Siege of Hearts

by D4rK Sid3

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

16. Hell Patrol

A/N: My apologies for this chapter taking so long. But it was a long of planning and pre-writing for the future material after this fic. But finally, it's done, the war bits are almost completely over for the entire duration of the story. PM me to ask about everything and don't forget to review! Also, I did another drawing of adult Lincoln, you can find it on The Loud Booru, look up Siege of Hearts or Yustax, you might have to click on unhide pictures (People down vote my stuff for some reason).

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 16

Hell Patrol

A boot kicking his leg was the only thing that woke up Lincoln after a dreamless night. His eyes, crusted with eye boogers as he blinked and swirled up towards the grinning face of Lieutenant Douchebag, flanked by two of his Marines.

"Morning Corporal, get fitted and have a meal, we leave in an hour."

"Yes sir." Lincoln answered without complain and only after he left, he mouthed 'fuck you limp dick' under his breath. He sighs falling down on his sleeping bag before slamming his fists over and over again hating the situation with a burning passion. Swabble groans as the only occupant besides Lincoln, palming the air and reaching Lincoln's hand in midair.

"Hey Casper, we're trying to sleep here." He called him out with one of those odd nicknames he was used to receiving by now due to its odd white hair.

"Whatever I-Swallow."

The black African American snickered before he turned out serious.

"Hey man…good luck out there, I'll be taking your post."

Lincoln groaned as he stood up.

"Just keep my chair warm. And don't touch my shit." He hissed referring to the different pictures he had set up around his gunner station, the only ones he kept about Lynn and a small pixelated copy he could save up from school day, out of the shitty website off his old high school, laminated to the main gun loading tray.

"Just get your ass in one piece, alright?" Was the last thing that the friends exchanged, shaking their hands firmly before he slipped on his boots and walked away, his heart beating off awfully into his chest. He took his heavy alice hybrid molle backpack modified for the field with him and his brand-new armor close to an open tent flapping in the morning wind where steel bleachers had been set up for eating. Other than a few Marines, the place was deserted; opening it up he dug through the contents getting his favorite MRE…fajitas and rice. Naturally he would have loved to have a delicious bowl of cereal but you couldn't have shit out there that was not regulated and care packages, usually sent by supporting and Patriotic US citizens with goodies inside but that usually meant that they had been ransacked by the Supply douchebags for the good shit and left the crappy stuff in it so he never bothered to check them out.

Opening the package, he slipped some water into the thick bag and shook it, waiting for the chemical reaction that heated the package for him. A few minutes later, it was ready to eat, but hopefully not ready to explode off his intestines at a later time, thankfully the meals were usually packed by a lot of fiber which usually meant that the meals will go out easy but thick as a rock. He couldn't help but to think of some of the hilarious names for it to amuse himself…Meals Ready to Explode…Meals Rejected by Ethiopians. He snorted digging into the beef and rice, abstinently throwing away the dreaded bar of Charms candy towards a thickening pile of them at a corner, because they were cursed; eating Charms is like begging for the world's largest thunderstorm to rain down on you and your platoon.

He knew that occasionally some douche from the upper ranks would bag it and gift it towards the Iraqi population, especially children as a show of good will but maybe that's why the insurgents refused to die…they were born off bad luck every time they took a chunk off that cursed candy bar.

Finishing up, he hydrated and threw the contents into an old oil barrel that was used for waste, rubbing the sweat off his brow, he slipped a pair of Oakleys from his backpack before he walked to the armory, a heavily reinforced building with Hesco walls and barbwire.

It was already hot as balls and inside the stale building it was even worse. The man who greeted him sat on a desk that had seen better years. His eyes bored on Lincoln's as he stared as if trying to decipher if he was worth his while; this was sadly a problem with the Supply guys, also called box-kickers…they dealt with so much bullshit around of people doing retarded shit with their gear that it required nerves of steel to sit straight without busting some teeth from the sheer stupidity that they saw day after day of POG retardation.

"Can I help you?" The man spoke with certain suspicion in his voice. He was a man in his thirties, a Sergeant that had been stuck in this sorry ass station for months, sweating buckets of sweat and suddenly Lincoln felt more pity at him than at himself for what was coming.

"Morning sir…I am Corporal Loud. Lieutenant Ditomasso sent me to gear up."

The man pulled a clipboard, scanning something before his eyes squinted and he rose an eyebrow.

"You piss him off or something?" He asked with the amused raise of his lips.

"Sir?" The white-haired man asked with confusion pouring off him.

"Let me read it to you…an M240 Bravo with an Elcan scope, 7 tin cans of 7.62 with 100 rounds each plus pouches, 3 spare barrels, 4 smoke grenades, 3 frags, signal flares, a Beretta M9 with six loaded mags and 50 rounds, a kabar knife, 3 days' worth of MRE's and water, night vision, helmet and…two AT4's anti-tank missiles." He snorted with hilarity, slapping his knee; Lincoln's sinking shoulders only increased his laughter.

"Fuck me man, I needed that…so this guy wants for you take out the entire armory to a patrol? Corporal, you better sit your ass down while I get everything ready…it might take a while." He snorted again and Lincoln was forced to stay still out of Military professionalism. Only when he left to the back then Lincoln mouthed a FUCK and closed his eyes out of sheer frustration. An hour later he left outfitted with over 90 pounds of gear on him, balancing the rocket launchers strapped to his backpack. Unable to balance the way he would've wanted, he had used velco wraps around the disposable missile launchers to keep them in place to his backpack straps and pull them out quickly if the situation required for it.

Nodding at some of the tank members that he recognized as he passed them by, they could smile at him with pity and the memory of their faces was the only thing in his mind as he walked to the assembly area, close to the tank shooting range, where the Lieutenant was waiting with twenty-three men and five Humvees. Several faces that he didn't recognize swirled to him as soon as they saw him coming and just like the armorer…their faces broke into amused grins.

He looked like Rambo and Lincoln heard with disdain the feared word…geardo, the slang for the overgeared POG, a complete embarrassment; completing his annoyance, the Lieutenant smirked heavily, no wonder pleased by his handywork and if Lincoln could he would've swung the heavy 240 and unloaded it on his stupid face.

"Glad you can join us Corporal. Platoon, mount up!" He barked and just like that, the Marines mounted up their vehicles. As Lincoln walked to his assigned one, he could tell by the shallow impacts of rounds against the armored Humvee that this was going to be a different type of battle.

Joyriding with a moron at the steering wheel, guiding them to an incoming disaster. But Oorah, right?

Whoopie.

A few minutes later off the Train station compound, Lincoln stared at the sea of brown, with his 240 supported at the window, his gloved fingers tapping the grip, just staring and looking. The war effort had broken down most of the infrastructure, with power lines poles sticking at odd angles. They passed a few smashed hamlets. There was a carcass of an old and rusted out T55, its turret had blown up and was currently resting on the turret ring, main gun facing upwards and for a moment he thought about his tank like that, going out in a blaze. He shook his head, scanning his sector but finding nothing but sand for miles long. They hit a bump caused by an old IED and he bounced off in his seat, hearing the metallic pings of his backpack strapped to the trunk area and he cursed again, scanning his sector through the 4x scope, wishing they had a better driver. His eyes peeled at the young Marine seeing that he was a fucking boot, barely off diapers and a pit of fear slammed into his stomach.

You couldn't have someone unreliable that would shit his pants at the very motion of danger, especially one that was in charge…its why he missed his crew immediately and his battalion. They had worn out their uniforms and equipment by actually using them in battle.

"Corporal Loud?". A young voice interrupted his musings. His head shot off towards the MK19 automatic grenade launcher gunner who was peeking down at him.

"Yes?"

"What hell alleyway you came from anyway?"

For a second he was more than ready to bust his nuts for not facing off with that gun towards the front but then he saw the three chevrons on his sleeve and he backed up suddenly.

"I'm from 2nd Tank Battalion Iron Horse, Sword platoon"

"The hell is an Armor crewman doing here? Shouldn't you guys be covering our asses, a fine job I might add?"

"Well." Lincoln licked his lips. "In his infinite wisdom, the Lieutenant decided that I should be a valuable asset to the mission at hand, a very important mission was bestowed upon me, with half the armory strapped to my back."

The four Marines laughed loudly, understanding his frustration too well.

"Shit. I am a cook." Muttered the driver.

The Corporal blinked.

"I fully put my trust in the Lieutenant."

His sarcasm made the Marines to snort again before the calm was broken down by the radio cracking to life.

"This is Raptor." Came the voice of a Sergeant further up the column, part of their squad. "Interrogative, I understand we're in restricted ROE's (Rules of Engagement), over."

"That is an Affirm." Came the voice of Douchebag maximus. "We just gotta re-visit the zones that had been cleared out from stranglers…we might have been missing a few."

