A/N: I promised that I was going to release info about the current situation at the Loud household but I preferred to release this before the other chapter that its going to be entirely based on the lives of the characters in the current present. If you do not like the battle scene, then you may as well wait for the next one. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: The Loud House belongs to Nickelodeon and I do not make any money writing this fic.
Summary: It all began with an innocent look that soared the sporty girl and the man with the plan down a path not meant for them to take together, searing their hearts under siege. LynnColn
Siege of Hearts
Chapter 13
The Will to Live.
November 9th
Operation Phantom Fury
Second Battle of Fallujah.
Fallujah was a city that the 21st century had passed by a long time ago. Historically Fallujah used to be a port city, where caravans of all shapes and sizes came to sell their wares for hundreds of years and also it was nicknamed the City of Mosques due not being short on those. But after Saddam built a series of highways in order to increase productivity, forgetting the outdated river trade and shorten travel lengths between cities, it made Fallujah to lose its commerce and it became a backwater city with 300.000 people living in poverty and decadence. A city where insurgents openly came with their captives and did behaving videos and where the insurgents were being trained, with camps all over the city though Fallujah had always been home to extremism. It wasn't a surprise that it became the center of gravity for whatever Anti American militants, a rallying point with insurgency getting out of control with nothing to stop them.
Most foreign fighters went down through a road what they called a Rat Line, one hundred miles from Syria, all the way down to the City of Mosques.
The first battle started after the killing hanging of four Black water private security contractors, their mutilated bodies hung on a bridge over the Euphrates River, the Marines were called forward but they halted their involvement due International pressure. With the failure of its capture in the very first battle, the insurgents had six entire months to prepare for a major attack and that was exactly what was going on at the very moment, now with everyone else coming in to finish the job and this time, the Marines were unrestrained, the dogs of war had been unleashed.
They knew exactly what was waiting for them from a fanatic enemy who was willing to do everything in order to kill and maim; even if they could only have kill one member from the coalition, they would be doing their duties as good Muslims, per their extremist views. Most insurgents who were in the city saw themselves as Martyrs, they were not here to make a stand or defend it, they were here to die for what they believed in, they came to Fallujah from many parts of the world, to Martyr themselves and kill as many members of the coalition as possible. Lincoln knew exactly who they were up against; the crème of the crème of the insurgents were in the city, underestimating this type of fanatical enemy was a reasoning suicide. A mix of Yemen, Chechens, former Republican Guard and even Afghan Mujahideen from many insurgency groups, who had been fighting their whole lives were in the city as well. They were experts at what they did best. It didn't matter that they lacked proper training or marksmanship, what they lacked in training, they upped up in their ingenuous tactics and the use of the terrain to their own advantage and with their willingness to die and disregard for everything else but their 'faithful duty', they were an extremely dangerous enemy.
They were in their turf and they were believers. And like Dunkar said…You cannot reason with a true believer, you can only kill him.
They knew that they had hundreds of kill zones across the city, carefully planned to establish the major number of casualties.
Every house.
Every building.
Everything structure had been weaponized.
From schools to hospitals and Mosques. It didn't matter as long as it was made of concrete and could be defended.
Through the scouting of British SAS they had discovered, part of their defenses included what they called a mouse hole…it was basically a carving the bottom part of a wall, in order to crawl through and move quickly to the next location in order to defend or attack as stealthy as possible. The enemy now was regrouping after the very first day of the attack and now were more than prepared to meet them head on, just waiting. They had stirred the hornet's nest and now they had to deal with all the angry hornets.
Tracer anti air fire was being fired at unseen targets who most were still fired by the unseen AA batteries that they had been hunting for days at a time, but one weapon was unseen by the enemy and to everyone else, it was a new weapon.
UAV's (unmanned aerial vehicle), Predator UAV to be most exact. They provided through its advanced optics from miles away in the skies the movement of the enemy, their location, where their defenses were, their routes of reinforcements, their ammo caches all while live feeding to its user thousands of miles away, back in the Headquarters of the Air Force. With its advanced high quality cameras and infrared optics, it could see everything…it was an electric eye.
