

And just like that, the Spetznaz weren't a rumor anymore.

I leaned on Dave against the throbbing pain in my leg that slowly receded as we stared each other down.

No words were exchanged, but we nodded our thanks, getting nods in return before they disappeared down an alley after a flurry of hand signals.

Dave helped me limp back to the van, hauling me inside.

"The fuck was that?" Parker asked, still staring after the ghosts.

Kelly answered, "I think Spetz just saved our asses."

"I don't like it, fucking Russians getting one upon us."

Kelly shook his head, "Me neither."

I smiled at the competitive edge in their voices. It didn't hurt that I felt the same. But the professional courtesy was nice.

The radio crackled again.

"Valentine to all elements, Phase Line 'April' has been overrun, I say again, Phase Line 'April' is lost, hostiles have armored support. Fall back to Phase Line 'June' and hold."

Oxide and Butcher answered in unison, letting Eda know they were falling back with the Reds right on their heels.

Kelly keyed his radio, "Valentine, Whiplash Actual, two hostile birds down, were are currently staged on Ekkamai circle, be advised, we have confirmed Russian SOF on the ground."

"Valentine copies, the order stands, fall back to 'June' and hold them there. Last hostile bird has peeled away, heading south, possible re-arm and re-attack imminent."

"Understood, Valentine, Whiplash is moving to RV with friendlies. Out."

He cranked the wheel and hit the gas, heading uphill; we crossed two streets and ran into retreating Triad soldiers, all running for their lives from the armored vehicles I could hear clanking around just a few blocks over; we cut across them and continued. The only way through this was through it, no matter how bad it got.

"June" was the last Phase Line before we hit the collection of high-rise buildings that marked both Hotel and Triad territories, marked Phase Line August. If we lost it, they'd push whoever was left alive out of the city and do God knew what to whoever was left inside their perimeter. June cut the city in half, east to west, smack in the middle of everything, a bow-shaped defensive line manned by Hotel and Triad soldiers, plus Butcher, Oxide, and us.

We roared up the hill, and I glanced back, my heartbreaking at the fires that reached high into the idyllic blue sky; plumes of smoke all but obscured the sparkling water.

Motherfuckers.

I could see the armored support and Wagner contractors milling around like ants the further up the hill we got, BTR-90's and BMPs were pushing after us; I grabbed a small spotting scope off my vest, something caught my eye, and it scared me down to my soul, a quick glance through the scope confirmed my fears.

"Kelly…I've got eyes on T-90's…"

"You're shitting me, right?"

"Wish I was."

The T-90's changed the game a little; heavy main battle tanks could roll over infantry without slowing down, and we had no armor of our own.

I keyed my radio, adrenaline spiking through me, "Valentine, be advised, we have tanks, I say again, Whiplash has eyes on T90's times three."

Eda's voice sounded strained, she hadn't rattled since the fight started, but this sounded close.

"Valentine copies all will advise, out."

The behemoths were sitting in the square, holding their ground. But the troop transports were racing after us, gaining ground as we lapped sandbagged positions, the guards waving us through before disappearing into buildings.

Someone knew the game.

A masked figure popped out of an alleyway, flagging us down.

"Gotta be Oxide," Scott called out; I slung up my rifle and bailed when we stopped, the missing Hind nagging me like an itch I couldn't scratch.

I recognized Reilly's voice behind the mask, "Follow me Whiplash, last orders from Valentine were to reinforce the Russians on the left flank, Briggs? The Russian honcho wants you."

My nerves fired a little, Sofiya was asking for me? What the fuck could we even say to each other at this point?

"Where's she at?"

Reilly pointed opposite the way he was headed, "Two blocks over, CP's in a tobacco shop, get on the freq if shit gets real, we'll come running."

I nodded; Dave reached out and squeezed my shoulder, silently reassuring me. I broke away, weaving through the alleys and hopping fences, the heat of the day was oppressive, but I barely felt it as I ran; we had business to attend to. I crept up on an alley, peeking around the corner when a round cracked off the bricks, showering the side of my helmet with little pieces of Rock.