There was a chuckle. "Roger that Charlie. Probably after Sword rolled over them through the mall and out of the street, sir. Sent 'em running like the roaches they are"

At that Lincoln beamed with pride, not being able to deny the praise from the NCO.

"I express doubt in that assessment." Ditomasso denied. "Five clicks until we enter the city. Stay frosty gents."

The advice was solid, but coming from that type of man, Lincoln whole heartily denied even hearing it, attributing to a hallucination due the heat that reflected from the sands in bright silver lagoons. He stayed silent, scanning his sector, not seeing anything out of the ordinary but Iraqi troops moving out with an Army convoy headed the opposite bank. They were several Stryker APC's at their flanks…to Mosul. Just like Fallujah, it had been heavily occupied by insurgents and it took combined arms and a nasty house to house fighting to clear off any resistance. No doubt they were going there to reinforce it and clean up block by block. He made the cross pattern with his hand, wishing them the best of luck.

As the convoy headed South back through the opposite side where Lincoln entered it for the first time, he was witness to the destruction that the war had left in its wake. Unfortunately, this had also being the way where the vast majority of the civilians had cleared out the city judging by the remains of burned out vehicles and half rotten supplies left by the fleeing civilians, scattered out in the sands. Several times, a group of civilians was seen walking by, towards a new life or temporality camping off the desert, their families staring at the convoy. Several children passed too close to comfort but that was not that worried him, his concern was to clear off the road before there were more of them and a possible situation could rise up; insurgents loved stand still targets, especially a convoy.

Insurgents had made him wary to a point of being neurotic and highly suspicious of civilians as Hadjis loved to minx through the civilians before launching an attack…but they were waving friendlily and he let off a breath he had been holding on, the Marines in the Humvees waving back, accelerating through the desolated road. It curved overhead and dipped, following into Highway 23, the very same road that their squad had taken when they began Operation Phantom Fury to support the operation into the city, coming from Highway 10.

He took a drink to quench his thirst, sighing as the hot breeze that was passing through didn't help manners in the slightest and just like that, the city came in view as they passed under a concrete bridge with signs full of bullet holes that the city was a mere 3 miles away, the hulk of burning buildings and heavy pouring smoke from the raging fires. Passing by a stationary commission from the 1st Cavalry, the convoy stopped in a semi-circle around the wide array of parked vehicles and ordnance, in a mini FOV that the Army Division had set up, using almost the whole street to pile up resupplying areas, ready to resupply their different FOVS set up at the edge of town, following all the way to the occupied Mayor's building.

"Dismount." Came the voice of the Douche and they did so, for the very first time, Lincoln being slammed to the ground by the massive heat wave of the sun, he grunted adjusting his heavy pack filled to the brim of equipment, the rocket launchers swirling heavily and fell in line towards a table which the Lieutenant was already waiting, his RTO –a gruff looking African American man –gave him the map of Fallujah. When he opened it on the table, the city was divided in hexagonal zones with different color codes.

Green meant completely under their control.

Blue meant that the area was not completely secured.

Red meant the areas under the enemy's control, which were diversified in different smaller areas, like a decayed Jackson Pollock paint splotches across a solid colored canvas. Pulling a smoke from his vest, he was quickly to light it up, letting the tobacco to swell his lungs, exhaling it and relaxing him as he balanced the 240 strapped to his shoulders hanging diagonally, wishing it wasn't so heavy…he knew the weapon in and out, but it was always in a coaxial mount and on the top of the turret, never dragged through the streets and the patrol hadn't even began. Not voicing his complains, his ears peeked as Douche started speaking.

"Currently we're in the Muallimin district, at the edge of the Northern bank. Our patrol will cover the blue areas to look for stragglers. That means moving to Nazzal to the South, close to the heart of Fallujah and move west through the industrial park. After our mission is done, we head back taking Highway 10 and then MSR (Resupply line) Michigan and then back to base. We got a limited array of air, armor and arty support...we shouldn't be here more than a day. Attached to this mission it's Task Force 35, a mix of spec ops who are in the vicinity, clearing off areas from the enemy. Any questions?" He lifted an eyebrow in an assertive manner.

But Lincoln was not going to be intimidated by the job at hand or even ask him why he had three days of food rations in his pack. Taking a breath that cut like glass, he tapped his palms on his stretched weapon.

"When do we leave?" He asked, eyeing the smoke coming from several buildings at the distance.

"Soon." Ditomasso got serious, observing the assembled men, not daring to stare too much at their faces for too long and then Lincoln knew that he was scared.

Weren't they all?

"…Rah." The snowball colored man said, nodding.

If it took his cooperation for this thing to work so they could all come back and alive so be it…his combat tour was almost at an end and soon, he would be home to face what he had left years ago.

His expression scrunched in agony before he shook his head, icing his train of thoughts with the situation at hand. Minutes later they were following the torn streets, powdered by the poison of black powder and ordnance; they had separated in two 12 men squads, Raptor and Charlie, the other squad led by the Napoleonistic Douchebag have taken the other street further up. For the very first time, Lincoln was walking through the mile o' death, the first day of the Sonne, Omaha Beach. The decayed arid buildings were hulks of destroyed structures, piles of concrete surrounding their foundations. Power lines splintered and crocked decorated the street, with the power lines streaming around the dusty road, a burnt off bus was in the middle of their way, forcing them to use the one of the back alleys with a smashed wall to go through the other side, their eyes flickering towards the bus in high vigilance.

Trash lined up around the streets, filling the air with the stench of putridity and the familiar smell of death, a smell that Lincoln had than long got used to. The further they went in, the stench got higher, literally tasting the ash in his mouth. By the way the other Marines were grimacing, he was not the only one affected.

Passing a patrol on their way in, he couldn't let but to stare at the pile of bodies that was burning off from the insurgents, bodies that had been left to rot for an entire month. He stared at the face of a young one, at the white of his eyes and he couldn't help but to remember the young boy he had stabbed through the chest as his life bleed off the edge of that bayonet. Two Army privates wearing gas masks were standing guard against the wide array of stray dogs that were taking pieces off the badly decomposed bodies ready to be burned, one even went as far as to venture to the grotesque pile of flames and took a bite off his charred calf before the Private ran him off by setting off a M18 smoke grenade, sending the dogs running away. Lincoln caught a flash of a camera from a roof stop and he knew that this would once be sold as bad press.

He shrugged, for once not caring, more concerned about the starved monsters that just waited for their chance to kill them, everyone advancing quickly away from the pyre of death.

But there was no escape from death.

Two bodies stood on the hood of a car, their bloated bodies under the 130F temperature and high humidity made them look like black sponges, they were clutching badly rusted AK's that he wouldn't be surprised if they could still fire.

"So many dead hadjis. How is that Allah will provide them with so many virgins?" The cheeky voice of the Sergeant that was manning the Humvee's main gun came, a man named John Truts.

"Well you can go and volunteer your pussy for 'em." Lincoln ran his mouth before he could stop, but rather than be insulted by his answer, he laughed joined by a chorus of the others in the squad.

The cook smirked. "Sometimes, Allah ain't too Akbar. "

It would be the last thing he would say.

Rounds ratted the calmness of the patrol from a three story behind them, one passing through his neck, splattering his sinus all over the streets.

"FUUUUCK! COVEEEER!"

The Marines screamed hugging the buildings away from the cone of fire from the machine gun but Lincoln couldn't let that poor young Marine lying down on the streets as his arms flickered, blood pouring down on the streets. Ignoring all logic, he screamed bringing the 25 pounds weapons to his shoulders and peeking around the wall letting loose the death rattle of his 240 bravo, the 7.62 armored piercing ammunition impacting the building with fury, silencing the fire as his belt disintegrated into his weapon, piles of casings and steel links falling around his feet.

"SUPPRESSIVE!" The Sergeant ordered, the squad firing rounds after rounds in the building as Lincoln ran as fast as he could towards the Marine, dragging him off through cover, leaving a long and thick smear of his blood towards them.

"Corpman!" Lincoln screamed towards the approaching squads of Marines adjacent to the streets. "CORPMAN!" He screamed louder before remembering he even had a radio on, calming down his breathing. "Charlie, this is Raptor. We got a man down, took a hit to the neck."

There was a gasp from the other side of the radio as if the person holding it couldn't talk for a few seconds before it cracked to life.

"What's his status?"

Lincoln looked down, using his thumbs to try and seal the wound but too much blood was coming off him, staining his nomex gloves, hissing in anger, he opened his medic pouch, throwing septic powder all over his wounds to slow the bleeding. Finally, the squad medic arrived from the other squad running at full gallop, kneeling in front of the cook, putting his hands arounds his neck to check for entry and exit wounds judging the situation. Automatic fire ran through the streets, forcing the men to take cover, but it was not directed at them.