The hotel had been one of many important targets that had been destroyed, though it was just a decoy in order to confuse the enemy, among other targets. Elements from the Army and other Special Groups had captured Fallujah General Hospital, Blackwater Bridge, ING building, and villages opposite of the Euphrates River along Fallujah's western edge. Troops from the 1st Battalion, 3rd Marines who had just rode with them yesterday, fired 81mm mortars in an operation in south Fallujah. The same unit, operating under the command of the U.S. Army III Corps, then moved to the western and approached to the city and secured the Jurf Kas Sukr Bridge, a key bridge that insurgents were using to cross between Baghdad and Fallujah but Insurgents had blocked the water flow in order to damage the bridge and try to sink the structure rather than be captured, but they failed in their attempt; all of this had happened while they were busy fixing and rearming their vehicles.
Per orders, they were at the moment traveling through Highway 10, at the north time of the city, under the cover of complete darkness, using their night and thermal visions to move freely and unopposed through the Northern bank. The city was alight and burning, no doubt from the massive artillery barrage that was currently raining down on the enemy, colossal splashes of green and black was the only thing that Lincoln could see in the distance through his night vision as they were less than ten klicks from the city, at their East, just 35 klicks was the capital, Baghdad.
The plan was quite simple, armored divisions and battalions would siege the city, with their heavier presence at the Northern and South parts of the city and six infantry battalions would sweep through the city, block by block, house by house with the help of artillery and air support in order to drive out insurgents, who were rumored to be in the thousands into a kill zone in the South part of the city. 1st Marines 3d battalion would attack the west city limit, where it was rumored that their leaders, communication and their logistics were located. At the main center of the city, 1st Marines, 8th Marines would lead the main thrust, at the very heart of the city, to capture the Mayor's office complex, which would be reinforced and they would keep pushing forward in tight pressure forcing the enemy to retreat and be annihilated in the crossfire of the killzone and this was supposed to allow them to capture the city in just two days.
But as always, no battle plan survives contact with the enemy.
Nobody talked, understanding the seriousness of the situation. Occasionally, radio chatter came in from the infantry squads who were now outside of their designated attack zones, waiting until the artillery ceased its destructive path for them to move in with whatever was left standing. The entire Armored Battalion Iron Horse now stood two miles from the infantry, waiting as well while they watched their sectors, slow and steady but there was no contact with the enemy and just like that, the explosions ceased.
"Rounds complete, keep the change raggy bastards. Cannon Cockers out."
The white haired man heart managed to settle in a steady rhythm as he heard the radio, knowing too well that once the smoke settled they were going to be the first in the battle. Half an hour later, armored bulldozers advanced a few feet and piled up close to the infantry battalions would be waiting into the early with a screen of mixed infantry into the city, to clear the rubble from fallen buildings from the main roads in the city, minutes later the infantry came under fire from a few of the survivors but nobody panicked for a moment. The SEALS had come in and set up a perimeter around the bulldozers, easily picking up the few insurgents that had fired upon them and were swiftly eliminated with accurate re-engagement.
Their platoon moved up into the Askari sector to reinforce the charge of 1-8th Marines, waiting for the imminent fire but nothing happened as they charged into the sector but their eyes were also in the Jordanian Hospital which the US Navy Seals and units of the free Iraqi Army had liberated, capturing dozens of Insurgents and a large cache of weapons. Lincoln knew that Polly would be in that raid, following her mentor around, he would ask her finally at her discovery that insurgents have little care for what building they occupied and were probably using the medical personnel and the wounded as their human shields in order for the coalition to not engage it, but they were wrong and were rapidly eliminated but they expected a counter attack the very same day.
An hour later, the power grid of the city was disabled, falling into complete darkness except for the raging inferno of a couple of buildings on fire and the alight carcasses of vehicles.
The train station was seized after a rapid attack, destroying the small presence of the enemy who had stashed a medium size stockpile of ammunition which would be destroyed later. Using this as a rally point, the Iraqi Free Army and the British 1st Battalion, The Black Watch reinforced this sector and patrolled the East to avoid any insurgents to escape the fate planned for them.
So far, so good.