"BLUE! BLUE!" I yelled.

"You can never be too careful!" Came a voice I recognized

"Yuri? I'm gonna break my foot off in your ass! That was close, you fucker!"

A laugh from…somewhere."When this is over, you can try all you want, come ahead brother!"

After another quick peek, I bolted across the street; the door to the Hotel Moscow CP was wide open, I kicked it shut behind me.

Boris was going over a map, Sofiya had her back to me, Sergei had a headset on, keeping the lines of communication open, he gave me a little wave as I entered. Boris was the first one to break the silence, sort of, he crossed the room and decked me in the mouth, knocking me to the floor. I glared up at him as he offered a hand, pulling me back to my feet.

"You deserved that," Then he pulled me into a side hug, "Welcome back."

I nodded, smiling and rolling my jaw; dude hit like a fucking freight train.

"Fair enough. Good to be back, Boris."

He grinned, and I knew we were cool again.

"Zack?"

Her voice was soft, almost subdued. I stiffened at the sweetness of it.

"Captain?"

"Follow me, please."

"On you, ma'am."

She turned without casting a glance in my direction and headed upstairs, boots thudding on the old hardwood. I followed close behind, pulling my helmet off and running a gloved hand through my hair, plastered as it was to my head from the oppressive humidity and the run over here.

Step after step, I couldn't look away from the curve of her ass in her fatigues. My mouth went a little dry at the sight of her.

Whatever came next, I was going to get an eyeful before it did, burn her into my memory so thoroughly that no matter what, I'd always have a piece of her with me.

The room was deserted, gunfire crackled on the right flank, thumping reports of a fifty-cal answered, and the occasional explosion drifted in through the open window. She kept her back to me, staring at the far wall for a moment we didn't have, before turning around.

Her hair was done in that same thick braid, blue eyes shining, her lips were slightly parted as she held her cigar almost forgotten in her left hand.

She was dressed to kill with a suppressed AK-105 held across her chest, her Stechkin sat in a thigh rig, and a high cut helmet clipped to her vest; she looked every inch the soldier she was.

But her eyes… there was something there I couldn't recognize flickering behind them.

"Zack, I-"

"Sofiya-"

We both spoke and shut up at the same time, she gestured for me to stay quiet with a raised hand, and I waited.

She leaned against the wall, her hands twitching at her sides, sighing as she closed her eyes.

"For the second time, I owe you an apology, The other American filled me in after you left. Now is not the time, not even close… but we may not get another chance…I, may never get another chance to say this…"

Hearing her voice after so long set my pounding heart racing.

"I…I don't do… this…well at all. I've never been… Chyort Voz' mi…"

I stood there and watched her, a little struck by how hard she was struggling, eyes still shut tightly.

Words weren't gonna mend anything; action would.

I let my rifle hang, tightening the sling and tossing it behind my back; in a flash, I crossed the room, and she was in my arms, her whole body stiffened before she relaxed as much as she was able, gently leaning against me, her perfume invading my senses, the sweet smell of her cigar followed.

I whispered softly, gently running my hands over her shoulders, "I don't blame you, I knew what Lomonosov had done to you, how deep that cut went because I was just as lost and alone. At least you had your men, and I had Dave. I still-"

"Stop," She whispered, "please just stop being so fucking reasonable."

She leaned into me harder, a hand ghosted over my war-belt, a thumb hooked in, and dragged me closer. Her other hand snaked up my front plate, grabbing the neckline with desperate fingers; her eyes shone with something unreadable.

"I thought…"

"I know what you thought," I shrugged against her, "doesn't matter now. Never really did, if I'm honest."

I heard and felt her breath hitch…

"What does that mean?"

I took the plunge, odds were good we'd be dead in a few short hours, and there was no kinda life for us if we survived.