"What's his status?!" The voice came again.

"He's unstable sir, the corpsman is here." Sergeant Truts spoke, maintaining his weapon pointed down the street.

"Roger, inform me of any changes. Sit tight, I'm calling an arty strike."

The men looked disturbed at the news.

"Is he insane? That's danger close."

Lincoln said nothing as he shredded the cook's body armor, throwing it aside, the medic threw an approving nod over using the powder before wrapping a thick combat dressing around his neck, the poor young man choking on his blood, barely being able to breathe properly.

"Hold pressure." He ordered to Lincoln and he followed through, the medic looking through his battle pack pulling serum with a needle, quickly tapping his shaking arm and inserted a needle.

"We need to medevac this man or he's not going to make it. Critical wounded, he needs surgery."

The Sergeant snarled.

"Wasn't this area marked as green? Fuck. We aren't even close from the rendezvous area"

The Corporal said nothing, patching up his comms.

"Lieutenant he's stable but we need to get him out of here. He needs surgery or he's not going to make it."

"Roger. I'll call transport from the 1st Cavalry, they are in the vicinity."

As the squad tended to the wounded, the radio cracked.

"Rolling Thunder, this is Charlie-3. SEAD, over."

"Charlie-3, this is Rolling Thunder. SEAD, out."

"Grid to suppress Mike-Charlie 4-3-5 9-2-1, grid to mark Mike-Charlie 4-7-3 9-8-9, over."

"Grid to suppress Mike-Charlie 4-3-5 9-2-1, grid to mark Mike-Charlie 4-7-3 9-8-9, out."

"SA-6 Gainful, non-standard minus 2 to minus three 3-0 plus 3-0 to plus 1, mark smoke on the deck, two rounds HEVT, FO TOT 5-3, over."

"SA-6 Gainful, non-standard minus 2 to minus 3-0 then plus 3-0 to plus 1, mark smoke on the deck, two rounds HEVT, FO TOT 5-3, over."

"OT direction 1600."

"Message to observer, Charlie two rounds, HE delay in effect, five guns. Bravo, one round, one gun, smoke on the deck. SEAD. FO TOT 5-3, target number Echo-Kilo 3-0-0-9, over."

"MTO, Charlie, two rounds, HE delay, five guns, bravo, one round, one gun, smoke on the deck. SEAD. FO TOT 5-3. Twenty secs for splash. Out."

"We need to move. Clear off the street!" The RTO screamed in the radio, forcing the Marines on their feet across the streets, back tracing where they came from, Lincoln and the medic carrying the wounded Marine as he howled in pain, the young Corporal having the IV bag in his teeth. They reunited behind a building that joined the two squad's streets as quickly as they could before the deep whine of the artillery, impacting the building where they came from, the Lieutenant pulled out his binoculars just as the 155mm rounds impacted off the target, blowing two houses from the face of the earth.

"Lead 2-0, add seventy, correct and try again. Break"

"2-0, one round, HE."

Seven seconds later, the round impacted directly on target at the top of the building, scattering concrete everywhere.

"Target, BDA 10. Mark it concentration baker for this sector. Six rounds HE, fire for effect."

"Six rounds, HE. Splash in twenty seconds. Rolling Thunder, out"

The building imploded, collapsing into itself, thick brown smoke covered the street as the building plummeted as it was slammed by five more shells, ceasing any threat that might have remained.

"Job well done sir." The RTO spoke to his commanding officer and strangely rather than feeling smug over the successful artillery strike, the Lieutenant instead was looking at a fallen Marine. It was perhaps the very first true casualty under his command, with sudden realization Lincoln offered a squeeze over his shoulder.

"Orders sir?"

The man woke up, looking around the assembled squads.

"Overlord, overlord, this is Charlie-3. Over."

"This is Overlord…send it."

"We got a critically wounded. He needs a Medivac ASAP or he'll die. 1st Cavalry its on the vicinity close to our grid"

"Charlie-3, what's his status?"

"Unstable, requesting medivac at my position. Grid 0-3, 4-7…" As he finished up their coordinates, everyone held the breath. What would follow, would decide the fate of the young Marine.

"Green light. 1st Cavalry its on the way. ETA. 5 minutes."

Lincoln let off the breath he was holding. The squads immediately took cover in defensive positions, his 240 Bravo was facing at a rise on a broken sidewalk, his head barely visible but it gave him full view of the road for at least the entire mile. His ears picked at the sound of approaching tank tracks, more than used to the sound, able to recognize it everywhere. Two Bradley light tanks approached, the diesel powered engines whirling through the streets, coming to a stop a few feet from them. The rear hatches opened, nine men disembarked, aiming their weapons at the windows as the tank gunners scanned their sectors. Two walked low to the ground with a stretcher, crouching around the Marines, looking at the wounded in question, Lincoln could saw that he was an Army First Class Sergeant, same rank as their Marine Gunnery Sergeant, the other was just a Private First Class.

"Status?" He asked to the corpsman.

"Shot to the neck, stable…for now. He passed out minutes ago. I am afraid of tissue damage and fat clots…that would cause him to instantly die. This man needs surgery." The medic spoke to the Sergeant.

"And he'll have it. Help me to load the wounded to the Bradley's."

"Yes sir." The corpsman and the Lieutenant, shockingly, slowly moved the wounded Marine on the stretcher.

"You'll be alright Fick." Ditomasso said as the was carried off to the back of the closest Bradleys. The infantry moved up inside, closing the hatches as their tanks let out a salvo of smoke grenades, covering their retreat, noisily backpedaling until the last thing they saw was their barrels disappearing from view. Cursing under his breath the Lieutenant sighed looking at his RTO.

"Hopefully we'll get sitrep from Private Fick…Corporal Loud, join my squad. O'Connor." He motioned to a M249 SAW gunner. "You'll take Loud's place…we still have to follow our route. Any objections?"

At not hearing any, he nodded approvingly.

"Move out."

His expression was unreadable but the mission already was turning sour…losing a man against a city that was a death threat in its entirety. Relaxing his grip on his 240, he sighed at the blood trails of the poor cook, slinging the weapon around his shoulders horizontally. All business at hand, the patrol continued through the Muhandisin, from a rise of the terrain, Lincoln could clearly see the Green Bridge at a distance, along with the hospital. They stopped there for some needed chow and water in an abandoned building that had been cleared out before resting. It was already past 3PM and it felt just like yesterday when he woke up in his tent, the stress of combat had a way to fuck up with your perception of the world around you. The weight of the upcoming combat placed an ardent fury that seemed to jolt every nerve of his body, forcing him to focus, the way to Royal Woods wasn't in a body bag…or with a limb missing.

The temperatures had risen in the half an hour that they resided in the building, already Lincoln was already breaking into a sweat, the heat seemed to find an opening where to get into to make him suffer and it did, sucking some water from his camelbak seemed to just slow the flow of sweat but it didn't stop it.

Sergeant Truts stood up suddenly, looking outside the window of their temporary shelter, squinting his eyes at a group of at least twenty coming through the streets.

"Unidentified camel fuckers coming through the road."

The Lieutenant stood up, taking his M4 with a 203 grenade launcher, walking to the window looking at the people in question. Pulling out his binos he scanned the group, children among them.

"They aren't armed. Children in the crowd"

By now the two squads had caught up about the situation, standing up from their positions to loosely look at the group, looking from the second story. Regardless, Lincoln deployed his 240 on a busted but sturdy table in the room they were in, feet away from the window. A man in loose garments walked from the crowd, loosening the shemagh covering his face. He breathed nice and long as if it would be his last one, a man said something in Arabic and he just nodded, locking eyes with the building, resuming walking once more.

"Orders?" Ditomasso's RTO requested.

"The ROE's are clear…we must be engaged to engage…do as they do. Watch that man."

The man in question suddenly broke into a run accompanied by the cheers of the crowd that he left behind, their arms and hands waving and encouraging him; as he ran, his clothes dissembled, seeing through a vest with plastic cylinders and wires connected to a single detonator, wired to his wrist…in a martyrdom grip.

"Fuck! Suicide skinny!" Ran the voice of the SAW gunner, aiming at the man.

Two young boys no older than 13 clustered came from the crowd carrying a PKM general purpose machine gun, placing it against one of the concrete barriers that separated the road and opened fire on the building and just like that, the crowd dispersed pulling weapons from their robes and thobes dispersing from the main road before the squads could engage them. By now the suicide bomber was a few phases from the building.

