Iraq 2011:

James Macintosh sat pressed on the wall wondering if he was going to die here, in this shitty little farm town in the middle of the fucking night. The veteran MARSOC member and now CIA operator sat as he heard the screams of one of the Polish contractors. The poor bastard had stepped on an IED, and now his lower half was missing as the team of both CIA and contractor medics worked to stabilize him. Machine gun fire screamed overhead and nailed one of the local Iraqi guys. "Macintosh, get off your ass and see if we could get some support out here.", someone screamed over comms. Macintosh pulled off his backpack and tuned his radio into the ISAF emergency frequency. "Any units on this net, this Anvil 6 Romeo, we are pinned at the town of Abu Ghabar and need serious support. We have a serious casualty and are being fired on by a battalion-sized force of insurgents.", Macintosh said into the radio. "Roger Anvil, this Baghdad TOC, standby while I coordinate assets," the voice said calmly. "Anvil, this is Baghdad, nearest combat assets are 25 minutes out. We have a medical asset already in the air. ETA is 10 minutes", the voice continued, "Anvil, are you in a defensible position?". The group had taken refuge in a large compound that stretched the length of a football field and spread out among the four walls to return fire. "Yes", Macintosh replied. "Good, now I need you to get some type of IR signal for the medical asset to see.", the voice on the other side spoke. "I've got an IR lasso.", Macintosh responded, pulling a small IR beacon on the end of a paracord. "Great, I'll tell you when to light it. Don't worry they are 5 minutes out.", the voice said. Macintosh didn't respond as the radio fell silent. The team had linked up with the Poles on some intel that there was an HVT in the town. One of the contractors, the woman, starting running after some kid that ducked into an alley and her buddy tried to keep up with her. Then he stepped on a can in the road. Guy got thrown like 10 feet and all hell broke loose. All for some dumb fucking bullshit. FUCK. "Fuck, I'm hit", Fitzgerald, a former SEAL, screamed. At that moment Macintosh heard the drone of a plane overhead. A plane, unless it's got some GBU's it is fucking useless. "Anvil, I need you to start up that IR lasso", his radio crackled to life. "Roger, tell me when the asset has eyes", Macintosh said, as he spun the beacon in a circle and hoped that that thing had some type of ordnance. But it never turned around.

"Goddamn, I see that bright son of a bitch", Sgt Charles Morgan called over his helmet COMTACs to his fellow PJ. Hernandez was silent, as usual, while they fell. "Pull ripcord in 3,2,1.", said as he yanked on the cord slowing him immediately while Hernandez followed suit a second later. They drifted lazily over the town which was alive with gunfire. They could see the silhouettes of insurgents firing at the compound of friendlies. Both PJ's broke into a circular pattern and descended quickly to wide-eyed contractors and CIA alike, landing directly in the center of the compound. "Hernandez, get on the fucked up guy, I'll help you once I'm done with that guy", Morgan said as he pointed at a soldier being carried to the medics.

Luke Hernandez nodded and turned to the prone soldier surrounded by a team of medics. He quickly kneeled and examined his wounds. Double AtK amputation. Serious shrapnel wounds to arms. Tourniquets on both legs. "You gave any meds?", Luke calmly asked the medic across from him. "No", he replied, somewhat confused. Luke quickly pulled out a bag of blood and quickly started an IV. The pool of blood around his wounds meant he was dangerously low on fluids. The guy had maybe an hour or two left if he didn't get surgical care. "He needs a field hospital, not a PJ. You've done all you can do for him and so have I. Tell your people to get ready to move", Luke said, as he began packing the wounds on the man's arms with gauze. "We gotta get this guy out of here Morgan", Luke said over his radio. "Roger, the guy over here only has a through and through, I'll call it in", Morgan replied.

"We can't leave, we still need to find the HVT. He's a ghost. If we don't catch him now he'll disappear.", the contractor commander explained. The insurgents had pulled back, partially due to the appearance of a USMC Cobra, giving the group time to strategize in the large central house of the compound. "Your man isn't going to make it if we don't get him out of here and we can't just waltz out of here by ourselves," Luke explained. "We'll go with you, we've stayed in this shitshow long enough. Contractors are on their own", the CIA commander blurted out. The contractor looked like he just shit his pants. The female contractor stepped in, "That's not happening. You came here with us because you Americans wanted the glory and now you want to bail. That's cowardice.", she said. "Lady, if you want to die be my guest. But sometimes you gotta call it quits.", Mr. CIA said. "You know PJ, you need to be careful. If you're leaving we can't say that we could help you if your teams got ambushed.", the contractor commander said, obviously a veiled threat. The room filled with a silent but palpable tension. "Did you just threaten me you fuck?", Luke questioned as he placed a hand on his sidearm. However, the female contractor placed the barrel of her M4 on his temple. "Come on American, give me a reason to blow your head off," she said. At this point, the Mexican standoff had escalated and Morgan looked ready to mow down the whole room with his SCAR while the two commanders aimed their rifles at each other. "Well, this is what I fuckin live for. Come on. Do it. The only thing that will happen is everyone kills each other. The mission is a fail and nobody lives", Luke said as he placed his hands back on the table. "Well, commander it's a 2-1 vote that we scrub the mission. Let's just put our weapons down and get the fuck out of dodge", Morgan offered.

The file of soldiers lined the road for 100 meters trying to keep up with the unforgiving pace of the PJs. The fact that they were carrying an injured man and all his gear made it worse. The exfil point was still a kilometer away and now the group was being tracked by an AC-130 and a Predator drone overhead. Luke thought about the fact of almost dying from friendlies rather than the enemy. What a fucking joke. These fucking people would rather let their friend die than fail the mission. The idea of it made him furious more than the almost shot him part. They came to the LZ; a dusty and flat outcropping. The group fanned out as Luke signaled for Morgan to call in the bird. After a moment, he heard the whump whump of the Pave Hawk's blades. The helicopter broke into a circular flight before finally approaching and landing. The PJs loaded the injured man into the bird and quickly shoved everyone onboard. The bird strained upwards as the last man, the contractor commander jumped on board. The crack of the rifle was barely audible over the sound of the engines but the armor piercing bullet ripped through the vest of the contractor as if it was paper. His eyes rolled backward and he tumbled over the edge and into the night. Luke had already hooked himself to the hoist, a precaution he always took due to PJs constant movement in flight. He dived out the door and caught the contactor's torso and hooked his vest to the rope. They dangled underneath the chopper as the .50s opened up on the surrounding desert. Morgan flipped the switch and the hoist lifted them up as the bird sped into the moonless sky.

The rest of the ride was silent save the groans of the three injured passengers. The commander had been stabilized by the time they arrived at Al-Asad Airbase. They quickly offloaded the patients and by the time that all the passengers jumped onto the tarmac, the PJs had a new mission. The contractor stared at the helicopter's ascent, wondering what kind of man would save a person who threatened to kill him.