Two heavy mechanized battalions of the US Army attacked through the North bank opening up the Second Battle of Fallujah, backed up by a thousand strong Free Iraqi Army forces and two thousand Marines.
With the start of a new day, dawning over the horizon, heavy automatic fire ran in the distance with the train station, the Jordanian and the Fallujah State Hospital being counter attacked.
Polly Pain winced as the US forces opened fire at the Insurgents trying to cross over the 'green bridge', the very same bridge were the Blackwater contractors had been hung. At the same time, mechanized Army units got into positions with their Bradley fighting vehicles at the street adjacent to the river, opening fire with precise mutilation, blowing them apart. Her partner and trainer Kevin Sites was taking pictures on top of a Humvee that was manned by the Navy Seals, firing at enemy positions with a fifty cal machine guns and a mini gun, uncaring, even when bullets were impacting on the wall that covered the Humvee, sitting still and recording.
She had been recording since yesterday, going from raid to raid of the outside buildings and was now currently recording the battle, the massive and obscene volume of fire that the Coalition were generating was massive, overlooking the other side of the green bridge, she eased up into her tripod, trying to steel her frayed nerves, hugging her helmet with one hand to stop the continuous flow of detonations across her ears but it was difficult, hours into the firefight, it became extremely hard for her to stay still, but due Sites insistence, she stayed on her spot, eager for a rest.
Lincoln's posed no opposition to the combat at hand. His platoon had been moved further into the city to protect the Marines attacking the Mayor's complex and the surrounding houses that needed to be cleared one by one.
The city had been divided into sectors, inside the small neighborhoods to clear out of any Insurgent elements and that's precisely what the 1-8th Marines were doing right now, all under the watchful gaze of Dunkar and his platoon of tanks as the exchange of fire got worse, the city blazing with war. Hours after a standstill, ignoring the pop shots that the enemy dinged across their thick armor, one of the platoon leaders patched to his coms.
"Sword, this is 8th Kilo. We need assistance with a large complex and blow it off the water!"
"Roger that, standby." He turned to his crew, patching to his platoon. "Sword, roll out, half throttle." He said, the tanks under his command quickly followed him in a line.
Inside his post, Lincoln squeezed the joysticks in his station, his eyes following his optics with thermals as their tank moved into position through the cleared and half destroyed neighborhood. There was a concrete wall separating the complex which they easily went through, bricks spilling everywhere. The aforementioned complex was now in their sights, they encountered Marines taking cover behind whatever they could just waiting.
"All units, engage." He simply ordered the four tanks opened fire, blasting the upper floor into itself, plums of smoke dissipating in the air a single man falling off the floor with the crescendo of destruction.
Swabble didn't bother to yell UP, simply loading as fast as he could in 1.5 to 2 second intervals and Lincoln fired without mercy, piercing the last remaining wall in the complex with a quick burst of his coaxial that cut the wall in two. 3-4 and 3-3 shot HEAT into the blown wall of the complex until all that remained was a mix of rubble and human corpses. A detachment of the platoon went through the wreckage while Lincoln checked his sector, the reticle aiming directly at the remains. With detachment he watched as Marines pumped rounds into the foreheads of whoever they encountered through the rubble from a safe distance, leaving their bodies where they stood and it made sense.
These people were willing to do anything, if they could pin a grenade waiting until someone came to help them or could be holding a suicide vest, they would happily blow themselves up in order to kill an American. To avoid casualties, the Marines preferred to shoot first and ask questions later, all under the watchful gaze of the numerous press companies who recorded the incident but at this time, nobody really cared about the bad press; everyone just wanted to go home and not go back in a body bag.
Bullets and explosions would continue for the rest of the day, even after day bleed into night, it was time to once more for the bombardment to commence, pounding insurgent positions to smithereens but finally the Mayor building was captured and occupied. It was then that their Platoon was ordered to go back to the train station to rest and rearm. Four hours later, Lincoln's platoon was up and running again, this time bordering the Mayor's complex, guarding the Northeast sector but the insurgents never attacked at night.