"ALLAHU AKB-"

He was cut down from a burst from the 240, the heavy projectiles cutting the man down before he could cross into the walls of the building they occupied, falling to the ground and releasing his grip on the detonated rigged to explode as soon as he let go sending a shower of smoke, flames and body parts went flying but still Lincoln held the trigger down, shifting his aim towards the crowd had assembled to peek from the walls sending them screaming into cover. Quickly remembering at the youngsters lighting up their building, there was no hesitation as he zeroed his 4x scope on the machine gun. A man peeked down from the right flank firing an RPG at the building outside of his field of view.

"RPG!" Someone screamed. The rocket went flying, passing through one of the windows and detonated in an empty room at the upper head floors, shaking the building and sending smoke through the hallway. Snarling, Lincoln fired a quarter of a belt into them, cutting them in the primer of their life. Strangely, as the loader fell down in a pool of his own blood, the other one kept firing even as the bullets went flying around him, with the eyes of the death, as he was just staring ahead, unfeeling. Lincoln stopped firing just to clear a jam racking the bolt, his eyes never leaving his as he palmed his empty weapon to look for extra ammunition but there was none.

Ditomasso aimed at him and hissed, hesitating, but Lincoln didn't.

Two bullets into his chest, tearing his body down. The boy raised a single trembling hand to the skies before falling down, head swinging to the side.

"We need to get out of there!" Sergeant Truts ordered and Lincoln was happy to follow that order, his 240 rattling in the streets suppressing anyone who dared to take a peak and shoot back. Hissing, he dropped his heavy pack, pulling a spare barrel, swiftly changing barrels by the handle, slapping into a new one as he dropped the hot one in the heat resistant bag. The two squads made their way downstairs and immediately they soon found themselves fighting for their lives as bullets ran from the insurgents firing from outside in undisclosed positions. The other machine gunner screamed pressing the trigger on his MG, clearing path for their escape but the enemy wasn't just letting get away…they were the enemy they have wanted to kill since they stepped into Fallujah and now, they smelled blood in the waters.

"Shit! Shit! We got no way out!" Screamed one of the Marines, keeping his head down as the concrete dust fell around them, bullets slamming inches from their heads.

A bullet graced O'Connor leg passing through his pants, leaving a burn sending the man hissing in pain taking cover once more. Quickly they were being pinned down from several places, identifying and assessing the threat came quickly to Lincoln even as the automatic fire poured in their building from seemingly random directions.

"COVER!" He screamed snatching one of his AT4 CS rockets from his backpack.

Ditomasso snarled, lowering his rocket with a heavy palm.

"What the fuck are you doing Loud?"

"We need to get the fuck out of here Lieutenant. If we stay here we're going to be over run! They're covering both exits…but not the one I'm about to make."

Understanding his plan, he screamed standing around.

"Take cover!" He ordered as Lincoln fiddled with the safeties on the weapon, swinging a lever to the right to arm the rocket, aiming at the opposite wall where they were in.

"Rocket! Rocket!" He screamed turning around. "Clear backblast!"

He pressed the trigger button sending the 84mm Anti Structure Tandem-warhead hissing through the tube, imploding the wall and sending concrete showered off the building, the kinetic blast was more than enough to topple the surrounding walls making a massive hole that shook the concrete building. Standing up he threw the disposable rocket away, pointing at the hole he just made.

"Go! Go! move out!" The LT ordered and just like that, the twenty-three men ran through the gap into the back alleyways, the clack of boots and heavy equipment shifting echoed through the air.

Exiting the alley, the men made a turn encountering six barrels aiming at them. Hissing, Lincoln fired from the hips sending hot lead towards the insurgents, cutting three men down and crippling a fourth, busting his arm in half the man dropping his weapon as he was dragged through a thick steel door. As the man poured down the alleyway, six members of his squad turned around and fired at the wall they just left through, Arabic screams and death rattles falling around their ears.

"Loud! Hit that door with the AT4!" Ditomasso ordered and Lincoln was more than happy to oblige, resting his 240 bipod on the ground tearing off his rocket launcher from his backpack.

"ROCKET! ROCKET!" He swiftly turned around finding nobody behind him. "CLEAR BACKBLAST!" The rocket slammed into the door, pounding it to dust sending it catering through a hallway crushing a terrorist against a wooden bean, caving up a part of the second floor. Throwing the now empty tube, he took his weapon firing into the opening he just did, a quarter of the belt gone in seconds, Ditomasso looking at him in awe at the swiftness of how quickly he was able to react. Realizing that the way off the opposite street towards friendlier lines could be accessed through that structure and to an empty lot of terrain where they could easily retreat through, Lincoln pointed at it.

"Sir! We could exit and backpedal through that house, it would take us towards the South-East and rendezvous with the Spec-Ops!"

Nodding, the LT spoke into his radio.

"Rally on Corporal Loud, we're going in!"

A concrete dusted terrorist came off the hole he rocketed in, lazily tumbling, completely disoriented. There was blood coming off his ears, judging by the hand that was trying to stop the blood flow and the other clutching a concrete stained AK, he never saw as the snow colored man hissed and pulled his Beretta M9 strapped to his chest and made him take one in the chest. The man took a step back, bleeding heavily from his mouth and tumbled off, dead.

So much for the 9 mil vs the 45 slugs debate.

Lincoln slung the heavy machine gun and charged into the hole he just made, flanked by four other Marines as they slammed on the wall for cover. Peeking through the dusty hallway, Lincoln locked eyes with a fallen terrorist, a young woman in a pony tail laid in a pool of her own blood, an underfolder AK laid at her bloodied thighs. Her right arm was clutching the door frame leading to another area of the house as if she had tried to drag herself out to escape but the piece of thick rebar sticking through her chest pinning her to the wall said otherwise, a thick trail of blood ran staining the chicom vest she was wearing. The Marines entered gazing at the other three terrorist lying dead on the floor, cringing as they passed a headless one. Her arm moved, perhaps in a post mortem fashion, clutching the AK and tried to find the pistol grip to fire at the Marines or so Lincoln suspected but he didn't hesitate to put a round through her forehead, splattering her brains all over the white walls. Seeing female terrorists was an oddity and he knew immediately that they weren't part of the usual ones…perhaps Chechen? It was inconsequent now that she was dead.

Kicking empty casings as his boots shifted through the dusty concrete floor, he pressed himself against the wall as automatic fire ran through the hallway, making him to crouch low, the door being frame being splintered from AK fire. Placing his weapon against the frame, he let it drop and fired a burst forcing the combatant into cover, kicking his legs fully in a prone position, his shoulders and head were the only thing visible and he shouldered his weapon, his elbow dipped into the blood of the dead woman by his feet, covering that hallway.

"Loud?!"

"I got you! Frag that room!"

Sergeant Truts and the LT jumped over Lincoln, slamming against the wall. Lincoln quickly let loose a valley of fire as he sensed movement in that room, distraction that the men used to get a grenade from their belt pouch as Sergeant Truts did the same, nodding at the LT.

"Frag out!" They both pulled the pins, grenade handles going flying, hurling the explosives through the doorway. A massive explosion resounded sending dust everywhere ran out, charging into the room finding nothing else but the charred remains of a terrorist and a messed-up kitchen. Lincoln was to quickly stand up, cringing at the blood that stained his uniform, slinging the MG and taking off his Beretta, walking into the dusty room, the Marines congregating behind him.

"Nice redecoration." O'Connor sneered, checking on the fallen terrorist, his lifeless eyes staring ahead. The automatic fire ceased momentarily and the RTO knew immediately that the remainder of the insurgents were moving, assembling into the ruckus they've been making. Lincoln looked at him and with a sinking feeling he knew that they were not out of the woods yet.

"Move, move!" Ditomasso screamed, Lincoln acting as pointman, running through the doorless frame and into the empty terrain that dipped down. There was construction equipment everywhere indicating that the insurgents had been trying to build something the invasion but were interrupted; thankfully the ground kept going lower and lower into they could move through a rat hole made into the ground by concrete tubes that passed through the other side, below the streets. The road went up until they could finally see the street sprinkled by the dusty sands and trash and their way North towards friendlier lanes.

"It would be a good idea to call the tanks up to protect our advance." Ditomasso suggested the RTO, the man analyzed the situation, shaking his head in a solid negative.

"Can't do. Going further into the city with all these buildings, we don't have enough man power to protect their flanks if we're trying to retreat…calling arty on danger close is our best bet."

"Or we can just use the sewer system." Lincoln shrugged. The men blinked not being able to avoid to cock their heads in confusion. "It was in the briefings…Fallujah has an extensive underground sewage system, they still use the ancient methods of aqueducts…by now they are empty."

"And smell like camel fucker dogshit." Muttered a Marine close by.

"Maybe…but we can follow North until we hit an aqueduct and blow our way out."

Ditomasso groaned. "And how do you expect us to know what way to go genius?"

Opening his admin pouch behind his pistol holster at the chest area of his vest, he dug through the contents pulling several maps held together. The top one had clear paper, with multiple lines that went through the entire city of Fallujah, with multiple X that displayed entry and exit level points.

