Usage was cruel, our own teammates decease. But isn't it regular? I accuse our own intelligence that advances about this competition. Why do we keep fighting?! We are human beings, all of us. We keep the same dignity that is progressed due to our society. All of us are the same — not even royalties differ. Our lives are spun by our government, but what do they do? Naught! Our blood is misused around their commands, nonsenses! And what we get? A bloody money bag! So… we took it far… and now we had to conclude it. But it was only the first direct day, which we would never forget. Our ally died… And what does he get? A funeral without burying him! What he deserved was far more advancing than ours… We have hurt each other time and time again. I guess good things come to an end. But we are not just mercenaries: Siris
The floor beneath us remained solid ground. This structure was the place where Jackson deceased. We cannot discontinue this now… There is no going back once it has taken its form. There stood no avail from this accusing knowledge.
How is this relevant action? Let me know why… Why we have to fight for our own life? We ought to keep our own vitality on our purpose. Show me your acknowledgement to this cruelty… No… it is my job to do so.
"Elias! Move out from your daydream!" Rorke bellowed from aside. This is a perplexing war… and many casualties are developed. Well, time to fight again, and take a last stand.
"Yes, Rorke. You know what is fascinating about this war?"
"Elias…?"
"Well, you may call me a monster… but I feel like to kill… to revenge."
"Elias, we feel the same", Alex commented from aside.
We have lost ourselves in this brutality, but we fight. That is the main relevance among me. "Should we move?" Ajax asked.
"Negative, Ajax. We'll need to analyze the road first."
"Streets are clear, and our position is claimed. I suggest retrying on the north side."
"Then let's move in north!"
What an efficient plan — heading back where we first lost Jackson. But we've equipped for this. We've lost men for this. "Load your rifles, put your ammos, and take your armor! Move out."
We scrolled back against the window, swooping out of it, and crashing toward the ground. "I'll cover you guys, don't worry", Alex spoke.
"Copy, Alex. We'll move toward east first, you'll come behind."
"Yes, sir!"
I sprinted, we ran, and toward east we toured. It would be occupied with enemy troops, wandering and drifting toward our position. Most effectual way to take them would be to-
"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" Rorke appropriated a grenade onto the clearing point — trailed with an explosion, casing the air with a small vapor of dust.
"That made no sense, Rorke!"
"Yes it did", he responded with a tone of misperception. The air stilled and the vision toward the end lightened yet again. Few men lied on the ground. They were caught in the middle of the dramatic detonation.
"Rorke… a 'Legend'…"
"Copy that, Elias. Information utilized."
"Move toward the east. Go behind that building!"
"Marksmen Squad, take positioning toward the east edge of our position, over."
"Marksmen ready, on your go."
"Just cover our back, and then protrude your bullet onto a target."
Now, action was increasing intensely. It is infinity, as this war will continue… "GO, GO, GO! Move behind their line!"
We jogged behind a building, shaping on the edge of the east. Our represented position stood amongst structures, although at the end of the vary street. No soldiers were found over the indication point. Only the backstage on the east edge remained our mobile place.
"Ok, stay silent. I want everyman to move behind my mark. Silent and stealthy."
We crossed the road, marching toward the other side. We were behind their line, absolutely.
Though it was a long-straight line, we could not distinguish objects from afar, for the reason that of the misty dust in the air. It wasn't entirely distorting our visualization, but exasperating them.
"We'll move from behind, clearing the streets, kay?"
"On the go."
Although we stimulated still behind the shadows between the buildings, distortions in the air was resilient. "My eyes! I can't see anything."
"Don't worry, Ajax. Just keep up with the group."
From behind, we shot into the dust. Although we could not hear our shots, the presence of hits remained stroked on our hand. "Pop smoke, guys. We need as much as cover as possible."
"Sir, there are too many enemies covering the street. We'll need to scare them off with their vehicles burned."
"Rakesh, you laid the spikes, right?"
"Affirmative."
"Good. Let the vehicle drive up to them and we'll call a mortar strike."
Black colored smokes were acquired, and we provided extra sheathing into the mist. We whispered unthoughtful death, and our ammunitions were fired. But we knew that our teammates were dying, and thus we could not decrease the casualties. "Second hand smoke, and keep up the team format."
We stood before a building which remained aside the street of the battlefield. Second round of smokes were tossed and frightened toward the street, and within it, we were certain to check on our indication point, and toward the crossroad.
Now, as we stalked behind our enemies, the notification of their presence was beside our mind. "Authorized threat discovered. Wait for signal mark", Rorke reported. "Ready…? shoot!"
Silencer was helping our tactics, but soon it acquired no beneficial mean. "Enemies down. Move out…" Motioning toward the crossroad, we sighted a vehicle which stood quite armored, and a well-equipped and artificial sheathing of dense armor. Beside it were few dozens of men, ambulatory upon the road. "We cannot intercept them. Let's move inside a structure for cover."
And consequently we did, direction-finding toward a building with its windows pointed at the intersection, close toward it as few ten meters. "Move in!"
We hopped into its interior, and mobile toward the transoms. I attracted a sneak peek to the street, observing the crossing. It stood empty. I glanced back at the vehicle. It remained mobile toward the section. "Pop third hand smoke. We need to check the casualties."