The insurgents preferred to lie in wait, bobby trapping buildings with gas tanks that could be blown apart from a safe distance, locking doors, fences and blocking main doors with vehicles to stall them and buy as much time as possible. Large chains and padlocks had locked the ways in and out, forcing them to destroy them. At times, Lincoln's own tank had to destroy concrete walls for the infantry to pour in and at earliest in the morning, the attack resumed, this time applying pressure, gaining more ground per every shot fired. Some Marine squads had advanced so quickly that they unfortunately had been cut off from the main force, lying in wait under the cover with Insurgents walking freely, the morning after they attacked without warning, downing dozens of Insurgents before they were counter attacked and were forced to be in defensive positions.
Dunkar protectiveness had come into effect, asking for permission to relieve them but they had their orders and was swiftly denied. A detachment from the Iraqi Free Army and Army Rangers had come to their rescue a few hours after dawn, effectively retiring them from hostile ground and into the safe zone; they were no casualties to report but they had noticed something odd about the insurgents.
Since their orders were house per house, sometimes the Insurgents would just run weaponless and light to another house where dozens of weapons had been piled up. They just stockpiled weapons and ammo and they picked depending on need, from the craziest stories that the Marines had picked up, they had even pulled down an underfolder AK inside an espresso machine in an abandoned coffee shop.
At the third day of the fighting and four death raisers later, Lincoln was manning his station in a street adjacent to the Mayor's complex, their platoon advancing a few feet per every house cleared in their sector at half load currently, they had fired so much that they were being forced back to the train station at least seven times already and he could see that the zero of his gun was already suffering but still they waited until the opportunity for another unit to call them over to blow a house to pieces if there was even the slight evidence of insurgent occupation in order to minimize losses.
The call quickly came in to cover 1-5th Marines and a few vehicles in their advance to the cultural center where it was reported that a massive fuck load of weapons and ammo were piled up. They hadn't even advanced into the stretch of the road when at least four RPG rockets rained down in the leading AAV7 amphibian light apc, the vehicle catching on fire rapidly. Marines quickly opened the rear hatch, spilling to the streets carrying the fallen before it busted into a fireball and that's when hell came loose. All the windows lighted up with automatic fire, centered in them.
"Advance! Full throttle." Dunkar yelled and suddenly they were flying at the maximum speed of 60 miles per hour, blasting their way to the streets. When they arrived, the automatic volume of fire ceased abruptly as their guns zeroed where they had last seen the muzzle flashes and opened fire without restrain, aiming and firing where they had last seen the fire coming from, massive plumes of dust lifting off from the cannon fire.
A squad leader quickly raised his weapon and came to their tank; Dunkar quickly opened his hatch, peering down on the squad leader.
"We got some Marines that got trapped in the confusion and are pinned down!" He yelled through the firefight, aiming at a flock of buildings adjacent to the street. "The Iraqis sent a couple of their guys but I haven't heard anything from them! Please you got to do something."
Dunkar quickly nodded, caring little for how informal he was being, even in the difference in rank.
"I got you, tell em to get into cover." Without waiting for an answer, he closed the hatch. "Ramirez go! Platoon on me."
Knowing full well that they were already low in ammo and fuel, Lincoln squeezed his joystick, easing up his worries, praying that every round he fire met its mark, focusing in his reticle displayed in thermal vision, the Iraqis and two Marine squads joined them.
Quickly, they found themselves unable to advance through the thick layer of rubble that the bombardment had left. Stopping to consider his options, Dunkar eyed his maps, looking at the spot where the hotel used to be, revising over and over the overlay of the streets where they were standing. Cleaning a bead of sweat from his forehead, the old salt Marine looked to the right where a small shopping center stood a short distance away.
"Forward!" The tanks moved across the streets kicking off pieces of rubble and asphalt, spitting them off to the sides, half turning to face the shopping center, its entrance was blocked by a large rolled cage of steel covering the only way in with some torn bodies lying on top of the stairs, to the left side of it, it was heavily covered in the rubble from the remains of the Hotel leaving them with just one way out. From a distance, the Iraqis had piled up, covering wherever there could fit, training their weapons to the windows of the houses in the distance with the Marines deploying from the rooftops.
Dunkar cursed eyeing the bodies.