"How do you have this?" O'Connor asked him in confusion, peeking further at the map.

"I've been working in theory. I've noticed when I was in my tank, several of these morons suddenly disappeared like fucking ghosts." He cleared his throat. "Lieutenant, when you joined our attack to silence the mortar fire…I saw a man running away with a mortar, even though he was shot several times, he was high as a kite but we never saw him again even after we inspected the complex, gone like a fart in the wind. I noticed several aqueducts entrances, so I was about to propose to my CO a complete study of the sewage system because I know goddamn well that they're using it to move men and equipment…they are operable."

The men looked at each other.

"Even if we do that, we'll encounter more of these fuckers…it'll be like a tunnel rat in 'Nam…who says that they haven't it booby trapped it yet?"

"Because they already spend all their ordnance on the surface…they could easily would've done it if it was enough, not only that…this city is ancient; blow something down there, you take the entire street with you, and the hadjis might be retarded but they aren't that stupid to get buried under tons of rubble. I also suspect that the terrorist cells don't have any leadership…its just a lets gather together and go and kill 'mericans kind of thing. The very little leaders are either busy making their exit or organizing killing zones for more ambushes, just like this one."

The LT was riddled up, grunting with annoyance. Either because it hadn't occurred to him or because they were about to step into stink land but eventually, he nodded at Lincoln's plan.

"What's the closest entrance?" He asks, clenching his fingers around his weapon.

Checking the map, he looks to the North-East.

"Not far. One click at least from here, closer to the Shurta district and away from the target area…but it's better than being dead."

Hesitating, Ditomasso crouched in front of Lincoln.

"You'll be the pointman of Raptor, Truts its with me. Take them through the route, Charlie will be moving with me…we need to find that Task Force, it's the only reinforcements we ever have. After we link with them I'll patch you through our comms"

It certainly placed the odds not in their favor but his words held merit and he was forced to nod his head.

"Roger that. Good luck out there."

The LT nodded wishing the same, his RTO stood there to gaze at him, nodding at him in respect before the squad moved away.

Sighing as he locked his blue eyes with the eleven men that he was commanding, taking his time to remove his almost depleted ammo box from his 240, pulling his charging handle and opening the feed cover, clearing off metal links with a flicker of his gloved digits. He opened the feedtray as he pulled another 100 round ammo box from his vest, locking it in its place, moving the ammo belt with an open palm in its proper groove before slamming the feed cover down…he was lock and loaded.

"Raptor, move" He ordered and just like that, the squad moved through the war torn streets of Fallujah, ignoring the way his nerves lighted up into his skin, knowing too well the grave danger he would be facing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Royal Woods, Michigan.

November 18th

7PM.

Lynn closed the last one of her bags running the zipper home. She sighed, closing her eyes as the memories slammed once more into her. The moment those green men had left the devastation that she had felt into her heart almost made her end her life right there, the universe must have some sort sick sense of humor when they said they had the wrong house. She fixed her hair with a nervous tick of her eyebrow reminiscent of the events of today and everything that conveyed it…

Hours before, her father had forced his way in the room. For a few moments, she thought that he would be there to insult and belittle her…but instead his eyes exploded with tears hugging her in a crushing hug. For a few seconds she hadn't known what to do as the man cried on her shoulder, telling her again and again that he was sorry.

I am so sorry Lynn…I didn't knew how to react to…to that. And I lost it! In the worse way possible.

His words ran through her like a knife and for a moment she was more than ready to punch his teeth for all the pain, the loneliness and the misery that she had suffered through the years but she realized that it wouldn't change a goddamn thing. Lincoln was still out there in a war that she didn't understand and this man…a man that was her own father, a sorry excuse of a man who ignored her and didn't do a goddamn thing for the family that crumbled apart for the last four years of their existence…and now, he was crawling at her feet bawling his eyes out. Perhaps it was due her solitude that made her mature through her pain, perhaps it was the new found resolution that she had with the sisters that valuated her but she didn't have it in her heart to turn him away, enveloping him into a hug.

Until Lincoln comes home in one piece…we will not talk about forgiveness. It had been her words but the sulking man understood her perfectly, managing to kiss her cheek, surprising her but not rejecting the kind gesture. In the end, she crumbled once more and this time, the lethargic man awoke to real life, for the very first time seeing him cry openly and express emotions in over for years. To think that it only took the scare of her life to bring him back to the world of the living was enough to rattle her nerves.

But finally it had happened…their masks had finally crumbled off, facing real world for the first time in years.

Yet Lynn didn't dare to ask the golden question…what would happen if they've wanted to pick up where they left of? The question on itself excited her and scared her at the same time. Wasn't Lincoln doing what he did to give her 'a normal' life that he couldn't provide her? But she didn't wanted a regular life, she wanted him yet that didn't mean that Lincoln would want her again. A pang of agony went through her heart and she sighed, staring at the ceiling, barely able to contain the fit of rage that took a hold of her.

The bus had long departed, it sucked but she had asked for al later hour. It left at 9, her grades would have to suffer yet she expected the teacher of Economics to understand. There was a single thing that she had to do before she left.

Lynn calmly knocked on the former scientist room, waiting patiently as she fingered her bag over her shoulder. The door room opened slowly half the way, the 9 years old looking at her with some apprehension drawn in her features. Lynn broke into a tiny smile and the scientist did as well.

"I liked what we shared today Lis."

From her part Lisa was put off by her honesty, thinking that she hated her guts.

"You've let go uh?"

Lynn nodded. "We don't have a choice…look what hate caused." She said reflecting on the years of animosity deep within the family.

The Bespectacled young girl opened the door fully, staring deeply into her eyes.

"Itsh a start."

Lynn nodded, hugging her, surprising the brunette yet she returned the hug, releasing her after a while.

"I need you to do me a solid though."

"Yesh?"

Lynn looked her directly in the eye.

"I need you to find Lincoln for me…"

Lisa pursed her lips, already anticipating the question at hand, uniquely she was already prepared for such contingency and thus, the young scientist smiled.

"I sushpected you would ask." She grinned, but then her smile fell. "It will not be an eashy task…I am afraid I will need to break protocol but I promish I will do my very besht."

Lynn released a breath, hugging her sister tightly, lifting her up, leaving the brunette with her feet dangling.

"Thank you."

"Conshider it as way for you to forgive me."

Lynn put her down and nodded.

"We'll talk later about that…I need to go Lis. You take care okay?"

Both sisters smiled at each other. It wasn't long before she slipped on her thick black coat to combat the chill of November and said her goodbyes to the rest of the sisters and her parents, this time telling her willingly that they wished she came home soon, unexpected but not unwelcome. While the masks had cracked and for the first time many saw real life with peeled eyes, there was a lot of trust to be rebuild, bridges to be crossed over but Lynn felt that today marked that day. But ultimately it was the rest of the sisters that made saying goodbye so different than the rest. The tears had spilled, a dam breaking the repressed emotions and the closeness that they had missed in years, yet unfortunately Lynn could never find Lucy; she imagined that she was still coping with all of this and she understood wishing her that the next time they met it would under friendlier conditions.

Unbeknown to Lynn, Lucy had heard her every word, she had felt ashamed to spy on her yet her habits died hard and with the aching need to earn her trust one more time, she did something that she hadn't done in years…she seek the underworld itself.

The young Goth observed as Lynn left into her cab through the basement window with longing in her eyes exhaling and turning away to look at the altar that she had build in the basement. An altar was placed next to the washing machines, 12 feet of hand drawn circles with a dialect long forgotten. Symbols carved and several objects that Lincoln had long forgotten was placed neatly in a circle around her. She took an old and stained polo shirt that used to be his, placing it around her neck, sitting in the middle of the circle, legs drawn, hands extended, thumb and index pinched and breathing deeply looking into the unknown of things that was beyond her control, yet came naturally.

"Please Aunt Harriet…keep Lincoln safe…he needs to come back…in one piece." She chanted, an electrifying hum of energy seemed to build around her chanting Lincoln's name over and over again. It would be hours later where she would woke from her trance.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was just no rest for the wicked wasn't it?

Crossing a main highway in Fallujah was akin to suicide, you were better off putting your sidearm to your head and pulling the trigger; yet Lincoln was here eyeing the street with disdain, looking at his maps again, remembering his training and his situational awareness, knowing exactly where they were…but unable to minimize the risk towards his squad behind him, eagerly waiting for him to give the order.

"We have no choice, we need to cross this fucker to get to our objective." He let the words sink in, expecting resistance and plain disobedience but instead he found a solid resolve with the men around him.

"'…'rah." One of the Marines said, realizing it was no other than O'Connor who nodded approvingly seeming to immediately take a like for the fast reaction time from the young Corporal.