It was now or never…

"It means I never stopped loving you, dorogaya," I lapsed into Russian without thinking, "You meant… mean, the world to me, from the first night some part of me knew, even if I didn't realize it. And it was all downhill from there. I love you, Sofiya, with all of my heart and then some. In ways I didn't know were possible. No matter what happens here today, I need you to know that."

She held me tighter, chuckling sadly.

"Stupid man," She whispered, "I…I lo-"

The building next to us exploded, and I threw both of us to the floor, shielding her; pinpricks of pain in my back told me I probably had some frag buried in my vest.

"You alright?" I asked through the ringing in my ears, she nodded, and I rolled off of her and back to my feet, checking the window; two BTRs were coming up fast, An RPG detonated against reactive armor, and the turret traversed and blew the position to pieces.

"I've gotta go; my team is gonna need their medic."

She was staring at me now, something shimmering in her eyes.

"Go, I'll see you again, when this is over."

I nodded and started around her when gloved fingers grabbed mine, stopping me dead. It was all the prompting I needed… I rounded and bundled her into my arms…The kiss was no less memorable than the first one we'd shared, but there was something different there.

We'd found each other again.

All was forgiven on both sides.

Another explosion rocked the building, and we separated soldiers in this war to survive once more. She pulled her glove off and ran her hand up the side of my face; her eyes started soft and loving but hardened as she spoke.

"Moi Horoshiy…Come back to me."

It wasn't a question.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak just yet, turning and hurtling down the stairs before I never left, throwing a wave to Boris as I pulled my helmet back on and sprinted out the door.

The streets were ablaze, the two BTRs were hammering the buildings, AK fire crackled, rounds skipped and whined off the dirt, and I had to cross two blocks of it to get back to Oxide and Whiplash.

I took a deep breath and started my run. Rounds nipped at my heels as I sprinted; incoming and outgoing fire deafened me as I jumped fences, hurtling towards my team…leaving my heart behind.

I jumped one last low wall and was greeted by rifle barrels.

"Blue," I called breathlessly, smoked from the run through the heat.

Oxide and Whiplash were standing around a sand table; they relaxed, but not by much.

Dave smiled; he could see it in my eyes, I guess.

"What's the word?"

I shook my head, smiling, "Hold fast, I've got business after we kill all these assholes. Kelly? Where do you need me?"

He nodded, pointing further down the left flank, "Russians further down could use the backup. Once they figure out they can't push past Butcher and the Partner Forces on the right, they're gonna hook left or try and hit us in the middle, Russians and Triads, we're rolling left."

I nodded in turn, "Well, what're we standing around for?"

He grinned, and Parker chuckled, "Let's move."

We booked it to the left flank with a quick nod to Reilly and the rest of Oxide. I could still smell Sofiya on my gear, and I let her back into my soul with a sigh as we ran, pulling her around me.

I was as ready as I'd ever be.

Scott threw his rifle bag on the table in our little hide, five buildings back from the line and a room deep, giving us a bird's eye view of the only draw that wasn't wired. Hotel Moscow and the Triads were a street lower, Dave, Kelly, and Tucker among them, advising and commanding. I popped out the legs of the spotting scope, setting it on the table we'd dragged over, dumping my helmet and the heavy bag I was carrying, a gift from the boys, on the floor and looping my Peltors over my head.

"Actual, high ground is in position. Waiting for targets." I whispered into the boom mic as Scott set up his long gun, an SR-25, the semi-auto .308 would have the fire rate he would need to engage targets quickly among the buildings.

"Actual copies all, they're close, be ready."

"Will do; get some."

I heard the smile in Kelly's voice when he answered.

"Online on time. Out."

I unzipped my bag, hoisting my gift up and onto my side of the table, smiling a little at the sheer beauty of it.

A brand new Barrett M107.