"Loud! With me!" Dunkar opened his hatch, taking off with his M4 from the internal weapon's rack. Lincoln didn't hesitate exiting from the commander's hatch with his M4, jumping down from the hull of his tank with a grunt, following after Dunkar who quickly approached the downed body of an insurgent, with his guts piling up on the steps of the shopping center. Lincoln immediately cringed, looking around and doing his best to not lose whatever was in his stomach, his rifle barrel pointing at the end of the street but he was ever more confused as Dunkar took the mangled arms of the insurgent.
"Help me!" He screamed and Lincoln blinked, trying his best how to interpret the command. Sensing his hesitation, his head tilted to the Iranian G3 battle rifle that was on the floor. "Put it under the legs and pull up Corporal."
Sighing, he slung his M4 over his shoulder, taking the discarded rifle by the buttstock and handguard, shoving the rifle under the legs of the body that had flies and maggots feasting on the flesh. Grunting in disgust he lifted, the body hanging intestines hit Lincoln on the leg and he almost dropped the body with a cringe. Quickly they moved the body aside from the steps, throwing the body unceremoniously to the floor like a pile of garbage; Lincoln removed the magazine from the battle rifle and racked the bolt unchambering the round in the chamber before throwing it aside.
"Help me with the rest. I don't know about you, but I don't want to clean up raghead meat off my tracks."
Understanding the need in his tone, they dragged three more bodies in complete states of decay and missing body parts and threw them aside.
At that time a detachment of free Iraqis approached them, the leader, a mustached man in his forties with a heavy limp approached them with an Army engineers with Lincoln and Dunkar standing to wait for them.
"We need that gate taken down. C4'it down."
"Yes sir." The specialist nodded, throwing his heavy pack to the ground, the tankers quickly made way to their own tank and got in, going back to their battle stations. Five minutes later, a blast ran through the streets, the steel doors falling down, the Army units and the Iraqis dragged it off the steps and on the street giving Dunkar the order he had been waiting for.
"Forward! Full throttle."
There was no hesitation from Ramirez as he throttled the tank to a high speed on the steps, entering the small shopping mall.
The Insurgents were as surprised as they were, running in all directions through the hallways filled with decay and rubble. Lincoln swung the turret slightly right catching off two men that tried to go through a door, tearing them apart with the coaxial, by now paying attention that they were about to hit a wall.
"Gunny?" Ramirez asked before Lincoln could.
"Go through it!"
Doing as ordered, their tank went through, their platoon following through a small office and waiting room, busting through the drywall and glass, crushing computers and desks, bouncing erratically; they came off to the main exit that was uncovered, smashing through the windows and into the open street in display of a dozen insurgents that had been taking down by surprise by the apparition of their tank. Widening the formation, the other three tanks spilled from the crescendo of destruction they've done, standing side by side and opened fire on the fleeing enemy, cutting them off with obscene obliteration.
"Kill the fuckers, let em have it!" Swabble laughed without abandon, shoving a HEAT round into the tube. "UP!"
Lincoln pressed the main gun trigger against a group of insurgents that had tried to take refuge into a house, sending their shredded bodies flying, firing his coaxial against everything that moved. On top, their remote operated fifty cal snarled down range, tearing up wall after wall, disintegrating every insurgent turning them into wet paint. A detachment from the 7th Army Cavalry reached the site to support them, firing their weapons at anything that moved.
"Watch the cross fire!" Dunkar said to the tank crews, laying waste at anyone he pointed the 50 cal at.
Within minutes, they had laid waste to the enemy, weapons smoking heavily. The Marines quickly left their cover cheering for the destruction. Their tanks lined up, guns pointed at the cultural center to look for any insurgents they had nothing so far. The mustached commander approached the lead tank flanked by two Iraqis and an Army Sergeant from 2nd Battalion, 7th Cavalry. Dunkar opened the hatch, observing the new comer.
"Good job commander." The Iraqi began with a thick accent. "But I haven't heard of my men that came to help Marines. We need a detachment to look for them. You understand, yes?"
Dunkar looked around as the Marines went through the remnants of the cultural center, checking bodies while covering their sector. The area was still hot and no matter what, they expected a counter attack soon. With a sigh, he peeked down.
"Loud!" He called.