"We'll deploy a smoke screen; I know that the 1st Cavalry and 8th Marines are close by. We'll ask them for assistance…this is a target rich environment"

It was only a short moment later when the Marines from the 8th and 3rd Battalion answered and they agreed to provide cover fire, with several of their snipers covering the street from the front. As soon as they pulled the pins of their M18 smoke grenades a massive wall of fire started slamming the buildings adjacent close to them. Lincoln all the while waited until the smoke was thick enough and that's when he gave the signal.

"GO!"

"BOUNDING!" Screamed three at the same time and ran like hell towards the other side of the wide highway.

"Set sir!" One of the answered through their comms. Lincoln peeked around the corner, providing cover with his own weapon and nodded his head. Screaming, 6 men ran, in its rush of the Marines fell down but quickly stood up without wounds on him, even as small arms peppered the streets with automatic fire.

O'Connor and another Marine carrying an M4 looked at Lincoln, realizing that they would be the last ones to cross.

"I'll stay and I'll run this bitch last, you guys need to cross when I give you the signal, crystal?" His steel blue eyes bored on the hesitation that the Marines showed at his order but eventually nodded.

"I'll cover you" The SAW gunner said, placing a hand on Lincoln's shoulder and he nodded, finally giving the signal and peeking fully, swinging his machine gun and letting off a few rounds towards where the flashes of orange and red were coming from before taking cover, rounds slamming on the edge of the wall where he was standing a few seconds ago. The smoke by now was starting to dissipate, negating the last cover that he possessed. Sending caution to the winds he snarled and ran at full speed, wheezing heavily as he fell something bouncing off around his leg, tilting heavily to the right but he straightened before he could fall, finally under his squad, breathing heavily as the adrenaline traversed through his veins.

"Corporal, you're hit." Someone said and that's when Lincoln realized the burning sensation coming from his leg, looking down and feeling as warm liquid ran down his limb. Growling as the pain set in, he let some of his squad members press him against the wall, sitting slowly on the ground, his pant leg lifted up exposing a chunk of skin in his calf missing, with blood already pouring where his flesh used to be.

"You lucky son of a bitch, must been a ricochet." A Marine with a mustache said as he pulled medical supplies from his vest pouch, pouring anti septic powder over his wound. Lincoln didn't even flinch but smiled in appreciation as the Marine worked to patch his flesh wound, finally ending up with thick gauze being secured with an emergency bandage, pinning it in place and rolling his trouser leg back again.

"Can you walk?" O'Connor asked and Lincoln stood over with a small wince, placing his weight fully on his wounded leg and nodding.

"I had worse." He said with a shit eating grin, a grin that Lynn would've found hilarious. The thought immediately send him to made him realize that the last thing he wanted was to die in the streets of this disgusting monster of a city…he needed to get back. Sighing he thanked for the support of the units in the vicinity before they moved away towards the target. According to the map they were close by another entrance; taking a deep breath that cut like grass, he ordered their advance and just like that they were on the move, clutching your weapons and vigilant. Stopping against the wall of a building, Lincoln peeked over to the empty and desolated street, pulling out his binoculars and taking a peek at the target area, 300 yards away.

The aqueduct entrance was torn to pieces, covered by debris and a burnt car. Cursing, he stayed watching, not even flinching as the heavy pounding of the AA fire that seemed to be very near; he looked at the Marines and they looked back, recognition falling into their faces.

"The anti-air batteries are close by." O'Connor commented earning a few approving nods. Moments later, a terrorist came from an abandon building close to the smashed aqueduct entrance, earning Lincoln's suspicion but quickly deducing that they must've build another entrance.

"The entry to the aqueduct was smashed…but I got contact with a hadji coming off a building close to it…they probably build another entrance." As soon as he said this, another burst of automatic fire poured up to the skies, a jet overhead climbed up and disappeared from view. "We need to silence that fire." Extending his palm, he dropped it forward immediately moving his Marines through the streets making as little noise as possible. The advance was cautious and slow, by every footstep that they took, the unease that Lincoln felt got stronger, looking around the hulks of buildings that surrounded them, the cringe of metal interrupted the stillness of that day, along with the thump inducing heavy automatic fire, getting louder by every second; less than a hundred yards away, a football field stood six armed men in terrorist garb along with a young child. Indicating for cover, Lincoln observed the child…she couldn't be longer than 9 years old and she was armed with a Tokarev pistol, but what caught his attention was the bomb vest she was wearing and attached to it was a thick cable that she held firmly in a Martyrdom detonator in her left hand.

Quickly pulling his binos he observed her further in disbelief. Her brunette hair was billowing in the wind, her blue eyes were unfocused as the men around her talked, given the deep lacerations in her arms she was drugged beyond belief. His elbow slipped behind the wall he took cover, a loose brick falling down and smashing against the concrete, resounding through the entire area. The little girl was far too quickly in pinpointing her gaze into his, those pools of acidic blue shifting into a penetrating force that burned into his very soul. He couldn't look away from her, like if the little girl had him on a deep sleep that he couldn't wake from. Someone was pulling at his sleeve but he couldn't stop looking at her, not even as the automatic detonations bounced around where he was crouching. She was also shooting back at him without expression, without soul, mechanically looking at him and shooting. A man was to quickly pull her behind the burnt hulk of a car where the three remaining terrorist took cover, all the while Lincoln stared at her.

O'Connor was screaming something at him, screaming on his face but still, he couldn't get a reaction to him.

It was when the other men were killed by accurate shots from the Marines leaving one remaining that the little girl made her move, lifting her martyrdom detonator high in the air, her blue eyes flashing back at him and he saw a glimpse of her pain. Someone like that couldn't fight through the rubble of agony that she had gone through and Lincoln decided that he was going to free her from the shackles that held her in. Pushing O'Connor away from him, he held the 240 on the wall, quickly taking aim with the Elcan scope and fired a burst that hit the little girl like a ton of bricks, opening her up from face to the hips. Her eyes took another different sheen, as if waking up to the world from a long slumber, quickly boring her eyes on him, forever burning her eyes into his memory through his scope, she tried to say something but quickly fell down freeing her hold of the detonator. A massive explosion sent the last remaining terrorist thirty feet on the air, half of his body flying while his mangled legs flew with him, intestines rotating on the air like a twisted childish game of jump rope.

The smoke dissipated just as the body fell. The Marines were to quickly clear the area for any remaining contacts, but they couldn't find any. Lincoln woke up from his stupor, her eyes still looking at him, immediately breaking into a wave of horror took a hold of him. Breathing nice and calm, he unconsciously took that memory and shoved it as far as he could into his box. There was no time to deal with that now, sighing he took hold of O'Connor arm as he was about to slap a reaction of him.

"I'm fine. Let's check their bodies…it was obvious that they were guarding something."

The Marines looked between each other, clearly concerned from what they just saw him doing.

"Are you alright?" The mustached man asked, turning fully to him, Private Peterson and when Lincoln looked at him, he sure wished he didn't. His face seemed to almost reflect the face of an 80 years old man, too worn from the infection that we call live and just like that he took a breath, looking back at the burned hulk of the car.

"Marines, I gave you an order." The steel in his voice quickly made them to move, their weapons up and ready. While the Marines searched the bodies of the terrorist that had fell in the open ground, Lincoln approached the man that been blown apart by the little girl, or at least, just half of his body. Without a single movement of his face, Lincoln reached out into the folds of his chicom vest, searching for something. His fingers quickly made contact with a Ziploc bag, pulling it off the body to look at it intently. It looked like a folded map of something important which he stored in his backpack, standing up right and stealing a last look at the silent tomb of the little girl, his jaw painfully tightened with a burning rage to kill every last of these fuckers.

"I found something. We're Oscar Mike!"

The Marines got in line towards the building that they had seen the terrorist coming from, peeking inside. The hallway was desolated, with piles of rubble and trash littering the floor. The second story had collapsed, most likely from a bomb or a fire, given by the scorch marks on the walls, yet Lincoln knew that there was something in here, his eyes peeling at every possible piece of evidence that would guide them to the prize. It wasn't difficult to discover an old and rusted out fridge that was loosely held against a wall, discovering a hidden entrance through the building next to theirs. Sensing movement, Lincoln came face to face with an old man in angry visage pointing a Makarov at his face, if it wasn't for his conditioning he wouldn't be able to lock the barrel of his machine gun against his forearm quickly smashing him on the wall, the impact made him drop the pistol on the floor.

Quickly, the man started speaking Arabic in a panicked tone just as the Marines made their entrance through the hidden entrance. Six little girls crawled from their hideouts rushing Lincoln trying to put distance between him and the man who was openly crying and hugging his little girls.