The fifty-cal sniper rifle would punch a hole through armor, something we sorely needed right now, the round wasn't enough to set off the reactive armor, taking away their edge, but when the T90's joined the fight, it'd be like spitting at them.

I flipped the scope covers open, seating a ten round mag full of Armor Piercing Incendiary, arraying the spares where I could get to them in a hurry.

Someone was about to have a bad day.

Scott checked his dope, sliding into a chair, and I lit a smoke; we had minutes if that.

"Ready for this?" He asked.

I glanced over at him; his eye was glued to the scope, ready and waiting.

"Doesn't matter; it's coming one way or another. But yeah, all day, man."

He grinned, "Goodman…" His smile died, and he keyed up, "Contact, far end of the draw, I've got infantry and two BTR's, five-hundred yards out, they're moving slow. They haven't seen us yet."

Kelly's voice came back over the team freq, "Let them get close and hit the BTR's; we'll initiate on your shot."

"Understood."

The design of the street put a line of buildings at a "T" intersection, with a long road sloping downhill, tactically, it was the worst movie, and I wondered if Wagner was as top-shelf as the rumors said, or if they just hadn't fought guys who knew what they were doing.

Killing civvies is easy.

We were about to make it a lot harder.

I got in my scope, dropping my cigarette to the floor and grinding it out, reaching up to rack the charging handle, sending the first massive round into the chamber. I tracked the crosshairs to the first BTR.

"On target."

Scott checked the range, "Three-hundred yards and closing."

"Got it."

I snapped the safety off, watching the way they moved, covering angles and alleys; the BTR commanders were unbuttoned, riding exposed like a conquering army; clearly, they didn't think much of the Triads they'd encountered so far. But I could see a tense edge to the infantry; someone had sunk two shiploads of their friends to the bottom of the Pacific.

My muscles hummed with little shocks of adrenaline as they got closer.

One-hundred yards, the lead commander had dark eyes and a hooked nose; he hadn't shaved in a couple of days.

My finger slipped into the trigger guard, crosshairs drifting towards the rear of the vehicle, where the troops sat, thinking they were safe.

"Going loud," I whispered, taking the slack out of the trigger, hitting the wall…

It broke a millimeter later.

BOOM!

The concussive force from the muzzle blast knocked plaster off the walls. I lost my sight picture to the massive recoil, regaining it in time to see flames shooting from the hatch of the lead BTR; even over the noise dampening effects of my Peltors, I heard the screaming.

A split-second later, everything in front of our position was hit with a blistering amount of fire, shredding the dismounted infantry; Scott was in his rifle, hitting everyone he could reach with an accuracy that almost seemed supernatural.

I tracked to the second BTR; he'd hit the gas, his cannon traversing.

The trigger broke straight back.

BOOM!

The round impacted his front armor, slicing through it and cooking off the ammo reserves, the armored vehicle exploding in a shower of shrapnel. I got my marbles back in time to see a group of infantry break off, running through the fire to what they thought was the cover of an alley before a well-placed claymore turned all of them to hamburger.

Fuckers.

Dave and the boys were laying hate; I heard a MK48 going cyclic, heavy 7.62 rounds chewing through the bad guys every time they dared stick their heads above the meager cover they'd managed to grab. I grabbed my personal rifle, throwing my pack on the table and pushing the Barrett off to the side. Sharp cracks to my left told me that Hotel Moscow snipers were putting in work; I smiled; Vic was probably having a field day.

I sighted in on whatever I could hit; the 77-grain ammo was more than enough.

A dude toting a PKP broke from cover, his assistant gunner hot on his heels; I hit the A-gunner first, three quick shots across his hips right where his vest ended. He went down, screaming, barely audible over the insanity raging all around us.

And his buddy kept right on running.

Damn, that's cold.

I led the asshole a little and banged off five shots as fast as I could, his ammo belt shattered, his right arm snapped and hung limp, the gun falling from his grasp… one of my rounds must've hit something important, ten steps later he lost all motor control and collapsed, twitching, mere feet from the safety of an alley.