The young white haired man looked from his post, turning around.
"Aye Gunny?!"
"Get out, I need you to look for survivors. Go with 3d Marines and the 7th Cavalry and and look for any Iraqi soldiers among the neighborhood. Their commander says that they're missing a few."
"Roger." Lincoln said, taking his M4 once more from the weapons rack, passing through Swabble and taking a hold of the hatchet ring, pulling himself upwards, kicking his legs out. With a grunt, he hit the ground, nodding to the gathered Iraqis.
"Anzuruu 'iilaa almanazil fi alkutlat alsharqia! Yala! Yala!" The commander screamed, not understanding a word that he was saying, Lincoln saw as the soldiers ran to the Eastern bloc, leaving him only with the Iraqi commander. "Marine, check the houses up North of the cultural center, we must find my men."
"Got it." He said simply, nodding in affirmation. He sighed, passing a stockpile of weapons, looking around the carcasses of insurgents for any sight of movement before running his way up the street. He was joined by the Army Sergeant in that odd grayish ACU camo and one Iraqi soldier who to his opinion was too jumpy for his liking, flickering his AK everywhere. The odd group made their way to a third story house, passing a busted green fence and heavily chained door, fortunately a stray tank round had made a sizable hole at the left side of the door. Lincoln took a breath, opening his eyes intently and went inside, rifle aiming at the left corridor of the property. There was rubble and remains of furniture everywhere, it smelled of mold and decay and it didn't provide him confidence that this was an unoccupied building.
The Army Sergeant motioned for him to go upstairs without a word, while he and the Iraqi investigated the first floor; Lincoln nodded, training his weapon at the steps, his hands squeezing his rifle handguard. The sounds of distance firefights and explosions were on the distance and his only companion as he made his way upstairs, peeking over the railing. His eyes peeled at the blood stains that he found on the floor, quickly following the trail to a room at the end of the hallway. His boots scrunched the warded wood boards, aiming his rifle at the room, the only one open in the concrete house. Flipping his weapon in full auto, he followed the trail of blood, getting bigger by the minute. Standing at the edge of the doorway, he peeked slightly spotting a boot sole connected to a tan uniform. Fully glimpsing now at the room, his stomach dropped.
Five men were sprawled in different forms, guts torn and spilled to the floor. He cringed, taking a step back; years later, he would never understand what propelled him to dug as automatic fire and screams ran downstairs, a bayoneted rifle passing mere inches from his body, embedding itself on the tilted door. A man in terrorist garb screamed, tearing off his bayonet from the door with the screech of wood before making a second attempt. Grunting, let go of his rifle linked to his plate carrier by his sling, ducking and sidestepping, pulling the rifle upwards. The insurgent was far leaner and shorter than the Marine. Lincoln quickly overpowered him, the terrorist squeezing the trigger on his SKS over and over again, disorienting him as concrete dust rained on the top of his head. Taking the rifle by the blunt flat screw driver type bayonet, he forced it down, the stock hitting the floor and at the same time, he kicked left, the force of the move made the insurgent to lose his weapon, sending it scattering around the room.
Taking him by surprise the terrorist screamed and charged at him, taking him by the pouches and ramming him down to the floor. The little mother fucker had some fight in him, thought Lincoln with a grimace, seeing movement from his left arm, trying to slide a bayonet off his chicom chest carrier. In a second, he pinned his arm to the side of his body with a leg and rammed his elbow across his face, breaking his nose on impact, rotating them around, his hands immediately going for his kabar knife. Snarling the insurgent took him by his M4, pushing upwards, negating his far reach for his knife, the insurgent spat the blood that was sliding from his face into his eyes, making the white haired man to momentary lose focus and that's all it took for him to punch him on his uncovered face, knocking him slightly aside and with the other hand he pulled a F1 Soviet grenade.
"Allah-Akbar!" He proclaimed holding the grenade across his face and pulling the pin at the same time that Lincoln squeezed his hand in a tight grip, the insurgent growling in pain, refusing to let go of the grenade striker lever, negating his 'martyrdom' moment. It was then right there that the epiphany hit Lincoln with the will to live.
He wanted to see her…and the rest who have been so long away from his life.