"Does anyone speak Arabic?" He spoke to the men in charge. Only one lifted his hand up to which Lincoln nodded his head at him.

The Marine started speaking to the man, his hands quickly snatched him by the vest, the Marines already on edge lifted their weapons up but the man didn't panic, making a motion for them to lower their weapons.

"He's saying that this is his house. The Taliban kept him and his little girls as guard dogs from any incursion and told him that they would kill them all if they didn't obey. They're being used as human shields." He translated to Lincoln. "He said there's an entrance to the sewage system further up the hallway, covered by a rug."

"I don't give a fuck it's your house, this is war zone, sir. You need to haul ass with your family right now, we'll going to blow off this joint. Translate that to him."

The Marine did as he was told, the eyes of the Muslim widened and he broke into a cry of sadness. Sighing, Lincoln pulled his wallet, given him a 100 bill to the shaking hands of the man who was to quickly accept the offering. Opening his backpack, he threw the man four packs of MRE's and two bottles of water, enough for him and his family to make it safely.

"Now translate this. Tell him to go to the train station, he'll be safe there." The Marine relayed the message and just like that, the man dipped his head as a thank you and took his little girls with him.

Sighing, Lincoln wiped the sweat running down his face. He looked at the men assembled before him and he cringed.

"Now let's kill some camel fuckers." His words immediately made everyone to grin. Immediately they set up in the hallway, making contact with the rug in question. Nodding to O'Connor, he pulled it down revealing a deep hole with a wooden stairway, immediately hit by a wave of putrid waste.

"Get your NVG's." Lincoln ordered as he whipped his own from his backpack, attaching it to the bracket of his helmet. The area was less than desirable to be in, how the hell did the Insurgents could even fight here was out of the question, yet as much as he hated them, Lincoln respected their suicidal tenacity. The water had dried up a long time ago, yet the smell that permeated the area was less than desirable. Hearing automatic fire that resounded through the rock walls, which seemed to vibrate the entire area, the Arabic voices further up quickly asserted to be the complete area. Advancing slowly, the Marines finally were on side of the most unbelievable thing that they had ever seen in their lives.

The circular area had once being a system that was capable of rerouting several currents to different places through the city, now it was used as a AA rat hole. There were three disassembled diesel trucks with their rear wheels off and instead the rims used as a pulley system, with chains and thick rubber bands acting as to pull a platform where a Soviet ZSU-23 stood, a twin anti air monster. The truck accelerated its exhaust connected to a plastic pipe that guided the fumes outside, finally lowering the platform to the ground, where four men waited, brushing off the giant casings and loading fresh ammunition from ammo crates. The other two trucks accelerated as well lowering two more platforms to the ground where their own crews repeated the process. The idea that that something so well engineered was done by men without any technical training was shocking but they came here to do a job. A man stood guard with a PKM machine gun, overlooking the operation with a radio in his hand. Lincoln made signs to get into position as he slowly made his way towards the man. He waited until the platforms started going off again, the diesel trucks noisily accelerated, quickly making use of the noise to approach him, KABAR knife in hand. His hand quickly jammed around his throat, stabbing him through the neck in an arc that squirted his blood through the air, the man shaking weakly as his life drained away.

Dragging his body towards where the rest of the remaining Marines were waiting, he threw the body unceremoniously to the floor, lying down on the ground with the 240 Bravo supported by his bipod, waiting.

The automatic fire resumed, piles of casings falling down from the platforms as the terrorist waited with ammunition in hand. Just as an insurgent put the truck into gear again, the Marines waited eagerly for the signal to fire, the platforms slowly coming their way down.

"FIRE AT WILL!"

The screams of Lincoln immediately alerted the terrorist to their presence but it was far too late. Fully automatic fire tore into the men without even giving time to react. Lincoln aimed at the truck driver that was trying to make his getaway, lightning him up in the front seat, smashing the glass and tearing him into chunks, the man lying to rest. The Marines were to quickly fire into the remaining terrorist without being able to lift their weapons to fire back, men falling from their AA platforms. The action perhaps took less than six seconds. Immediately Lincoln stood up lifting the heavy weapon against his shoulders, observing the bodies for any movement, quickly firing a burst to a man that twitched.

"CLEAR!" O'Connor screamed.

Lincoln observed the area, feeling pleased.

"These fuckers had been scaring off our CAS since the operation started. This is the smartest shit I've seen pull off." He licked his chapped lips. "We need to C4 this bitch, get some charges."

"On it!" Private Peterson said, dropping his pack and pulling some C4 bricks from it. Others pulled one brick per Marine, lying the explosives in the trucks, the guns and the ammunition as Lincoln observed the operation with an approving gaze; they were using at least 130 pounds of plastic explosives. The process took at least twenty minutes, finally O'Connor gave him a thumbs up.

"Clear out!" The Corporal screamed as they made their way up through the entrance, walking into the streets and to the North. O'Connor gave Lincoln the detonator, he didn't knew if the signal would be enough underground but he took a gamble pressing the button. There was a massive vibration underneath, the ammo down below exploded sending hell and brimstone half a mile high, their ears ringing, even with ear protection, collapsing two buildings on ground zero sending smoke and dust through the streets.

"Fucking A!" One Marine screamed just as the radio blared.

The insanity of the explosion was more than enough to drive them to cover as hellfire rained.

"What the fuck was that?" Came Ditomasso's voice through their comms.

Lincoln smiled, ignoring him completely.

"Overlord, come in. This is Corporal Loud from Charlie-3"

"This is Overlord, send it."

"The AA threat has been neutralized in Fallujah. CAS missions can be in the go again."

There was silence from the other line, earning a confused lift of Lincoln's eyebrow.

"Outstanding Marine." The voice of 'Mad Dog' Mattis came through the comms; the entire squad gasped at being directed completely by the General himself. "There'll be a commendation when you RTB. Out."

"Was that General Mattis?" Ditomasso asked.

Lincoln grinned. "Yes it was."

"Fucking A".

Half an hour later the Humvees they have departed with came to link with them, the Lieutenant was the first to disembark with the rest of the men in Charlie, however from the other Humvees men wearing woodland camo came out and a face that he hadn't seen in more than a year came to face him, walking towards the location. The man was tall, standing 6'4, a wall of muscle holding a custom made SOPMOD M4 with things that would be allowed per regulations. The man grinned taking his high speed helmet.

"Lincoln Fucking Loud. It's been a while."

The white haired man eyes widened.

"Is that you Pablo?"

The men hugged exchanging a friendly hug laughing.

Lincoln had been with him prior to Recon training in boot camp, going through every exercise, every training with surgical precision. Since day one, they had each other backs. After they agreed to enlist in Recon, they did everything together, from scuba diving missions, to halo jumps, among other skills that Lincoln possessed…yet he didn't felt that he belonged to Recon and exchanged to his secondary MOS, armor and fell in love with tracks. Pablo immediately understood and the last thing he heard about him was that went to train overseas with the British SAS. Given that his rank was now a Captain, he had done well for himself. His eyes looked around the men that were in his company; they were ruff looking men with a mix of uniforms and high speed equipment of different nationalities, given the different flags that adorned some of their uniforms and holding highly customized weapons, even some AK's.

"That's Captain Pablo Guerra for you."

"More like Captain Douche."

"That's not a way to speak to a superior Officer, Corporal Loud." Ditomasso reprimanded.

"At ease Lieutenant. The Corporal and I go way to boot camp and Recon school."

Ditomasso scoffed but he immediately backed down.

"So how you been all these years Loud?" Captain Guerra asked and Lincoln took into his appearance. He was a South American born that had enlisted as soon as his green card got through and learned proper English through boot camp. His dark hair was longer than an enlisted man was allowed to and even sported a thick beard. His uniform was well worn and so was his equipment. His will was something akin to Lincoln in getting shit done, so he knew that his rank was out of pure dedication to the mission and the Marine Corp and he deserved to be there.

"Busting my ass in my tank. I am the gunner of an M1 Abrams and the RTO of the platoon. I've done good to myself, I think."

The man blinked, looking at the Lieutenant.

"So if you're Armor, what the hell are you doing here?"

Ditomasso cleared his throat but a dirty look from the Captain shut up the man immediately.

"The Lieutenant seemed short of man and looking for more men he looked into my record and saw my previous training and deduced that I would be a good man for this mission…and he was completely right. We just took out the anti-air holding our CAS missions hostage. Shit, I even got a commendation from Mad Dog himself."

"Damn."

General 'Mad Dog' Mattis was a legend among the Marines, so taking praise from such a man was a privilege held by not many.

The Captain turned to the Lieutenant.

"Good job. Well…Loud, since you did the work for us, we don't need to be here anymore."

The confused stare of the men around them was enough to make the Captain to chuckle.