Them's the brakes, shit-head.

The rest of the infantry started to bug out, half-stepping out of cover…before hunkering down again.

Oh, that doesn't look good.

Something rumbled in the distance.

"Oh shit," Scott whispered.

A second later, my worst nightmare came true.

The T90 was a behemoth at a distance, but I can't overstate how terrifying it was up close.

Its turret traversed slowly, without a care in the world, right for where Dave and the rest of Whiplash were camped out.

I didn't think; I grabbed the Barrett, sighted in… and laid on the trigger.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Rounds pinged and whined off of everything that looked important, and I knew he saw the dust cloud I was kicking up. The turret changed direction, the cavernous barrel of the main gun elevating until it felt like it was aiming right between my fucking eyes.

"SCOTT! MOVE!"

I kicked the table over, and we scrambled; I grabbed the back of Scott's vest and threw him toward the door…Not fast enough… The building took the thunderous hit, the concussive force knocking me into a wall that was already collapsing….before a strong pair of hands grabbed my vest and slung me out the door and onto the hillside just as the left side of our hide ceased to exist. I tried to push myself up, Scott helped, and we limped across the street, crashing into an abandoned machine shop.

"FUCK!" I shouted, needing to say something, to let out the adrenaline and fear that threatened to overwhelm me… the massive explosion completely deafened me; my ears were ringing, dizziness overtook me, and I dropped to my knees, retching. Scott wasn't much better.

At least he found a trash can.

Blood dripped from my abused face onto the concrete; my marbles were all over the place, I could hear thumping explosions from down the block. There was still a fight going on…

Dave.

The thought forced me off my knees; I wobbled as I stood, Scott was getting it together. I checked my rifle, the wiring for my IR laser was shredded, the light hung limply from its mount, and there was a dent in the fore-end, a piece of still smoking frag sticking out of my fucking rail, but it would fire, and that was all I needed.

My head cleared, the dizziness finally receding as Scott stood up; I'd worry about the concussion I knew I had after this was over.

"Let's go," I whispered.

He nodded, and we stepped back into the street after a quick peek, beginning our run downhill; my bruised shin screamed, my nose was still bleeding from the overpressure, but we moved with a purpose, checking corners and clearing angles. From the volume of fire coming from our front, barely a block away, I could tell the boys were doing work.

"Boss is through that building," Scott whispered, pointing at a busted storefront across the last street separating us from them.

"Check, moving."

I took a second to breathe, peeking the corner as Scott watched our backs. I stepped to the corner, clearing it, leading with my rifle…

A glint of light at the far end of the street.

SNAP-CRACK!

Something slammed into my plates hard enough that I felt them break, the impact spinning me to the ground. I rolled without thinking, a dumpster the only thing separating me from the Almighty.

"Sniper!" I ground out weakly, my breathing ragged; the pain was shocking.

Scott wisely stayed behind the wall, "You hit?!"

"Yeah…fuck…" I reached under my vest, wincing, "armor caught the round, but he's up there, Scotty. Fall back and make your way around; I'll be fine."

"Yeah, bullshit, not leaving you, man." Came the disembodied voice from around the corner.

A rush of gratitude, I talked big, but I was terrified of being left alone with that asshole gunning for me.

"Heh, thanks, man… we've gotta kill this fuck."

"Working on it. Can you move?"

"Yeah, what're you thinking?"

He didn't answer, a second of silence later and an arm popped around the corner, a grenade flying over my head.

"Smoke out!"

That'll do it.

I heard the dull POP! And the hissing that followed.

"Ready?" Scott called out.

"Ready!" I answered.

The smoke began to billow.

"Move!" Scott yelled, and I rolled to my feet, breaking for the far side of the street.

A round snapped off the dumpster, kicking up sparks.

Scott was right on me; rounds were flying through the smoke, kicking up little plumes of dirt. The guy was really trying hard.