Lincoln wanted to be home.
The young Marine smashed his face open with a bash of his helmet again and again. Weakened the man can only held as much, crawling his face into his hands and screaming in agony. Frantically, Lincoln looked for the pin, finding it on his boot, quickly putting it on its place, letting the grenade to roll down harmlessly on the floor.
Sliding his kabar off its sheath he snarled bringing the knife as hard as he could into his stomach. The blood chilling scream tore from his throat, hands flying to his face, trying to gouge Lincoln's eyes out. Grunting in fury he bit down as hard as he could at the hand grasping his face, tasting the coppery flavor of blood. He tore his knife off his stomach with a sick wet sound, aiming once more for the heart. He didn't count on an explosion that rocked the house and made him miss his mark, sliding the knife deeply into his thorax, burying it up to the hilt. The terrorist chocks on his own blood, breathing and spitting blood from his lips. The thing that Lincoln can't seem to look away is the eyes so full of loathing, broadcasting hatred so deep that he would never be able to voice it, let alone understand it.
His lips finally exhale the last breath in him, head lopping to the side, eyes losing the alertness in them, lifelessly staring.
Lincoln breaths long and hard, the rush of adrenaline by now shaking his body. It's the very first time that he had killed a man personally but he wished it would be the last.
"Ahmir?! lAaqad qutilna alkalab al'amrikiata! hal 'ant fi alttabiq aleilwi?! Ahmir?!".
His wishes apparently were not going to be granted as he started hearing multiple footsteps coming in hard and fast.
Snarling, he rushed into the hallway, firing a mag dump from his M4 that forced the six men that he counted to drop to the floor, wounding one on the forearm. Screaming, he hit one of the closed doors like a battering ram, destroying the door and almost falling off his ass. The insurgents were to quickly to rush the hallway. Lincoln swung his M4 rifle against an insurgent stomach knocking the wind off the man one who tried to blast into the room. Without hesitation, he fired a burst from the hip at point blank range, his bullets tearing the man's torso open dropping him in the door frame. The terrorist fell screaming in pain, clutching at his chest, gurgling blood down his chin. Breathing hard, Lincoln ears peeked through footsteps sliding across the dusty wood floors, firing another burst behind a wall as the panicked screams resounded through the hallway. He quickly reloaded, slamming a mag home and slamming the bolt close with a slap, waiting.
A war cry came from behind the wall, a man peeked fully aiming an AK but he didn't get far, dropping him quickly with a round that blew his head open, dropping him on top of the other wiggling man.
"Ant khinzir!" Another man came over the dead bodies of his comrades firing wildly full auto, blind firing without looking into room. Smirking, Lincoln waited for him to make his move and when he did he pulled the trigger, except nothing happened, a dry click resounding through his subconscious, his stomach dropped immediately. The man, who was taller than the others didn't hesitate to rush into the room with a head-butt against his stomach that he even felt against his armor, slamming him against the wall. Growling, he squatted down, wrapping his arms around his chest and squeezed with everything he had, immediately cutting off his air supply forcing the man to drop him, pushing him aside. Compared to the mock fight he had with Polly, Lincoln possessed a brown belt in MCMAP and he used such skills to separate the legs of his opponent with a quick and swift kick to his calf, not giving him time to whine in pain as his other hand took a tight grip on his wrist, pulling left and at the same time ramming his open palm against the elbow to a position it was not meant to go.
He heard the satisfying crack of bone and a snarl of pain. What he didn't count is that the insurgent rammed him with full force, his equipment dragging him down to the floor. He tried to stand up but the guy was on him in a second, pulling an AK bayonet and screaming as he hurried with the bladed up. Unfortunately the rush of the move made him topple over his own legs, immediately falling on top of Lincoln as he rammed his open palm on his face, breaking his nose on impact as he fell. He gripped as tightly as he could, taking a grip of his wrist and pulling to the opposite side so quickly that he broke two of his fingers from the inside of his hand. The man dropped his blade screaming, but he refused to let him go, forcing him to the floor, trying to punch him even with broken bones.
"Ayb ant?!"
Lincoln eyes peeled to the sound of quick approaching footsteps downstairs putting him in a precarious position.