"Command was more than annoyed that the AA batteries had slowed the advance to take over the city…they sent me and my team to silence those guns but here you are. I'll put a word with command and maybe when my deployment is over I'll pay a visit in Camp Lejeune."

"Hoorah." The men exchanged hugs, before the Captain retired the men around him gave them respectful nods, acknowledging him before going as well.

They saw them go and finally the Lietnenat sighed.

"We're RTB."

The ride back was more calm than before, with the mission done, Lincoln could breath easy, especially after getting the word that the cook had made it and was in his way to recovery with no ever lasting damage. The base received the men with praise after the word got out fast.

Charlie RTO immediately approached Lincoln, placing a hand on his shoulder as a sign of respect.

"Man Im surprised you didn't kill us all. Let me check myself…am I dead?" O'Connor said sarcastically at their left.

"Hey Lincoln, ignore this cocksucking hick, you did good today" The RTO praised him just before they saw the General himself and everyone stood to attention. The General made a lowering motion with his hands and the men relaxed; he beckoned Lincoln with his hand and he followed towards his command tent, feeling completely giddy.

"I'll cut to the chase Corporal, you're one crazy sum bitch, but you got the job done and got the men temporally assigned to you in one piece. The 2ND Lieutenant Ditomasso report was clear about the bravery of your actions and your quick thinking saved everyone from an ambush with the enemy as well as charging heavily armored positions to save a fellow Marine. Not only that…it has not occurred to me that the insurgents had been using the aqueducts to move men and equipment. We'll dispatch some of our engineers and blow the entire system if necessary, to which comes my second point…you saved us a lot of problems, the AA positions had been a thorn in our side for far too long. Effective immediately I am promoting you to the rank of Sergeant, you will be assigned your proper duties and depending of the movement of NCO's perhaps you can command your very own tank soon enough."

Lincoln almost fell down in shock.

"The maps you retrieved also helped us to identify a training center for terrorist in an abandoned school…it is perhaps why we've been encountering heavily drugged kids fighting for the insurgents. The Iraqi government had asked us to look into it after many reports from parents who spoke about their children being kidnapped…this is the final clue. The Lieutenant and Captain Guerra spoke highly of you, to which it is my pleasure to inform you that you will be commended for a silver star and soon as we're able, there can be ceremony. You may speak now, son."

"I don't think I deserve such an award, sir."

"Nonsense. You have been fighting in this god forgotten city almost from day one with the 2nd Tank Battalion and your commanding officer spoke highly of your previous actions. Now, if you have a request…this is the moment to speak. Anything you want."

Lincoln immediately knew what he wanted.

"Well…there's this thing…"

When he was finished with the General, he saluted and moments later, the Lieutenant was called in; the reunion was brief and when he exited the tent, he was pale as a ghost. He saw Lincoln and approached him.

"Can't say I can't blame you Loud…I just been re-assigned back to the States for a new position in supply and command. And to be honest…I am glad you did this."

Lincoln gave him an odd look to which the Lieutenant sighed.

"I am not cut for combat and after this mission, I know this more than everyone else…I don't hate you, I just hated that you were a reminder of my shortages at being a leader, you deserve where you are. Who knows? Maybe one day you can be a fine officer…farewell Sergeant."

They saluted and it was the last time he saw the Lieutenant as he talked with his RTO.

He watched him go, a pity burning in the pit of his stomach, shaking his head. He bid the other Marines that he commanded briefly a farewell that was friendlier than he had expected and just like that, he reunited with his crew who received him with open arms at being in one piece. Combatant personnel came to him and saluted at him, the news spreading like wild fire, everyone was called him Crazy Lincoln or Loco Lincoln for his actions in the battle, rushing without a second thought and killed countless hadjis.

"Hadjis bane!" A Marine screamed and immediately the memories of killing that little girl appeared, his body shaking.

Master Gunnery Sergeant Dunkar, placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

Lincoln negated with his head. "I just need to lie down."

Dunkar understood immediately who cleared path from the Marines that surrounded Lincoln, sending them away.

As soon as he stood in his tent to his briefs, he fell asleep. His dreams were troubled, seeing nothing more than sad green eyes filled with sadness and pain. He saw himself unloading his machine gun at close quarters at the little girl without a single ounce of regret.

"Thank you…thank you for murdering me." The little girl said opening her mouth in a smile as blood poured heavily from her mouth stained her stained shirt and down her intestines.

Lincoln awoke with a scream as a strong man held him fast propelling him to punch as fast as he could to get away.

"FUCK Lincoln!" The voice of Ramirez brought him to the world of the living, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. Ramirez was clutching the hand that he had used to defend himself from his punch. Lincoln fell down on his bed, brushing the sweat of his brow away.

"I'm sorry."

Dunkar came to him and saw the situation at hand.

"Get dressed Sergeant. We got a new mission to link with 3rd Marines and provide cover fire. Hadjis are moving…they are trying to escape again. You shook the hornet's nest with the destruction of the aqueducts…and now we need to deal with the hornets."

"Yes sir." Lincoln said as they retired to give him space to get dressed and just like that he was in battle again, this time under the cover of darkness, they moved up to Fallujah towards the Mayor house firing at anything they moved. Five hours later they were running low on ammo, the platoon leader immediately called for his tanks to move to friendlier territory to a supply area that had been build in the remnants of the plaza that they had cleared out days ago when they busted through the mall. Lincoln opened the hatch, eyeing the massive piles of ammunition in the Deuce and a half trucks manned by the 1st Cavalry.

What they didn't knew is that they were being observed by the weary gaze of two terrorist hiding in a building around the plaza. They had been hiding there for a long time, starving and without drugs in their systems, they were presenting heavy withdrawal from the drugs, feisty hunger no longer being suppressed by cocaine and just in front of them stood at least fifty men supplying their war machines, other vehicles and infantry platoons readying for another patrol. Feeling that they were in their last legs, his partner made a positive response with a nod from his head. Both peeked from cover aiming their AK's at the closest tank, no more than one hundred yards from them from their elevated position.

They saw an infidel holding an ammo box on the turret of his tank and aimed at him.

Lincoln grunted as he received two ammo boxes for the fifty cal from Swabble who grinned.

"Don't exert yourself Loco Lincoln."

The white haired man snorted with laughter at the nickname.

"You can kiss my A-"

A shot rang out in mid-word, the bullet missing his teeth as it carved its path from the back of his neck under his right ear tearing his right cheek in two as it exited through his open mouth, the white-haired man letting out a surprised grunt as he fell down on the turret dropping the ammo boxes to the ground.

Lincoln couldn't hear anything, but he couldn't move as he laid on his side. Someone was touching him, his vision was slowly started to stain red as his blood poured heavily on the turret, his eyes widened as he started to choke on his own blood and the remains of his skin gurgling down his throat. There was some sort of flash of white and his vision was now a dust cloud, his blue eyes scanned the night stars, shining brightly for him and he wondered if Lynn would be looking at the same sky just as he was. His eyes were getting blurry, not identifying whoever was in front of him, holding him as his body started dying. His mouth moved but no words could come out. Every breath that he was taking felt like the last and if he couldn't speak, then he would at least write the name that was in his mind, the one he couldn't even say.

Shakily, he ignored the shadows that moved and touched him, his fingers dipping in his own blood, slowly tracing the name of his love on the turret of his tank…Lynn.

His hand fell as his vision swung in the last colors of the night, bleeding into a solid black.

'I'm so sorry Lynn' Were the last words in his mind before Lincoln Loud knew no more.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lucy awoke from her trance, looking around with a panicked yell as the offerings were completely melted. The picture of Lincoln, the last one they had of him when he was 12 years old at his birthday started to melt before her very eyes. In disbelief the only thing she could do was to lay on her side, tears streaming down her cheeks as the reality that her brother was dead slammed into her.

Upstairs, Lisa Loud sighed for the tenth time, finally having the information that she had seek for over nine hours of using her clearance from the government, buttering several officials into giving her the information that she wanted. The Agent under her charge had been finicky the moment he appeared in the webcam, an odd moment was exchanged the moment their gazes met, but she ignored it as she thanked him for the report that was currently emailed to her. She cut communications and opened the attached file in her safe email, opening it without hesitation, reading it immediately.

Sergeant Lincoln Loud.

2nd Marines, 2nd Tank Battalion Iron Horse. Company A, 1st Platoon.

Location: Deployed to Fallujah, Iraq

Status: K.I.A

She stood up in shock, not believing her eyes. A pained gurgle of pure agony went through her, her eyes exploding with tears.

Back in kalamazoo, Michigan Lynn Loud slept soundly unaware of what just happened, dreaming of better times, dreaming when her brother and her were together, years before the incident…better times than the reality that had dealt her with a bad hand.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N: Is this the end? Of course not! Hopefully I can crank the next chapter very soon.

D4rK