Smokes were flung toward the street, again, covering our entire view. "We have fifty-three soldiers, we have a Mortar Strike Team, we have a satellite which does no damn thing, and we still have ammunition."
"But look at the Feds. The Fire-team reports: Five hundred men, fifty machinegun vehicles, two outposts: one on the north, one on the east, they have a tank, and they have something else, not sure what…"
"We are literally screwed", Rakesh terrified.
"We need to take a stand, guys! We need to fight back! I am going crazy just because you don't fight hard enough!" Alex yelled.
"That's enough, Alex. You know we cannot take a stand!" Rorke commanded.
"Then I am going to hell! If you guys don't fight, then I'll fight alone!"
"Don't be so naïve…"
He hopped toward the exit, bashing it open, and ran out without cautioning. "Alex, report in!" Rorke roared into a radio.
"Contact 10-1, over."
"You asshole! You do have signal!"
10-1: Demands bad reception or in other words: bad signal, used in the codes.
Alex ran off, functioning toward the Feds… He acquired a mental breakdown, turning irrational over our allies. We knew his fateful history, but not going over to acquire such knowledge. "Goodbye, Alex… See you in hell", I spoke.
"He ran… Standalone, I assume…"
"Good for him, but at least we're not dead." Merrick and Kick chatted aside. They were alike each other. Although our perspective was on Alex, we assumed he would die as a standalone. We would have no impression about what was upon his mind.
"Truly, see you in hell…"
"Ok, quick checkup before ongoing Mortar Strike onto the vehicle. Siris, what do we got?"
"Few dozens of smokes, few special marking smokes, ammunition load for dozens, and few Mortar Strike marking smokes."
"Ok, we'll go with the Mortar Strike, but we need to lure the vehicle", Wilson said.
"Then we will", I replied, pulling out my radio. "Alex, you copy?"
"Copy that, Asshole 7-1, over."
"Lure the machinegun vehicle over the spikes, and you'll have your vengeance."
"Roger, over. See you in hell, guys."
In the window, I could distinguish steel material. The smoke was vanishing over the field, making clarified space for air. But soon the hell rose again as Alex stood behind a building, hiding between structures. What I could differ were his hands. He seemed to twitch a pin from a grenade, but not quite pulling it over. His motion twisted toward a demonic feature as his feet dazzled over the ground, marking toward the damned vehicle. "What the hell is he doing? Not a kamikaze, I hope…" The soldiers were attracted by him, pulling out their trigger. The machinegun vehicle glanced with its weaponry toward Alex, acquiring ammunition to fire with.
"Get your ass into cover!" I barked,
He ran up-straight into a secondary cover that stood nearer the machine, which apparently was just beside the crossway. His face remained covered in dust as the machinegun was firing at his cover.
The vehicle acquired rapidly to his location, still pulling over the fire. As the vehicle was on the position of Alex's location, "I am Alex Semele, and see you guys in hell...!"
He ran out of his cover, followed by gunshots, but what he did was astonishing on our history. His motion allocated a dreadful and anxious momentum, thrusting himself with his explosive in his hand; however he triggered it, activating his doom. "As everymen for himself, I shall see you in hell!" he barked, making his last breath before a gigantic explosion of death, covering his position. Soldiers died, but the automobile was still maintaining its position, although remained close toward the crossroad. My sympathy descended across my mind; however our focus demanded us to ponder toward our mission.
The machine went onward with a tremendous velocity, routing toward the intersection.
Just as it hopped onto the center of the intersection, its wheel popped alike balloons, which ironically ended an invincible machine toward a mortal death.
"Ok, wheels out! Mortar Squad, fire in the hole!"
"Copy the statement. Mortar Squad, on the go. Fire in the hole, over."
Over few minutes, the air somewhat converted louder, and finally, shells were hit onto the target, concluding its fateful life. "Good job, Mortar Squad."
"Marksmen Team, signing in. Enemies are retreating with their lives. Give 'em the last blow of the day. Push them back!"
"What? No… This can't be over", I whispered.
"Give them the last push, guys!" Rorke demanded once again.
"COME BACK YOU ASSHOLES!" I shouted as I sprinted out from the exit, onward to the main streets. The enemies were exiling the area. They took Jackson's and Alex's life, and I cannot tolerate them in any way. I swore revenge on them, and craved for their death.
They retreated, and our team was left here on the open field. What took us so long to comprehend…?
"Squads, fall back to Point Bravo. This day was enough for our sufferings."
Although we lost lives today, we learned what the occurring called dignity truly intended. We lost lives and craved for death, but what truly scattered my mind was the indication of losing. If we fall down, we die. It is the rule of war, something said with such ignorance. Checkmate…
Supports:
Supports are men who are equipped with a light machinegun, and play an essential role in the art of war. We call them Machine Gunners, as they use weapons as the so called LMG, and are crucial to the portion of supportive fire. They typically acquire loads of ammunition, even able to replenish a whole squad's ammunition load. As what they call, supports are in-depth, truly amazed by the fact of support gunning, making the pass toward the enemy headquarters. In-depth, supports are truly a sense of juggernaut, and crucial toward the conclusion of a whole team.