"Alttabiq aleulwi!" The pained man screamed and that's when he sealed his fate. In a second, Lincoln jammed his thumb against his right eye, tearing a scream from the man. He pushed with all his strength against his eyeball, ramming him to the side, applying heavy pressure, his other hand squeezing the throat of the insurgent, wiggling against him and trying to kick him off him without bail. Urgently he rammed his full body weight until he felt a wet pop against his fingers, its cornea exploding against his palms, the man thrashing violently against the floor, clutching at his face. Immediately letting him go, the only weapon he had left was ironically the one that was used for protection. He undid the clasps that held his frontal Sapi plate, pulling it from its pouch. Screaming, he took it as high as he could on the air and brought it as hard as he could against his head, blood splattering on his face from the violent impact against his forehead and again and again until the pained screams just ceased, the only sounds that rattled against his ears were the flesh and bone giving in.
"FUCKING DIE!"
HIT.
"DIE!"
HIT.
"MOTHER!"
SPLAT
"FUCKING".
Splaurghhhh.
"DIE!".
He lost count of many times his plate came down on the head, he only knew that he only stopped was because he felt his skull cracking, brains, chips of bones and sinus splattered against the wood floor and against his uniform. By then the footsteps were too loud for him to ignore and with no weapons, he was forced to take the fallen AK bayonet that was discarded, rushing into the hallway as soon as the weapon was on display against his gaze, lifting it away from the terrorist and ramming the bayonet home into the stomach of a young boy no more than 14, gurgling blood and looking at his enraged eyes breathing hard. The boy dropped the rifle, not being able to handle the six inches of high carbon steel into his body.
He stayed in that position, feeling as his life drained away through the bayonet, finally letting him as he heard English language close to the house.
The boy dropped to the ground still gasping at the bayonet through his chest, eyes rolled to the back of his head. Taking his M4 back he removed the mag and pulled the charging handle, clearing the malfunction and inserting the mag back in, palming the bolt close. Without hesitation he put a bullet into his forehead as a form of mercy killing and he did the rest with the other bodies in case they were faking being dead, firing at movement just to make absolutely sure without an ounce of hesitation.
"CORPORAL?!"
The voices inside the house immediately brought relieve to the young Marine.
"Second floor! CLEAR! Coming out, don't shoot! You shoot and I won't be happy!" Lincoln called out, putting his plate back in, walking over the dead bodies. A detachment of Marines and Army soldiers quickly went upstairs, their eyes widening as Lincoln walked into the hallway.
"Jesus…fuck, are you okay man? You need a corpsman?" A soldier approached him, pointing at something.
It was then that Lincoln realized that he was covered in blood and not just one spot. His face, his body armor was seeping with gore, his hands were stained and so was his service weapon.
"It's not my blood." He said, tilting his head at the room where he came from, slinging his rifle on his shoulder. A Marine approached the room and quickly took a step back.
"Holy…shit."
His reaction immediately called out the attention of several that came to take a look.
"Goddamn it man, you did this shit?" An Army soldier commented, whistling at the display of carnage, stepping over the body of the young boy he had killed. There was no reason that he had to stay here. He only went into the room to firmly grasp the handle of his kabar and pulled with all his strength with a wet sound, cleaning the blade on an expired insurgent pants and sliding it home.
Others were making comments about the insanity of such violence but he made no comments about it, brushing the hands off his shoulders from anybody who said anything, too angry and shaken by the deeds he had just done but his soul felt clean. His eyes peeled and looking at the insurgent who's skull he had cracked for a few seconds.
"Better you than me." He said, making his way downstairs, quickly getting saddened at the dead Army Sergeant, whose body was by now being covered by a Marine, eyes on him due being covered almost head to toe in blood.
He would live to fight another day and he promised himself that he would survive this goddamn tour of war and make it home.
Killing whoever stepped on his way.
As Lynn always said…obstacles are meant to be crushed.
They would meet again and nothing would stand on his way.
Not even Death itself.
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A/N: As promised, next chapter is going to be entirely in the future. Let's see what have the Loud family being faring since Lincoln left. Until next time!
D4rK