I hit the storefront and dove through the broken window; Scott bulldozed the door and rolled across the floor, yard-selling his gear across the hardwood.

"Fuck me!" I growled, "Alright, he's fucking dead."

Scott was already on his feet, speaking quickly into his radio.

"Grizzly, Whiplash Two is pinned by a hostile sniper at grid Two-Echo, requesting fire, we will be lazing."

I pushed myself off the floor, sidling up to the door frame, "Scott? Painter?"

He nodded, listening for Grizzly's reply, digging in his vest and tossing me an IR laser. The sniper wouldn't see it in the light of day, but the drone hopefully circling overhead would.

"Understood Grizzly, Lazing now."

I fired up the laser, leaning out to aim it at the building, but a sound drifted down the street that stopped me in my tracks.

Someone was running a chainsaw, and someone else was screaming bloody murder—all coming from the sniper's hide.

"The fuck?" I muttered, glancing over at Scott; he shrugged and hit his mic.

"Standby, Grizzly."

The screams climbed higher and higher until the pained voice snapped like an over-tightened guitar string.

What the fuck was happening?

The door crashed open, and a man came running out, blood pouring from a stump of his right arm; he was running blind, heading right for us. I pocketed the laser, bringing my rifle up and twisting the magnification ring on the 1-6 scope. The sniper's face was a mask of pure terror as he ran; I lined up on him and fired three times, watching him pitch forward, sliding for a few feet before coming to rest.

"On me, Scott."

He lined up and squeezed my shoulder; we pushed into the street toward the downed sniper.

"Movement," Scott called out, getting on my left arm and snapping his rifle to his shoulder.

A girl stepped into the street, looking like every scene kid ever, a red t-shirt, stained a darker red in some places, over a striped long-sleeve job, the skirt she wore was jet-black with white fringes visible, black combat boots completed the psychotic ensemble…

…But what capped it was the absolutely massive chainsaw, loose bits of flesh, and God knew what else caught up in the teeth of the thing; it still rumbled with the grinding of gears as she approached. Slinging the saw and pulling a small object from her pocket, pressing it to her neck.

"Hello, boys…Yo-u…were in quite a spot there for a second."

The mechanical voice set my teeth on edge as she got her breathing slowed down, and the gaps became less noticeable. Dutch's words from so long ago came roaring back.

Like nothing we ever ran across in the real world.

Even I'd heard of Sawyer, Chang's little janitor… And I knew enough that she needed to stay as far the fuck away from me as possible.

I raised my hand a little, keeping a grip on my rifle.

"Thanks for the assist, Ms. Sawyer."

"What the fuck?" Scott whispered

I shook my head as she smiled creepily, showing a little too many teeth for my liking, her dark eyes staring into my soul as she gently nudged the bloody corpse with the toe of a sneaker.

Not the time, dude.

"You're… very welcome…Mr. Briggs…"

"Gotta go, tell your boss I said thanks as well."

"I…will…have…fun. Your friend…can stay…if he likes."

Her rasping breaths combined with her "voice" made me want to run, Scott and I were something, but people like Sawyer were horror movies made flesh. I smiled, or tried to, and nudged Scott as she trapped him with her gaze, still smiling way too wide for comfort.

"Time to move, Scotty."

"Fuck yes, it is." He mumbled.

I nodded, and we pushed left, keeping our eyes on Sawyer the whole way, and she did likewise, staring through Scott until we slipped into the alley and left her behind.

"Run," I whispered.

Scott was way ahead of me, already jogging, desperate to get away from his new admirer.

I kept eyes behind us until we were far enough away that she couldn't pop up on us, breaking into a sprint, the fear bleeding out of me.

We still had a fight to win.

A/N: Hoo boy, it's on now! Sawyer was an afterthought, but it felt right to have her make an appearance. Zack and Sofiya get a precious minute, and the chaos keeps on coming. Stand by for the next chapter!